Archive of Our Own

The moment Pat and Pran were fearful of had finally come: everyone was going to find out the truth about them. The truth that they were very much—still are—in love with each other.

They were shy of two years into the ruse. They had been doing so well with it, so swimmingly great that Pat and Pran thought they had mastered the art of pretending that they’re not tremendously in love with each other in the public eye.

For the most part, at least, despite the occasional snide remarks from Wai and Korn whenever they would do their intense stare-off sessions and play the part of being enemies on campus. Or when Ink and Pa would accidentally run into them sneaking around in other department buildings, just so they could have a moment of peace in empty classrooms away from their own.

It took weeks of gossip mongering to convince people of the breakup in the first place. The quartet planted seedlings of doubts and rumors in their departments that were almost too normal that they passed off as truths so quickly.

But it was instrumental for Pat and Pran to deliver the final blow at just the perfect timing. Pat and Pran needed to play it up for everyone to see, to convince people of the truth they wanted to be perceived.

It had only been a few months since their sweet, albeit still very obnoxious, fiasco on the Architecture staircase, but their cryptic trouble in paradise-esque social media posts inevitably caught traction.

We know how it’s going to end. Isn’t it better to just stop this now? Pran posted one night.

The screenshot spread so fast, Pran knew the prying looks that people shot him while he walked down the hall, looking particularly glum the morning after.

Of course, it was inevitable that people thought it was because of Pat, especially when he cruised down the hallway with a semi-permanent crease in his forehead that same day.

(Little do they know, it was a competition on who would look worse that day. Pran won. Maybe Pat did, too, because he had to stay on all fours that night. Maybe loss was never truly an option.)

Finally, on one special day they liked to commemorate as their ‘Public Breakup Day’, Pran initiated running into Pat by the cafeteria and bumped into him, hard. Pran ended up spilling some of his drink over Pat who had mastered an artful scowl as he lunged forward, his fists balled onto Pran’s collars.

Gasps from the bystanders echoed in the cafeteria. Both the Engineering and Architecture gangs froze. Even Wai and Korn were convincing, their body language quickly shaping into fight mode.

“You have a problem with me, Parakul?” Pat hissed, fierce eyes glaring daggers at Pran.

Everybody held their breaths as soon as the words rolled out of Pat. His voice was cold and left shivers in its wake. It was much like a reminder of the Pat that the seniors were afraid of when he started university.

Pat’s shirt was dramatically drenched in cherry red now. They were so close, he could feel Pran’s breath against his, the warmth of his chest, and some of the sticky juice remnants that touched Pran’s shirt were now seeping down his front.

If only the people around them knew that Pat’s stomach lit up on fire with just their chests barely brushing in public, the thrill of it leaving tingles down his fingertips.

If only they knew that Pat and Pran had spent last night practicing this exact scenario and giggling under the covers right before Pat let his fingers dance along the ridges of Pran’s spine.

Pat’s eyes flickered down to Pran’s mouth inexorably.

Pat wanted to kiss him so badly.

Pran gave Pat a menacing smirk, like he could see through him.

(He probably did.)

“You want to be part of Architecture that badly?” Pran hissed, his mouth dangerously close to Pat’s. “I heard you’re joining the Architecture play again this semester. What, you just can’t stay away from ruining me again?”

“Ruining you?” Pat spat out with a curt laugh, pulling away before the temptation got too much. Pran was so hot when he’s acting angry. “Who said I go there for you? Maybe you should get over me, Pran.”

Pat and Pran hoped the gears started turning in people’s heads, that they could piece together the idea that Pat and Pran had broken up. From their peripheries, it was evident that people hardly moved as if the tension between Pat and Pran blanketed over them, keeping them trapped in place, their attention zeroed in on the show.

Good, that’s what they expected.

The room continued to be still around them, as if the only thing they needed to hear was Pran’s bated response.

“You have someone new,” Pran finally said, loud enough for others to hear. “You’re seeing someone else from Architecture?”

There was one dramatic gasp from a guy in the crowd.

Pran scoffed mockingly, animosity lacing his tone. “So quickly? Wow, you’re moving on fast.”

Pran was going to hell. His lips trembled for trying not to laugh and break character when Pat’s expression turned to real surprise at how excellent Pran’s acting had become. Pat tried to reflect his miserable glee in the way his (angry puppy!) fierce eyes furiously blinked and how his mouth twitched suspiciously before speaking.

“What I do now is none of your business,” Pat said briskly when he finally regained composure. From trying not to let his laughter roar out in the open, from not cooing at how good Pran was acting. “Besides, why would that be a problem? You broke up with me.”

Amongst the quiet in the audience, another gasp escaped.

Everything was so dramatic.

Pat loved it.

He hadn’t realized just how much he loved acting until this moment. His baby was doing so, so well against him. He was still very much appreciative at how Pran jumped on board when he suggested a very dramatic public breakup, and he’d have to pepper his cute grumpy face with kisses tonight.

Now, Pran’s jaw tightened, a calculated move. There were no dimples in sight, not even the annoyed one. His face just looked completely solemn; he was sure the people watching them could see it.

“You’re right,” he said, landing a palm over Pat’s chest, which made Pat’s heart burst in a short-lived excitement. Pat shouldn’t get distracted with thoughts of Pran’s hands all over him. He was out of it as soon as Pran pushed him away harshly. “It was never going to work out between us anyway. Just stay out of my way, Pat.”

“So should you, Pran.”

Later, after the dramatic show they executed and what seemed to be a half-hour session making out and giggling triumphantly in the nearest empty classroom they could find, Pat and Pran bumped their fists together in Pran’s apartment.

Pat’s head was on Pran’s lap, and he was scrolling down their university’s forum with Pran peering down at the screen, eyes bright and all.

“I think they bought it,” Pat said, pleased. “Baby, look at this photo of us. We’re such good actors.”

“We should print that out,” Pran said airily, laughing. “You look funny. Is that supposed to be what scared all the seniors away? You’re just a cute, angry puppy.”

“Pran,” Pat whined, “Take that back. I look very cool and scary!”

At the dining table, Korn just shuddered and shook his head. “I can’t tell if it’s just because I know you two are still dating, but my friends, that was just a heightened display of sexual tension. I just wanted you both to make out, honestly.”

“They’d been planning this for a while now,” Wai just snickered, rolling his eyes. “I always knew it was coming, I just didn’t know it was going to be today.”

“This isn’t a competition!” Korn chided back with an audible gasp. “But I’m offended that you both didn’t tell me!”

Pat and Pran were too busy giggling on their own.

“I think it’s time for us to leave them alone,” Wai said instead, frowning. He was watching Pran become touchier by the minute, like switching between playing with Pat’s swishy fringe and softly tugging on his hair. Pat was reacting to it, maybe even unconsciously, his head tipping backwards to get more of it.

Despite being around Pat and Pran the last few months, Wai was somehow still not immune to it unlike Korn. Wai looked away and tugged Korn’s arm.

“Come on, come on,” he said as Korn whined.

“Hurry up,” Pat said, finally coming off Pran’s lap. He settled next to Pran and tucked his chin on his shoulder. Then, he looked at them expectantly before glancing up at Pran with a suggestive eyebrow wiggle. “No one would be coming unless you’re both gone.”

Wai made a yakking noise. Korn looked a bit too excited over the prospect of it.

“Ai, Pat!” Pran said, suddenly embarrassed, but he still had that stupidly doting smile on his face. “But he’s right, you two. Get out of my place.”

Korn sniffed, looking like a disappointed cat.

Pran shook his head at him, laughing. “Thanks for today, truly.”

It didn’t take long before Pat was suggestively wiggling his eyebrows back at Pran again, Pran’s eyes going a little hazy as he leaned in to meet Pat halfway, their hands taking root in inappropriate places.

And just like that, Pat and Pran had successfully broken up in the public eye. It didn’t take long for the news to take root and spread around that same day, and it seemed like they at least managed to fool people and get them on the breakup train.

Despite all the deliberate shows from the initial get-go though, they still had to go back to a secret relationship at the end of the day. But it wasn’t new, pretending. They’d done a stellar job at it growing up, so they fell back into routine as expected, just that it was better this time. It had to be. They became extremely good at being careful and keeping it lowkey between them, no crumbs of their relationship in sight for others to dissect.

They relished in what they had privately, and that was enough, because they had each other. Nothing else really mattered.

Or so they thought.

Maybe that was a little too optimistic, to think that just being together was enough.

Because that was then, and this was now.

Because just as one would expect, routine can make people comfortable.

Pran can’t pinpoint the exact moment that they began slipping. He hadn’t even noticed until now. Maybe they thought their system just worked fantastically well that they unconsciously started being careless, becoming negligent of potential situations that could just as easily well fuck up their deception.

The realization that Pran had gotten complacent, truly forgetting one of his worst fears in lieu of the domestic bliss behind closed doors, hit pretty hard the moment Pran set his eyes on the oncoming bike hurling towards his direction, then to Pat swiftly moving before Pran could hear his voice.

“Pran, watch out!”

Dread coated Pran as his fear spiraled uncontrollably and manifested itself in less than a few seconds.

Here, now, all their hard work seemed to burn into ashes.

Everyone was going to find out about them.

The imminent fear of being separated from Pat ran cold down Pran’s spine, just like the pain that radiated on his back as Pat tackled him down to the ground. The guy on the bike that swerved towards Pran’s direction fell, the loud clashing of his bike echoing in the quad. The wheels continued to rotate crazily for a moment along with the clunking sound of the chain that dislodged out of place.

But there was an audible snap at the midst of it all, so close to Pran’s vicinity, specifically under Pran’s back. Pain shot up in Pat’s arm and his instant response was to grunt loudly. The sting of Pran’s downfall became negligible after that, the chaotic throb of his heart more prominent as the realization hit him.

There was a crack.

He definitely heard it before Pat’s nonstop bellowing.

Pran was still wrapped in Pat’s hold. Despite the stinging on his upper back, Pran’s immediate instinct was to sit up and look at Pat. Pat rolled his arm off the asphalt instantaneously. Pran’s eyes widened, watching as Pat clutched his right wrist and continued to grumble in pain.

Did Pran—did Pran break him?

“Pat?” Pran said, panicked. The gravity of Pat’s injury dawned on him, his hands becoming clammy as he landed them on Pat’s forearm to steady him. “What’s wrong?”

Pat’s nose scrunched up as he bit down his lower lip, trying to muffle the pain. He could not, for the life of him, even look at and acknowledge Pran. His eyes were shut so tightly. Pat couldn’t see that the few people from the Architecture play had gathered around the two of them. The guy on the bike also seemed fine, rushing to their side guiltily and saying a slew of apologies. Everyone seemed to have concern splayed out on their faces along with Wai whose face drained with the same realization as Pran.

Now, it felt just like the Christmas concert all over again, except it wasn’t Pran’s parents that had their scrutinizing eyes on them.

Pran’s heart raced uncontrollably. He felt the need to just hold onto Pat for his own comfort, to ground himself. Pat needed him at this moment, but so did Pran.

“Is it broken?” Pran’s voice was meek. It was shaking now. He wasn’t sure whether it was because of the sight of Pat rolling in the ground in pain, or if it was the hushed whispers away from the circle surrounding them.

But along with it, another voice was screaming in the back of Pran’s head.

They know, they know, they all fucking know—

But what can Pran do, when the love of his life was screaming in agony under him? Pran still had his priorities straight.

“Pat?” Pran called him again.

“Pran,” was all Pat replied breathily.

“I’m here,” Pran said, squeezing Pat’s arm. “I’m right here.”

Finally, Pat cracked his eyes open to the sight of Pran. His sight was bleary, but he could make out a soft cut on Pran’s cheek. It was a definite graze from the fall. Pran probably didn’t even notice because Pat made him worry. He looked disheveled and apprehensive and—

“Pran,” it came out like a soft pant, “your cheek—”

The words barely tumbled out, but it was evident that it was Pat’s priority. Who breaks a hand and immediately thinks about someone else? Something so minor, like a cut on a cheek?

“Pat,” Pran said sternly, almost cutting him off in panic before he said anything else. His eyes were conveying something else, something Pat wasn’t catching quite as quickly as the pain vibrated in his wrist. Pat grunted in distress. Pran squeezed Pat again. “Your hand.”

Then, finally, Pat remembered where he was.

Oh, fuck.

Pat had always been good at keeping the same pace with Pran, but this caught him by surprise. The same worry that Pran had written in his face started materializing in Pat’s gaze, the fear molten and swimming in his eyes like fiery lava that burned his insides.

Suddenly, Pat couldn’t focus on Pran’s face as he got wrapped up in the scrutinizing stares around them. The surprised glimmer and curiosity in their eyes, in the way their mouths moved so fast in hushed whispers, in the fastidious manner they made Pat feel so small in Pran’s hold.

“Pat, are you okay?” Pran inquired again, his tone gentle.

