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Four years after he and Pran decided not to return to Bangkok, two brothers moved into the house beside theirs. And they didn't just move into the house beside theirs, but they also started using the commercial space in front of his and Pran's construction shop. While that wouldn't necessarily be an issue, it was because they used the commercial space as a bar. And bars meant noise. There were nights he and Pran stayed up to finish accounting, designing, or messaging their business partners, and he would hear the loud music coming from across the street, distracting them from their tasks and leading them to frustration.
You might say: "But Pat, it's your fault that you opened a construction and design shop near the beach." Yeah, but that doesn't mean he couldn't complain!
But then there were nights when he would hear a boy, who sounded so young, singing about heartbreak, longing, and separation. On those nights, Pat would sit beside Pran and put a hand on his thigh. Pran would turn to him, take his hand and intertwine them. They would stop working, close the shop, and walk home quietly hand-in-hand under the moonlight reflected on the sea. They would not speak of them or of the lives they left behind.
While their two new neighbors have settled in and had been a constant presence in their lives for the past two months, Pat had never actually met them. He wasn’t actively avoiding them, okay! It was just that their paths never actively crossed.
Only Pran had talked to them on several occasions. One of those occasions was when the older brother walked into their shop while Pat was out doing an errand. Another was when Pat was sleeping in on a Saturday morning when the younger brother went to their house to ask for clarification about the recycling rules in the village.
So really, when a random man entered their shop, PP Design and Construction, he didn't immediately give attention to the stranger and continued texting Pa about what he had been doing lately.
"Give me a moment!" Pat said from behind his counter.
"Pran's not around?"
Pat finished sending the message to his sister and looked up. And. Well. See. Even if he loved and adored Pran very much, that didn't mean he couldn’t find other people attractive. And this random man who just came in was hot.
“He’s dealing with one of our suppliers just outside of town. He’ll be back in an hour. You’re…?” Pat didn’t let his eyes wander; he’s not that kind of person. But he tilted his head and looked closely at the man's face, trying to remember if he’d ever seen him before — because usually, in this small beach town they settled in four years ago, anyone who Pran knew, Pat knew too.
“Porsche.” He smiled, wide and warm. It slightly reminded Pat of Pran’s smile, with the way it crinkled Porsche’s eyes and overtook his whole face. “My younger brother is Chay, and we moved here two months ago.”
“Oh, yeah! Pran mentioned you. You bought materials a month back to repair things in your bar.” Pat moved, offering his left hand to Porsche across the cashier. Porsche stared at him for a moment before shaking it.
“I think you’re the last person I’ve met in this town,” Porsche said, amused.
“It wasn’t on purpose. Me and Pran are usually stuck to the hip. But this past month has been really busy with the new eco-resort that’s being opened nearby. ”
For a moment, Porsche paused and looked at his hand, the one with a silver ring that matched exactly with Pran’s. Porsche then let go and smiled. He said, “It’s no problem. I actually came because Pran recommended I use a different kind of flooring…”
(:(
Only after, when Pran returned to their shop and Pat was telling him about Porsche dropping by, did Pat realize that Porsche’s smile had a hint of longing. It reminded him of himself when he saw a family playing together by the beach.
(:(
That was how Pat first met Porsche; for business. That was not how Pat met Chay.
The first time he met Chay was during an unusual morning when he woke up before Pran. He was fixing up breakfast to wake up Pran when there was a knock at their door. Shirtless and hair uncombed, he opened the door and revealed a boy—one who looked just shy of being an adult.
“Hi… um…?”
“I’m Chay! Porsche’s younger brother,” the boy said, smiling.
“Oh! The other neighbor I haven’t met.” They shake hands. “I’m Pat. Nice to meet you, finally.” While he was often an extrovert, that didn’t mean he was sociable enough to entertain guests at 8 am, so he quickly asked, “Do you need anything? Are you having issues again with how to separate the trash?”
"No, we just had extra bread we won't be able to finish, and my brother wanted to offer it to you both." Chay handed him a half-empty plastic bag of Farmhouse Ovaltine Butterscotch Bread.
“Thank you!” He took the bread and then paused. He couldn’t place it, but Pat recognized his voice from somewhere… “You sound like the singer who sings in Porsche’s bar.”
“I am! But I’ve never seen you around the bar though.”
“Me and Pran would hear you sometimes when we work late nights in our shop. You sounded great.”
“Thanks.” Chay smiled shyly and looked at his hands. “Do you sing too?”
“Between me and Pran, Pran’s better at singing.”
“Pat? Who’s that?” He heard Pran say.
He turned around to see Pran walking towards him, shirtless, then turned back at Chay. “Did Pran ever tell you he wrote songs about me?”
“Oi, Pat!”
(:(
That was how Pat came to meet the Kittisawat brothers.
It seemed like his first encounters with them both opened the gates of fate, because in the following weeks he would see at least one brother every day. It felt like their lives started intertwining.
If Pran needed an ingredient while he was cooking dinner, he would ask Pat to ask the Kittisawat household if they had it. And Chay, on behalf of Porsche, would ask them too. That led to shared breakfast and dinners.
If a tourist asked about places to visit, Pat would recommend them Porsche’s bar, even if he’d never been there before (...look, he and Pran had been busy with the new eco-resort in town, okay?). And sometimes, a new customer would enter their shop, telling them that a man named Porsche or a boy named Chay recommended PP Design and Construction.
