Fake It (till you make it)

❝ plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose... ❞

ONE.

"Finally," said Korn as they entered the building. "This is the day we've been waiting for!"

Today was a bigger deal to him than it was for anyone else, but Pat made a noise of agreement anyway. Korn was the one in charge of outreach and was the biggest champion of partnering with MOI, an up-and-coming architecture group with a promising lead team. Their own company was quite old-fashioned, especially as Pat and his friends had all joined after his father's own materials shop got bought out a few years back. For anyone else it would've meant that they would need to find a new job; for Pat and his connections, he quickly secured a position as a team lead in one of the product and service departments.

The smallest one, in fact.

But that was fine, and made his work stand out more. His father was more pleased than anything, having told him that it shouldn't be long until his team grew bigger, as well as his salary. And though it wasn't at the forefront of Pat's mind, he was certain that whatever Korn had planned with his outreach was a surefire way to get him there, as well as the rest of them.

Korn was the one who had found and suggested MOI as their architecture partners, but Pat supported his decision. They were sufficiently environmentally-aware enough for their project, which was seen as more trendy than acceptable in the rest of their industry. The biggest problem, Pat knew, was getting the investment, because who wanted to support the joint project between a new team in an old company, and a new company in general? But that's where Pat's skills came in—Korn called them his magic powers. Pat was very persuasive when he wanted to be.

He didn't have any doubts as they located the conference room, and the MOI team along the way. They were all sitting around in the lobby—maybe about eight of them, with two girls. Pat knew because Korn said, "Oh look, that's them! Hey, Wai!"

Wai was the outreach guy on the other team. Most of Korn's job these days consisted of calling Wai once a week and bitching about it for the rest. Pat suspected Korn secretly enjoyed it though, especially as now Korn was saying, "Damn, we're finally meeting in person. You're taller than I thought you would be."

"And you're shorter," Wai said with amusement. "This is Pran, my team lead."

"Pat's mine," said Korn, and Pat stepped forward.

And was met with a face he hadn't seen in—what was it, fifteen years? It had been fifteen years, but Pat would recognize him anywhere—Pran, the boy next door, soft eyes and side-swept hair and still a little bit of baby fat on his cheeks, even though Pat was more aware than ever now that they were both thirty, because Pran's birthday had always been a week after his. Pran looked as surprised as Pat felt when he met Pat's gaze, and there wasn't a shadow of a doubt that Pran recognized him too.

"You!" they both said at the same time.

Korn and Wai looked between them. "You guys know each other?" said Wai.

"We're—" Pran started.

"Next door neighbors," Pat finished. "When we were younger." Though they still were neighbors now. He just hadn't gone back home in months, and when he did it wasn't for very long, since he'd moved out as soon as he graduated high school. Visiting his parents had become more and more sparse as he got caught up in uni and adult life. He used to think about Pran more often then, but Pran hadn't been relevant to him for a while now.

"Oh," said Korn, clapping his hands. "That'll make things easier then, if you know each other."

Pat and Pran didn't say anything else to each other, as they introduced the rest of their teams.

The thing was, it didn't matter, Pat told himself. Sure, there was something ironic about how Pat's team was more focused on the engineering and practical aspects of their project while Pran's was on the design. Their faculties probably would've hated each other in university, and then they would have had to hate each other too, again. But none of that made a difference now, as both teams shuffled up together to their assigned conference room to meet with the investors.

LogTech was known for being innovative and environmentally friendly and, therefore, in both of their teams' best interests as an investor. As they got settled in, Pat took the seat at the top of the right hand side of the table—and Pran the left, opposite him. Pat met his gaze, and Pran looked away. Pat scoffed under his breath. Fine. Pran ignoring him didn't bother him anyway.

They chatted amongst themselves until the investors walked in, quieting them immediately. There were a handful of people on the team—three men and three women. Pat thought one of the men looked familiar, but he wasn't sure.

Chang and Louis, from the other team, presented together, with Pat watching the slides he'd seen Chang write and rewrite tens of times over. Louis presented the architecture portion and Pat and Korn oohed and aahed, expressing their support. When they were done, they both returned to their seats, looking quite pleased with themselves. As Chang passed him by, Pat clapped him on the elbow and said, "Good job, man."

As the lights turned back on and the projector lights dimmed, one of the investors said, "I like your idea a lot. If we change the infrastructure of so many bus stops, we'll have to get city permissions, but it's very doable. I like your eco-friendly solutions as well. And I think the addition of a fountain will help not only with recycling water, but also add ambience, which people will like."

Pat nodded eagerly. Across the table, he saw that Pran seemed quite on board too. At least they could agree on that.

"But," said another investor, standing up, and Pat whipped his head around. "You two."

He gestured between Pat and Pran.

"Don't I know you?" he said to them.

Pran blinked and shook his head rapidly. Pat furrowed his eyebrows. "No?" he said, although this was the investor he thought he'd recognized. Maybe. If he did, it must've been years ago.

The investor nodded. "I do," he said. "You're Ming's son, I know that," and at that, Pat remembered in college all those years ago, his professor, his father's senior—

"And you're Dissaya's kid," he said to Pran, who still looked lost and confused. "This'll never work out," he said to the other investors. "Their families hate each other."

The others mumbled amongst themselves. Pat said, "What? Just because our families hate each other doesn't mean we do."

But the doubt had been sowed. He could see it in the investors' eyes. This one—Pichai, Pat remembered belatedly—shook his head at them.

"I know your parents, so I know you," Pichai said to them. "Ming even told me what it was like when you guys were growing up. Always fighting and competing at everything—it'll surely be a hindrance to this whole thing." He glanced at the projector screen, where Chang and Louis had presented earlier. "It's not worth the time or the investment."

The bottom fell out of Pat's stomach. He exchanged a look with Pran, who looked like he didn't know what the fuck to do either.

"Oh," said Korn, "you don't have to worry about that. They're dating!"

Pat went wide-eyed. Pran did too. They both turned to Korn.

But this was Korn's passion project, so he kept going. "So they'll be totally fine," he told the investors emphatically. "No need to worry about their families! Or about not getting along. Or anything." He smiled winningly.

Pat kicked him under the table, but Korn pretended not to notice. Pat fully expected Pran to protest—and Pran looked like he wanted to, blinking rapidly in shock and horror at them from the other side of the table.

Pichai's voice cut through the noise in Pat's head.

"Is that so?" he asked Pat and Pran. "Because if it is, then I can reconsider."

"Yes," said Korn and Wai immediately.

Pat glanced at Pran again, and saw that Pran was waiting for his answer too.

"Yes," Pat said.

Pran nodded.

Pichai sat back down slowly. "Well," he said. "If that's the case, then perhaps I can reconsider our investment, but we have to agree unanimously."

"I like their project a lot," one of the women pitched in.

"Me too," said another of the men.

"It does have some promise," Pichai agreed. He looked between Pat and Pran again. "Especially if you two are actually dating."

"We are," Pat said emphatically, and Korn nudged him under the table in gratefulness. He was going to owe Pat so much after this. "It's just been, you know. A secret."

"A secret," Pichai repeated.

"Pran's just not a very affectionate person," Wai said, and then flinched, just barely. From the look on Pran's face, Pat suspected he had kicked Wai under the table.

"I see," said Pichai. "Well, why don't we say that it might be worth our time and we'll figure it out by the end of the year? And how about this: LogTech always has a Christmas party on Christmas Eve. Both of your teams should come." He looked between both teams. "If everyone seems to get along well—and if you two are still sustaining a relationship by then—" he looked pointedly at Pat and Pran "—then we can secure the investment."

"We'll take it," Korn said immediately.

Wai nodded alongside him. "Yeah."

Pat agreed too, because he had a feeling he didn't really have any other choice.

*

"I can't believe you said that," Pat told Korn, as soon as they left the building.

Beside them, the MOI team were walking out as well. Pat heard Pran say to Wai, "I can't believe you agreed with that idiot."

"Who's the idiot?" Korn demanded, turning to them.

But Pran wasn't paying him any attention. Wai said to him, "What? We wouldn't have gotten the investment otherwise." He glanced at Pat's team. "And they seemed to be on the same page."

"But—"

"Yeah, Pran," Pat interrupted loudly, sashaying over to them. He slung an arm around Pran's shoulders. "What? You hate the idea of dating me that much?"

Pran wriggled his arm off. "We're not even friends," he said pointedly.

"Just because we haven't seen each other in years doesn't mean we're not friends," said Pat, though his words felt hollow somehow. He and Pran hadn't seen each other for half their lives at this point. "Besides, it's just to get the investment. It doesn't mean anything."

"Exactly," said Korn. "And I'll have you know I'm not an idiot. I'm very important on this team." He pouted.

Pran softened at that. "Sorry," he said to Korn. "I didn't mean to be rude. It's just that. Well. It's kind of ridiculous, isn't it?"

"Your whole family's situation is ridiculous," Wai pointed out. "Who heard of feuding families in this day and age? What, do your parents think you guys are Kwan and Riam?"

Pat looked at Pran again, but Pran's expression was unreadable. "Something like that," he said to Wai.

"Hey," said Korn, clapping Wai and Pat on the shoulders. "We should be celebrating. We got the investment!"

"Almost got the investment," Pat corrected him.

Korn waved him off. "Let's go get something to drink!" he suggested to both teams. "Pat can pay."

"You always make me pay," said Pat, but he didn't really protest as Wai suggested a good bar he knew nearby.

Their group was large and it was still mid-afternoon, but their teams started chatting amongst themselves. Chang talked about an upcoming football game with Mo, and one of the MOI team members interjected about their teams' current loss streak; Chang challenged, "Who's your team then?" and they got into a friendly argument. One of the girls on Pran's team complimented a charm on Korn's keychain, and Korn said, "Oh, you like TWICE?" Wai was leading the way to the bar, and Pran trailed behind him. Pat wondered what Pran thought about a couple of investors thinking that they were dating now.

