Hey, Buddies!
Maybe you don't remember, but I've told you, in the 1st chapter, this would be a short fic. I was thinking of it as 4 chapters. But it ended up being 5. And this is the last one. Have fun!
Chapter 5 - New Deal
It's a known fact that Pat has difficulty waking up, even if his bladder screams that he must. He once again regrets all the beer he drank. It makes him stumble to the bathroom on the pitch-dark night with only one eye open. When he drops on the bed with a sense of release, he notices the right side of the bed, closer to the door of the bedroom, cold. There, where Pran had laid down yesterday, easily giving in to Pat's complaints about sleeping on the couch or floor. There because, apparently, Pran sleeps on the right side of his boyfriend.
Because between you and me, I'm always right.
Pat laughs again at Pran's dry joke. Where is he now? Prying his eyes open, he jumps from the bed and heads towards the door. Opening it, he's hit by the light coming from a small lamp. A light so yellow and low that it didn't make his used-to-the-dark eyes squirm that much. Stepping forward, he spots the kitchen clock, which marks 04:57.
He finds Pran sitting on the floor, his head fallen upon his arms on the small table. He is sleeping, and his laptop is open, but the screen is dark.
"Pran?"
He sits next to him and takes in his image. Sleeping Pran still intrigues him. It always has. So soft and peaceful, the constant line between his eyebrows eased. Now that he thinks about that, this «new» Pran doesn't have that perpetual line in his expression. Only sometimes. The Pran he used to know was the opposite. An itch to touch that spot installs in his index finger. It comes in the company of an almost carnivorous desire to bite Pran's chubby cheeks. Instead, he bites his own lip, but his fingers take off on their own will and land between Pran's eyebrows. His eyes open almost automatically.
"Pat?"
Pat freezes, not out of fear, but because of Pran's eyes. Pat seems to lose his floor most strangely. Like floating in a new and mysterious space.
"Baby?"
His eyebrows knit at the even more strange feeling the word Pran utters raises in his chest. The feeling tickles his inside in a warm sensation weird to him. However, Pat doesn't have long to search into that feeling as he is pushed back to reality by a tear rolling its way down from the corner of Pran's eye to his nose, dangling at the end of it.
"Pran?"
More tears start to flow. Pran shuts his eyes and takes one hand to them. His tightly locked lips are forced to part by the strength of a whimper. As sharp as the sound, it is Pat's heartache. His stomach tumbles inside him, and a feeling of discomfort stronger than nausea overcomes him in seconds.
"Pran…"
Pat pulls him by the shoulders, and Pran raises his head without resistance. Tears are still gushing from his eyes.
He had seen Pran crying before. He had even hugged him before because of that. When they were kids, Pran fell really hard from a tree Pat challenged him to climb higher than him. When he fell in front of him, Pat thought with surprise that he hadn't gotten hurt as he wasn't crying. However, before he could start teasing him, a sharp scream came out of Pran. His arm was broken. When hitting the floor, he didn't have enough air in his lungs to scream, as the pain must have been so sudden. Pat didn't know what to do, the fear not even letting the guilt he felt afterwards install. By the time Pat fell to his level, Pran was crying hard, holding his small arm against his chest. Pat did what his gut feeling said he should do and hugged Pran softly so as to not hurt him. He said to him that everything would be okay. He kept doing so while he took him home. It ended up with Madam Siridechawat screaming at him for hurting Pran, his mom screaming at her for screaming at him, and his father screaming at him for hanging out with «that spoiled brat».
So, he does now what he did back then. He hugs Pran to his chest.
"Everything will be okay."
He feels a punch to his heart when he realises that worse than the image of Pran crying is the shaking of his shoulders. Worse than all is the piercing sob sounds. They seem like knives in his heart. So, he holds him tighter, more to save himself than Pran. He feels his own tears on his cheeks.
"No. Ssshhh… Everything is okay."