“Toto,” Pat gasped out instead, ignoring Pran. He shrugged Pran’s touch away, a quick instinct that made Pat feel awful, because all he wanted right now was Pran. He looked to his side as if Pran suddenly didn’t exist. That would be better for the two of them. “Can you help me up?”

Toto was trying so hard not to shift his gaze between Pat and Pran. Finally, Toto said, “Did you break your wrist?” He crouched down, his face serious as he crowded into their space. “Come on, Pat.”

Now this view wasn’t new.

Believe it or not, despite the schemes they tried to orchestrate to bring back the Engineering and Architecture rivalry, the feud between their groups simply faded over time along with their minimized interactions in public.

Pat had become well acquainted with the theater members over the years despite his (very much) obvious and public break up with Pran. After all, Pat had done so well during his first play in their second year. He was lovely and bright, and he amplified people’s energy onstage. He’d been so well-liked, so much that he forged his own relationships with the people around Pran that lasted beyond their ‘break up’.

Besides, who cares if Pat starred in a few more shows after the first? It was quite a sight for sore eyes for Pat and his handsomeness to be seen around the Architecture department.

“I would rather put chilis in my eyes,” Pran was once quoted saying to an underclassman when asked whether he’d show up in one of the shows. “He’s not as handsome as you all think, okay? He’s a slob.”

Pran came anyway. In every single one of them, because they were Pat’s special moments that he couldn't miss despite the ruse. On that one particular show Pran was caught commenting on, Pat spent the evening joking about hot chili peppers and how Pran loved his pepper.

People also didn’t just forget his iconic love confession for Pran in the Architecture staircase or the fact that he could have been wooing another student in the department after Pran. When the news that he was no longer attached finally died down, even some Architecture students courageously tried to make a move on him.

Pat had been branded as a romantic (who apparently got dumped by The Pran!) that was well-sought after by the department.

The faculty heads also found it in their advantage to keep letting Pat join their productions in hopes that it would snowball into the other faculties sending in their best ones to join the Architecture play. It did, and even Pa got involved with it to some extent for the school magazine.

Pat’s presence in the Architecture just became a staple over time. Pat and Pran’s break up did not suddenly take away his privileges to roam around their turf.

(Moreover, it made it easier for them to sneak around when people stopped batting their eyes on why Pat was in their buildings again.)

This was why Pat was in Pran’s vicinity in the first place.

It was Pat’s last year in university, and he got the lead role for the last play of the first semester. It was a Christmas special. It took a lot of courage for Pat to make up his mind and ask Pran to join him, in hopes that it would be a better memory replacement for the Christmas concert they never got to finish. With just that thought alone, Pat knew the flicker of glee in Pran’s eyes was a sure yes.

Pran didn’t make it easy, though, but that was mostly because he loved an annoying and clingy Pat, and he wanted to take his time to consider the pros and cons of working together around other people.

Unable to finally say no to Pat’s insistent and cute pleading, Pran caved in to help with the music production. He hadn’t done it since their first one, mostly because he was afraid that it would make people suspicious of them, but this was Pat’s passion and he wanted to be there for him.

Toto had decided earlier that a new environment and some fresh air might help with their tiredness. Pat was paired up with the newly crowned Architecture beauty, June. She was sweet and bubbly and she matched Pat’s excitable personality. Much to Pran’s (obvious) dismay, People were excited to see two eye candies in one stage. Because of it and how close it was to the show date, the pressure for their play to do well seemed exceptionally high.

Before this, Pat had been reciting his lines out loud with June. Across from them, Wai was messing around with Pran, teasing him about the lyrics he’s writing for the ending act. Pran, not wanting to reveal his cartoon doodles of Pat instead, tried to back away from Wai’s nosiness.

“It’s not done!” Pran said, shutting his notebook close.

“Are you hiding something, Pran?” Wai had chided playfully then. “You’re not writing love songs for other things, are you?”

That perked up Pat’s attention, making him glance up from his script with a smile that stretched a little too fondly.

If only people paid attention, they’d notice how besotted he looked.

Despite June reciting her lines back to him, he was watching them now, amused at the obvious flush and exasperation plastered on Pran’s face. Wai was right. Pran was definitely onto something Pat-related. Pat snickered happily, shaking his head.

And that was when Pat noticed the oncoming bike that suddenly seemed too wobbly whizzing towards Pran.

Pran was clearly distracted, annoyed dimples and all. He would likely perceive it a little too late, and Pat knew that.

This was why Pat had instinctively moved Pran out of the way in a split second and why they were now stuck in this awkward limbo.

“I can go with Pat to the infirmary,” Toto finally said, breaking the silence. “You guys should pack up and continue practicing back in the auditorium. It’s—” he waved a hand around, “—a little dangerous out here.”

Pran watched Toto help Pat up from the ground. He followed suit, eyes still trained on Pat. It seemed like only Pat’s wrist was affected, and he was still holding onto it, wincing, when Pran felt a light tap on his shoulder.

“What?”

“P’Pran, there’s blood on the back of your shirt,” Pran heard from behind him. June looked up at him, then back at Pat. Hesitantly, she said softly, “You must have scraped it bad. Do you need to get that checked out, too?”

“Oh?” Pran whipped his head to where June seemed to point at on his white dress shirt, but he couldn’t see it. If he was being honest, he didn’t feel it either beside the initial contact down the ground. The adrenaline from Pat’s injury had masked it up so generously.

Wai stepped towards Pran at the same time as Pat.

“Oh, that looks bad—”

“Pran, are you okay?” Pat said swiftly, unable to stop the concern from resounding in his voice.

Pran took a step away from them.

“It’s fine,” he said curtly, although when Pran finally moved his shoulder, he could feel a section of his back throb.

“Doesn’t look fine, Pran,” Pat said stubbornly, as if he wasn’t patient zero in the first place. “Turn around.”

“It’s—it’s fine, Pat,” Pran insisted with a sigh.

Toto’s gaze flicked between them again. Cautiously, he said, “Do you two just want to go together?”

“No!” they both said at the same time, which made everyone around them turn to still.

“I think you both need to get checked out, though,” Toto said resolutely.

Clicking his tongue, Wai shook his head at them. “I can go with them,” he offered.

“They don’t need a chaperone,” came Toto’s response, dubiously looking at the three of them now. “You two should be fine, right?”

“I can go later,” Pat said, which didn’t make any sense at all, because he was in a rougher shape than Pran. From other people’s perspective, he must look hesitant to be alone with Pran, and he was. But probably for an entirely different reason rather than just spending alone time with Pran.

Pran could see through him, though. Pat was still looking more concerned about Pran instead of his wrist. He knew Pat too well. Knew how easily worried he was over Pran, just like how Pran was to him.

“You should really get that wrist checked out, P’Pat,” June said concernedly. She was nice, but she was looking so distressed over Pat’s wrist, so much that it ticked Pran off irrationally.

“It’s fine,” Pran said again, but this time addressing Pat. Pat blinked at him. His stomach was twisting, mostly because everyone’s eyes were on them. “We should just go, Pat.”

Pat was chewing on his lower lip, still unsure, but he followed Pran down, ignoring the light coos and the sudden giggles coming from the bystanders on the other tables.

As they walked farther away from the crowd, they both heard Toto talking to Somcheng, their words clear as day.

“They don’t look like they hate each other anymore, do they?”

“Yeah, have you seen how Pat looked at Pran?”

“There’s no way he’s not in love with Pran anymore.”

Unsurprisingly enough, the walk until they were out of sight was quiet. There was at least a foot distance between them as they walked side by side. There was still something to keep up, to salvage the little amount of façade they could make people believe.

Surprisingly, though, Pran didn’t seem too happy about Pat making a joke to lighten up the mood after they were out of earshot.

In fact, it made the mood worsen between the two of them.

“It was stupid,” Pran finally said with a sigh. It seemed like he simmered with his thoughts over the silence that stretched between them that his voice was resolute, his qualms solidified like a giant wall against Pat. “That was really stupid, Pat. You really shouldn’t have done that.”

Pat disagreed at it being stupid, the excruciating pain in his wrist clear evidence of what he jokingly claimed to be a rather heroic deed to lighten up the gloom painted on Pran’s face.

“A thank you would be nice,” Pat tried to say half-jokingly again, his voice weak.

“I wouldn’t need to thank you in the first place, Pat. Again, it was avoidable,” Pran insisted, but Pat being Pat, just had to do it for the two of them. “You didn’t have to do it.”

“You could just kiss it better, Pran,” Pat tried again, deflecting, the sulkiness lacing his voice. “I’ll be fine, I promise.”

“You will be, I know that.” Frustrated, Pran’s eyebrows furrowed so hard, and Pat lost his feeble attempt of a smile in an instant. “But we both know that’s not what I’m worried about right now.”

Well. That stung quite hard. Pat knew what he was talking about. It was the fear dictating their life all over again.

Impulsively, Pat said, “Come on, it’s not a big deal.”

He didn’t want it to be anymore. Pat was just so tired of it.

Pran stopped in his tracks. He turned, slowly, and just stared Pat dead in the eyes. He frowned. “Not a big deal?”

Pat sighed. Pat understood where Pran was coming from, he really did. But Pat was also in a lot of pain, and they could let this go for even just a moment. For a few hours, maybe, when Pat was hopefully drunk off pain medication. “You know what I mean, Pran. I just—”

“I really don’t,” Pran said harshly, cutting him off.

Pran was being too ruthless. He didn’t say anything for the rest of the walk.

So here they were now, sitting across each other in the infirmary, their feet dangling off the opposing beds. The room was empty save for the two of them, and the nurse in charge had just stepped out to see if Pat could get an immediate appointment to the nearest clinic with an x-ray access.

From the initial assessment, it seemed like Pat had a distal radius fracture. The nurse’s suspicion was that he tried to land a palm to catch themselves when they fell, but since he was holding onto Pran as well, their weight together made the impact so detrimental it fractured his wrist. It was swollen now, like a little balloon compared to the rest of his arm, the purple bruising around his wrist becoming more evident. He could barely move it without insufferable pain tagging along, but at least he didn't seem to need surgery for it.

Pat was still holding onto his wrist, his head swimming in the potential implication of a fracture. He would unquestionably be out for a few weeks for rugby. When the pain subsides, maybe he can play for the end of the semester game. But with classes—Korn would need to step up and actually write notes this time. His thesis wasn’t going to be due until next semester anyway, so he could probably wing out the writing until his wrist heals and read to fill up his time.

And then, there was Pran.

Pran would have to take care of him. Pat won’t be able to help with house chores as efficiently and neither will he be able to be extra good with only one working hand. Pat supposed he could make it up with other things, but it still sucked to think that Pran would also take extra measures to do things for him.

He sighed, too consumed with the thoughts in his head, and glanced at Pran next to him.

The silence in real life was dragging on for too long.

Pran hadn’t said much since their walk here. He just listened, intently, as the nurse examined Pat and explained what he needed to do going forward.

On one occasion, Pran asked the nurse something that implied he’d be taking care of Pat. She sported an inquisitive smile, her gaze flickering between them, and said, “It’s good that you’ll have someone to take care of you, then. I thought you two weren’t acquainted well since you barely said a word to each other.”

Pran’s mouth turned downwards, and quickly following suit was a wince from the cut on his cheek. Pran looked away after that. He kept quiet all the way until now.

It was starting to get to Pat, the nervousness simmering low in his belly. He’d rather hear the annoyance in Pran’s voice, in a way that he often nagged at Pat. In the tone that was still affectionate, no matter how annoyed Pran was.

Don’t be such a baby, he wanted to hear, all while Pran babied and indulged his endless whines. He wanted to touch Pran’s cheek, to finally put a band-aid on that cut. He wanted Pran to smother him with comforting kisses and squish his face for being silly and saving him instead of Pran giving him the cold shoulder.

Pran wasn’t doing any of those.

Pat hadn’t felt this anxious in such a long time.

The last time he felt this way was probably the weeks after they decided to go back from the beachfront to families that didn’t welcome their love and to a campus where they had to scheme and pretend. Pat wasn’t a nervous person. In fact, Pran’s anxiety rattled them more than anything. But the decision to go home had broken Pat down and it took months for the both of them to build him back up piece by piece.

He could feel himself crumbling again, as if each minute Pran was choosing to be silent was taking him apart brick by brick.

“She’s gone,” he said softly, swaying his foot to get Pran’s attention. “Baby, you can come sit next to me.”

Pran’s mouth was still in a straight line, his eyebrows furrowed together as he looked down at his phone. Pat wasn’t sure why it was so interesting, especially when he was here, in pain and suffering. It was really annoying and it made Pat’s stomach twist into intricate knots.

Then, Pran finally opened his mouth, his voice tight. “Wai said they’re still talking about us. You heard it pretty clear before we left—they think you’re still in love with me.”

“Well, that’s new,” Pat said sarcastically, pouting. “I’m pretty sure you’re more whipped than me.”

“Pat, stop joking around.” Pran turned his phone towards him. On the screen was a paparazzi-like photo of the two of them on the ground. “Some of them think we’re still in love with each other.”