They pushed some tables together at the bar and Korn ordered a round. Pat said to Korn, "I could put this on the company card, you know."

"You could," said Korn. "We have the money now."

They didn't, but Pat chuckled at his confidence as he put his personal card on tab instead. It was just a little story for the investors, he told himself. It didn't have to mean anything.

He glanced at Pran again. They'd barely had time to talk—to register that they had run into each other again, really—and Pat kind of wanted to. Just to say hi, at least. Having some investors thinking they were dating was one thing, but Pat's gaze kept drifting over to Pran across the table as they all got their drinks, making light conversation with each other.

"Cheers!" said Wai, holding up his glass. "To getting the investment!"

"Almost," Pat pitched in.

"Almost," agreed Wai. "You and Pran just have to pretend to be a couple for a while."

They clinked glasses and drank. Then Pran said, "Excuse me," and slipped away from the table. Pat watched him leave, sipping his own drink.

Korn poked him on the arm. "Must be weird, huh?" he asked. "Seeing someone you haven't seen since you were a kid."

"Yeah." Pat thought back to fifteen years ago—the Christmas concert, Pran's singing voice ringing in his ears. "That must be it."

"Mm." Korn chugged down his beer. "Well, some part of you ought to still remember each other. Especially if you were friends."

"We weren't," said Pat, picking at the menu glued to the table. "We were enemies."

Korn lit up. "Even better! Oh, it's so romantic, it's like a drama. Born as enemies, growing up to be lovers...."

Pat laughed. "Shut up," he said, and drank his beer again. "I'm gonna go to the bathroom too."

Korn nodded at him, and Pat left. He knew Pran was still in the bathroom, of course he did. His awareness of Pran had been so ingrained it wasn't even a habit anymore. Even all these years later, it was an instinct, drawing him like a moth to a flame. It was the nature of how they were raised and Pat couldn't help himself from giving into it.

He found Pran washing his hands at the sink. "Hey Pran," he said.

Pran met his gaze in the mirror. "Hey."

Pat scratched his head and laughed under his breath. "Weird way for us to meet again, huh?"

Pran leveled him with a look. "Yeah," he said, after a moment.

"Do you—" Pat started, want to talk at the tip of his tongue.

But then the door to one of the stalls opened. A member of Pat's team came out and lit up when he saw Pat—"Oh, hey Pat!" he said. "I wanted to talk to you today, actually—is that okay?" He glanced at Pran, unsure.

Pran didn't bother giving either of them a second glance. "Yeah, I'll go," he said, and headed out of the men's room.

"Wait," said Pat, but Pran had already left.

His team member looked apologetic. "Sorry. Did I interrupt something important?"

Nothing more important than saying hi. Pat pretended that didn't annoy him as much as it did. "No," he said. "What's up?"

"I wanted to ask about raises...."

*

It felt like the whole thing could be over and put at the back of their minds come Christmastime. Except the next day at the office, Pat heard Korn get a notification on his phone, say, "Oh shit," and then, quieter, "I forgot."

Pat was about to ask him what was wrong until he got an email in his inbox.

Your request has been approved, read the subject of the email, and then in the body: Please see the attachment or the information below on office details, to be shared with MOI from August 23 (today) to December 31—

"Korn," said Pat, before he could read any further. "Were you going to tell me that you applied to move our offices for this project?"

"I forgot!" Korn said defensively from the next cubicle over.

The arrangement made sense, though Pat hadn't expected it to happen so quickly. Or without Korn notifying him first, to be honest. Their teams were to collaborate on the project anyway, and they were using LogTech's funds, so Pat had expected a shared space to come up in their plan. Although he hadn't really thought that far ahead yet. He didn't think Korn had either. Pran had left the bar early yesterday without so much as a goodbye, and Pat had thought that would've been it, at least until Christmas. Now they had the invitation and entry details in their emails, and Pat was wondering if Pran and his team had received the same email too.

"When are we set to go in?" Chang asked, coming around the corner to Pat's desk. He peered over his computer. "Today?"

"It's not my fault!"

"Whose fault is it then?" Pat asked. He found the reply button at the bottom of the email and clicked on it, before opening a new email to compose. Apologies for the mixup, my team and I will make arrangements to move our offices in tomorrow....

"Shut it," Korn grumbled. "Wai's giving me shit too."

"As he should," said Mo, popping up from a few cubicles down.

Moving in didn't really have a due date, but it would've been better for both teams to move in at the same time. Korn had told Pat that Wai said that his team didn't need much space anyway, so they'd have plenty of room if they needed it.

And he wasn't kidding. The next day when Pat brought up his two large boxes of office supplies and electronics to the LogTech building and made his way into their assigned office level, even with half the desks being occupied, it was already more space than they'd had at Olive Reconstruction.

All of them marveled, then Korn said, "I call the window cubicle!" and rushed over to take it.

"You're always taking the window something," Chang said, making his way over with his own box of office supplies. "It's not that serious."

"It's serious to him," Mo piped up.

Pat took the nearest desk he could find beside them and then scoped the rest of the space out. Their partnering team was quite tidy, all things considered, though Pat remembered that Pran himself was tidy and wondered if it was his influence.

He helped some of his team members, who were still downstairs, get their things out of their car, until everyone was in and making a space their own. There were still a few empty cubicles leftover, and Korn said, "We could throw parties here!"

"We could not," Pat told him, amused. "We're at work, Korn, not in college anymore."

Korn pouted at him. "It would be fun though."

It would be fun, Pat admitted in his head. But even if they weren't here for work, it wasn't like the MOI team would agree, much less Pran. Pran was never fun.

Pat hadn't thought this much about Pran in a while.

And he was already there by the time Pat made it in for work the next morning, meeting Pat's gaze as he walked through the door but saying nothing. The thing was, his cubicle was right across from Pat's.

"Morning," said Pat, dropping his bag on his desk. "Everyone remembered to come here first except me?"

Wai, whose cubicle was next to Pran's, nodded over to Pat's team's side of the bullpen. "Looks like you've got a few missing," he said, as Pat's phone buzzed in his pocket.

Pat checked it. I went to Olive first 😭😭, read Korn's text. I'm not late this time I swear!!

You are because I did the same thing 😛, Pat replied, but wrote a sticky note on his desk to get an exception for Korn's timesheet from their bosses later anyway. They didn't question it when it was Pat putting in the request.

"It's weird," Pat said to the room at large, glancing at Pran like he might respond to him. "Moving to a new office to do the same work."

"Well, it was coming along anyway," said Wai. He perched his elbows on the top of his cubicle to talk to Pat, with Pran in between them. "Your outreach guy just forgot."

"Yeah, he does that." Pat opened up his laptop. "You get used to it after a while."

"Oh, I have," said Wai. "He forgets more than I slack off."

Pran looked up at him then. "That's saying something," he said in a quiet tenor. "Considering how much you slack off."

Pat observed them with mild interest, but didn't say anything as Wai peered down at Pran, who remained intent in his gaze. Finally, Wai huffed and said, "Fine, I'll get back to work. You're just a workaholic though, Pran."

"And you're just lazy," said Pran, but there was something light in his tone.

Pat wished Pran would talk to him, but it seemed like a hard ask when Pran didn't say anything as Korn barreled in later; then remained silent as they discussed some of the more practical logistics of their plan; and then for lunch, when the rest of them gathered together to take their break. Pran was still working at his desk.

"Pran?" Wai asked.

"You guys go," said Pran, not looking up from his laptop. "I'll go later."

"He's like that," Wai assured them as they made their way to the LogTech cafeteria. Most of them weren't listening, more interested in whatever the cafeteria had to offer. Pat was, though. "He'll find time to eat."

Pat believed him, but that didn't make it easier when they browsed the food in the cafeteria and someone sidled next to Pat at the drinks station.

"Where's your boyfriend?" he heard, and turned. It was Pichai.

Pat blinked. "Huh?"

"You know." Pichai raised an eyebrow, giving him a skeptical grin. Pat realized too late what he'd asked. "Your boyfriend? To help your teams work so well together."

"Oh, right," Pat said quickly. He thought of Pran. "Uh, he had more work to do. So he'll eat later." He glanced over the drinks in front of him and grabbed a bottle of half-sweetened iced tea—two, even. "I'm getting his lunch for him, though."

Pichai's eyebrow remained raised. "That's sweet," he said, then slunk off.

With a sinking feeling, Pat realized that this situation was going to be a little more complicated than he thought. "Korn," he hissed, once he had two trays of food and sat down. "Why did you have to say that Pran and I were dating?"

"Why do you have two meal trays?" Korn asked.

Pat elbowed him. "Because everyone thinks we're dating! Khun Pichai just asked me where he was."

"So?" Korn was still staring at the second tray with confusion. "That didn't mean you had to buy two meals."

That much was true, but Pat had just acted in the moment and now he had an extra plate of random lunch stuff in front of him—the daily main dish, some fruits, and snacks. And the drink.

"Whatever," said Pat. "I'm blaming you anyway."

"Cool," said Korn. "Can I have your extra bag of chips then?"

Pat let him, and ate his own lunch, as the clarity of how many people in this building—at this company—might think that he and Pran were dating. It was fortunate that they had their own offices so it didn't matter too much, but it wasn't like Pat could just tell them that it was a mistake, or that they'd conveniently broken up now, just days after almost getting the investment. The more he thought about it, the more he realized what a predicament it was.

After lunch, he brought the second tray up back to the office. Pran was going to eat lunch at some point, and unless he'd gone somewhere else while Pat and the rest of them were in the cafeteria, the food would still get eaten. Luckily, Pat returned to see Pran still working there, by his lonesome, tapping at his computer.

Pat was with the rest of their group, though. "Hey Pran!" Wai called across the room. "Your boyfriend bought you lunch~!"

"What boyfriend?" Pran said, glancing back briefly. He did a double take when he saw Pat with the tray.

