Work Text:
i.
As the time for Pran’s return to Thailand approaches, their phone calls shift from fantasies and hypotheticals to realistic conversations. The where is easily resolved, but the hows and the dos develop into full planning and soon enough Pran has lists and demands and Pat has errands to run, furnitures to buy, boxes to fill with old knickknacks that he is willing to throw away to open space for Pran’s own things.
They never talked about it openly, never had to, they simply knew. Pran had to leave for a while, but once he comes back he will be Pat's forever, without reservations, without any sort of distance, emotional or physical, between them.
His mother asks though, in the months before his return she starts making off-handed comments about his old room, how she is thinking about getting it renovated, a new color on the walls, new curtains. She tries to goad him into giving his opinion, but in the moments he addresses his plans to move into an apartment of his own, he is ignored.
She is not ready, he realized, and let her to her own thoughts. For the most part. “Will you have a desk, though? A shelf for your books?” She keeps asking. “A balcony? Are you sure you will be able to afford that?”
“Yes, mom.” He answers, dutifully, phone on speaker as he labels each box, checks and then double-checks its contents.
“Give me the address,” she suggests, “I want to see if you’ll have space for your old desk.”
“I will have a new desk.” In the old guest room that Pat has managed to turn into a working office, with two desks and shelves that go up to the ceiling. Pran smiles at the memory of the video Pat sent him, giving him a tour of the new room. His eyes had lit up when he noticed the desk under the window, giving him a full view of the park outside. “And new shelves and new curtains.”
“And how are you going to organize all that by yourself?” She asks. “Your father and I–”
“Mom,” Pran sighs, pausing in between sorting through his books, “I won’t be by myself.” The silence is almost deafening. “Are you sure you will be ready for that? Because if you aren’t,” he adds, “I’d rather you not go.”
She gasps softly and Pran hears a rustling before everything goes silent again. He refuses to feel guilty for the life he’s choosing to live, with the man he’s fallen in love with. This open secret was for their parent’s sake and now, this life is theirs.
“I–” she says after a minute, “will you come have dinner with us? After you return?”
“Of course.” Pran answers and that is it.
-
ii.
“You have so many books.” Korn huffs, making Pran roll his eyes. “Like, why.”
Wai pats Korn’s back as he passes him by on his way out. “Some people know how to read.”
Korn opens his mouth to retort but Pran shuts him up with a glare. Pat promised food and free beers to whoever helped them unpack that night and both spent most of the time trying to escape Friday happy-hours at the bar and score free food. Now they’re already twenty minutes behind schedule because Korn and Wai wouldn’t stop bickering over whose turn it was to have the night shift. It’s ridiculously annoying.
“This box goes in the office.” He orders and Korn curses when Pran abandons him with the box.
“Pat owes me so much beer.” Pran pretends not to hear him muttering under his breath and moves to check the other boxes labeled kitchen. “Hey.” He makes a noise, distractedly, picking up two mugs to place them in the kitchen cabinet. “You’re staying, right?”
Pran blinks, surprised, turns around to find Korn frowning at him. “What?”
“I know it was just two years and that you’ve been doing the whole,” he waves his arms around, “distance relationship, but – man, Pat wasn’t doing good without you.”
It’s Pran’s turn to frown. In hindsight, it shouldn’t be this surprising, Pat’s first instinct was always to protect him, even if it meant hiding his own feelings. But it wasn’t an easy decision. Despite the fact Pran applied for this job, he resisted the idea, only agreeing to go when Pat guaranteed they would talk to each other every day, when he promised to be honest if it got too hard and he decided it wasn’t worth waiting for Pran anymore.
Yes, some days were easier, but on the bad days, the distance was almost agonizing. On the bad days, Pran had to take a moment just to breathe, to put his feelings in check before going through his routine. Some nights he laid on his bed, looked at Pat's photo on his nightstand and had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from crying.
He knew it was the same for Pat. Despite his usual smiles, his cheerful tone, he was taking it as hard as Pran was. And still, he didn’t know it was like this. “He– why didn’t you tell me?”
Korn shrugs. “It was not my place. We tried to cheer him up, dragged him to the bar but, most times he would just stay quiet. Thinking about you, I guess.”
Pran puts the mugs down, hands shaking as a wave of emotions swallows him whole, engulfing him in a turmoil of regret and affection, pain and love.
“Hey, I’m not– I’m not saying this to hurt you.” Korn rushes to say, expression panicked when he notices how upset Pran has become. “But Pat is my best friend, I just want him to be happy.”