“They’re not wrong.” Pat felt his stomach be unsettled. He was fearful of this moment too, but in the face of a glowering Pran, he’d rather take it lightly. He needed to, or else he would collapse. “Come on, Pran. They’re just going to speculate about this picture, and then they’ll move on eventually to a newer gossip.”

“This is pretty serious, Pat,” Pran said, gritting his teeth. “It’s going to spread so fast on campus. See, this is exactly what I was worried about.”

“People thinking we’re still in love?” Pat said. “There’s gotta be worse things in the world for us to worry about, Pran.”

“But we worked so hard for this,” Pran was starting to raise his voice. He had always been two steps ahead with his worries; it wasn’t just the school he was vexed about. No, it was worse, because it was their parents. “To keep this up, so that our parents won’t find out. So we could stay together. Do we need to talk about this again?”

That might be the last straw that ticked Pat off.

Stay together?

They were going to stay together no matter what. Why couldn’t Pran see that? Even if hell opened and swallowed them both, Pat didn’t really care, because he knew they would always be together.

He pursed his lips together and closed his eyes, breathing in deeply. When he opened them, Pran was staring at him, a look as if he wasn’t ready to back down just yet embedded in his face.

Finally, Pat pleaded tightly, “Can you please just stop talking about this for now, Pran? Let it go.”

“I really didn’t need to be saved, Pat,” Pran answered back hastily, too wrapped up in his own worries to realize how uncaring he sounded.

Pat’s stomach sank, because Pran wasn’t listening to him anymore. He always knew how stubborn Pran was, but in the last two years, he’d learned to relent whenever he’d realized he’s about to cross the line with Pat.

But now, Pran wasn’t like that. He wasn’t set on soothing the hard wrinkles on Pat’s forehead, to tell him that everything was going to be fine.

That they were going to figure this out, together.

Pran got up to pace around, and when Pat didn’t respond after a minute, he started tapping his foot frantically against the murky gray vinyl flooring. “It was a completely fine situation. You just overreacted. I would have been perfectly capable of swerving and getting out of the way.”

That could be true. Pran could be saying it right, could be projecting the entire situation exactly how it could have gone, but with the pain that zipped through from Pat’s wrist all the way up his shoulder blade, he wasn’t sure if he could recall anything other than the present torture he was in.

“I’m really in pain, Pran,” was all Pat muttered through gritted teeth, feeling crestfallen. “Can we talk about this later?”

“This wouldn’t have happened if you had just listened to me and we stayed away from each other, like how we already did,” Pran said, disappointed. “I should’ve never joined this play.”

Frankly? It was unbelievable how much his tone made Pat’s chest suddenly ache.

Pat’s voice was barely a murmur. “Don’t say that. I know you wanted to join me, too.”

“That’s beside the point now, Pat,” Pran said frustratedly. “So many people saw what happened. You just had to do it. Had to save me from what, absolutely nothing?”

“That bike was going to hit you,” Pat said sternly.

“Wai could have pulled me in,” Pran insisted.

“That bike was going to hit you,” Pat repeated, enunciating every single syllable. “And I was standing two feet away, and you really think I won’t do anything? Who do you think I am, Pran?”

Pran was like a firecracker that ignited uncontrollably. Pat really, really didn’t like it, had not seen Pran act this way since they got together. His stomach was starting to hurt a lot. He winced, thinning his lips.

“That’s the problem, Pat. You’re not supposed to be my boyfriend. Act like it. You should have just let it happen. Everyone was around—”

Act like it? As if Pat hadn’t been doing exactly that in the last two years!

“Can we stop caring about everyone?” Pat finally snapped. “Why was it so wrong that I acted that way because I care about you?”

Pat thought he’d been doing a great job in the last two years. Act as if he didn’t care about Pran in public? He nailed that down. Swallow the bitterness in his throat and fake a smile every time his parents would enquire about his dating life? Pat had gotten so used to the lies. In fact, Pat was fucking stellar at this whole deception scheme they got going on. This was only one blip amongst the many things that could have gone wrong, because the thought of anything hurting Pran made Pat hurl himself into blaring signs of danger.

So why can’t Pran just let it go?

What suddenly happened to adjusting for their happiness?

Pat was very unhappy right now. Everything hurt and he was starting to breathe harshly through his nose.

“I’m not really asking for more, Pran. I just said let it go.”

Pran seemed surprised at Pat’s outburst, at the rigidity in his voice, but he kept going. He amplified the anger in Pat way beyond what Pat could handle. Even though Pat knew he was just closing off because he was afraid, he was still going beyond the line.

“We can’t just shrug it off right now when the problem is right in front of our eyes,” Pran said frustratedly. “Is it that hard to keep pretending we’re not boyfriends? This isn’t going to work if you keep thinking that way and pushing it off.”

Pat felt a crack in his chest, almost as if his heart had fractured into two, broken down with words he knew Pran didn’t mean but still hurt pretty fucking hard.

The warmth rose from his chest all the way to his cheeks, and Pat was starting to feel extreme resentment bubble inside him. He didn’t want to feel this way. It reminded him of that moment when his Pa had caught them at the grocery store, the way he’d harshly pushed Pran off to the side, the anger that heightened within Pat that made him cross the line with his own father.

Except this was worse because his anger was targeted towards Pran.

But here, now, Pat wasn’t sure what Pran expected him to feel when his words cut through Pat’s being. It carved around him, revealing crooks of his insecurities out in the open, in the potential possibilities of where Pran wanted to go from here. Pat knew it was irrational—Pran wouldn’t leave him, he knew that, but there was a loud voice in his head, planting doubts that put him in more emotional pain than his fractured wrist. It was as if he was being stabbed with a dull knife over and over with Pran’s bitter insistence complimenting his qualms, and that hurt more than one firm slice from a sharp blade.

Pat couldn’t help the cruel words that slipped out of his mouth.

“Yeah, it’s hard. It’s really fucking hard to pretend we’re not together. Not when I don’t want to anymore,” Pat said miserably, and he looked as if his world had just fallen apart. “And this, Pran? You mean our relationship isn’t going to work?”

Pran widened his eyes at him, his mouth agape. His voice fell into a whisper. “That’s not what I meant. You know that.”

“I really don’t,” Pat said pettily, just like how Pran said so earlier. Pat’s voice was venomous, but his eyes were shining. “What difference does it make?”

“Pat,” Pran said, suddenly halting. The gravity of his own words started sinking down on him. The weight of how it pulled Pat down, he was basically drowning in front of Pran. His voice was pleading when he said, “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Pat dared to say. “Don’t start this now? Now you don’t want to talk?”

“Pat, you know I don’t mean it like that,” Pran insisted, his voice soft.

“Like I said, why does it matter? It doesn’t make a difference. It sounds the same to me. This isn’t going to work—our secret being found out, and then, what? We’re going to break up, again? This relationship isn’t going to work, is that it? Are you going to leave me, then?”

“No, I would never do that.” Pran sighed in exasperation, but he folded so quickly under the slew of Pat’s acrimoniousness. “Don’t think that way. You’re misunderstanding this.”

“Am I?” Pat questioned, and Pran felt his chest cave in.

“Of course,” Pran said tenderly. He was treading now. Pat was crumbling in front of him. He stepped forward, landing a palm on Pat’s cheek. He brushed it, feeling the warmth of it against his palm, and Pat looked as if he was about to crinkle with just his touch, but he was so stiff under Pran’s hold. “You know I’m just worried about us.”

For a little while, Pat was just silent, his nose flaring. He could feel his heartbeat racing uncontrollably in his chest, the loudness of its thrum masking his ragged breathing.

Pran held his own breath, looking at him, uneased. He could feel his own heart breaking with the way Pat looked right now. He crossed the line, and Pran hated that he did this to Pat.

“Aren’t you tired of this?” Pat said, softly this time. “I’m tired of pretending, Pran. I’m so tired of not being able to openly love you.”

Pran looked dazed for a moment, the color draining on his face as if he was suddenly drenched in a bucket of cold water.

Pat didn’t even raise his tone. He just sounded so tired. In that same gravity, Pat also just seemed so disappointed.

Trepidation pooled so quickly in Pran’s stomach, overflowing like a dam that broke apart. It was as if Pran was realizing the sadness that embellished itself onto Pat’s face in full time and he was suddenly drowning in the image of it: the slump of Pat’s shoulders, in the dejected way he was looking at Pran as if this ruse weighed more than Pran had initially thought of. As if Pat was carrying a boulder that Pran didn’t know was pulling him down, and Pran’s words were arrows that shot him down helplessly to the ground.

Hiding their relationship had taken a toll on Pat, so much that Pran didn’t notice the magnitude of.

Pran felt like a deflated balloon when Pat spoke again.

“I understand that you’re worried about this,” Pat breathed harshly, pursing his mouth into a frown. “But it’s hard for me to even think right now and feel better if you’re not on the same page as I am. Your fears, they’re valid. They’re mine, too. But this isn’t the way to go about it. Blaming me wouldn’t resolve this. Not right now, Pran.”

Pat, looking at him from the bed, had eyes that shimmered like the ocean under the blazing heat of the sun and his lips trembled, like he was just holding himself back.

Pat looked so small and fragile. A soft and shaky sigh escaped Pat’s lips and he broke eye contact with Pran.

“Just please, let it go,” Pat finally said, his voice cracking, and that was enough for Pran to solidify the thought that he’s pushed beyond he can repair in this moment.

Slowly, Pran withdrew his hand. He sat on the bed right next to Pat, and he let their arms brush before Pat’s face was immediately smothered onto his shoulder blade like an instinct. He laid his head there softly. Pran didn’t need to see Pat’s face to know that it was folding into creases. He could tell by the way his shoulders shook against Pran’s. Pran could feel every harsh breath he was suddenly taking, and he lifted his palm to cradle Pat’s cheek, just to make him feel secure in his hold.

Pat’s cheek was wet.

And then, more of the waterworks came along with Pat’s soft sobs.

“I’m sorry,” was all Pran said, tender this time. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things to you.”

Even though Pat knew he meant it, it was his turn not to say anything.

Pran had always been Pat's shelter, open arms that normally cradled him. His comfort during a storm. But tonight, Pat let his tears stream like rainfall, and Pran was the lightning that rocked his heart into two.

When they got home from the clinic with Pat’s hand wrapped up in a splint, he still didn’t say a word even until he closed his dorm door on Pran.

Something worse was broken by Pran that day.

It wasn’t just Pat’s arm.

Pran had broken Pat and the security of their relationship with just a few feeble words.

“Don’t,” was all Pat said, leaning his head back against the concrete wall over the rooftop.

“You shouldn’t be drinking that, Hia.”

There was a pack of beer cans next to him, and he was about to swig one when Pa walked in. She was right, though. He should be taking his painkillers, not chugging down beer. Pran would be so disappointed if he found out. He exhaled loudly and put it down.

“Ugh. You’re right, I shouldn’t.”

“Why are you here?” Pa asked gently, as if all alone? was a silent question that came afterwards.

Pat was quiet for a moment. “I had nowhere else to go.”

Pa’s eyes softened as she sat down carefully with her brother. She crossed her legs together and bumped her shoulder against Pat’s. Careful, like he was going to break with even just the slightest touch. He looked fragile, and Pa would know that best after Pran.

With a small and comforting smile, Pa said gently, “You know that’s not true.”

“I didn’t want to burden both of you and sour the mood,” Pat admitted honestly after a beat.

Pat hated feeling like an encumbrance to everyone else. He tried so hard not to do it, to make people not worry about him. He often went out of his way to make people more comfortable with his own demise, at the expense of his own happiness. Pat sometimes felt like his own needs were too overbearing.

Maybe now, Pran was feeling the same. Maybe even Pa, because she’s here now, worried over him when she could be having a fun time with Ink.

He sighed. “How’d you know I was here?”

“I was going to meet Ink up here, but she saw you first. She thought you might need company.”

It had only been a day since he’d injured his hand, but it already felt as if it left a formidable dent in their relationship. He stopped talking to Pran. He’d never argued with Pran that badly since they got together, enough to deliberately take time away from each other.

Despite the conscious decision to do so, though, he didn’t want to be in his dorm, knowing full well that he was only a few feet away from Pran. The temptation to go talk was too high. Pat knew he wasn’t ready to look at Pran in the eye and not feel like he was going to shatter. Worse, he was afraid to burst out again, because he knew he wouldn’t like the words that could come out of him at the heat of the moment like when they fought. He didn’t want the words to pile on, surmounting into something he couldn’t dig himself out of, to let the gap grow bigger between the two of them.

So here he was, at the rooftop, thinking he had nowhere else to go.

It was comforting to some degree being here. It reminded Pat of confessing his feelings to Pran. How Pran dove right in and met him halfway for a frenzied kiss. But along with it was the reminder of the fear that started to ripple down Pran; the apprehension that laced Pran up with an inconsiderable amount of dread as he walked away from even the smallest possibility of being with Pat, his wall of defense up in an instant the moment they broke apart from the kiss.

Pran looked so broken then, so engulfed in terror.