"I'm your boyfriend," said Pat, setting the food on Pran's desk. "Remember? Honey?"

Pran rolled his eyes, then turned to the food. "What's this?"

"Khun Pichai was there and asked me where you were," said Pat.

Pran raised an incredulous eyebrow at him. "So you bought me lunch?"

"Well, what else was I supposed to do? I'm a good boyfriend." Pat huffed defensively and returned to his own cubicle.

Pran picked at his food. "What if I don't want to eat it?" he asked.

"Then I'll eat it," said Pat. He got up from his desk. "Damn, you don't have to be so—"

"I'm not saying that I don't want to eat it," Pran told him. He sounded amused. "I just wanted to ask what if."

Pat narrowed his eyes at him and sat back down. After a moment, Pran picked up his chopsticks and started eating his lunch. He drank the iced tea Pat had picked out for him, too.

But that was as much as Pat and Pran really said to each other, at least until a few days later when Pichai and a few investors appeared at the door of their office. "Knock knock," said one of them, a more stoutly man with a kind face. "Just checking to see how our little collaboration is going."

Korn bounded up immediately, Wai trailing behind him. "Great!" Korn said. "We've made a lot of progress. Want to see?"

While some of the investors followed Korn with interest, Pichai and a couple of others browsed around the room. Pat watched as they came to their desks. Pichai glanced between Pat and Pran's.

"You guys are so far apart," he said with some amusement to Pat and Pran. "And look! You're both so focused on your work."

"It's okay," chuckled a woman beside him. "We already know you guys are dating. You can be as close as you want."

Pat exchanged a look with Pran. "Thanks," he said to the woman. "It's just what's convenient for our teams."

"Sure," said Pichai. "But you're a couple, aren't you? Where's the love?"

"I don't do public affection," Pran stated, not looking up from his computer.

Pichai eyed him and chuckled. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say that you guys weren't dating at all," he said.

Pat got up and ran over to Pran's desk. "No, we are," he said. "Pran's just feeling a little tired today. Right, baby?" he asked, and gave Pran a meaningful look.

Pran met his gaze. Then he sighed. "Right," he said. Pat reached down to ruffle his hair. Pran went, "Pat, ow!" and shooed him off.

Pichai cleared his throat. "Well then," he said to all of them. "Looks good. For the most part." He looked at Pran skeptically again. "I suppose we'll take our leave for now."

The moment they left, Pat prodded Pran's shoulder from where he was still sitting at his desk. "You could at least put in more effort to pretend to be my boyfriend," he said with a pout. "That's the only reason any of us are here in the first place."

"Don't remind me," Pran muttered, returning to his computer.

"We're going to have to keep up for a while, you know," Pat reminded him. "At least until Christmas, remember?"

Pran looked up at him again.

"Yeah, I remember," he said.

Pat didn't know if Pran had a plan for them to be in a pretend relationship, because he sure didn't. He just hoped that it would only matter whenever Pichai or any of the other investors were around. Pran was so distant and off-putting, like he couldn't care less about what was going around him. It made Pat want to needle him more, get a reaction out of him. Pran used to be so easy to rile up when they were younger. Now Pran just ignored it when Korn threw a water bottle at Pat from across the room, or, when Pat stole a pen from his desk with a cheeky grin, fixed him with a bored stare and snatched it back.

Whatever. Pran was no fun, but that wasn't news to Pat.

Besides, Pat had better things to do. His favorite post-work routine was going to the gym, where he could lift weights, listen to music, and not think about anything else for a good hour or so. His apartment building had a gym in the basement, all wood and leather, and Pat focused on his body more than anything else, treading into the showers about an hour later.

It was Pat's favorite way to end a day. Afterward, he'd order takeout for dinner and maybe grab a beer from his fridge. He thought about what he might want for dinner—then stopped because there was a sticky note outside of his regular shower cubicle.

Clean up the soap suds next time, will you?

Pat frowned. His shower cubicle was all the way at the end and there wasn't enough traffic in this gym for the sticky note to be directed at just anybody. This was the stall that Pat always used, around six p.m. on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. It had been nice to get into a routine, but he didn't realize it was someone else's problem too.

He took the sticky note. The handwriting was small and neat. Pat stuck it in his gym bag.

If he used extra soap to leave more bubbles on the ground, that was nobody's business but his. And whoever the fuck else cared.

*

Clearly you got my note from last time.

That was the note that greeted Pat a few days later. A Monday this time, after an uneventful weekend of Paa visiting and binge watching a c-drama together. She had intended to come over to help him with chores, but that was what usually happened now whenever they hung out.

Most of Monday had been the same as usual too, except when Pat and Pran were coming back to their offices at one point. They had been walking separately, though they occupied the hall at the same time. While they were waiting for the elevator, a woman who Pat had recognized as one of their investors had been heading in their direction. Quickly, Pat had sidled up to Pran and said, "Hold my hand." Pran looked annoyed but did as Pat said when the woman passed them by. She had said, "Oh, you two are so handsome together," and Pat and Pran had smiled at her. Then, once she had turned the corner, Pran dropped his hand and his smile.

"Hey," Pat had said, as Pran headed into the elevator without a word. "I just saved our asses."

"Whatever," said Pran, not looking at him.

That had been earlier, though. Now it was late afternoon again; Pat glared at the sticky note, then squinted at it. It seemed firmly pressed into the wall, like it had been left there mere minutes before Pat had come in. Whoever was leaving these notes wasn't leaving them after his own shower, but deliberately before Pat's regular timeslot. Pat scowled.

Well, the joke was on them.

On Wednesday, instead of going to the gym at his usual time, Pat waited outside the men's locker room. Whoever it was would show their face; whether or not Pat knew what he would say was something else. Still, maybe they'd just take one look at him and leave. It had happened before, when his friends were on the brink of getting into a bar fight, before Pat inserted himself in the middle of everyone with a look that he knew said, Back off. At best, Pat would just make the guy tell him to stop it with the soap suds to his face. Then Pat would.

There were footsteps coming down the hall. Pat looked up from his phone.

Pran appeared around the corner.

"Pran?" Pat said, and Pran froze on the spot.

"Uh," said Pran. He was in casualwear, not his office button-ups and pressed trousers. He wore a baggy t-shirt and shorts, which made him look much younger and less uptight.

He was also holding a sticky note in his fingers. Pat narrowed his eyes at it.

"So it was you," he accused.

"Me? What," said Pran, then looked at the note in his hands. Then at Pat. "Oh, I should've known. Only you would be messy enough to not clean up the soap after you shower. Repeatedly."

"You're the one leaving childish notes." Pat walked over to him and plucked the note from his hand: You have a shower spray, use it. "What are you, ten?"

"I'm the one who's cleaning up after you," Pran sneered.

"And what are you doing here, anyway?" Pat added. "Guess you just couldn't get enough of me at work, huh?"

Pran blinked at him.

"You think I moved here because of you?"

"You live here?"

"Of course I do." Pran gestured to the locker rooms. "I use the gym, don't I?"

It clicked the moment he said it out loud. Pat was stunned, because what were the chances?

"Well." Pat fidgeted. "I do too."

"Yeah, clearly." Pran seemed annoyed, but they were here now. There was nothing they could do about it, really. "I haven't lived here long."

"Oh," said Pat. That explained why the sticky notes had just appeared out of the blue. "Moving in?"

Pran looked away cagily. "Yeah."

"Want me to help?"

"You were just calling me a child earlier," Pran pointed out, and stalked away. "No."

"I'd help a child," Pat said, tagging along. "So it makes perfect sense, actually."

Pran crinkled his nose. "I'm fine, thanks. I see enough of you as it is."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Pat asked. They made their way up the stairs to their apartment's elevators. Pran was already pressing the button to go up.

"It means," Pran said, turning around to look at him, "that I'll just pick another shower stall."

Pat wriggled his eyebrows. "Last I heard," he said into Pran's face, "we're boyfriends. So we can always shower together."

Pran glared at him. "Leave me alone," he said, and stepped into the elevator once its doors had opened. "I don't need any help."

"I'd make a great boyfriend," said Pat, but Pran just ignored him and looked at the wall as the elevator doors closed in between them.

*

It was a coincidence—a miracle, even—that Pran happened to move into Pat's apartment building. "It's convenient is what it is," said Korn over a six pack.

Pat had called him over because as much as they pretended otherwise, he and Korn loved to gossip when they could. Plus, Korn knew that he and Pran were fake dating. Pat didn't have to pretend to actually like him around Korn.

"For you guys to arrange pretend boyfriend stuff," Korn continued thoughtfully, and chewed on his squid jerky. "Ooh, you guys could practice kissing. And come up with elaborate backstories!"

"One of them sounds more useful than the other," teased Pat. He stole one of Korn's snacks, but Korn didn't pay him any attention. "I don't know, it's just weird seeing him again."

"I'll bet," said Korn. "But now you guys are in a happy relationship."

"Yeah, thanks to you," said Pat, whacking him with a stick of jerky.

"Hey," said Korn. "If I'd known how complicated you guys had it, I might've had second thoughts." He paused for a moment. "Maybe."

"Yeah, yeah." Pat shrugged, then chewed thoughtfully. "It doesn't matter anyway. It's just Pran."

Pran, who didn't protest when at work the next day, as they headed down to lunch, Pat grabbed his waist as they passed other people in the hallway. Even though their main investors were nowhere in sight, they couldn't take any chances. "What are you doing?" Pran hissed, but stayed close beside him.

"What do you think I'm doing?" Pat whispered back.

Pran glared at him. But he held Pat's hand as they returned to the office.

It was weird. It wasn't like high school, where they had been more shy about whatever friendship they had, until they realized the majority of their teachers and classmates didn't care. It was the opposite, because now Pat couldn't walk two paces without making sure that anyone around them who might see didn't have a doubt in mind that Pran was his boyfriend.

Pran untangled his hand from Pat's as soon as they were back in their office, surrounded by their teams.