“I know.” Pat says. He just wants Pat to be happy too. “I love him,” he adds, “I’m never going to leave him again.” It’s a promise he made to himself, one he should’ve voiced already but managed to forget in the midst of the chaos that came with moving back.
“I’m glad.” Korn says, squeezing his shoulder. “I know he makes you happy too.”
“Yeah, he does.” Pran says, fondly. He quickly wipes his eyes when he hears Wai and Pat coming into the apartment, but Pat knows him too well. His expression changes when he sees Pran, practically throws the box he was holding to the side in his haste to touch him.
“What?” He takes his hand, inspects his arms. “Are you hurt? What happened?”
“I’m fine.” Pran assures, squeezing Pat’s hands. “I’m just really happy to be home.”
Pat doesn’t look convinced and Pran thinks his heart will burst with how much love he feels for this man, his equal in everything, his partner.
He leans closer, kisses his lips softly, quickly, and whispers, “I will tell you later”, before pulling Pat towards the office, where Korn seems to have dragged Wai to.
They are still bickering about the night shift, but Pran doesn’t care about the schedule anymore. They can finish unpacking tomorrow, all he wants tonight is to have some time with Pat, to tell him everything he feels, everything he wants for their future and to promise him that he will never, ever, leave his side again.
-
iii.
“There he goes again.” Paa points out, laughing.
It’s a man this time, leaning over the counter to get closer to Pat and Pran’s stomach curls with the familiar feeling of jealousy.
They don’t usually walk around the city holding hands and Pran knows it would be stupid to try and glare at everyone who stares at his boyfriend for a little too long. Most of the time, Pat is blissfully unaware of the looks, Paa has informed him many times that whenever someone tries to hit on him, Pat simply thinks they are being polite or, sometimes, hitting on Paa.
(“The girl wrote her number on a napkin,” Paa told him once, “and he thought she was telling him his mouth was dirty, wiped his mouth with it and then threw the napkin away.”
“It’s actually cute,” Ink joined, “he never knows when it’s happening because he’s too busy thinking about you.”)
Jealousy is stupid when Pran is dating someone who loves him just as much as Pat does, but it still happens sometimes, Pran is not proud to admit.
“What do you think will happen first,” Paa says, “Korn will come back with the beer, Pat will realize what’s happening or the guy will just give up?” Pran laughs with their friends but his eyes are still on Pat and the guy who just keeps sliding closer and closer, hand moving towards Pat’s arm.
Jealousy is an ugly thing, Pran keeps telling himself, it’s stupid, useless, and yet– he can feel it growing inside him, making his body itch with the urge to drag Pat away from the other man.
“Number four,” Wai adds, throwing a couple of bills on the table, “Pran will go over there and punch the guy in the face.”
He could, Pran realizes, and he might even want to, but before he can actually do something, Korn is back with the beer and Pat, not even looking at the guy twice, simply takes the bottles and walks back to their table.
When he slides into the seat next to Pran, he’s still, as Paa said, blissfully unaware of what happened and how close Pran got to commiting murder.
“You are really dumb.” Paa says as Wai takes his money back, shaking his head in disappointment.
“What?” Pat asks, turning to Pran, confusedly. “What happened?”
“Nothing.” Pran says, dropping a hand on his thigh and taking the new bottle. He gestures Pat's own bottle. “Drink.” He orders, leaning closer to Pat. He smiles when his boyfriend throws an arm over his shoulder easily, drops a kiss on the top of his head while nodding along to whatever Ink and Paa are talking about.
Wai kicks his shin under the table, stares pointedly at Pat’s arm, Pran’s shoulder and then winks knowingly. Pran kicks him back.
-
iv.
“We had chicken yesterday.”
“We had chinese food yesterday.”
“Yeah, Kung Pao chicken.”
Pran smirks when Pat huffs, turning around to look for the pork as Pran had asked before this whole discussion about chicken started. He checks the list again, wondering if they should buy more curry sauce or they can make do with the opened one they have at home, when he notices a familiar woman in front of the melons, methodically examining the fruits.
He hadn’t seen Pat’s mother in a while, both his parents avoid Pran any time he goes visit his own family, but she still looks the same. Pat sometimes comments about his physical resemblance with father, but Pran can see now how he has his mother’s nose, her eyebrows.
And apparently her inability to be discreet.
He hides a laugh when she looks up and catches his eye, cheeks immediately turning red, before going back to examining the melons.
“Here’s your beloved pork.” Pat announces, dropping the meat in the cart. “What else is–”
“Hey,” Pran interrupts. He tilts his head towards Pat’s mother, who has now definitely abandoned the melons, and squeezes his arm softly, “go say hi.”