Maybe it was the first crack that started it all that Pat didn’t realize until now.

“You should go back in, Pa. If you two already made plans.”

“Hia, I just want to make sure that you’re okay,” Pa said, still gentle. “How’s your hand?”

“Recovering,” Pat said curtly.

“Okay, well,” Pa said, “How are you?”

Pat was silent. He hadn’t talked like this with Pa in so long, he’d forgotten how inquisitive she was with his feelings. She was generally oblivious with most things, but that was their Jindapat charm. During moments like this, though, she was always in tune with Pat and his feelings. It’s as if she just knew when he needed her, and she would be there and never failed to show up. It stirred Pat’s worn-out heart, gratefulness that he had for Pa bursting out of him in an instant.

For the second time, Pat admitted it out loud. “I’m just tired, Pa. I’m so tired and in pain.”

Pa knew he wasn’t talking about the splint in his hand.

“Having problems with P’Pran?” Pa said after a beat, and Pat felt his face morph into a sad little puppy that got kicked out in the rain.

“Yeah,” Pat said quietly. “But nothing that I can’t handle.”

“I know,” Pa said consolingly. Then, delicately, she whispered again, “I know, Hia. I heard about what happened.”

“Pran is really worried about it. About people finding out,” Pat said. “I just… I wish it didn’t matter so much, Pa.”

Pa hummed understandingly. She pulled her knees closer to her chest, then folded an arm over them. She propped her head on it, then turned to look at her brother with a melancholic smile, her eyes glossy.

Pa reached out and ruffled his hair, and somehow, Pat felt how much Pa had grown over the years it an instant.

“It’s been so hard on you this whole time, hasn’t it?”

Pat swallowed. His chest was starting to feel overwhelmed again. Like he could burst out crying any moment now, in a safe space with his sister, but he pursed his lips and took a moment to steady himself. Pa could see through him and just let him take his time.

“I just thought it’d get easier eventually,” Pat finally said, his voice shaky. He looked up and tried not to blink the tears forming in his eyes. “Will it ever get easy?”

“You could make it to be,” Pa said insightfully, peering up at him.

“How do we do that, Pa?” Pat wondered. “If I knew how to, I would make it easier for the both of us.”

Pa paused, like she was weighing her words to tip in the right direction. Finally, she said quietly, “You know, you two aren’t as subtle as you think.”

Pat looked at her. Really looked at how Pa’s words didn’t make her waver, a confidence in her stance in the matter. Pat knew she was telling her truth.

“People know, Hia. People who… love you. Some of them can see through the two of you, but maybe you both just haven’t realized it yet, because you’re too afraid of the thought that you’ll get caught. Or that you have to talk it out, because then it becomes realer.”

Pat knew who and what exactly she was talking about. It made the ache in his chest worse and lighten at the same time, it was a conflicting feeling.

Without directly addressing the elephant in the room, he just pondered aloud, “Do you really think some people just know?”

Pa hummed, pursing her lips into a soft smile. “They do. But just like you, they’re afraid too,” was all she said.

They sit there in silence for a few minutes, just looking up at the stars as the wind blew sympathetically against them. Eventually, Pa stretched her legs out onto the ground and looked at her brother again. Pat met her uneasy gaze.

“Hia, what do you want to do?” Pa said. “What do you really want to do?”

“I don’t know,” Pat said. “Go back home to Pran? I said a lot of things that also probably hurt him. Maybe I should just…” Pretend to be okay? That this set up was working perfectly great for Pat, that it wasn’t chipping away at him bit by bit over time? He thought about what he would tell Pran, but even his own thoughts weren’t tenacious enough to really talk it through yet. “I don’t know what to do.”

“You don’t have to always seem okay, you know. You don’t need to pretend,” Pa said as if she can read through him. She looked up. From under the light, her eyes glimmered. Pat tried not to do the same. “I mean, I would like to see you happy, Hia. I love seeing you smile. I love how you smile around P’Pran—you’re always the happiest when he’s around, even while growing up. But I know it’s not always going to be like that. That you could have a hard time—that you’re going through it right now—and that’s okay, just like how it’s also okay for P’Pran to feel the same way.”

“How am I supposed to fix that?” Pat whispered, conflicted. “How are we supposed to, if we’re not on the same page sometimes?”

“You don’t always have to be,” Pa said. “You two don’t have to flip on the same page at the same time. You just have to make sure you get through the chapter, together. That you don’t leave each other behind.”

Pat’s heart swelled in his chest. “Thanks, Pa,” Pat said thickly.

“Just give yourself time to figure it out,” Pa whispered. “And P’Pran too.”

Pat knew exactly what she meant, but Pat also knew he shouldn’t let the silence stretch for so long.

The situation went exactly how Pran expected things to go.

He was right to be worried about this. They became more vulnerable, feeling as if they’re under a microscope for other people to scrutinize.

Within the next few days, the soft whispers snowballed so fast and spread like wildfire on campus. The university gossip forum even updated their front page with, “Napat Jindapat, still in love with Parakul Siridechawat? Click to find out whether we think Pran feels the same!”

At least it wasn’t a blatant “Pat and Pran have been dating this entire time!” post with a montage of secretly taken photos of them together, but still.

“This is ridiculous,” Pat said, staring at the link Chang had generously shared to their group chat as they walked down the hallway. “They even have theories now?”

Pat couldn’t deny whether anecdotes of seeing them together over the last few weeks were made up or not; he simply spent a lot of time with Pran, it was hard to distinguish what people were talking about. He was glad that nobody had solid proof, though, not that it mattered in the long run.

Pat didn’t plan to live the rest of his life hiding Pran.

The crowd consensus seemed to be that Pat was still absolutely smitten with Pran, even going out of his way to heroically save him from a speeding bicycle (oh, so romantic!) and that Pran—well, that he didn’t seem to feel the same way.

Now, the Engineering gang settled on sitting outside one of their classrooms. They huddled on the floor together. It was still a solid fifteen minutes before their class would start, but everywhere they walked, people’s eyes were on Pat, whispering and giggling that it was difficult to ignore. At least here, the corridor was mostly silent except for Pat’s occasional annoyed sighs as he continued to scroll more.

It didn’t help that this was another shared class with the Architecture students. You’d think by now that they wouldn’t overlap, but it was another deliberately picked class for the two of them. The class was totally optional, but again, they started being careless over the months and made hasty decisions.

Any minute now he expected Pran to show up. He hadn’t really spent time with him since their fight, and Pat didn’t have it in him yet to talk. He was no longer angry at Pran, but that didn’t mean he still wasn’t upset about their fight.

Pran seemed to give him his space, too, which Pat actually appreciated rather than sulked around over. He needed to mull things over by himself and he’d given Pran ample enough heads up the morning after his talk with Pa.

patInwza55+: will talk when i’m ready. let’s cool our heads first and reflect

por.pran: come home whenever you are.

patInwza55+: don’t think you’re getting away that easily from me tho pran

por.pran: I said come home whenever you feel like it. I’m not going anywhere.

patInwza55+: don’t miss me too much

por.pran: I already do.

Pat sighed again, exasperated at the thought of Pran. He was more overwhelmed with missing him than his anger now.

“You’re still painted as the hopeless romantic in this,” Korn finally said wistfully. Korn was lying on Pat’s lap, a moo ping in one hand and the other scrolling through his phone. He beamed up a charming smile at Pat, shoving the skewer into Pat’s mouth.

Pat chewed unhappily.

“Ah, my poor, pining best friend being Pran’s knight and shining armor. I’m sad I wasn’t there to see it.”

On a good day, Pat would find it in him to laugh at the absurdity of it. At how truthful the article was, at how unbelievably in love he will always be with Pran. But not today. Not in the last two days. Pat hadn’t been having any good days, and his hand hurt just as much as his heart. Their fight had taken a toll on him, much like the initial fake breakup they had.

“You would have been the one taking pictures,” Pat replied with a mouthful of pork, which made Korn scoff and grin playfully.

“I would take a video, just for you.”

“You would enjoy that,” Pat grumbled and Korn just laughed.

After a minute, Korn said brightly, “Hey! I'm pretty sure this one is made up!” He shoved his phone towards Pat now. “One of the theories said this was a cover-up for the two of us dating, Pat. But hey, maybe I just didn't know we're a thing, what do you think?”

“You're making this worse, Korn.”

Korn wiggled his eyebrows at him. “Am I?”

Pat dropped his phone to slap Korn’s forehead lightly. Korn yelped, coming up from Pat’s thighs, and Pat freaked out for a moment, hovering his injured hand away.

Korn clicked his tongue as if to tell Pat, you know I wouldn't hit that. Instead of berating Pat some more, though, he really looked at Pat. For the first time today, Korn's face morphed into seriousness.

“Come on, Pat. Smile. Live a little. You look like a zombie,” Korn said. It would be nicer if he said it jokingly, but Pat knew Korn when he was truly concerned. “Are you okay, man? Seriously.”

Pat groaned vociferously, shaking his head. “People are blowing it up more than I thought,” was all he said, disappointed. “I thought they’d stop talking about it by now.”

“It’s hot goss,” Korn said insightfully. “You two are quite popular, you know? People still talk about your intense breakup even years later.”

“People need to forget about us,” was all Pat said solemnly. “I don’t like this anymore.”

Korn wiggled his eyebrows suggestively towards Pat. “What if we distract them by making out?” Korn said thoughtfully. “That will get them talking about something else.”

Pat raised his hand threateningly. And Korn just laughed boisterously, unafraid.

“I just,” Pat started sulkily, “I just need them to stop lumping us together.”

Because Pran doesn’t want that.

Mo and Chang exchanged quick glances at each other, unsure whether now was the right time to ask Pat the truth. They had been pretty quiet this entire time.

“Hey, Pat,” Mo started slowly, clapping a hand over his shoulder. Pat looked up at him. “Can we ask you a question?”

“Now might not be the right time, Mo,” Chang hissed softly in panic, and Pat and Korn stared at them expectantly, prodding them to go on.

“I just can’t tell if this is stressing you out because you don’t want to be associated with Pran anymore,” Mo whispered cautiously.

“I know we fought them and all after you…” Chang paused, wincing, “broke up, but—”

“Did you really?” Mo said dubiously, his voice low.

Pat stayed very, very still. In the last two years they’d been secretly hiding, Mo and Chang never asked him directly about his relationship with Pran.

“Mo and I thought the same way as the forum,” Chang added slowly. “You do look like you’re still in love with Pran.”

“And you smile so much after he joined in your new show—”

“And you were just so damn happy after your break up—still is!—it just didn’t make sense with how whipped you were for the dude.”

“You never dated anyone else after either.”

Mo squinted at the two of them, like they were also suspicious of Korn being in cahoots with Pat, and Pat’s heart dropped.

Pat’s face must be reflecting it right now, because Chang immediately said, “Okay, you don’t have to answer that if you’re not ready.”

He shouldn’t feel this way, really. It already took a toll on him initially to not tell Mo and Chang, that it felt unfair that Korn got to know but they didn’t. They agreed it was best, though, and Pat relented because Pran was going to be on equal footing with his friends.

“But know that we’re not going to be mad regardless of the truth,” Mo said comfortingly. “Right, Chang?”

“Right,” Chang said, biting his lower lip. “We won’t. We kind of already accepted it if you two were… you know.”

Korn looked at them, then at Pat, eyes wide as if he was waiting for Pat to say something first. He was ready to bite the bullet and make the loudest, most unruly noise that maybe Pat could join in hopes that Mo and Chang would think they were making a funny joke.

Some of them can see through the two of you, but maybe you both just haven’t realized it yet, Pa’s voice echoed in his head.

Korn opened his mouth but Pat beat him to it.

“What makes you say that?” Pat said softly instead. “That I still look like I’m in love with Pran.”

Korn swallowed, eyes flicking back and forth, watching them with trepidation.

Mo and Chang both shrugged.

“Have you seen yourself in the mirror, Pat?” Chang said.

“We’re not blind, you know,” Mo said.

“You just never lose that look in your face when Pran is around,” Chang expanded. “Even when we just chance upon him on campus or if you’re in the same space. You have this glow—it’s unexplainable. You never looked at anyone else like that. It never changed, even after you broke up.”

As if it was perfectly timed, Pran waltzed into the hallway followed by Wai. They stopped in their tracks to look at the Engineering gang. Pat’s heart stuttered in his chest, because even just looking at Pran reminded him that he wasn’t furious anymore, he was just yearning for things to be okay.

Pran looked hesitant, like he wanted to say hi. They were usually more subtle than this, but the tension was so thick, blanketing over them in the room. It was strong and palpable. When Pat met his eyes, his gaze flashed the same longing that Pat has learned to read over the years.

For a split second, Pat let a smile crook up at the corner of his mouth. It probably looked stupid, because Wai’s forehead creased so hard behind Pran, but Pran’s eyes just looked so sad, conflicted. And because he knew his friends were still watching them carefully, he looked away almost immediately.

Pat remained quiet, pursing his lips as he waited for the door to the auditorium to close before heaving another sigh.