Pat followed him to his desk. "Are you mad at me?" he asked Pran. "You know, being in a healthy relationship means communicating with each other."

Pran shot him a brief glare, then returned to his work. "No," he said. "I'm just not sure if our parents would approve of this."

"What? Dating?" Pat raised an eyebrow at him. "Or 'dating'?" He used air quotes.

Pran shrugged. "Whichever way. Don't tell me you forgot."

He didn't specify but Pat knew what he meant. How could he not?

And how could he forget that day? They had been in high school—on stage, playing for their classmates—when Pran's parents had interrupted them, cutting their song short. They tore Pran away and transferred him to a boarding school, never to be seen again. Just because he'd been on stage with Pat.

He'd thought he'd rejoice at first. No more Pran meant his dad would stop asking about him. Pat wouldn't have to keep his eye on Pran for his GPA or sports or whatever else he did. But there had been the loss of those things, too, because Pran had been so fun—so much so that they had joined their high school's music club, written a song together, and performed together, because they'd wanted to.

Up until Pran's mom had seen them.

Pran looked at Pat for a long time, then back down at his work.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Pran muttered to himself.

But maybe it was on the virtue of being a lie. Pat's dad was visiting him at work today, anyway, because Pat had told him that his team was starting a new project, and Ming said he had a senior at LogTech he could visit as well.

Pat greeted him in the lobby after work. "Hey Dad," he said.

Ming pulled him in for a tight hug. "Looking good, Tiger," he said, clapping Pat on the back. "Doing good work on the project, I'm sure?"

"Yeah." Pat glanced around. Luckily, it was late enough for most people to have left. The Olive and MOI teams were usually the last to leave the building. "It's kind of complicated, actually."

Ming crossed his arms. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Um, you remember the guy next door?"

Ming thought for a moment. "What about him?" he asked Pat.

"Well." Pat fidgeted, then got closer. The lobby—large as it was—felt too big all of a sudden. "I kind of have to date him."

"For work?" Ming frowned.

"Well, Khun Pichai on the investor's board—"

At the sound of the name, clarity washed over Ming's face. "Ah, I see," he said. "No, Pat, I understand. Khun Pichai was my senior—he knew me and that boy's mom."

Pat had gathered as much, but it was still surprising to see his dad actually accepting of the situation. "You get it?"

"Of course. He knew we didn't like each other for so long." Ming gestured absently at Pat. "It makes sense why he would think the same of you and the other boy. So I get why you told him you were dating."

Pat's head was spinning.

"Plus," Ming added. "This project of yours will make a lot of rich people very happy, eh?" He clapped Pat on the arm. "So it'll all be worth it."

"Yeah," Pat said absently.

They made their way out of the building as Ming asked, "What do you want to eat?"

Pat huffed with good humor. "I'll find something on my phone," he said.

"Good boy," said Ming, and stood by as Pat searched for nearby restaurants on his phone.

His dad continued, "Pretending to date that boy might be annoying, but you'll manage. That family still hasn't moved out yet, can you believe it? Always like they have to have the last word." He tsked. "You know, the other day, I parked a little over the line and his dad got so mad at me. It's only a few inches, who cares? They always have to be the troublesome sort, don't they?"

Pat looked up from his phone. "Dad—"

But when he turned, he didn't just see his dad there—he saw Pran, too, by himself, in his sweater and messenger bag. Pat felt caught, suddenly. How much had Pran heard?

Pran wasn't looking at him, though. "My family is not troublesome," he said to Ming. "And you should be more concerned about how you talk about the family of the man who's dating your son."

He glanced at Pat pointedly before marching away.

"Dad," Pat complained.

Ming shrugged and put his hands up. "What? He came out of nowhere."

Pat believed him because Pran had the tendency to do that, but—"They're really not that bad, you know," he said to Ming, before rushing off after Pran, who was going to his car across the street.

Pran ignored him until Pat stopped him in front of his small green car. "Move," said Pran.

"I'm sorry," Pat said quickly. "My dad didn't mean that—"

"No, he did," said Pran.

"Well, still." Pat bit his lip, standing in front of Pran. "It wasn't a nice thing to say. And I don't agree with him. I don't think you're troublesome."

Pran studied him for a moment.

"Even though I moved into your apartment building?" he asked.

Pat shrugged. "How were either of us supposed to know?"

And he meant it—the universe was funny that way, sometimes. Pat was old enough now not to question it, especially if there wasn't anything they could do about it. It wasn't like either of them could just change leasing agreements.

Pran stared at him for a second longer, then said, "Thank you, I appreciate it." He pushed Pat aside to get to his driver's seat.

Pat watched as Pran climbed into his car. This part was weird, too. The last time Pat had seen Pran, he'd been babyfaced and his biggest concern had been homework. Now he had a leather messenger bag and was driving a car.

"I'll see you at work tomorrow?" Pat asked him through the window.

Pran met his gaze. "Sure," he said, then turned on his car and drove away.

*

The next day at work they were all working on their separate things—Pat was talking with Wai and Mo about football—when Chai, one of the investors, appeared at their office door.

"Aren't you guys coming to the luncheon?" he asked them.

They all turned to him.

"What luncheon?" asked Pran.

As it turned out, there was a building-wide luncheon that day. All the teams were invited, and Pat made sure he was trailing a little behind Pran the whole time, just so they were close enough that it wasn't suspicious. He didn't want to bother Pran, not after yesterday. But then Pran noticed and asked, "What are you doing?" and grabbed Pat's hand, fixing him at his side.

It wasn't that bad, all things considered. There were a lot of speeches none of them really cared about—"And free food," Pat overheard Wai mutter to Pran as they clapped through something. "It's totally worth it."

Pran rolled his eyes. "You hate these as much as I do," he said to Wai.

They had Pat and Pran sit next to each other at their table, even though Pran slid into his seat like it was only incidental. During lunch, as they ate, several other LogTech members floated around, and Pat was conscious enough to rest his hand on the back of Pran's chair every so often. "Want me to feed you some rice?" he asked, when he noticed Pichai strolling nearby.

Pran gave him a dirty look. "What, are you gonna take off my shoes and give me a foot massage next?" he asked Pat.

"Only if you want me to," Pat said sweetly.

He wiped Pran's mouth with his napkin, though, which Pran didn't really protest about. And later when there were a few more speeches to be given, Pat spotted Pran's hand on the table and grabbed it. Pran looked at him strangely, but Pat shrugged. Pran turned his hand over in Pat's and entwined their fingers together. His palm was warm and his fingers were long. His skin was soft. Pat almost didn't notice Korn giving him kissy faces across the table.

They mingled afterward because it was the smart thing to do. Even Pran stayed, though Pat could tell that he wanted to get out of there as soon as conveniently possible.

A LogTech employee approached them; they were still awkwardly holding hands at their table. "You two are the dating team leads of that new eco project, right?" she asked, and Pat and Pran nodded. "Oh, that's so sweet! Did you meet each other through the project?"

"No," Pat said, before Pran could answer. "We already knew each other. We were childhood friends."

"Oh!" The employee clutched her chest. "Really? What a surprise!"

"Yeah," said Pran, from Pat's side. He was eyeing Pat carefully. "We also didn't get along when we were children. But we overcame our differences."

Pat got close to him, close enough that their hips touched. "Yeah, now we're friends."

"Lovers," Pran corrected.

"The best of friends."

"Oh, young love," said the employee. "Well, I'll be cheering you on. And your team! Hope you had a good luncheon," she said, then moved onto the next table.

Pat pretended to bite at Pran through a scowl. Pran flicked him on the forehead and ignored him. They were still holding hands.

It was the most they had to do in terms of pretending to date, but at least by the end of the day, it was all over. "You guys deserve a break," said Wai, because he and the rest of their team were going to go do karaoke. On any other day Pat would've wanted to join, but he was tired too. And bugging Pran after work sounded more appealing. "We can go off without you guys."

"I think you just don't want me to see how much you'll drink," Pran said. He was still at his cubicle, as was Pat. The rest of them were leaving.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Wai said airily.

Then he was gone with the rest of their teams, the noise disappearing with them.

Pat closed his laptop, put it in his bag, then slung it over his shoulder. He made his way over to Pran. "Ready to go yet?" he asked.

"I'll go when I'm ready," said Pran.

Pat looked at Pran's laptop. It was dark.

"I think you just don't want to walk with me," Pat teased.

Pran sighed, then closed his laptop and put it in his bag. "It's fine," he said and stood up. He gave Pat a fake smile. "I might as well accompany my boyfriend."

"Don't sound so excited," Pat said dryly, and they headed out.

He and Pran went their separate ways in the parking lot. Pat glanced at the restaurants he passed by on his way home. He wasn't much of a cook so he was going to get takeout anyway, whether it was through delivery or in person. And he was kind of feeling noodles today—there was a decent restaurant a few minutes away from his apartment. In a last minute decision, he made his way into the lot, parked next to a green car, then bounded up, ready to order a bowl of noodles.

He wasn't expecting Pran to be there as well, standing in line. He startled when he saw Pat.

"What?" Pran asked. "Did you follow me here?"

"No." Pat walked up to him. "I was hungry. This place is close to my apartment."

"Yeah, mine too," Pran said pointedly.

Right. They were in the same apartment building. "Well," said Pat, looking around. "Are you eating out? Or sitting in?"

Pran glanced around the restaurant, then back at him. "I'll sit in."

They got a table for two. "It wouldn't hurt, anyway," Pat said, as they were led to their table in the back. "Just in case someone from LogTech sees us out. Like we're on a date."

Pran's movements were slow as he slid his bag to the ground. "Yeah," he said to Pat.

A waiter was with them shortly, and they ordered their food—"Three dumplings?" Pat asked, once the waiter had left. "What, are you superstitious or something?"

"No," Pran said. Pat thought he might leave it at that, but then Pran added, "Two isn't enough, and four is too many."

"Ah," said Pat.