"I'm so sorry," Pran's voice comes out with a nasal twang, "I'm not courageous. I thought I was. I thought I changed. I thought you changed me. But I'm still the same," More sobs come and go with Pran in his arms, "I'm so stupid. I thought I would be enough to make you remember. I thought you would see me or smell me, and that would be enough. But I'm not—" Pran's voice is cut by a razor-sharp whimper, "I'm not enough. I'm not enough for you to love me. Maybe we don't love each other enough."
Pran pulls himself away from Pat, trying to hold his tears as hard as he can. Pat still grips his arms, not letting him go completely.
"Pran, it's okay."
Pran keeps his eyes tied to his shaking hands.
"I'm so afraid. And selfish. This is about you. Instead, I'm making this all about me."
He fails his try at a sarcastic laugh. Instead, a small attempt at a fake smile lowered by a pout and a weep is what remains.
"I'm prohibiting you from dating other people as if I own you when maybe… Maybe we're not even meant to be. Maybe they would… They would be braver and stronger. Maybe they would know better. Maybe with them, you would remember."
Pat is hurting. It seems like his heart is in a cage too small for it. As if he was being turned from the inside. He tries to pull Pran back to him, but he refuses.
"I can't stop if you keep hug—" his sentence gets cut when he lastly looks at Pat, "Now, you are crying as well!"
Pran restarts crying even harder, pouting between sobs. His nose is snotty, his cheeks wet and flushed red. Pat stares at him, his lips parted in a daze.
He finally breaths.
Wiping his own tears away, he's surprised by how wet his face is, but a smile forms on his lips.
"Oh, come here."
Pran resists. But Pat is stronger, and Pran doesn't seem to be at his full strength now.
"Oh my Gods…"
Astonished, he feels laughter bobbling inside his chest. He tightens his grip and feels an urge to smash him with his arms, to squeeze him as hard as he can. He's the cutest thing Pat has ever seen. His pout is killing him!
"Pran. Ooh… Enough… Oh," chuckling, he fondles his hair, playing with the strings, "Oh my gosh. Pran…"
He feels the impulse to kiss Pran's sweaty forehead but just keeps caressing his hair. And waits. He waits until the shaking of Pran's shoulder subsides, and his breathing slows. Until a bigger wet spot is stained on his t-shirt. Until he starts to sing the children's song «Nu Mali» at a slow pace as if it were a slow lullaby.
"Nu mali mi lukmaeo miao lukmaeo miao lukmaeo miao," he starts rocking Pran side to side slowly, patting his head and back, "Nu mali mi lukmaeo miao khon man khlai samli. Nu mali cha pai thidai pai thidai pai thidai . Nu mali cha pai thidai man tam pai thuk thi."
"Aam… Wha… What are you doing?"
Pran raises himself from Pat's hug, cleaning his cheeks with the back side of his hand, sniffing.
"It was my favourite song when I was a kid. Ma used to sing it for me," Pran keeps staring at him with rounded eyes, "I like cats. But we never had one because Pa is a little allergic," he bit his bottom lip hesitantly before saying, "You… You kind of look like a cat…"
Pran's eyes get shinier. The sound of laughter begins to climb off his chest. That is nice... Pran is nice. And Pat has missed him. Pat... Likes him. He likes him.
"Pat!"
He holds Pat's face between his hands. Pat's embarrassed smile opens into an O of surprise. His heart beats his ribcage with a strength that should be considered an emergency matter.
He remembers the last time he felt like this - when Nam from class 5 kissed him on the right corner of his lips. He was sixteen. Is Pran going to give him another kiss?
Pran is just staring with a smile. Pat thinks back to the day he saw Pran again after the accident. He wets his lower lips with his tongue, biting it softly again. Pran's lips at the corner of his mouth... They must be soft, right? They must taste good. He moved away too fast last time to notice how they tasted. Still, Pat's mouth waters with the thought of Pran's taste. But then Pran solely pulls his head to his shoulder and hugs him. Pran's shoulders shake from laughter under his head.
Pat's surprising disappointment doesn't last long as he breathes in. Pran smells so good, like washed linen and rain. So good Pat wants to wrap himself around him.