“See? We told you,” Chang said once Pran was gone. He was looking at the door now, too. “You don’t have to answer it, Pat, because we can see it with Pran, too. You both just look like you’re still so in love with each other.”

“I don’t think we’re wrong,” Mo said resolutely. “Right, Pat?”

Pat didn’t have the heart to lie to them this time around.

It was Day Three of not talking now.

Pat would like to pretend that the aftermath of their fight went like a blur. The days didn’t; they were probably the worst days Pat had in the last two years. He’d barely slept and ate, his wrist was still in inexorable pain, but the worst part was Pat missed Pran terribly.

Nothing hurt him more than not having Pran right next to him. It was uncharacteristic of them to be taking this long to talk, especially when it was initiated by Pat.

“You really look like shit,” Korn told him as he dropped Pat off outside the auditorium. “Lighten up, alright? At least you’ll see Pran today. Wai said they’ll be here,” he added before shoving another bag of moo ping in his good hand. “Make sure to eat.”

“You should have joined this with me,” Pat grumbled unhappily.

Korn clicked his tongue, mischief in his face as he clapped an arm around Pat. “I hate to break it to you, but you can’t be the star of the show if I’m there,” Korn preened dramatically.

“Get out of here,” was all Pat replied, deadpanned.

For the first time after his injury, Pat was back to working onstage. All Pat really wanted to do was curl in bed and take more painkillers, but that also meant being alone in his dorm, wallowing in his own sadness. Besides, the play crew had been working without him the last few practices, and the days leading up to the opening show were getting shorter. The least Pat could do was show up.

So here he was, surrounding himself with people instead that included the love of his life that he’d actively avoided in the last three days, because he missed him so fucking much.

Secretly, Pat ironically hoped that Pran’s mere presence would bring him comfort.

Pat was pretty sure Pran missed him, too. He’d been hovering, actually, helping around with setting up the backdrops. He would occasionally pass by Pat on the table backstage, like he was also trying to catch a glimpse.

Pat sighed. He was ready to get back in Pran’s arms. Truly, he’d want that right now. But his words were still jumbled in his head, and maybe that wasn’t a good idea, not having the clarity just yet. He wasn’t sure where to start.

Can we stop hiding now? That sounded a little inconsiderate. Can I just pretend I’m still in love with you? That sounded a little selfish. Besides, Pran wouldn’t agree to that, because if Pat got to, Pran would want that for himself, too. Pat knew that. What if we just ran away to somewhere else where people don’t know us? That was what got them to this situation in the first place!

Ugh, everything sucked.

Pat grumbled, trying to smooth out the creases in his forehead. He almost wanted to hit his face down the table, bury it on his script for extra measure. Maybe it will result in maximal absorption of the rest of his dialogues. Maybe that would also mean he wouldn’t see Pran lurking around and constantly feel conflicted between running away and jumping into his arms. Maybe it will shake his head for something more cohesive than just I really miss you, Pran.

Toto peeked his head backstage right on time.

“Pat, are you ready?” he said. He looked at Pat’s hand on the table. “Your hand feeling okay? You didn’t have to come today, you know.”

“Yeah,” Pat said, waving it lightly. “Yeah, it’s fine. I wanted to come anyway.”

“Okay,” Toto said, looking at him sympathetically. “We’ll start in a few, then.”

As soon as Pat stepped onstage, Pran was there, rolling one of the backdrops into place. It was a giant cardboard of a Christmas tree. A fake mistletoe hung over it.

Pran stopped in his tracks, ironically putting the Christmas tree right next to them. He stepped away from it, just a tad too close to Pat’s space, then looked at Pat. Pat’s heart was beating so loudly, and for people who had been dating for so long, Pran never failed to do this to him.

For a moment, Pat felt as if it was just them two, the spotlight making Pran’s eyes extra shiny. Pat’s breath hitched.

Man, he really missed Pran.

The first words that Pran uttered to him were soft and concerned. “Have you eaten yet, Pat?”

Maybe Pat’s cheeks looked a little more sunken than normal under the stage lights. He hadn’t been eating properly in the last few days, mostly because of the pain, but also because he just didn’t have much of an appetite. If Pran and him didn’t have a fight, he was sure that he’d be living in luxury of Pran’s homemade cooking, spoiled rotten and acting like a baby as Pran spoon fed him, but that was not on the table right now.

Not yet at least.

On the other hand, Pran’s cheek looked much better with a silly band aid on it—an obnoxious print with oranges on it, which made it look comical in comparison to Pran’s sullen face. Pran picked it up a few months after they got together. Pat was going through his eating-orange phase and wore obnoxiously neon orange shirts everywhere, and Pran thought it would be funny to have in the house rather than the boring band aids.

“I ate with Korn earlier,” Pat said swiftly, not wanting to tell Pran that he’d been living off random bites of moo ping from the stall outside their university gates. It didn’t make him full, but it was enough to take with the painkillers. “How are you?”

Pran looked at him, like he didn’t need to say a word about his state of being.

Pran was disheveled more than usual. His usually neatly combed hair hadn’t been washed—Pat could tell from how oily it was—and he was wearing a sad black sweatshirt, which reflected his moroseness. Pran often went for the colorful, much more coordinated style, which always made Pat smile, but today he was even wearing sweatpants instead of his usual chinos.

Pran was going through it just like he was. Pat should’ve known to not have expected better.

“Do you want to talk?” was all Pran said, uncertain.

“Here?” Pat said, but his face turned miserable again, remembering what they fought over in the first place. People seemed to be watching them from the sidelines. “You really want to talk here? In front of everyone?”

“Um.” Pran shifted his eyes. “Pat, I—” Pran was almost about to say something, but he hesitated, again.

Pat’s stomach sunk again, the disappointment showing in the tensing of his shoulders. He sighed deeply, and Pran looked up at him, torn.

“It’s okay, Pran. Another time.”

Pat turned away awkwardly with a sad smile to walk where June was standing. He let people observe him walk away from Pran, the conversation cutting up shortly.

After that, Pran would occasionally shoot Pat a longing look while he exchanged dialogues with June, which made Pat really want to kiss his silly sad face away, but he shouldn’t. He couldn’t cave in so quickly. Not that it was a competition. It just… hurts, still.

Besides, Pran probably wanted to do the same with him, even if he didn’t say anything more.

Space. They still needed some space.

Rehearsal in general didn’t go so well after that. They were doing it on stage in order of the scenes, much like an informal pre-show practice. He had fallen behind with memorizing his lines for the later scenes and kept messing up because he mostly wallowed in pain in the last three days whenever he wasn’t in the class that he shared with Pran. The entire time, Pat just felt awful. He was distracted by looking at his script and reading off it more than portraying his character well.

Every time Pat recited his lines with June, he could see Pran glancing up at them behind her. Small joys, really, but it was enough to make Pat’s heart flutter and feel better about his blunders.

June also seemed to overcompensate for him. She was smiling a little too happily around Pat and kept reassuring him that it’s fine whenever she’d catch him looking at Pran instead, zoning off. He wasn’t being subtle about it; he had been really bad and extra obvious today.

After the rehearsal though, something unexpected happened.

“P’Pat!” June called after him as soon as he walked away from the stage, behind the red curtain where a few of the backdrops and his backpack sat. “Are you leaving already?”

“Yeah,” Pat said, lifting his hand. “Just wanted to rest.”

“Ah, I see,” June started. “Um, do you have a few minutes to spare?”

She had a nervous bounce in her steps, and she kept moving her lips and playing with her hands as if she was nervous. June was always a confident girl around Pat—but this was different.

Then, Pat realized that the Christmas tree backdrop that Pran rolled around earlier was right next to them.

With the mistletoe.

June’s gaze flicked upwards. Pat could kind of tell where this was going.

He was no stranger to it anymore over the years. But this was unusual because they were about to star in a play together. This could get awkward fast, although he suspected that June won’t take it personally if she got rejected.

Pat internally sighed, mustering a smile.

“Did you need anything?” Pat tried to coax out gently.

June breathed in, her eyes flickering to the mistletoe, then looked at Pat decidedly. “I just wanted to ask you something,” she said, and Pat nodded softly at her, prodding. “Are you still in love with P’Pran?”

“What?”

Pat expected an I like you, please go out with me of some sort that he could reject easily, but not this. The directness of her inquiry had taken Pat aback, his body frozen in apprehension with his mouth slightly agape.

To make matters worse, Pran was standing a few feet away from them, eyes wide as if he was caught eavesdropping. He was wearing a Santa hat. Pat saw him playing with Wai earlier who wore the same hat. If only the situation wasn’t serious, he would have laughed and teased Pran about it, at how ironic it was with his suddenly all-black outfit.

But Pat couldn’t. Not yet.

Now, Pran sported an embarrassed expression on his face, biting his lower lip and looking away from Pat. He didn’t give any indication of leaving, though. He stayed still, waiting. He wanted to hear the rest of this conversation.

“I just wanted to know, P’Pat,” June added, making Pat flicker his gaze back on her.

Pat’s heart pounded raucously in his chest, looking past June’s head all the way to Pran. He swallowed.

He wasn’t sure what took over him, but Pat couldn’t find it in him to lie in front of Pran. It took a special kind of courage to do so. There was one conclusion that Pat kept revisiting as he reflected in the last few days: he didn’t plan to live the rest of his life hiding Pran.

This was the source of his hesitations to talk things out with Pran. He was afraid that Pran wouldn’t be on the same page as him, and he needed to be ready to lose again, because he’d really rather not keep fighting. It wasn't worth it. Nothing was worth losing Pran over. At most, they would need to talk about this again later, Pat with a longer fuse and Pran with a thicker thread of patience this time.

Still, Pat wanted to test the waters. One toe at a time, just to check before he let himself swim in the possibilities of being able to love Pran out in the open.

“June,” he said delicately, and both June and Pran looked up at him. June looked expectant in parallel to Pran who looked torn, his shoulders tense as if he was holding his breath. Slowly, Pat said, “What if I told you that I still do? That I’m still in love with Pran?”

After the words rolled out of Pat, he could see the tension in Pran’s shoulders dissipate, as if Pat vocalizing those words out loud felt cathartic. As if Pran recognized the same realization that he’d been thinking of in the last few days. Pran furrowed his brows slightly, a small smile grazing his lips.

It felt like fireworks in Pat’s chest, a newfound excitement zipping through him.

Could Pran—could he feel the same way about this?

Pat felt his chest lighten up.

“Then I would still tell you that I like you,” June finally said, cutting his thoughts out.

That took Pat by surprise. He glanced back at her.

“What?” he uttered, his eyebrows furrowing together and blinking furiously.

She was courageously smiling at him. “You sound hesitant. Not about your feelings for P’Pran, I think, but I’m going to admit it is silly to assume that you seemed scared to say this out loud because he didn’t know you were still in love with him. Am I wrong?”

Pat chewed on his bottom lip and looked behind her. Pran was doing the same thing, his eyebrows furrowed, glaring at the back of June’s head, like he was frustrated. Jealous. Maybe of her openness with her feelings for Pat, unlike Pran who hid it for most of his life.

“I don’t know what he thinks,” Pat said honestly. “I haven’t talked to him about it.”

It was the truth, and the sadness reflected in Pat’s voice.

Pran’s eyes softened.

“You still really love him a lot, don’t you? Like you never stopped.” Her confidence only wavered for a moment, but June was exceptionally good at holding her ground. “I see the way you look at him. I always had. But I figured I should ask anyway.”

“I’m sorry,” was all Pat said.

“It’s okay. A love like that yours should be treasured, P'Pat,” June said, smiling up at him, as if his rejection wasn’t really a rejection. He realized why eventually. “Isn’t it hard on you?”

Pat swallowed. His voice was tight when he said, “It is.”

But he wasn’t answering the right question.

It wasn’t hard, loving Pran. That came easy to him. Loving Pran was essential for Pat to be himself. The hard part was not being able to do it openly, to keep it a secret until it nipped away at Pat’s heart little by little.

“Then you should move on from P’Pran if he doesn’t feel the same way about you. Don’t let him feel like your love is just a burden for him,” June said, sympathy lacing her voice.

For a moment, Pat wondered if she knew Pran was watching behind them, because her words were calculated as if he needed to hear them.

When she spoke again, her words made Pat turn and stare at her, stunned.

“Wouldn’t it be better for you to find someone else that will make you happy? I can be that for you if you just let me.”

But Pat was no longer paying her any attention. There was a quick scuffling behind June, and Pat was left with his gaze boring holes on the ground where Pran stood still and disappeared from.

Pran had walked away again, and Pat felt like falling into a bottomless pit.

Pran knew that the cold, hard truth was simple: Pat simply could not stay angry at him for so long, but Pat was adorned with disappointment and heartbreak, which was worse for Pran.

It had been four days. Four long, agonizing days since their argument, where Pran pushed too far down the line and could not erase the memory of Pat’s hurt face, the look in his eyes, the soft quiver of his lips as he softly said, I’m tired of pretending, Pran. I’m so tired of not being able to openly love you.