When their food came, Pat shamelessly stole one of Pran's dumplings. "Hey!" said Pran, and Pat opened his mouth, where he'd barely chewed the dumpling.

"You want it?" he said through his food.

Pran crinkled his nose. "Ew, no," he said, then peered into Pat's bowl. Pat's order had dumplings too; Pran stole one easily. "I'll just take one of yours."

Pat watched him carefully as he chewed on his dumpling. "You're different, Parakul," he said, after swallowing. "Not like how you were in high school."

"Well," said Pran, moving his chopsticks methodically through his noodles. He'd measured them to make sure they were the same length, earlier, under the table like he thought Pat wouldn't see. "It's been fifteen years."

He wasn't wrong. They were fifteen when they'd last seen each other, too. "Do you think I've changed?" Pat asked.

Pran leveled him with a look.

"No," he said. "You're just the same as you were when you were in high school."

Pat grinned at him. "Youthful and energetic?"

"Annoying," Pran said, and stole another one of Pat's dumplings—one more than Pat had taken from him. "And immature."

Pat tried to take one of his dumplings too, but Pran shoved them both in his mouth before Pat could.

Afterward, the waiter asked, "Will you be on one bill or two?" Before Pran could answer, Pat said, "One. And here's my card," and gave it to the waiter.

He smiled at Pran as the waiter left to check them out. "Wasn't this a nice date, baby?" he asked Pran.

Pran's expression was unreadable. "It wasn't bad," he said, after a moment. His bowl was clean; he'd finished it all. Pat had too, but Pran had been complaining how loud he'd been when Pat was slurping down the soup. "You're tolerable company sometimes."

"Only sometimes?" Pat pouted.

Pran rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.

They drove separately to the garage of their apartment, but there were only two empty parking slots left next to each other. Pat found himself pulling up next to a green car just as it finished parking. "You again," Pat said, as he exited his driver's seat.

Pran didn't say anything to him, but didn't rebuff him, either, as Pat followed him into the building, and then to the elevator doors. It wasn't like Pat was going to pretend to go anywhere else. They were going to the same place, after all.

"What floor are you on?" Pran asked him in the elevator.

He'd already pressed the 4 button. Pat made note of it in his head.

"Three," Pat replied.

Pran hit the button for him.

"Three thirty-nine," Pat added, after the doors closed. They were the only ones in the elevator, Pat and his blue button up and black slacks contrasting with Pran's pale yellow shirt and red trousers. "In case you need to know for later."

Pran made a noise of assent. "Mm."

"And what about you?" Pat asked him.

Pran glanced at him.

"Four forty-four," he told Pat.

Pat grinned. "Four four four, easy to remember. Bad luck in Chinese though."

"Good thing I'm not Chinese," said Pran, as the elevator stopped.

It was floor two. Someone was getting on. Pat didn't particularly care.

"Do you want my number?" he asked Pran. "In case, you know. You need it for anything?"

"Why would I need it?" said Pran.

Pat sighed and pulled out his phone. "Scan my QR code," he said. "Otherwise I'm going to my apartment and you'll never see me again."

"I'm going to see you tomorrow," said Pran.

But he scanned Pat's LINE QR code anyway. Pat said, "There, now you can talk to me whenever you want," as he stepped out onto his floor. "If you need help again. Or," he smirked, "if you just want to talk."

"In your wildest dreams," Pran said, and the elevator doors closed between them.

He texted Pat seconds later, though, with a middle finger emoji. Pat laughed, hearted it, and saved Pran's contact information, before pocketing his phone and heading home.

TWO.

Despite living in the same apartment building, Pat didn't run into Pran all that much outside of work. He supposed it made sense though, with the way Pran was always in the office by the time Pat got there in the mornings. And Pat didn't know when Pran hit up the gym, just that it wasn't at the same time as Pat.

Pran was being cagey on purpose, too. Which was fine with Pat. It wasn't like they were friends or anything. Just coworkers. Who had to pretend they were dating, on occasion.

During a late weekend morning, Pat was coming back from a breakfast out with Ink and Paa and passed by the mailroom which was getting cleaned out. He only glanced out of curiosity, but when he saw a big box that said 444, he asked the janitor, "Hey, how long has this been here?"

The janitor brushed off the dust from the top of the box. "Looks like it's been here for a while."

"It's mine," Pat said automatically. He couldn't tell what it was, but if it was something useful, Pran was going to be pissed if it got thrown out. "I'll take it."

The janitor shrugged. "Sure, whatever," he said, and Pat took it from his bin.

Pat hadn't been to Pran's apartment yet, nor Pran to his, since they'd exchanged information. Pat had thought something might happen after that exchange, but Pran had continued on like always, like Pat was just a nuisance in his life. Well, Pat thought, as he pressed the 4 button on the elevator, he could live up to those standards.

Once he got to the fourth floor, he knocked on Pran's door and waited. He heard a small noise on the other side, then Pran was opening up the door, a cautious look on his face.

"Hi," he said. "What do you want?"

Pat gestured with the box in his hands. "Think I saved your mail," he said.

Pran frowned and took the package from him. "What is this?" he said, tearing it open. Realization dawned on him as the cardboard fell away. "Oh, my internet box! I thought I'd grabbed it already."

"Apparently not," said Pat. 

While Pran was looking over the box, Pat pushed his way into Pran's apartment. It was sparse, but there were a few things around—sticky notes on the refrigerator and shelves, dishware in boxes on the kitchen counters, and a half-made sofa and a coffee table in the middle of the room. An assortment of appliances and decorative pieces were strewn about, like they were taken out before they had a home. It looked both moved in and lived-in.

"Hey," Pran protested, following Pat. "I didn't say you could come in."

"I didn't ask," said Pat. There were still large unopened boxes on the ground, all sorts of tape, and a toolbox. "Need a hand?"

"With what?" Pran set the box with his router on the table.

"Moving in, of course," said Pat. 

Pran perched his elbow on the box, eyeing Pat. "Why are you offering?" he asked.

Pat shrugged. "Out of the goodness of my heart."

It was true. Besides, he had nothing better to do today. And though Pran wasn't really his friend, he was good company. Especially if Pat was pissing him off.

"I made sure you have internet, didn't I?" Pat added, indicating below Pran's elbow.

Pran sighed, but didn't try to fight him. "My bed frame probably needs two people to put it together anyway," he grumbled, and turned into another room.

Pat followed him eagerly. Pran's mattress was on the ground, and there was indeed a half-made bed frame struggling beside it. "Tell me where you want me," said Pat.

Pran instructed him to hold some pieces on the other side, so Pat did. Then he had Pat install a screw at a weird angle, because Pran had been trying and failing to do it with his own left hand before Pat volunteered. "I'm ambidextrous with construction, you know," he said.

Pran mumbled, "Good for you," but didn't complain.

They moved the frame around, and Pat heaved the mattress onto the bed. It took a few turns to get everything on the right sides according to Pran, but they did it eventually. Which mostly meant Pat was the one turning the mattress around and going, "Like this? Or like this?" until Pran said, "Okay, that's enough," and rushed to tuck the corners in so they aligned.

Once they were done, Pran went back out into the living room without a word. Pat called after him, "Do I get a thanks?" but Pran's voice said, "Come help me with the sofa next, too."

"Why didn't you make any of this earlier?" Pat asked, as they heaved the sofa together. The instruction manual lay on the ground, and they both glanced at it every so often.

Pran gave him a look. "You think I've had time to unpack after the past couple of weeks?"

"You don't seem very tired," Pat observed.

Pran took the screwdriver from him. "Maybe you're just not good at reading me," he said. "Ever think about that?"

"Well," said Pat, and got closer to him. "I'll just have to fix that then."

Pran scoffed. "All right," he muttered to himself.

They got the couch put together, and Pat helped him turn it right side up. It was a simple blue couch, fit for three people. Pat couldn't help looking at it proudly when he was done. 

"Done," he said. "What's next?"

"Nothing," said Pran, who had sat down on the couch. He really did seem tired; Pat could see it in his shoulders. "You should go home, Pat."

Pat pouted. "But I want to help."

"Maybe tomorrow," Pran grumbled, and waved him off.

If Pat didn't know he had real responsibilities tomorrow, he would've persisted. And if he didn't know that tomorrow also consisted of seeing Pran in the office again. 

In the morning, Pat sprung up behind him at his desk.

"Hi," he said.

Pran didn't flinch or turn around. He also didn't say anything back.

"What?" Pat asked, bending down to look at his face. "Ignoring your boyfriend?"

Pran flicked his eyes over to him. "Hi," he said, and then after a pause, "boyfriend."

Pat grinned cheekily. "That's better," he said. Then, switching tack, "Did you get the HR email?"

Pran grimaced and nodded. LogTech had belatedly announced a safety inspection today, which meant that people would be coming into their office again. And it was fine, mostly—they were all working most of the time, anyway—but it also meant that Pran would have to pretend to be dating Pat again.

"They're intrusive when they're in the middle of the day," Pran said.

Pat blinked. "What? Oh, yeah." That was annoying too. "I could get us drinks then," he suggested. "If you want."

Pran shrugged. "Be my guest."

Pat did, their order coming in just around the same time as the inspectors and LogTech department leads. "Sorry," Pat said quickly, tipping the delivery driver before grabbing his and Pran's drinks. "I just got something for me and my partner."

"Workplace dating," one of them said thoughtfully. "Shouldn't that be a problem with HR?"

"Not for this team," said Korn cheerfully from his desk.

The inspection didn't take long. Pat loitered by Pran's desk with his iced tea until Pran said to him, "Can I help you?" He took a sip of his tea, like he expected Pat to leave.

Pat stuck his nose in Pran's face. "Yes," he said, and leaned in close to Pran. "You can give your boyfriend a kiss."

Pran leaned in too. Pat thought he might just do as he'd asked.

"I," said Pran, and tapped his finger on Pat's nose. "Don't. Do. Public. Affection. Remember?" His last poke was with a swat, and Pat scrunched his face and moved away.