"Oh!" Pran stops laughing and asks, "I'm sorry. Can I hug you?"
Pat blinks his eyes in confusion, feeling Pran's head turn to his, his lips just mere millimetres from Pat's cheek.
"You are hugging me."
His voice comes out slightly muffled by Pran's t-shirt. The position is awkward. Leaned forward, his back tensed, his face down on Pran's shoulder, Pran's hands gripping his hair and neck.
"Yes. I forgot to ask."
Pran doesn't let him go but releases the strength of the grip while adjusting the position, getting closer to Pat. Pat brings his hands to Pran's waist, just copping it lightly. Even so, their legs spike Pat's brain with frustration, a spontaneous wish for them to be fluting torsos escaping Pat's mind in the desire to feel Pran's chest against his.
Probably uncomfortable as well, Pran lets go of his head. They straighten their backs. Just then, he notices the big wet spot on Pat's t-shirt.
"I'm sorry! Did I do this?" he asks, passing his hand on the spot, "I'll get you a new one."
He gets up, and Pat hurriedly follows as if pulled by a magnet. Before Pran can move, Pat pushes him onto the couch.
"You sit. I'll look for it."
Pat blinks, looking down at his legs. His brain seems to be trying to remember how to walk. He starts a bit trembling. The tingle created by staying in the same position for too long descending through one of his legs.
Before heading to the bedroom, he leaves a glass of water on the little table. "Drink."
And he exits.
Looking through the drawers of Pran's bedroom, Pat tries to process what just happened.
Pran cried so much... Pat didn't like to see anyone crying, but Pran was even worse. That's not weird. Right? The weird part is the warmness as if it was an explosion inside his chest when Pran pouted. Pran's chubby cheeks Pat is still feeling to bite, and his wet face, disgusting with snot and tears and probably drool, somehow seemed so lovely to him. The need to protect Pran, the need to hug him until he stops feeling pain. That is weird.
He didn't feel it with his friend Tine from middle school, who cried his eyeballs out when he strained his ankle, or Po, who was dumped by his girlfriend in high school. He felt like protecting his sister, though. He guesses he could see Pran like a brother. It kind of makes sense! They grew up together. However, he never wondered if his sister was going to kiss him or wanted to squeeze her thighs like he desired to squeeze Pran's last night. In those way-too-small shorts, like a vision from the Heavens testing his self-control. He breathes deeply, trying to refocus his thoughts away from anything related to Pran's thighs.
Pat likes Pran? He likes Pran, for sure. But as friends. Could they even be more? Can Pat and Pran be more? The kind of «more» that kisses and goes on dates and holds hands only with each other.
Maybe we don't love each other enough.
Oh, fuck! Everything Pran has said is dropped on him like a cannonball.
I thought you changed me.
I thought I would be enough to make you remember. I'm not enough. I'm not enough for you to love me. Maybe we're not even meant to be.
Pran is good at acting. But this much? Lying through his teeth just because of a prank? Are they already dating? Oh, damn! They are dating!?
"Are you okay?"
Pat jumps in place, startled. He looks at Pran standing by the door, his face already dried but still red and swollen.
Fluffy and cute.
Pat shakes his head quickly.
"No- Yes!" he rushes to nod, attempting a smile, "I was just lost in thoughts."
Pran hums.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, "I just go take a shower. I'm all sticky."
Pat nods again, watching Pran give him a small smile before closing the bathroom door. Pat stays there for a moment until he listens to the sound of the water falling on the tub.
Wait. He needs to think. Wait.
He shoves a new t-shirt through his head and looks around. The bedroom is small and minimalist. Apart from the bed, there is a chest of drawers, from which he took the t-shirt, a clothes rack and a bedside table only.
Opening the other drawers, he notices every t-shirt, sweatshirt and pants are organised by colour. On the right side of the drawer, there are gym clothes - shorts and tank tops, including a loose green one he recognises as his. His mother bought it for him when he was seventeen and expressed the desire to join a gym. Why is it here? In Pran's room.