Pat’s words stung hard, like a kryptonite that wounded Pran and left a crack in the foundation of their relationship.

In the last four days, the stark difference between Pat before and after their fight was evident, like carving letters on a hard stone. It left definitive marks.

Pat kept avoiding him, which was understandable, really. Pat’s discontent and sadness reflected even in his absence in Pran’s dorm. In person it presented itself in his gait, the slump of his shoulders, the way he wouldn’t meet Pran’s eyes for so long but would rather zone out when they would catch sight of each other. He would give a smile or two whenever they’d chance upon each other, but his eyes would fall back down to a level of sadness that made Pran’s insides crumble.

Pat would not even look Pran’s way as they ran into each other in the quad where there were a lot of people. Pran was missing the occasional devious winks that usually made his mouth thin into a straight line as a dimple or two popped out, but Pat knew he loved.

Now, when all Pran got was Pat looking like a kicked puppy during his waking hours, it made Pran’s insides swoop with uneasiness.

And when they did interact like yesterday in the auditorium, Pran just seemed to keep disappointing Pat and making him even unhappier.

It was torturous. He needed to talk it out with Pat, now. Or do something to appease the sadness away because it was slowly tearing Pran apart, too.

The way Pat was acting now reminded him of how Pat was when they first got back from Uncle Tong’s, so afraid to make a mistake, that he overcompensated by just looking like a zombie living life day to day and smiling only when prodded. Pran would prefer Pat to be angry at him again—for him to sulk openly, to answer Pran back with a sassy retort that made him lean in to shut Pat up with his own mouth. He wanted Pat to be loud and expressive like he always was, but Pran knew he was afraid he’d say too much between them again, and be too honest about his own needs.

But Pat shouldn’t feel that way. It was just the right thing to do, tell Pran off. Pran needed to hear those words.

It had taken Pran a while to reflect, too. To really dig out the problem that sat like an invisible elephant in the room, weighing them down, bit by bit. To realize that despite their constant reassurances and love for each other, somewhere deep-down Pat was still a fragment of the Pat that yearned for the ocean, for a simple life, for freedom.

Pat had just been so good at hiding it, but so was Pran.

They were sailing in the same boat to nowhere. Their fight didn’t just come out of the blue. It was rooted so deeply in their relationship that they just never had the courage to pluck it out. The crack had always been there—a stark evidence of their hearts being broken at the oceanfront and carefully put piece by piece with reverence over the months they adjusted and committed to their ruse of pretending. It had just been waiting, looming over them unknowingly until they addressed it. Until Pat actually said it out loud for the both of them to hear. Until Pat told someone else, which somehow took out a thorn lodged in Pran’s chest, relief washed over him, and it was now easier to breathe.

Even though Pran knew he was at fault, Pat still took the first move for the both of them by sharing a sliver of truth to June. His Pat was still the one that was adjusting, making an effort for the two of them.

Quickly as he moved away from earshot from Pat and June’s conversation, Pran realized then that it wasn’t just Pat who was tired of this set up, of feeling as if he always needed to walk on eggshells around other people. It gave Pran a new sense of clarity. Like a nail constantly getting hit on the head, his stance on their secret relationship solidified.

The initial crack was small, but it had gone unnoticed over the years, the damage building little by little as their pretense continued. The guilt ate Pran up for not seeing it sooner. For pushing Pat too hard. For pushing himself too hard to keep this up, when at the end of it, he didn’t want to.

Not anymore, because he was just as exhausted of it as Pat. He just let the fear take a toll over their tiredness over the situation.

He was done reflecting and waiting for something to happen. He knew deep down that he should make the next move. For Pat and for himself. He wasn’t trying to be prideful by not approaching Pat in the first place. He was being respectful of Pat’s boundaries, and he knew Pat knew that. They both needed space to think then.

But it was time to close that gap between them before it got too late.

Pran would be better this time. He’d be better for Pat. Pran would understand him, would know when he was pushing too much.

Pran needed to take his first step to walk right back into Pat’s arms.

Pran started off with a small gesture.

It took a lot of courage and pondering, but Pran figured it would be his best shot. As small as it may be, it was a Go Big or Go Home type of situation for him. Pran knew how important it would be for Pat, and that was all that mattered.

He walked into his shared class with Pat the next day, two bottles of green tea in one hand, a notebook with his notes for this class on the other. He made sure to come into class when most of the students were already there, which meant more people to see him beeline his way towards Pat’s desk and plop one of the green teas and his notebook on it.

“Good morning,” was all Pran said, acting nonchalant at the way Pat’s eyes widened at him, mouth agape. He looked at Pran as if the love of his life grew an extra head.

Pran smiled at him sweetly.

“These are revision notes for the upcoming exam,” Pran said, which was true, but the said exam was not happening for two more weeks.

“Huh?”

As if the question lingered in the air, Pran hastily said, “I’ll give the rest to you, if you want it. You still have my number, right?”

Pat tilted his head comically. It was almost synchronized with Korn’s who was sitting next to him. Mo and Chang were equally confused, and Wai snickered at the sight of them.

Pran bent down and started scribbling his phone number on the ):) post-it note over the notebook, right after a nicely scribbled Pat.

“Just text me whenever you need anything,” Pran said, as if they didn’t have a shared phone plan at this point, then smiled again at an obviously terrified Pat now. “For class or whatever.”

Korn’s eyebrows shot up into his forehead. “Whatever?”

Pran looked at the two of them knowingly. “You’re really going to hope Korn will take good notes for class?”

“Hey!” Korn protested, and it took a lot of willpower for Pat not to finally burst out laughing despite the confusion on his face.

“Anyway, that’s all.”

Before Pat could even squeak out a thank you, Pran already turned on his heels. He tried not to trip on the way down to where Wai was sitting a few rows below Pat.

“Your face is so red,” Wai muttered teasingly, trying to hide a smile behind his palm.

Pran kicked his shin as a response.

“Hey!” Wai said, grunting. “I’m being supportive out here.”

“Supportive my ass,” Pran mumbled, but he was smiling so hard, his cheeks were starting to hurt. He didn’t even need to look to know that Pat’s face was probably lighting up like a sunbeam on a summer’s day.

He ignored the feeling that people were staring at the back of his head, overwhelmed more with a bubbling proudness effusing in his chest.

Baby steps.

Okay, maybe Pran was lying to himself. He was ready to do a sprint instead of take baby steps towards fixing things with Pat.

It only took approximately a whole day before Pat was taken by surprise, again.

Pran was not going to lie about this one—he really didn’t plan to do it. The situation just called for it.

They all knew that today was going to be a particularly long rehearsal day. Perhaps not necessarily for Pran because he oversaw the music and only really helped when it’s crucial, so he could easily just head out, but still. Pat was here today, and he was still a brooding little puppy.

Pran had a mission to make him crack a real, genuine smile. Not that fake polite one he kept sporting around June onstage.

Pat also looked like he could use dinner now. He’d occasionally rub his stomach onstage and do that little pout that Pran knew so well, and Pran just fixated on what to do.

He didn’t say goodbye to Pat when he left with Somcheng. They were still not on speaking terms despite the green tea bottle fiasco. It was understandable. Pat was still wary of him and talking things out, but Pran figured maybe they could start with a few conversations, because he’d really missed Pat, too. He was intending to come back with food in tow for the handful of people that were still there anyway. He was going to pick up wonton noodles and make sure to watch Pat gobble it down.

Except when Pran came back, Pat was sitting at the edge of the stage. He watched as June basically galloped her way towards him, a paper bag in hand, and Pran maybe speed walked with Somcheng confusedly following behind.

“—you didn’t have to, really,” Pran heard Pat say politely, looking at the bag shoved next to him. June already started unpacking the food containers next to Pat.

They looked homemade.

June confirmed exactly that.

“Don’t worry, P’Pat!” she said cheerfully. “I had a lot of leftovers and I kept seeing you just eating moo ping right before rehearsal. I thought I’d bring some food I made for you to try.”

Pran felt an itch in his body that he needed to scratch, maybe pretty intensely, as his eyebrows uncontrollably went high into his hairline.

This girl was really going for Pat, even when Pat clearly said he was still in love with Pran. The audacity!

Pran was visibly annoyed. Pat peered up at him, looking a little horrified for a moment until—

Pran’s mouth went faster than his brain did. “Aren’t you from the north, June?”

Somcheng halted in her tracks. It wasn’t just her who heard Pran let the words roll out, but even the other crew members and Toto all looked up at them.

“Yes, P’Pran?” June said in a tiny voice, confused, before perking up again. Pran almost rolled his eyes, but she opened one of her containers and almost shoved it towards Pat in excitement, the smell of the spices lingering strongly in the air. “Ah! I made a lot of our specialties. This is my great grandmother’s somtum recipe. I also brought my own gaeng som. You know, my family, we all really like it—”

“Spicy,” Pran finished up for her just in time for Pat to start a coughing fit from the pungent smell assaulting his nose. “Your cuisine is usually extremely spicy.”

For a moment, it was as if everything stilled into place while Pat continued with his coughing. June, who seemed disconcerted by Pran’s sudden presence, finally withdrew her Tupperware away from Pat.

“Pat can’t handle spicy food, June,” Pran said, loud and clear for everyone to know. Just saying those words out in the open made his heart jumpstart with excitement. There was something about telling June off that made him feel powerful—no, he was being possessive, clearly.

Despite the hacking noise in the background slowly dying down, Pran loved seeing Pat’s face morph into recognition. In a pure, Pat-shaped delight that reflected in his eyes. In the last few days, Pat’s face had a constant mask of sadness that Pat just gravitated towards lately, but nestled within it here, now, was a hopeful glint that Pran longed to see as Pran walked towards him.

Pran was going to make him burn like a starburst and stretch his face into a ginormous smile.

“I got you your favorite wonton noodle soup, Pat,” was all Pran needed to say to do so, lifting the bag in his hand.

Somcheng coughed awfully loudly. Everyone was getting too engrossed with Pat and Pran’s business, their eyes flickering back and forth from Pat and Pran to June with their mouths slightly open, clearly stunned.

“It’s for everyone. We got noodles for everyone,” Somcheng muttered hastily, trying not to crack up as she ran after Pran with an amused expression on her face to help unpack the rest of the food. “The one with four wontons are Pat and Pran’s, though.”

Pran should be bothered by this. A few days ago, he would definitely be, no questions asked. Especially with the way their friends were glancing at them as Pran sat next to Pat. They settled next to each other at the edge of the stage, wordlessly trying not to smile. It would be something he’d categorize as an extreme public display of affection, even when they weren’t making out or being all over each other. It was just clear to anyone with an ear that Pran’s words held more meaning than just the simplicity of knowing and getting someone food.

Besides, Pran’s love language had always involved food, sending Pat food here and there even when they weren’t even official yet.

Now, the reminiscing feeling of it was flooding through Pran in such a good way, washing him over with a newfound spark. Another way to love Pat. Maybe one that needed a little bit of tweaking. One that he wasn’t used to anymore, but he’d missed this so much. Even when it wasn’t a secret anymore like how they were back when they were just flirting with each other, it gave him something to look forward to, like the beam of Pat’s smile.

When people finally stopped looking, Pran lowered his bowl down, then looked at Pat struggling to get the wonton with his spoon. Slowly, he lifted the extra one he ordered, and dropped it right on Pat’s bowl.

“You know, I could have at least tried the somtum,” were the first words Pat said to Pran today, soft and almost teasing, looking ahead. Pran could see the upturn of his mouth, the slit on his cheek that threatened Pran to leave a smooch on it.

“Oh, really?” Pran said, glancing at Pat. His heart was sparking up. Deep down he knew, only Pat will ever do that to him. He scooted his leg closer, letting his thigh settle there. Pat almost froze. He would think this was an accident, a careless mistake. Pran made sure he knew it wasn’t. He let it stay there; he needed to be firm, grounded. “Eat your bland wontons, Pat.”

Pat snickered in response, but he didn’t move.

If anyone noticed them sitting too close, it didn’t matter anymore.

Not when Pran got Pat right next to him, glowing under the stage lights, his smile gleaming like a ray of sunshine after the storm.

♫♫♫

your name engraved herein
up in my sleeve, where no one else could see it in
my heart which yearned to scream your name
maybe I should stop thinking of our love in bane.

your name engraved herein
across my heart, where your head sleeps in
I’m ready to sooth the loneliness and wipe your tears
all for us to keep going through the years.

your name engraved herein
when you break your heart, I shatter mine within
I’m afraid to take the leap of faith to the other side
but it doesn’t matter, because I know you’re by my side.

#JustFriends ):)

♫♫♫

Pran looked at the photo he just posted on his Instagram account reviving the #JustFriends hashtag. It felt as if a huge weight came off his chest. This was a public declaration of love for Pat—one that he knew was not yet part of their plan, but Pran knew Pat best more than any plans in the world.