"But what if your boyfriend wants public affection?" he asked with a pout.

"Find another boyfriend," said Pran.

There were a few chuckles around the room, but Pat narrowed his eyes at Pran. He wouldn't be let down so easily.

Later that evening, after they'd all gone home, Pat knocked on Pran's door.

Pran opened up.

"I think I need a new boyfriend," Pat said. "Do you want to consider the job?"

Pran rolled his eyes, but made room to let Pat into his apartment. "I thought I was hiring you to help me move in," he said.

Pat scoped out what Pran had done since yesterday. The decorative pieces and appliances were out of the way; there was a record player sitting on the corner of the kitchen counter. Several large boxes were still scattered about, but the only half-opened one was a flat one against the wall.

"If that's the case," Pat said, "then I think you should be paying me, shouldn't you?"

Pran crossed his arms and made his way into the living room, over to the open box. "You're the one who volunteered to help," he said. "I didn't ask you to."

Pat couldn't argue with that, so he didn't. "I'm guessing you need to put the TV up," he said instead.

"That would be nice," said Pran.

So the two of them went through the pains of hanging the TV. Pat installed the screws in the wall as Pran unpacked some of the other boxes lying around, and then they held up opposite ends of the TV.

"Careful, you might bump it," Pran said. 

"You might bump it," Pat told him because Pran was closer to the coffee table. 

Pran said, "You're clumsier." 

Pat stuck out his tongue and pretended to almost-drop the TV. Pran freaked out and scowled at him. Pat smirked.

"You're such a jackass," Pran said, once the TV was hung.

"And you're a nag," Pat fired back.

Pran rolled his eyes and gestured to another large box. "That's the TV stand, if you want to get it set up as well."

Pat did, taking everything out of the box and chucking stray pieces of cardboard at Pran, who ignored him. "This is a lot of furniture and boxes," he said, as he scoped out the instructions for the TV stand. "Were you going to unpack all of this yourself?" Even for Pat, who'd helped a number of people move in, this seemed like a lot for one person.

Pran sighed from where he was laying out dishware and spices in the kitchen in the way he liked. "No," he admitted. "I had hired movers to help me. But they fell through last minute."

"Oh." Pat located the instructions manual. He looked over at Pran in the kitchen. "That sucks."

Pran nodded.

"But hey." Pat smiled. "Now you have me to help. So that's even better. I'm your good luck charm then."

Pran rolled his eyes. "More like a jinx," he said.

Pat maturely stuck his tongue out.

Supplies were scattered here and there throughout Pran's apartment, so once Pat was done with the TV stand, he went to the nearest open box and rifled through it, laying out the miscellaneous trinkets and items on the kitchen counter wordlessly. Pran came around and grabbed them without complaint, putting them where he liked around the apartment. There were some DVDs and records, too, and Pat put those on the TV stand shelves.

He glanced over at Pran, who was still silently organizing his kitchen. It was nice, actually, being able to move in companionable silence together, despite who they were.

Pat looked back into the box. "What do you think of our parents?" he asked.

"What about them?" 

When Pat glanced up again, Pran was moving stuff from one cabinet to another.

Pat didn't comment on it. "Did you tell your mom?" he said. "About work?"

Pran paused. His mouth twisted unhappily. "No," he said, after a moment. He put the tube of whatever he was holding into the open cabinet. "It's none of her business."

"It's some of her business." Pat found some manga at the bottom of the box. "She hates me."

He glanced over again to see if Pran would refute his statement, but he didn't. Pat sighed and started taking the manga out.

"Fortunately," Pran said, after another long moment. "We're both adults now. So it doesn't really matter what our parents think." He turned to wash something in the sink. "I'm surprised you told your dad," he said to Pat.

Pat shrugged. "It's like you said, it doesn't matter what they think," he said. "Besides, my dad understood."

"Really," Pran said skeptically.

"Yeah." Pat looked thoughtfully at one of the manga covers for a moment. "Said it'll help me make money."

Pran snorted scornfully. Pat silently agreed with the sentiment, but didn't know what else to say. He was used to it, at this point. 

"At least we're not in high school anymore," Pran said.

Pat put another book away. "At least one of us can't get transferred away anymore." Then he spotted the next manga cover. "Hey, wait. You read One Piece?"

Pran told him to focus on helping rather than talking about One Piece, but Pat just got distracted and started rereading one of his favorite chapters on the ground. And then chapter after that, before Pran came over and said, "If you want to read One Piece so badly, you can borrow the volume and read it on your own time." 

Pat smiled up at him. "I'm okay. But thanks for giving me permission to borrow it." 

Pran scowled and left. Pat put the book back on the shelf, anyway.

It was getting late; the dark sky of the city night, smoky and sparkly all at once, washed through Pran's windows as he and Pat were lit by the low comforting lights already installed in Pran's apartment. Pat spotted a lamp and considered unpacking it—but it might be a better idea to save for later. So he could help Pran again.

He was getting hungry as well, but he had leftovers from his takeout yesterday back in his apartment. "Well, one thing our parents don't have to know," Pat said, as he came into the bedroom where Pran was unpacking some clothes, "is that I just spent the past few hours helping you."

Pran had folded a sweater in his arms and looked at Pat. "Yeah," he said after a moment, then put the sweater in a drawer.

The bedroom had a different sort of smell, but Pat liked it. "A bigger crime than playing drums, I think," he said to Pran.

Pran shrugged. "I don't think playing the drums was a crime either," he said. "Only a mistake."

"You really think it was a mistake?" Pat asked quietly.

He and Pran had never used the word "friend" for each other in high school, because they barely were. He never knew what to make of Pran, only that it was like pulling at a string and getting pulled back in return. "Friend" felt too intimate to call someone like that, when it was more like he and Pran orbited around each other, each of them the other's sun and the earth. He didn't want to think it was a mistake, either, at the Christmas concert, just being who they were and playing on stage together, rotating, gravitating, only ever so close. But Pran's mother had felt differently.

"No," Pran said, sounding wistful. "Not anymore. We were just kids."

Pat nodded. "We used to get along so well."

Pran's gaze flickered to him. He didn't say anything as he continued to put his clothes away.

He didn't ask Pat to do more, for which Pat was grateful. He was getting hungrier by the minute, anyway. 

"Well," Pat said. "Guess I should head out."

"Guess you should," said Pran.

"I'm still looking for a new boyfriend, though." Pat stood in the doorframe, leaning against it. "Do you know where I could find one?" He batted his eyelashes.

Pran threw a roll of socks at him. "Not here," he said, as Pat yelped. "I thought you were leaving."

"Fine, fine," Pat grumbled. He threw the socks back at Pran and headed out. "See you at work!"

Pran didn't say anything back, but Pat didn't need him to.

*

It was easier at work the next day, though, especially when Pran joined them for lunch. Pat hung at the back of the group to stay with him and slid his hand into Pran's without saying anything.

Pran cast an annoyed look at him, but with no heat.

Pat smiled at him. "Just out of necessity, you know?" he said.

"You never fail to find a way to be annoying," said Pran, but he held Pat's hand all the way to the cafeteria.

LogTech's cafeteria food was miles better than Pat was used to at Olive. He used to pack microwaveable lunches, but buying from the cafeteria was much more convenient now. Pat grabbed a drink for Pran before Pran could make his way to the drink dispenser.

"You like the same teas as me, right?" asked Pat. "Half sweet?"

Pran took the bottle from him. "Yeah," he said, and didn't say anything else.

But as they sat down with their teams, there were two plates of dessert on Pran's tray.

"You're gonna eat both, Pran?" asked Louis, from the other side of the table.

Pran shook his head and lifted the second plate of cake. "No, this is for my boyfriend," he said, and smiled at Pat sweetly. "As a thank you. For being such a good boyfriend."

He shoved the plate in Pat's face. Pat glanced down at it.

"What if I don't want it?" he asked, even though he did.

Ice, one of his own team members, elbowed him. "Take it. He's your 'boyfriend', remember?" she said pointedly.

Abashed, Pat quickly took the plate. "Yeah, yeah, I know," he said. "I was just messing with him."

Pran watched as Pat placed the plate in the corner of his tray. "You're so mean to your lover sometimes," Pran said.

Pat narrowed his eyes. "I could say the same to you," he said, and they had a wordless exchange of widening their eyes and making faces at each other.

Still, Pran pitched in when Pat went to Wai's desk later to talk to him about some architectural concerns, and Pran spitballed some solutions. When Pat was drawing graphs on the whiteboard and his marker ran out, before he could find a fresher one, a new marker was already in Pran's hand, outstretched toward Pat. Pat took it and met Pran's eyes, but Pran didn't prompt him to say thank you.

After work, Pat worked out at the gym first and then headed to floor four when he was done. Pran opened his door and raised his eyebrows at Pat's getup. "I'm not having you doing any heavy lifting today," said Pran, because Pat was wearing a muscle tee and shorts.

Pat flicked his hair from his face. "Oh? You don't need my big strong muscles to help you?"

"I work out as much as you do," Pran said, amused. He moved aside to let Pat in. "So no, not really."

"Yeah? How much can you bench?" Pat asked. Most of Pran's living room was done, but there were still furniture boxes of bookcases and counter stools and chairs. There was another box in an empty corner of the living room too, along with an office chair. "Or do you even lift?"

Pran watched as Pat grabbed one of the boxes near the counter, one that had a stool diagram on it. "160 kilos," he said after a moment.

Pat benched 170, but it wasn't that far off. He whistled. "Fair enough," he said. "How many reps do you do, usually?"

"Ten," replied Pran. "But I prefer running."

They got most of Pran's seating furniture set up, and the next day, his desk and everything else. Pran had been shopping in between, Pat noticed, because now there were paper towels in the kitchen, rolls of toilet paper under the sink when Pat went to the bathroom briefly, and runners and string lights where there weren't any before. It was cool to see Pran's style in his place; Pat had overheard at work earlier that he'd almost become an interior designer.