Then, he looks at the shirts hanging from the clothes rack. The dégradé of colours, some shirts with bright flower patterns that didn't seem to fit Pran's style at all, and finally, next to two red short-sleeved shirts, a blue one. He gets up and touches the fabric of the clothes, realising all three have the University logo embroidered on their chest. He recognises the red ones to be from the Architecture school and the blue ones from the Engineering school. His school.
He dry-swallows and turns to the bedside table. He walks slowly towards it until his hand reaches the cold knob of the first drawer. The sound of the drawer opening reveals a new dégradé of shocks tightly organised. He squats to open the second and last drawer after closing the first one. Underwear is pilled inside, strangely folded in a small rectangle. Pran is weirdly organised. Though thinking about his own messy drawers, Pat must admit it saves a lot of space. On the side of the drawer closer to the bed, there is a rectangular bamboo box which occupies all the width of the drawer but less than half of its length. He untangles the string from the button, releasing the closure mechanism and opening the box.
The drawer complains from being almost pulled out of its rightful place when Pat falls ass first on the hard ground with the vision of its content. Still, he looks back. A range of sex products stares back at him: four lubricants (one water-based, another silicon base, one small one chocolate flavoured, and another strawberry flavoured), a silicon ring-shaped thing Pat doesn't know what it is, a jockstrap that Pat had seen men wore in pornography, a box of condoms, a medium dildo, and a raindrop-shaped sex toy. He touches the small oval-shaped object next to it and sees it is a remote control.
He looks away and closes the box and the drawer. His heart beats frenetically. Hot goosebumps travel through his body. Does Pran use that? Does Pat control it for him? If they truly are boyfriends, he must use it with him. Do they use it in public? His dick twitches with the real possibility. With the possibility of seeing Pran's body like that, of controlling his pleasure, of forcing him to contain moans that can't be heard in public. Seeing Pran dishevelled...
His mouth is dry, and a cold and nervous excitation grips his insides. And a question pops into his mind automatically.
Is it Pran who uses it, or is it me?
Shaking his head vehemently, he raises and hurries away from the bedroom. He halts, a hand supported on the kitchen counter while he breathes deeply to contain the burgeoning erection inside his shorts. His eyes travel the room, trying to focus on anything except on, quite literally, Pran's ass.
It is during one of his expirations that he spots the long search object. "Nong Nao!"
He runs to the plush doll that sits on the working table nearer to the balcony. He grabs it and hugs it tightly to his chest. A sniff is enough for him to understand it doesn't smell like it used to smell. Now, it's a mix between its ingrained smell and Pran's.
Damn, they are boyfriends, aren't they? They are. How the hell...? But they are, aren't they?
"Ai shia, Pat!" Pat's loop of questions is cut by the loud scream speeding from the room, "Stop throwing your clothes on the floor! Do you think I'm your mae?"
Pat chuckles, turning when Pran appears at the door, his face still twisted with irritation.
"Get your act straight! I don't think I have the patience to train you again."
With a smirk, Pat arches an eyebrow, "Train me?"
"Like a dog," confirms Pran with a smile.
"Ass," curses Pat, lacking the irritation.
Still smiling, Pran heads to the couch, "I see you found Nong Nao."
"Yes. I don't know how I didn't see it there."
"Normal. It was drying when you arrived. I brought it in just now. Maybe I should have given it to you before. I think I was keeping it as a safety measure."
Pat takes Nong Nao and sits next to Pran.
"A safety measure?"
Pran shrugs, facing down. There is silence between them, and Pat feels the obligation to cut it.
"So… Damn! When you cry, you look like a bunny bitten by mosquitos. Do you cry that easily nowadays?"
Pran snorts but smiles softly.
"Only with you. It's easier to cry with you. You kind of unlocked something in me after we started dating," Pat gulps, "It's kind of annoying..."
Pat hums, trying to think about something to say.
"I'm sorry for crying, Pat. It's selfish to make this about me when you are the one who had an accident."