This was his answer to Pat, in a way that he knew best to deliver the words he’d been wanting to say. Pran, hopeful, finally sent the text message he’d been sitting on for days.

por.pran: it’s time to come home, pat.
por.pran: [one voice message received]

The read sign on Pran’s text message showed up as quickly as the short burst of joy in his chest. There was no response though, even after a solid minute. Pran muffled his groan with the throw pillow on his couch. He looked silly, stomping his legs in the air over the couch, but he was really hoping that Pat would respond sooner.

Five minutes in and Pran just glared at his phone. Fifteen minutes later and the food was starting to get cold.

Eventually, Pran fell asleep.

Pran woke up blearily as he felt warmth over his back, a new blanket laid over him. Pat’s familiar figure made him curl instinctively to where Pat was, but it was gone before Pran could even feel Pat’s warmth.

“You should sleep in your bed,” was all Pran heard, a soft murmur that stirred the sleepiness away from him slowly.

“Baby,” Pran said woozily. “You’re back.”

When Pran blinked open his eyes, Pat was looming over the couch. It must be late. Pran had come back early from his last afternoon class to make dinner for Pat but had promptly fallen asleep while waiting frustratedly for Pat to text him back.

Now, the sun seemed to have set and the only source of light illuminating the room was Pran’s smiley face string lights hanging over his desk. In the darkness of the room, they casted a warm silhouette on Pat’s face. Pat looked surprised to see Pran stir awake.

“Sorry, Ma texted me last minute earlier today. I was home when I got your text.”

Ah, maybe that was why Pat didn’t respond back punctually. He often didn’t text around his parents, afraid that they’d pry into his business and ask too many questions.

“Mm, that’s okay,” Pran mumbled hazily.

“Is your back feeling better?”

“It was just a scratch. It didn’t hurt that much.” Being away from Pat hurt more than the cuts on his back. “How’s your wrist?” He let out a yawn, about to get up from the couch to look at Pat’s wrist, when Pran noticed it: Nong Nao was tucked under Pat’s good arm.

Pran froze. 

Nong Nao almost permanently lived in Pran’s bed since, well, the second night Pat slept over and just never left. Pat didn’t even get him this time after their fight, so Pat must have been having a hard time sleeping. But the idea of Pat taking him somewhere else, even if that somewhere was the room across from Pran’s, made Pran’s stomach twist in agony.

Suddenly, Pran’s confidence faltered into fragments.

“Are you not sleeping here again?” Pran murmured softly. He sounded sad. So hesitant. It wasn’t something he was used to anymore when it came to Pat. He thought that now would be a great time to talk, to finally end this misery between them, but if Pat wasn't sleeping here again, what should Pran do? Pran’s stomach sank with apprehension. “Where are you taking Nong Nao?”

“I was going to leave him with you,” Pat said comfortingly as if he could hear the worry lacing Pran’s voice. He tucked Nong Nao under the blanket with Pran, and Pran felt like he could breathe again. Pran made space for him and cradled him in his arms. “Don’t worry, baby. I have to go over my dialogues for maybe another hour.”

Baby.

Pran’s heart somersaulted.

“Are you going to come home after?”

Here, Pran wanted to say.

Pran was surprised to see Pat crouch down to his level. Up close, his eyes were soft, and Pran missed him so much. Pat was smiling lovingly down at him. A sliver of hope sparked up a fire in Pran. Pran watched Pat’s good hand hover, and then he was softly pushing the hair away from Pran’s forehead. Gingerly, he thumbed at Pran’s cheek where the orange band-aid sat on top of his cut. Pran didn’t wince anymore, so Pat supposed it felt better.

It wasn’t deep, the cut. Not as deep as the ones they had given each other over it.

That was really stupid. They were idiots, sometimes, but they were idiots who loved each other very much.

“I can do it here if you want,” Pat said gently. “I don’t have to go anywhere.”

And Pran wasn’t sure why just those words alone from Pat made his heart go into a cloudburst of glee, his love pouring out uncontrollably, illuminating his face with a happy glow. And yet, all he could croak out was, “I made you dinner.”

Pat laughed melodiously, his eyes glimmering.

Pran felt as if he was going to cry.

Did he say again how much he missed Pat?

“I saw your text message, but I was around my parents,” Pat said, sighing delicately. Pran figured it out already. “I didn’t eat much, though. I figured you’d make food. Did you eat yet?”

“I was waiting for you to come home,” Pran said shakily. Pat's eyes flicked down to his mouth, but he didn't lean in for a kiss. That was fine. Pran sniffed and said, “Let me reheat the food for you, Pat.”

They moved languidly around each other, as if they’re dancing around the conversation that was long overdue. Pat went to get the lights while Pran made his way into the kitchen. The tension that was suffocating them in the last few days seemed to have dissipated, replaced with a sudden clarity the longer they were here, together.

They didn’t talk much. Maybe their expressions spoke louder. Pran mostly looked like he was going to cry the entire time. He looked overwhelmed with feelings seeing Pat at home again, and frankly, Pat did, too. He was in no better shape than Pran. Pran fed him his favorite curry, spoon by spoon, with a doting and quivering smile. Occasionally, Pran would wipe the remnants away from the corner of Pat’s mouth, looking at Pat reverently as if making sure he was still there. Pat’s splinted hand laid on the table and he had his index finger hooked with Pran’s. Pat also let their ankles tangle under the dining table, just to keep himself tethered to Pran.

They knew they were going to be fine.

After dinner, Pran started putting away the dishes. Pat just watched him fondly. He’d missed Pran, too, obviously. He knew that even if he did ask to help, Pran would insist for him to rest his wrist. Slowly, Pat moved from his chair, dashing his way onto the kitchen sink.

He wrapped one good arm around Pran’s midrib, tucking his chin onto Pran’s shoulder. Pran just seemed to sag into his touch, and Pat didn’t take any more time before digging his nose down the back of Pran’s neck. He inhaled, savoring that sweet scent of Pran that he’d missed over the last few days.

“You showered,” Pat pointed softly, even though it was obvious with the way Pran’s hair fluffed up. “And you’re wearing my shirt.”

Pran quirked an eyebrow, peeking down at him. “Was I not supposed to?” he answered, although to which question, he didn’t specify. It didn’t matter.

Pat laughed softly. “I kind of liked the greaseball Pran look for the first three days. I was very shocked to see you like that.”

“You weren’t any better,” Pran chided back defensively. “Still isn’t.”

“But you also smell like it,” Pat said with a melancholic smile. Pran’s body wash just smelled like home to him. “I missed your smell.”

“I missed you too,” Pran replied lowly. “I really missed you, Pat. And I’m sorry.”

Pat tried to lighten up the curling in his chest. “It was a little boring without me around, huh?”

“If only you knew,” Pran said. “I was dying of boredom.”

“Ah,” Pat said lightly, his face falling.

Pat knew the treading around was over.

Pat used to joke about being bored in school after Pran had left. That Pran wasn’t there to compete, that he didn’t feel as if there was a point to doing great things, not when Pran wasn’t there anymore. Boredom to Pat was when nothing else sparked joy in him. And one night at the beach while he was tucked in Pran’s arm and their fingers were intertwined under the moonlight, Pat had just whispered softly, “I didn’t realize much later that I wasn’t just bored. I was just lonely without you.”

“Depressingly lonely,” Pran said heavy-heartedly, a melancholic smile grazing his lips.

“Yeah,” Pat whispered softly, turning to Pran with an equally drunk in love gaze. He squeezed Pran's hand with his, solid and free from doubt. “But not anymore because you’re not going anywhere. I'm not letting you go.”

Now, Pran was saying exactly that.

“Hm, maybe I shouldn’t have left you alone,” Pat said, squeezing around him tightly, just like that night.

Pran swallowed. “It’s okay,” he said softly. “We both needed time to think.”

“Pat,” Pran eventually started. He’d finally stopped washing the dishes, his palms going in and out of balled-up fists. Pat didn’t need to see his face, already knew the answer to his worries with the way Pran’s voice sounded. “I don’t want people doubting my love for you. Even you.”

“I didn’t doubt it,” Pat said honestly, adjusting his face so that the tip of his nose was under Pran’s chin. The closer he was to Pran, the easier it was to talk. “I was just angry, but mostly sad because you weren’t listening to me.”

“I'm sorry, I should have.”

“Hm,” Pat hummed faintly in agreement.

“I’m upset that I let you break like that,” Pran whispered. He was leaning over Pat now, his weight warm against Pat’s body. He sniffed, his wet palm coming up on Pat’s forearm. “I wallowed in so much of my own feelings and fears in the moment that I forgot to take care of you. That I didn’t get to take care of you.”

“Pran,” Pat said sympathetically, tucking his face impossibly closer against Pran’s neck, pulling Pran as if his breathing dependent on being tethered to Pran. “You were hurting too.”

Ah, even with Pat being so heartbroken, he still managed to think about Pran. To consider Pran’s feelings, to know that he was hurting, too. Sometimes, Pran wondered how the universe ever let him have Pat—so full of love, so much understanding. Sometimes a little too much, he’d forget about himself. Pran was glad, to some degree, that Pat chose himself this time.

“But that’s what made me sad the most, Pat. I did this to you. I hurt you. I invalidated all your efforts from before and closed off so quickly in the heat of the moment. I pushed you away, just because I was scared, and I—” Pran inhaled slowly, overwhelmed, and he was squeezing Pat’s arm now, like Pat was going to disappear. “I did this to us. I don’t want to do that anymore. I don’t want to feel like you’re slipping away.”

“Hey, hey. I’m not,” was all Pat said. This time, he let his palm snake around Pran’s to hold his hand. He squeezed their hands together, in between the suds and the wetness on Pran’s palm. “I won’t let that happen. You won’t let that happen. I’m here now. I’ll always be here with you.”

“I want you to be happier, Pat,” Pran said, sincere and broken, and truly full of love. “I’m also tired of pretending.”

“I know,” Pat said. “I know that, Pran. You’ve shown me.”

“I don’t know what will happen going forward,” Pran whispered, dreadful, but Pat squeezed him tighter, and he knew Pat’s answer before he could even ask. “We’ll figure it out together, okay?”

“That’s all I wanted to hear from you, Pran,” Pat said resolutely. His hold on Pran’s hand loosened. Briefly, he looked up at Pran. Pat knew he reflected Pran’s brokenness in his face, but brick by brick, they’ll rebuild back up like they always did. Pat took a deep breath, then held out his pinky. Pran almost laughed through the tears falling down his face, but Pran met him halfway. Pran’s pinky finger tightened around his, and so did Pat’s. “We’ll figure it out together, like what we always do.”

Then, he presses his lips against the skin on Pran’s neck. A calming move. To keep themselves connected in more ways than just their fingertips or his body cradling Pran. It made Pran arch his head backwards, eyes fluttering closed. Slowly, he turned Pran around, eyes hazy. He could feel the wetness of the sink on Pran’s back, dampening his shirt, but Pran didn’t seem bothered by it in the slightest, too lulled into Pat’s eyes. Finally, Pat pressed closer, nudging his nose against Pran’s.

For a moment, they stay just like that, swimming in each other’s reverent gaze. Pat squeezed the back of Pran’s shirt.

“I think the rest of my script could wait another day,” was all Pat said before leaning in.

Pran met him halfway as an answer, just like how he always did.

The dishes in the sink could also wait.

“What did you tell her?” Pat finally said after all the crying and the jokes and the laughter that followed over the evening. 

It was nice, being able to air out their worries out loud and knowing that they were going to work through it, together.

The overwhelming feelings hadn’t left—in fact, it fueled the conversations, but Pat and Pran had each other now to hold, to trace their fingers against each other’s skin as they shared their fears. How they were going to take baby steps going forward. Changes weren’t going to be immediate, they both knew that, but knowing that it would happen made them more hopeful.

It was past midnight, but they were still engrossed in each other’s company. They’d spent a considerable amount of their talking time nestled with each other in Pran’s bathtub that really shouldn’t fit two grown men, but it was cozy and comforting, and Pat hadn’t felt this relaxed in days, it almost felt more powerful than the pain that was lingering in his hand.

But Pran’s presence alone, the way he lifted Pat’s wrist out into the light, his face tucked into the crook of his neck, made everything infinitely better, the pain easily soothed away.

Now, Pran was helping Pat shave his face. His few days-old stubbles had become scratchy, and while Pran liked the occasional stubble, Pat was the one who insisted in lieu of falling asleep.

He simply missed Pran, he wanted to savor every minute he could have now, before the sun rises and a new day would begin.

He was sitting on the bathroom counter, his face armed with a cheeky grin and shaving cream foam all around his mouth. He had a small towel over his damp hair that Pran had been using to dry him off. He batted his eyelashes towards Pran knowingly, then poked Pran’s thigh with his toe and pouted.

“Pran,” Pat whined. “I want to know.”

Pran huffed perceptively, a dimple popping out. His cheeks had a slight tint of cherry from their long shower, from the humidity in the bathroom. He was holding the razor over Pat threateningly, but Pat only giggled at him.

“How did you even know that I talked to her?”