It was getting late, but it always was by the time Pran dismissed him. They were pretty much done today, though. Pat grabbed a pack of snacks as Pran finished loading up his desk.

Pran glanced at him, but didn't say anything about Pat eating his food. Instead, he said, "Thanks."

Pat smiled. "You're welcome," he said. "What are you planning for dinner?"

Pran sighed and stood up. "Probably just gonna cook something. I'm pretty sure I have a chicken in here somewhere...."

"Bottom freezer," Pat replied, as Pran opened up his refrigerator. "We could order takeout, if you want."

Pran eyed him. "You just want me to pay for your food."

"I don't," Pat said defensively. "In fact, I'll pay. How about that?"

Sighing, Pran picked up his phone from the counter and rolled it over in his palms, like a tic. "Why are you doing this, Pat?" he asked.

"Doing what?"

"You know." Pran gestured to him. "We're outside of work. We barely know each other now. And considering everything else." He lifted a shoulder then dropped it, like that said it all.

Pat knew what he meant. He thought for a moment.

"Well," he said to Pran. "Because I want to. Ever think of that?"

Pran blinked.

"Besides, you would do the same for me." Pat chewed on his seaweed snack. "Probably."

Pran went over to him. Pat matched him, but Pran just reached over to grab a seaweed snack as well.

"I wouldn't steal your food," Pran said. "Yeah, sure. Let's get takeout."

They decided on a fast food place nearby that they both liked. They had the same opinions when it came to restaurants apparently, so there wasn't any need to bicker over that, as much as Pat would've liked it. Pran offered him a beer while they waited for their food to arrive. As Pat popped the lid off, he couldn't help but giggle.

"This is weird," he said.

Pran raised an eyebrow at him. "Yeah?"

Pat shook his head. Pran was so similar in the ways Pat liked from when they were younger, but so different in other ways that Pat wouldn't have expected. That was one of the things he liked when he was competing against Pran. He could never really underestimate him, no matter what it was.

"Nothing," Pat said, then noticed Pran trying to open his beer bottle. "You need help with that?"

"I'm fine," Pran answered, though it was through gritted teeth.

Pat stuck his hand out. "I'm supposed to be your boyfriend, aren't I? Give it here."

"You do remember you're not actually my boyfriend," said Pran, without handing it over. Pat snatched it out of his hands to little protest.

"Well, clearly I have to be," said Pat. He opened the bottle. The lid was tighter than his own, but after a moment, he'd loosened it. "There you go. No need to say thank you, baby."

Pran's cheeks were pink, but maybe it was the lighting. "I wasn't going to, darling," he retorted.

Their food came, and they divvied up the boxes. Pat said, as he loosened his rice with his chopsticks, "So, you said we barely know each other now. Tell me something I don't know about you."

Pran looked at him warily. He was taking out his fried chicken and placing it on a separate plate. "Like what?" he asked.

Pat shrugged. "I dunno. It doesn't have to be complex."

Pran thought for a moment. "I was president of my faculty in college," he said.

Pat lit up. "Oh! Architecture, right? I remember you mentioning that." Pran nodded. "That's funny," said Pat. "I was president of my faculty too. Engineering," he added, to the questioning look on Pran's face. "Wow, good thing we didn't go to college together then. Our faculties would've hated each other."

Pran's mouth twisted into a weird smile. "Good thing," he echoed. "What about you then? Tell me something I don't know about you."

"Hmm," said Pat, thinking. "I was in a band in college."

Pran raised an eyebrow at him. "No shit? Do you still play?"

"What, you think I was on drums?" Pat waggled his eyebrows. "What if I told you I was the singer?"

"You?" Pran looked at him doubtfully. "I used to hear you next door, you know. I don't think I believe that."

"Hey, I wasn't that bad, was I?" When Pran didn't answer his pout, Pat huffed. "Whatever. I'm a lot better now." He smirked. "I'll be good, I'll earn my score, keep doing good and I'll win your heart—"

Pran had placed his hands over his ears, but Pat knew he was teasing him. His fingers barely covered his ears at all. 

"Of all songs you could choose to sing and you choose the most annoying pop song possible?" Pran complained.

"Put your hand on my cheek and I'll do it some more," Pat continued, and grabbed Pran's palm and put it on his cheek. "Once you've won my heart, you'll be gone."

"I get it, I get it," said Pran, and Pat laughed and stopped. "Yes, you're definitely a better singer than before."

Pat quickly turned sincere. "You mean it?"

Pran laughed at him. "No."

When they finished eating, Pran wasn't shy to say, "You should head out." 

Pat pouted, even though he felt the same. "Kicking out your boyfriend already?" he said, and got close to Pran. "What if I want to sleep over?" he asked in a low, seductive voice.

Pran pushed his face away. "You've stayed here long enough."

"Even though I bought you dinner?"

"You offered to buy me dinner."

Pran was physically kicking him out now, though Pat didn't quite care. He could push back if he really wanted to. "What a cruel boyfriend I have," Pat said, as Pran opened the door and Pat let himself get shoved into the hallway.

Pran rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. You'll see your cruel boyfriend tomorrow," he said. "Bye, Pat."

"'I'll be waiting for you at the milky way,'" Pat said dramatically, and caught a glimpse of Pran's smile as the door closed.

*

At work the next day, Pat walked in to a drink on his desk and a little sticky note with a heart on it. He glanced over at Pran's cubicle, but Pran was tapping away at his computer. Going through emails, it looked like.

Pat knocked on Korn's cubicle next to him. "Look, I have such a sweet boyfriend, don't I?" he said.

Korn "aww'd" at the heart note. "You do," he said, and looked over at Pran as well. "If only my partner worked here and could get me drinks like this too."

"I'm surprised you're not single," said Wai, walking around to their desks. He'd been with Mo and Louis at the whiteboard. Their project was coming along quite smoothly, all things considered.

Korn gave him a funny look. "Yeah? Why? Wanna ask me out?"

"No, I have a girlfriend too," said Wai.

"You're back together?" Pran asked suddenly, surprising Pat.

Wai fidgeted, then shrugged. "Maybe? Well, kinda," he said at the look on Pran's face. "I don't know. It's complicated."

Pat watched as Pran went back to his work. "Too bad you can't have a stable relationship like me and Pran here," Pat said, just as Pichai came in to check how they were doing.

When Pat was explaining the infographs on the whiteboard to him, Pran joined, to Pat's surprise. Pat guided them through the disarray of scribbles and acted like Pran's presence was nothing, but when Pran put a hand on his hip—subtle, warm—Pat forgot where he was for a moment.

"You were saying?" said Pichai's voice, and Pat snapped back to reality.

"Right," he said and continued on.

But Pran was looking at him a lot more, too—at lunch, sneaking glances during meetings, and in the hallways, when they passed by each other. It was like something had switched inside Pran, like he was different. Or the same, really, like back when they were kids and competing over everything. Whatever Pat gave to him in the subtlest of affections Pran returned now: he grabbed his hand first in the hall, touched the small of Pat's back as an added gesture when they were in the cafeteria, and got closer to Pat than he needed to in the elevator with only one or two other people.

Pat wasn't complaining, though. Finally, it felt like he wasn't the only one caring about their fake relationship arrangement. 

"You guys are so cute," Safe commented one day from his desk.

Pat and Pran were standing against the same cubicle wall talking to Wai. Pat had his elbow resting on Pran's shoulder and was absently flicking a strand of Pran's hair.

Pran glanced at Safe. "What?"

"You and Pat." Safe gestured to them. "It's almost like you're dating for real."

"We're hardly doing anything," said Pat.

Chompoo chimed in, "Yeah, but it's convincing."

Pat wasn't sure about that, but as he got into the elevator with Pran in the afternoon, he stood close to him this time. "What are you doing?" Pran asked, as Pat pressed him into the metal wall.

Pat took a big whiff. He had an excuse to now. "Just smelling my good-smelling boyfriend," he said, and he meant it, too. The mixed warm honey citrus of Pran's cologne was intoxicating. Or maybe it was just Pran. The scent was usually so light around him, but Pat remembered how it was, briefly, in his bedroom that one time. "That's all."

"Okay, freak," said Pran, and lightly shoved Pat off of him. "What are you, a dog?"

"No." Pat smiled at him winningly. "Just your boyfriend."

It really was a shame that they could head home but not arrive to work together because Pran liked to get up so damn early. A few mornings later, Pat decided to try to get in around the same time, though he'd underestimated how fast Pran could be, because his car was still already there at seven thirty. He saw Pran in line at the small cafe at the corner of the LogTech lobby.

"Boo!" Pat said, and laughed when Pran nearly jumped out of his skin. "Getting something?"

"You're here early," said Pran, as Pat scoped out the menu.

Pat winked at him. "Just wanted to try something new."

As they walked over to the elevators afterward, Pat decided to be annoying and take a sip from Pran's straw. "You can ask, you know," said Pran with amusement, though he didn't take the iced tea away from Pat. They had the same drink, anyway.

"You'd say yes if I asked?"

"Well, that's a different question." Pran drank from the same straw.

"Then why would I bother asking?" Still, Pat silently offered Pran his own straw, and Pran hesitated for only a second before drinking from Pat's tea. "There, we're even. For now."

"I remember dating a man," Pran said thoughtfully, "not a dog."

It was like a dance: as much as Pat gave, Pran was giving back. Pat had lunch ordered for Pran one day, with a heart-shaped balloon and all. The next day, he saw people whispering before coming to his desk, which had a full Japanese breakfast laid out on it. They had a meeting with their investors a few days later and sat next to each other, and after Pat placed his arm possessively around Pran's chair, Pran asked him to give him a massage later because his shoulders were sore. 

And it was so easy for them to catch each other's hands when the other wasn't expecting it, if only to distract each other. Their fingers danced together when they passed each other in the hallways, at the sink in the restroom, or even in the bullpen when Pat was passing by Pran's desk and skated his fingers at the top of the wall for Pran to brush against as well.