Whenever he and Pran had extra Oishi Green Tea Kyoho bottles, or even Tao Kae Noi seaweed snacks, they would give it to them Porsche and Chay. When either of the Kittisawat brothers would get groceries, they would ask them if they needed anything.
On silent nights when Pran could hear Chay being stuck in figuring out the chord progression for a song he’s trying to write, Pran would open the window and suggest a chord. During mornings when Porsche would take a run on the beach, and Pat would wake up early, they would keep each other company until their legs burned and their breath ragged.
It was nice. They still talked to Wai and Korn, but not as often as they did during their college days, and it was nice to have two people be a constant in their lives.
It was odd. For his whole life, the neighbors he constantly interacted with were ones his parents hated. Now, he had neighbors who were his friends.
It was freeing. And yet it reminded him of everything he left behind in Bangkok.
(:(
Pat never said it aloud, but there seemed to be a heavy shadow always following the Kittisawat brothers. He would see it when he gave affection to Pran; both Porsche and Chay’s eyes would turn down or simply stare blankly. He would see it when there were loud sounds nearby, and Porsche’s shoulders became tense and eyes vigilant. He would see it when a car would drive too fast and Chay’s feet became frozen.
Pat told this to Pran, and Pran said he noticed the same things. They agreed never to mention or ask about it to the Kittisawat siblings.
(:(
On the fifth year anniversary of when he and Pran decided to stay in the rural town near the beach, he and Pran decided to finally visit Porsche’s bar, KT Bar.
Porsche’s bar was everything one would expect from a bar beside the beach. It had well worn wooden furniture, from the chairs to the cabinets. The area was designed with tourist-y knickknacks and the colored lights moved slowly across the room. There weren’t too many people in the bar, as it was a Wednesday, but it was enough that Pat couldn’t hear the song being played on the speaker.
Porsche's eyes brightened when he spotted them. He waved them over to sit on a bar stool, and they drank everything and anything Porsche gave them. Between the three of them, they talked throughout the night. Porsche mentioned how Chay decided to sleep early, and Pran mentioned that it was the first time in the past months that he and Pat decided to go to a bar.
It was early morning when Porsche’s last customer finally left. After Porsche cleaned up his bar, the three of them decided to sit and hang out near the shoreline of the beach. Porsche brought along beer and vodka to drink, and they continued to talk about everything and nothing.
When Pran rested his head on Pat’s lap, closing his eyes and dozing, Pat and Porsche became quiet.
Pat began to comb Pran’s hair. “He’s been working too hard these days.”
Pat also knew Pran missed his parents. And five years after staying in the same beach town, Pat could admit he felt the same for his own parents.
Pat turned to Porsche, about to ask him to help him bring Pran home, but paused when he saw sadness in Porsche’s eyes.
“Me and my boyfriend,” Porsche started to say, his voice slightly slurring due to the alcohol, “worked together and he was my boss... the CEO. No one knew we were together. But then there was a problem in the company because classified information was leaking to competitors. And my boyfriend… didn’t trust me enough that I wasn't the one leaking the information. But I loved—love—him. So I found evidence of who was leaking it, and who paid them to do it. I dealt with them and I left the evidence where K- my boyfriend would find it. Then I took my little brother and ran. I was able to get money from… some people and ended up here. I just needed to get away from that environment. To be free of the constant hustle in the city. To not have the paranoia that my boyfriend might see me while I walk on the street.” Porsche bit his lip and took a sip of his beer.
“Our parents didn't want us to be together.” Pat drank from his own beer. He was thankful for the smell of ocean salt water that made it difficult for him to smell the alcohol that was definitely clinging to his clothes.
“Homophobic? I'm sorry to hear that.”
“Ah, no. My parents are totally alright with my sister's girlfriend, and Pran’s parents don’t care that he’s gay. Our parents just really hate each other. From the moment we were born, they told us we were enemies. But we… ended up falling in love. And we just wanted to live as ourselves. So we ran here. It’s been five years since we saw our parents.”
Another bout of silence eclipsed them. He and Porsche continued drinking under the moonlight and before the vastness of the sea. Pran continued sleeping on Pat’s lap as the clashing of waves filled the space between them.
“Are you guys happy? After running away?” Porsche asked.
“A lot of the time, yeah. But… I miss them,” Pat replied. “You?”
“Sometimes, it hurts to think about him.”
“We ran away for ourselves, but why does it feel so lonely?” Pat wondered. Pat and Pran chose to leave Bangkok, and their parents, because of the overwhelming sense of expectations. They chose it to be free. And yet, the love for their parents constantly called them to Bangkok. Was there truly freedom when you love someone? Could you even love someone without the freedom and the choice to do so? Pat did not know.
"Because we love them. So much." Porsche took a swing from his beer.
"I guess so,” Pat agreed.
What the two brothers didn’t know was that another set of two brothers, with four bodyguards, were in a car that broke down on the highway going to a beach town. What Pat and Pran didn’t know was that two parents who hate each other were sharing a car. Fate would have it that these two parents would offer these two brothers and four bodyguards a ride, as they were heading to the same town. But that story was a story for another day.
Today, Pat and Porsche watched the sunrise together in front of the bar Porsche always wanted to have. Pran’s head rested on Pat’s lap and Pat continued to run his fingers through Pran’s hair.
Three people whose hearts felt broken watched as a new day came. They nursed these hearts with alcohol, with honesty, and with longing. But they did not know if it could truly be nursed without the people who caused the hurt. It didn’t matter. Not really.
What mattered was that there was a new day. And every step to healing, no matter how small, was still a step.