Pat’s eyes have widened in surprise, but he quickly makes up his mind and opens his arms, crossing the small distance to hug his mother tightly.
Their relationship has long stopped being a secret, even if it’s not directly addressed. If their parents ever decide to ask, they will answer; if their parents ever decide to acknowledge their partner’s existence, they will gladly introduce them over dinner.
But as is, Pran simply stays behind, lets Pat hug his mother and talk to her about melons, quiet yet still refusing to hide.
“Yeah,” he hears her say, “your father likes melons, you know.” She darts a glance at where Pran is waiting and surprises them both when she smiles at him. “You’re having pork for dinner?”
Pran swallows heavily, suddenly less confident than he was feeling a few minutes before. It’s only when Pat nods, beckoning him closer, that he abandons the cart (his shield) and steps closer. “Yeah.”
“Did you have any luck teaching Pat to cook?” She touches her son’s face softly, eyes much kinder than Pran remembers.
“I can cook!” Pat protests. “I make breakfast and–”
“Instant ramen,” Pran adds, “and sometimes he fries an egg without burning the kitchen down.”
“Like the time with the cake?”
“Pat.” Pran widens his eyes in warning and Pat smiles sheepish. They are entering dangerous territory, Pat’s mother doesn’t need to know the cake burned because Pat decided to do push-ups in the living room. Shirtless.
Pran wants Pat’s mother to like him.
“I’m going to visit your grandmother next weekend and your father will be alone.” Pat’s mother says as they finish their shopping together. “You should stop by to visit him,” she adds, “both of you.”
“Mom.” Pran takes Pat’s hand, stepping closer. If he wants to, Pran will. But at this point, he knows Pat is expecting his father to come to him, instead of always having to be the one constantly moving.
“He is coming around,” she says, pulling Pat into a hug, stroking his hair as if he’s a child again and not a good foot taller than her, “I promise.” She tells Pran, pulling him into a hug as well.
“We will think about it.” Pran tells her. It’s all they can promise.
-
v.
He doesn’t bother checking who is knocking, the only people who show up announced these days are Korn and Paa, even Wai has learned not to drop by without texting first - still traumatized by the time Pat opened the door with only a towel around his waist.
In hindsight, not one of his brightest moments.
When the door slides open, Pran comes face to face with Pat’s father and the first thing he thinks is that they really need to stop answering the door shirtless.
“Uh-” Pran clears his throat nervously, fingers gripping the door handle tightly as he curses Pat mentally, “I– ah, Pat is not home.”
Though his father knows, no words were ever exchanged about it and even after meeting Pat’s mom at the grocery store, they know his father hasn’t stopped flinching every time someone mentions Pat's boyfriend.
The visit then, for lack of a better word, is completely unexpected.
“Hmn.” Ming hums, eyes widening when he notices Pran’s state of - shirtlessness. “Ah, he– is he –” Fuck, he is trying, Pran notices. It’s obvious this is unexplored territory for him too, but Ming is not running away to the mountains, he isn’t cursing Pran’s entire existence, he’s just – there.
“He– he went to get take-out. I can– I can call him and tell him to order more, if you–” oh, oh, no, is he really about to invite Ming for dinner? “if you’d want to– stay?”
Ming blinks, Pran blinks back, and then Pat’s father takes a step, nodding slowly, almost confused, and Pran slides to the side to let him in.
-
“My father?”
“Yes.”
“You invited my father to have dinner with us.” Pat repeats, clear disbelief in his voice. Pran rolls his eyes, searching through their wardrobe for a presentable, clean, shirt. “Why?”
“He was just there!” Pran insists. “What else was I supposed to do? Slam the door shut?” There’s a suspicious silence and Pran rolls his eyes harder. “He is your father!”
“I know!” Pat sighs. He tells someone to double the amount of chicken and rice on their take-out while Pran fishes a shirt from one of the drawers and quickly puts it on. “Look, it will take me another twenty minutes I think, can you manage?”
“Do I have a choice?” Pran throws back.
“No.” Pat concedes. “No, I don’t think you do.”
-
When Pran comes back into the living room, Ming is looking at the picture frames on the shelf as if they are about to explode, a deep frown between his eyebrows.
Pran put them there, organized them to tell their story much like the little shrine Pat built while he was away. “Perfectionist,” Pat teased when he arrived home one day and Pran had pulled all the lights down, he then circled Pran’s waist with his arms and whispered a sweet I love you in his ear. “I like it.” Pat added, smiling when he noticed their little notes had been added to their own frames, safe from the weather and the passing of time.