Pat shrugged, smiling friskily. “I just know things,” Pat said smugly. “Besides, knowing you, you wouldn’t just let that go. You didn’t, but I knew you weren’t just going to stop at ‘Pat can’t handle spicy food.’ You could have just called me baby at that point, too.”

Pran’s eyebrow twitched a little bit, and he was failing at trying not to smile.

“Baby?”

Pat looked at him smugly. “Yeah, baby.”

“You’re not a baby,” Pran huffed dramatically.

Pat pouted, as if baby was something he 100% identified with, his full personality wrapped up for Pran. He was definitely Pran's baby. “Then what am I, if not your baby?”

“Well, thirak, I told her that she has no chance with you,” Pran said as a matter of fact, then raised a brow at Pat. “Because you’re still so whipped for me.”

Pat’s face broke into a ginormous grin, so bright that it rivaled a sunbeam. “Is that the truth?”

“Hm,” Pran hummed unconvincingly.

“We don't lie in this household, Parakul.”

Pran hummed impossibly louder, so much that Pat lifted his hand to cradle his cheek, all dimples popping out.

“Pran,” he whined. “That’s not what I heard,” Pat said softly with a chuckle.

“I know,” Pran said, rolling his eyes at Pat. He was still smiling. “I know you already know.”

“But I want to hear it from you, Pran.”

“Fine,” Pran said, looking at him pompously. “I told her to stay away from my boyfriend.”

Pat's beautiful laughter, snorts and all, echoed in their bathroom space. “So, you can tell people I’m your boyfriend now, but I can’t?” Pat said playfully.

“Pat!” was Pran’s only response, flicking Pat’s forehead with his index finger. “That was one time! She deserved to hear it.”

Pat swished his legs and pulled Pran close, encapsulating him. Pran giggled, his body pressed on the counter, his nose bumping into Pat’s. Pran tipped closer so they were now staring at each other, almost cross-eyed. Pat sniffed dramatically against his nose.

“Can I do it, too?” Pat asked hopefully, his heart swelling at the prospect of it. “Can I do it when I see people hit on you?”

Pran shrugged, but his eyes were twinkling.

“Pran,” Pat wailed dramatically, even though he already knew the answer to that. “What about when I’m not around?”

“I’ll tell them how hot my boyfriend is,” Pran said, laughing, his eyes curving like crescent moons. “That he's a clingy puppy, but he can be a rabid dog and bite them away.”

Pran pulled away slowly, just to look at Pat. Pat was grinning from ear to ear. Pat scooted closer. Pran just seamlessly melted in his touch. He dropped the razor onto the counter, then let his fingertips dance around Pat’s sides, sliding them under his shirt. Pat bit his lower lip deliberately.

“Does that work for you, puppy?”

Pat preened at him, blinking prettily. “That's all I could ask for.”

Then, Pran pulled the fabric on Pat's shirt and lifted it up to wipe the cream off Pat’s face, purposefully pushing his face away playfully. Pat squealed at him, his lips puckering out into an obnoxious pout. 

“Ai, Pran! You should be gentle with me!”

“Oh, is that it? Should I be gentle with you?”

Pat licked his lips, anticipation building up. “You can be as rough as you want, Pran.”

“Ah, ah, ah. I think your brain is going somewhere else, Pat,” Pran said, before their giggles broke out again. 

They both missed the laughter that echoed in this space, in their home, with just the two of them and where the rest of the world didn’t matter.

Things were falling back into place.

“Pran! You can't tease me like that. I've been very deprived.”

“You’re so easy,” Pran said, sneering. “I thought it’s hard to make up with you?”

Pat rolled his eyes at him. “We both know that’s not true. You’re the one who caved in, folded so quickly.”

Pran scoffed at him, but then he started laughing. “You’re right,” Pran said, receding. “I let my lover win, too, because I love him so much. Sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” Pat questioned, looking up at him earnestly. “You love me all the time.”

Pran cradled both of his cheeks, then said, “I do, I love you so much.”

Pran didn’t need to hear back his words, because Pat looked like he was looking at the entire universe in his eyes. Then, he pouted again, sideways this time so his left cheek was raised. “You missed a spot.”

Pran looked at him knowingly, face enamored with love. “There’s nothing to shave there.”

“But there’s something to sooth,” Pat whined. “Come on, Pran.”

“I just kissed your face so many times before this. You’re such a needy dog.”

“I could get a million kisses from you during my entire lifetime, it would still not be enough,” Pat said without missing a beat. A small smile danced on his lips. He intended for this to be funny, but his emotions were kind of all over the place tonight. His eyes were glossier than a rain puddle that reflected the clear sky after a storm. He pulled Pran closer, settling for a nose boop. “I’m serious, Pran. I’d have to ask heaven to let you keep going even in the afterlife.”

Dimples escaped as Pran bent backwards, laughing. “Pat! You’re so cheesy.”

“Am I really? I think I have a contender,” Pat said, blinking up at him. His face morphed into a smoldering look, and Pran prodded him with a slight nod.

“Who might that be?”

Reaching out, Pat started toying with the hem of Pran’s sleeve. He drew little hearts over and over on Pran's skin. His heart kept doing many somersaults as he remembered driving home to a constant replay of Pran’s voice message from earlier. “I’m not the one who composed a song about wearing his heart on his sleeve and told everyone about it,” Pat said smugly.

Pran laughed, suddenly shy, but he leaned forward, almost for a kiss that Pat wanted to chase. Instead, he just brushed away Pat’s hair from his forehead before flicking it away gently. Pat giggled, then landed his cheek on Pran’s palm like a little puppy. He let Pran cradle his cheek again, looking pleased. “I was inspired by my cheeseball boyfriend.”

“Of course,” Pat said, grinning too happily. “I’ll take all the credit as your handsome, hot, overly whipped boyfriend.” He smacked Pran’s good cheek sloppily with a kiss, then another with a loud sniff for good measure.

“What about me, Pat?” Pran said, preening.

“Okay,” Pat said, pausing thoughtfully. “Maybe you're a little bit more of a handsome boyfriend because you have these super cute dimples.”

“See? You're really so whipped for me, Pat.”

Pran glowed like a star bursting in the universe as Pat pinched his cheeks softly, then kissed them just because it warmed up their hearts.

Pat was swimming in the adrenaline of the show. The bustle behind the stage, the crews running around doing last minute touch-ups on the backdrops, in the way he and June would recite their lines back and forth and do vocalizations.

It was overwhelming, but Pat thrived in it. It was a passion of his to be onstage.

It was almost showtime when he’d finally chanced on Pran backstage. He’d been busy at the sound box across the stage, making sure everything was good to go with Wai. He was wearing that damn cute Santa hat again and in his hand was his guitar from the Christmas Concert all those years ago, the one that Pat kept for years in hopes that he’d see Pran again.

Pat wanted to melt on the spot. He knew Pran wanted him to use his guitar as a prop for the ending ment, but seeing it here, in person, made the inexorable fondness grow tenfold within Pat. He didn't realize his heart could fit this much love.

Pat was almost unsure if he had enough self-control not to smooch Pran’s cute face before the show. He was about to walk towards Pran when his boyfriend’s phone started ringing.

Hold up, Pran mouthed at him, before picking up his phone.

“Mae?” Pran said, furrowing his eyebrows. “Yeah, the show is about to start soon.”

Pran told his Mae about it?

“Thank you,” Pran said softly. He was playing around with his fingers as she talked, and Pat wanted to know so badly what it was about that made Pran nervous, but then he slipped a smile on and looked up, meeting Pat’s gaze. “I really appreciate that, Mae, but I can’t celebrate Christmas with you this year.”

Pat’s heart stammered in his ribcage.

“I already made plans with a friend,” Pran said tenderly, his smile now quivering. “Our arrangements are set. It’s very important for me not to miss it.”

Pat started feeling tears well up in his eye sockets. Oh, man. The show hadn’t even started yet, and here he was, a complete mess in front of Pran. His heart was soaring in his chest, his stomach fluttering with butterflies.

Pran didn’t look any better though. His eyes were shiny as he said goodbyes to his Mae.

Pat was about to walk towards Pran when Toto came up next to him.

“Pat, are you okay?” Toto said, not noticing Pran who looked just as tearful as Pat. “You look like you’re about to cry. Nervous?” he teased.

“I’m just overwhelmed with the amount of people that showed up, that’s all,” Pat lied, visibly trying not to cry.

“Well, save your tears for your closing act,” Toto joked. “I would tell you to break a leg, but your wrist might be enough of a good luck tonight.”

“A blessing in disguise, truly,” Pat said, laughing genuinely, eyes still trained on Pran.

“Alright, well, it’s showtime!” Toto said excitedly, pushing him by the shoulder towards the stage, but Pat didn't relent, rooted in his stance.

“I just,” Pat said, still hesitating, because he wasn’t used to doing this yet. Being able to tell people he wanted to talk to Pran, to just walk in his general direction, without feeling nervousness seep in even in the tiniest slivers.

Toto finally glimpsed at Pran, then smiled at the two of them. “Need a moment?” was all Toto said. “Hurry up, okay?”

Pat had never taken strides as big as the ones he took to make his way towards Pran. He paused, eyes fixating on the nearest backdrop next to him, then started rolling it over towards Pran. Pran almost laughed, if only he wasn't overwhelmed either.

“Hi,” Pat said shakily. His eyes were so bright and he was wearing a stupidly cute Christmas sweater for the play, and now they got the Christmas Tree backdrop with the mistletoe hanging over him.

“Hi,” Pran responded, eyes glazed, looking enchanted at Pat.

“We’re going on a trip on Christmas day,” Pat said tightly, really trying not to cry. “I, uh, brought the backdrop. To confirm that.”

“I booked with Uncle Tong,” Pran said softly. “I was hoping it'll be our Christmas present.”

Pat swallowed, his face folding into all kinds of smile. He almost looked as if he was going to pump his fist in the air. “And you told your Mae about it.”

“I did,” Pran said.

“Pat! Hurry up,” Toto yelled from the sidelines.

“It’s time, isn’t it?” Pran whispered softly, but Pat knew he wasn’t talking about the show. He was talking about their ruse, the inevitable end of it.

Reverently, Pat just murmured, “I love you. We'll talk about this again later, okay?”

Pat was ready to go, but Pran wasn’t done with him just yet.

“Don’t break something else, Pat.”

Under the mistletoe, Pran sneaked in a quick kiss that made Pat’s laughter bubble out of him, so filled with love and adoration, before he was running towards the stage with the brightest smile on his face.

The play went on as expected. But this time, for the closing act, it was Pat’s turn to sing Pran’s love confession out for everyone to hear with Pran’s guitar on his lap. If he kept glancing up at the sound box while he sang his heart out, it was nobody’s business but theirs.

♫ your name engraved herein
when you break your heart, I shatter mine within
I’m afraid to take the leap of faith to the other side
but it doesn’t matter, because I know you’re by my side ♫

After the show, when all the casts and crew were lined up onstage to say their goodbyes, Pran slithered next to him. He squeezed himself between Pat and Toto, who gave them a funny and knowing look. June was beaming right next to Pat, but she let out a noise between a scoff and a laugh as Pran settled next to Pat. She was a good sport about it. How could she not, when Pat and Pran just looked so drunk in love with each other?

“Why are you here?” Pat mumbled quickly, eyes widening. “Are you su—”

“Just shut up and enjoy the cheers, Pat,” was all Pran murmured, but he looked so pleased, it felt like his face would burst out of happiness.

Pran entwined their pinkies together, and despite Pat’s visible confusion, Pran only gave him a smile.

“Seriously?” Pat tightened his hold around Pran’s as he laughed next to him, his cheeks a bit flushed, his heart leaping out of his chest.

“Seriously.”

Pat wanted to mirror that same glee in Pran—bold and so courageous, even if not everybody can see their pinkies interlaced. “Why are you so damn cute, Pran?”

“Look at the camera, Pat,” Pran said, feigning annoyance.

“Your eyes are all on me though, Pran.”

It only lasted for so long before they exploded into giggles next to each other, the camera snapping wildly while they were too engrossed in each other's gaze.

Just the prospect of Pran being like this, unafraid, his love for Pat splayed out in the open was enough to make Pat’s heart feel full. He was ready to not hold himself back either and proudly wear his heart out on his sleeve. When the cast all raised their hands together, their interlaced pinkies glimmered under the stage lights.

The audience roared in front of them, but it didn’t matter whether they were cheering for the play or Pat and Pran standing next to each other, all smiles and delight gleaming in their eyes.

If Pat was being honest with himself, the people around them didn’t need to know the truth. Not the details of their relationship, of how they got here, or how deeply in love they are with each other.

It was time for them to rebuild, to let the old cracks in the foundation of their relationship be bygones, to carefully piece each other back up.

It was time for them to stop hiding their love for each other. Sooner or later, people around them would find out, and it didn’t matter in the long run. The only thing that mattered was Pat and Pran, loving each other, unafraid.

It will start here, now, and all the way to their forever.

Pat, for the first time in a long time, felt the spark of a new beginning spread into a wildfire in his heart.