Pat shakes his head firmly, "The accident is long gone. I'm fine. And you don't need to say sorry for crying, Pran. I cry sometimes, as well."
Pran laughs.
"Sometimes… You're a crybaby. You cried in every animation movie we saw."
Pat fakes an offended expression with a grin he can't hide.
"Hey! Am I at fault that Disney captures my feelings?"
They laugh together.
"Pran," Pat calls, scanning Pran's eyes, "Why did you cry all of a sudden?"
Before answering, his mouth turns into a sad smile, "I was dreaming when you woke me. And for just a second, I thought everything was the same as the dream. As before. But when that second finished, I returned to reality. And… I'm sorry. I just broke."
A small spick of anger surprises Pat.
"Stop saying that! Stop saying you're sorry. What do you have to be sorry?"
Pran breathes deeply and answers low but steadily, "I'm feeling insecure because you don't remember me. Us. But not once I remember the pressure I was putting on you. Not once I thought about how you were feeling. I still cried whe-…"
"Let me interrupt you."
Seeing Pran's will to disagree, Pat presses a finger on his lips to shut them. Bad idea. Bad idea because, of course, Pran's lips are fluffy! Not like his, all cracked because he always forgets to put lip balm. Hurridly, he lowers his finger along with his eyes, trying to find what he wanted to say between his fingers.
"You seem to maintain a liking for romance books," Pat states to then explain, "I remember you reading some of those big ass Chinese romances when we were kids. But Pran, this is real life," he rises again his eyes to him, "I don't remember because I simply don't remember. It has nothing to do with you, with us or with…" he adds in a whisper almost inaudibly, "how much I like you. It is a medical condition. Nothing more than that," he shrugs, "I also didn't give you opportunities to spike my memories. So, what do you think about this; why don't you tell me about us. Even if you are pranking me, I will find out in the end if it works. And if it doesn't, no worries! I won't fall for you anyway," Pat feels a pinch of guilt when he sees the disturbance on Pran's face, but the habit forces him to continue, "You're the one that should be careful…"
Pran adjusts his position on the couch, eyes down on his hands squeezed between his soft thighs. For a moment, Pat thinks Pran won't bite his bait, but lastly, Pran does.
"Careful about what?"
Pat catches the corner of Pran's mouth curled down, his eyelashes beating his eyelids, his right thumb caressing his left one as if to calm it. He takes his knee up onto the couch, placing his chin on his hand, arm on the backrest of it, leaning forward.
"People say I have undeniable charm. I'll bet you'll be the one falling in love with me first."
Pran rolls his eyes, whispering more to himself than Pat, "I went down that pit a long time ago," his right eyebrow arches, one eye on Pat, "Who do say you have «undeniable charm»?"
"People say!"
Pran chuckles.
"You're dreaming."
Pran's hands get free from the shackles of his beautiful thighs, his fingers tapping rhythmically on them.
"I know you don't remember, but we've made this bet before," Pat doesn't understand what Pran means, but he has to contain the giggle that threatens to get out, pulled by the shining spark of the challenge of Pran's eyes, "And you lost."
Pran copies Pat's position, leaning even closer to him, the same smirk on his mouth.
"Thinking it over, I think we should make a different deal," Pat holds his gaze, too conscient of Pran's knee pressing his softly, "It doesn't matter if you remember or not. I got you once. I can get you twice."
Pat loses his demand to suppress his smile.
"Confident, are we?"
Pran bends his arm, only the elbow in the back of the couch. A relaxed position. And then, smiles back. The kind of smile Pat had yet to see. His dimples are shown in the most seducing way, his head tilted just enough for some strings of hair to fall over his eyes
"What about a date, Pat?"
The excitement he feels with this proposal is too much for him to be able to deny he likes Pran. Boyfriend style liking.
"Hum... So tired. Too lazy to go outside, phuen" Pat answers, the last word prolonged, and stretches his body like a starfish to prove the point.
"Even better. We should rewatch that Disney movie with the fire girl and the water boy. You cried rivers in that one. You don't remember that movie, do you?"