It’s oddly uncomfortable to have Ming looking through their memories like that, analyzing their words, judging their love. Pran has to stop himself from asking him to leave, to stop insinuating his presence in their lives, in the only place that is supposed to be just theirs.
He holds back for Pat, because though his own mother seems to be coming around, slowly but surely, Pat’s relationship with his father is still strained, built around lies, omissions and anger. As much as his boyfriend will never admit it, Pat misses his father and– well, if Ming won’t behave like an adult, for his son’s sake, then Pran will.
“Pat will take a while.”
Ming doesn’t answer, eyes still glued to one specific photo. When Pran steps closer, he notices it’s one of the pictures they took when they ran. Pat is holding his waist, smiling big and bright, a smile that is so Pat that Pran can’t stop himself from smiling back.
“We took it before we came back.” He says, hears Ming take a sharp intake of breath. “When we realized we couldn’t keep running away.”
Ming closes his wrists, hands shaking with the force of his feelings. Years ago Pran would have ran, scared, but he’s an adult now, if Ming decides to hit, he will hit back. But Pat’s father doesn’t move, doesn’t even turn to look at him, instead he points to another photo and asks, “this one?”
Ah. “Second anniversary.” Pran answers and does the same when Ming points to another photo, and then another and so on.
Pride is a complicated thing, Pran thinks. But love is very simple and in the end, it’s easier to understand each other when they both love the same person.
-
“You have a beautiful house.” Pran hears Ming say when Pat walks him to the door. Dinner was awkward, but uneventful, and they managed to hold a light conversation while complaining about the rise of the prices for construction materials.
“Yeah.” Pat answers. Pran’s heart squeezes painfully in his chest when he notices Pat’s voice take on a happier note, so unbelievably happy for his boyfriend.
“I am– ah,” Ming clears his throat, “I will see you at the store.” He says, then after a beat, adds, “bye, Pran. Thank you for– for the food.” None of them mentions it was take-out, that Pran did nothing but set the table, pass him the salt.
“It was a pleasure.” He answers and it’s only half a lie. If Pat is happy, Pran is happy, it’s the only thing that matters.
Pat slumps against his chest as soon as the door closes and Pran drags him to the couch, wipes his tears, holds him until he stops shaking. He is so relieved, so– in awe with what they now have, with the things they can do, the relationships they can rebuild.
“God.” Pat sobs and Pran cries with him.
-
vi.
On that Sunday, Pat wakes him up with a kiss that lights a fire inside Pran.
They have sex before breakfast and after breakfast and Pat doesn’t answer his phone when it rings, too busy trying to get Pran’s pajama pants off again.
“It’s your birthday.” Pran moans. He had plans for this day, but Pat always seems to know everything beforehand. Breakfast in bed was ruined, the romantic bath thrown out the window.
“Happy birthday to me.” Pat laughs, picking him up and carrying him to the bed, the dishes forgotten in the sink.
“No, stop, stop.” Pran complains half-heartedly when Pat starts licking down his chest, bats his hands away when they start pulling down his pants. Pat stops, not before complaining, and Pran quickly slides off the bed.
“It’s my birthday, where are you going?”
“I got you a gift.”
“But aren’t you my gift?”
God, Pran loves him too much to be sane. Pat might joke Pran is his gift, but in reality, Pat is Pran’s. His gift, his love, his everything.
This is the sixth time they celebrate Pat’s birthday together and every year Pran can never give him a good enough gift, a gift that translates everything he feels for this man that changed his life, this man that loves him just as strongly as Pran loves him.
The man who fought him, fought for him and who will keep fighting with him, as long as they live.
Because it all comes down to this: Pran wants to spend the rest of his life with Pat, and he might not be able to put into words just how much he loves Pat, but he can show him.
“Here.” He comes back to the bed. “I will even open it for you, see?” Pat sits up, watching Pran open the box with rapt attention.
Inside is the model of a house Pran has been designing since before he went to Singapore, when it became clear to him and Pat, that despite the temporary distance, their futures would end up at the same place.
“How many bedrooms?” Pat whispers, running the tip of his fingers over each detail.
“Four.” Pran answers. “And there’s a balcony, see? For when you want to serenade me.”
Pat laughs loudly. “Or when you want to serenade me.” Pran shrugs, closing his eyes when Pat leans closer to kiss him. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” He rests his head on his boyfriend’s chest with a sigh, admiring with Pat the house they are going to build together.