Pat has, in reality, seen it some days before. And yes, he cried rivers in one of the last scenes. Still, he shakes his head, faking his curiosity.
"So, what do you say? It's already morning," they look at the window letting the sunlight come in, "Go take a shower, get dressed and meet me back here. I'll get everything ready for you, beautiful."
Beautiful?!
Pat's eyes almost jump from its orbits, but Pran seems undisturbed. He brings two fingers to catch a lock of hair that was falling into Pat's eyes. Trying to reestablish himself, Pat fears his cheeks changing colour, giving the heat he's feeling on them.
It doesn't matter if you remember or not. I got you once. I can get you twice.
Forgetting the pressure he felt with Pran, Pat bites his lower lip, excited for the rest of the day. Or days. Being like this with Pran tickles his belly, like when he does something wrong. But, at the same time, it feels so right.
How are his clothes there? How was Nong Nao on Pran's desk? Does he like Pran? Is he already in love with Pran? Is Pran pranking him? Is he dating him already? How did they start dating?
They don't really matter anymore. Not now. Because now he has a new goal: making Pran fall on his knees. That gives him a mental image that is not welcome at the moment. He shoves it to a corner of his mind, standing by for a later use.
"Those shorts and oversized t-shirts won't get me. You better bring your A-game, phuen."
Pat lies. He lies through his teeth. Those shorts got him from the first moment they showed him Pran's legs, and that oversized t-shirt was way too ironed for Pat's taste. Pran seems unfazed. He changes his position, his legs opening in the process. One foot on the floor, one leg folded on the bed, the inside of Pran's thighs all the way exposed. Until the beginning of the fabric of those black shorts. Danger alarms ring inside Pat's head.
"Don't worry, Pat. I know exactly what you like."
Pat realises this game won't probably be fair to him. But damn him if he's not playing it. Pran moves closer, the skin of his leg electrifying his.
He is playing the game. Hell yes! But now, the best move is most certainly a retreat!
He hurriedly gets up. Deep breaths. Control. He needs a plan! And a shower. Clothes. And his lovely sister is commandeering his bedroom together with her girlfriend. Damn the day his parents decided they wanted another child! They should have thought ahead!
He turns to Pran, who's sitting with a smirk. Those god-forsaken legs that beckon towards damnation crossed.
"We meet back here in an hour. One hour and a half."
Pran nods and raises his fist.
"Deal."
Pat beams at the known gesture, focusing on Pran's bright eyes. Bumping his fist on Pran's, the answer is the same as yesterday. As before. As always.
"Deal."
The song Pat sings is called "Nu Mali". Everything about this song I took from an anonymous author on AO3. They have built a very nice and comprehensive guide about the Thai language and culture that has helped me a lot. I bet a lot of you already know about it. So, this is the translation: "Malee has a kitty cat, a kitty cat, a kitty cat. Malee has a kitty cat. Its fur is like cotton wool. No matter where Malee goes. No matter where Malee goes. it follows everywhere." (link: /works/38907348/chapters/100071294).
I'll also take this opportunity to say that I took the freedom to use Thai vocabulary in this fanfic and in the other one you can see in my profile. I'm not Thai. I use those words as best as I can because I can truly hear the characters saying that (maybe you can too). But it is possible that I used it in the wrong way. So, if you notice something that I did wrong, please feel free to correct me. We're here to learn from each other!
I know it may has not ended the way many wanted, but this is as much I can do. For now... Much of the story is still to be told. Don't you worry! I'll probably make another two chapters (one-shot fics) and join them with this shortfic as a collection. One of them would be a collection of new memories, the other rated mature ;) What do you think?
I created a prompt in Bad Buddy Kink Meme. If you would like to see my prompt for a fanfic (similar to Déjà Vu), access here: /collections/badbuddykinkmeme/requests. Take the trope of amnesia into your own hands!
If you liked it so far, please give me a comment! I appreciate all of the love you have given this fic so far! :): Thank you so much for your support! See you soon!