Pichai was there, one day, talking to Korn about the current progress of the project. As Pat's fingers entangled with Pran's at the side of Pran's desk, Pichai called across the room, "I'm glad you guys are getting along. I wasn't sure if I believed you were dating at first."

"Oh!" said Pat, and stopped next to Pran. "Yeah. We definitely are."

From his chair, Pran stepped on his foot. Pat pretended not to notice.

"Still waiting to see if you'll last until Christmas, though," Pichai said. He wagged a finger at them before returning to his conversation with Wai.

Pat tried not to be too disappointed. "Right, Christmas," he said.

Pran seemed pensive for a moment, but quickly caught himself when Pat turned to him. "Christmas isn't that far away," he said to Pat.

October was fast approaching, evident by the way it started to rain less in the day. Pat peeked out the window, then asked, "Hey, want to do some shopping after work?"

Pran looked at him warily, then glanced at Pichai. "What do you need to go shopping for?" 

"Nothing, I just think we could check out a music store," said Pat. "Please? My nice boyfriend?"

Pran shrugged. "Fine, sure." 

The music store Pat wanted to take Pran to was one where he was already a regular, where he'd bought all his sticks and his electronic drum set. It was near their apartment, he told Pran in the LogTech parking lot, and they could meet outside their building.

Pran agreed easily, though Pat was sure that if he asked Pran weeks ago, Pran would've said no. Hell, he was pretty sure Pran would've said no if Pichai hadn't been in the room when Pat had asked. Still, if Pat knew anything about Pran even now, it was that Pran loved music. And he hadn't seen a single sheet of music in sight when they'd unpacked, much less a guitar.

They met up as planned, Pran in a striped sweater and jeans instead of his work clothes. Pat hadn't changed, and he nodded down the street when Pran spotted him from out front.

"It's just a few blocks over," he said as they made their way through the city.

The owner of the music store greeted Pat by name, and Pran bowed politely before quickly getting distracted by the walls of guitars. "Whoa," he said, running to a nearby one. "Is that the new Casio?"

"Just got it in," said the owner.

"Wow." Pran ran his fingers down the neck of the guitar, then moved to the other one. "I know this one too," he murmured to himself.

Pat smiled as he watched. "Have you played much recently?" he asked.

Pran didn't answer, still examining. He noticed the acoustics and rushed to them immediately, fingering the strings and admiring the guitar bases.

Pat was so busy watching Pran that it took until his eyes were idly drifting before he noticed someone outside of the store, peering in. Pat recognized him, because it was Chai, one of the LogTech investors.

Pat grabbed Pran quickly. "Khun Chai's here!" he hissed. 

Alarmed, Pran stood up from where he'd been looking at a guitar. Pat instinctually brought them close together—just in case Chai saw them—and pressed his face into Pran's neck as if they were kissing passionately.

That ought to work, though Pran's scent wafted into his nose stronger now. The cologne lingered, citrusy and sweet, but there was something still delectable underneath. Woodsy. Pat inhaled deeply but didn't say anything. Then he remembered whose body he was pressed against, and cleared his throat.

"Is he still there?" he asked.

Pran was silent for a moment. Waiting, probably. Then he said, "No, he's gone now."

"Oh, awesome." Pat let Pran go. Pran's cheeks were faintly pink. "Sorry. I forgot you don't like the public affection part."

"It's fine," said Pran. "I'm not sure if he recognized me, anyway."

Pran didn't buy a guitar, though there was one that he kept glancing back to as they left. Pat would have to double check to see what guitar it was later. As they rode the elevator back up their apartment, he asked Pran, "What are you gonna do now?"

Pran looked up in thought. "Go home," he said. "Then go to the gym."

"Oh? Is today your gym day?"

Pran shrugged. "It's usually earlier. But someone wanted me to keep him company, so I won't work out as much today."

"They must be pretty lucky," Pat teased, as the elevator dinged on floor three. "To get so much of your company."

"Bye, Pat," Pran said, and Pat stepped out.

But Pat wasn't done yet; Pran had told him where he was going, after all. Even though it was a Tuesday, Pat grabbed his gym bag and quickly made his way to the lower floor. He got set up just in time for Pran to arrive, who looked bewildered at first before he narrowed his eyes at Pat.

Pat lifted his weights and acted like he just spotted Pran. "Are you copying me?" he asked innocently.

Pran rolled his eyes as he put his bag down. "What are you doing?" 

"Muscle training, of course." Pat smiled sweetly. "Do you want to spot me?"

Pran didn't say yes, but he came around as Pat laid on the bench. Pat could feel him staring as he did his reps.

"Impressive, right?" he said to Pran, and Pran didn't say anything.

When he was done, Pran said, "My turn," and readjusted the weight to his liking. "Spot me," he told Pat, before kicking him off the bench.

Pat watched as Pran lifted, his brown skin glistening with sweat. A bit of his shirt was riding up so Pat could see his soft stomach underneath. The muscles on his arms bulged with each rep. Pran was panting a bit, his gaze focused and dark hair sticking to his forehead. Pat wanted to wipe it away for him.

"Pat?"

Pat blinked. Pran was done, sitting up on the bench. "Lost in thought?" Pran asked, amused.

Pat shrugged and shook his head. "Yeah," he said, then glanced at the treadmills. "Hey, wanna race?"

They raced on the treadmills until the hour, increasing the speed until Pat protested that he couldn't do more and Pran increased his own by one more and grinned, victorious. As they packed up their bags, Pat grabbed Pran's wrist and said, "Hey, wait, before I forget."

"What?" asked Pran, confused. Pat was leading him out of the gym, through the men's locker room, and to their apartment lobby.

Pat pressed the elevator up button. "I have something I should give you. From my apartment," he added.

Pran's expression turned dubious. "What is it?"

"You'll see," said Pat. He stepped into the elevator. "It's a surprise."

Paa had run the errand for him yesterday; she still lived with their parents, after all. Pat had nearly forgotten it, in the shadows under his bed, like a memory he was trying to suppress. But with Pran back in his life—especially after Pat had helped him move in—there was no way Pat could forget now.

"Pat," Pran said with some protest, as Pat guided him to his apartment door. "We didn't even shower yet—"

Pat ignored him. "Wait here," he said, parking Pran outside before fumbling with his keys and rushing in.

The guitar bag was old and certainly dusty. He wasn't sure about the quality of the guitar, either. He'd been holding onto it for so long, even though it'd been years since he'd bothered tuning or cleaning it. But Pat still wanted to return it to where it belonged.

"Here," he said, coming out of his apartment. "Your old guitar."

Pran stared at it, then back at Pat. "You kept it this whole time?"

Pat shuffled, self-conscious all of a sudden. "No one else was going to do anything about it," he said, though that wasn't true. Fifteen years ago, after Pran had been torn away from him, the music teacher had discussed donating or maybe selling Pran's old guitar. Pat had said that he and Pran were still neighbors and he'd take it and return it when he saw Pran next. He'd seen how much time Pran had spent calculating how many hours he needed to work at his parents' shop so he could finally afford it, back in middle school. He'd never looked happier than the first time Pat had seen him play it.

This wasn't exactly the next time he'd seen Pran since then, but it was good enough. Pran took his guitar bag. "Thanks, Pat," he said quietly.

Pat beamed. "You're welcome."

Pran unzipped the bag and peered in. He crinkled his nose.

"It smells all dusty in there, though," he said. "There might be termites."

Pat peered in next to him. "What? No way."

"It's a fifteen-year-old guitar," Pran pointed out. He unzipped the bag a bit more and touched it on the inside. "The wood feels a little damp."

"Yeah, but it's salvageable, right?" asked Pat, as Pran closed the case back up.

Pran shrugged. "We'll see," he said. "I'm not surprised, anyway." He gestured to Pat. "Considering how much you sweat. You and the guitar are like twins."

Pat was still a bit sweaty from the gym, the shirt around his armpits darkened from earlier. "I just like pushing myself," Pat said defensively. "And you're no better."

Pran ran a finger through the thin layer of sweat on Pat's arm. "Look at this. It's like you were swimming."

"And you should be thanking me," Pat retorted. "For returning your guitar."

Pran rolled his eyes. "Yes, Pat. Thanks for returning an old mildewy guitar to me."

He was grinning, though. Pat couldn't help himself as he tackled Pran in the middle of the hallway, rubbing his sweat on Pran.

"Yeah?" Pat said, as he tried to get Pran's head under his shirt. "You still wanna talk about my sweat?"

"Pat!" Pran squawked, flailing his limbs. When Pat let him go, Pran's face was red, flustered, and his hair was a right mess. Pat flicked the dimple on his cheek, and smirked as Pran managed to pull away only a second later.

"You'd make a pretty cute boyfriend, you know," Pat told him. "If we were dating."

Pran adjusted his hair, huffed, and then slung both his gym bag and the guitar bag over his shoulder.

"We are dating," he reminded Pat, because for all intents and purposes, it was true. "And I know."

Then he marched off. 

Pat called, "I hate to see you go but I love to watch you leave!" at his back. 

He got a middle finger in response.

THREE.

They were dating, Pat realized, when he opened up a dating app that evening and realized he could only think about Pran.

Not like it meant anything. It was pretend dating, but it still meant that Pat couldn't really go out and meet people or hook up with them. He didn't do it very often, but he was still a man with needs. He was good at it too, he knew, and sometime in college he'd discovered that he wasn't really particular to any gender, so that often made his quest for casual sex much easier.

He'd had maybe a handful of girlfriends in his life—a few in middle school and high school, one or two in university, a few on again and off again as he roamed the workforce, until his interest in dating had kind of plateaued out into apathy. His parents insisted they didn't really care as long as he did what made him happy (and successful), but Pat didn't miss when Ming would look around his dorm or apartment—wherever he was—and seem disappointed when he didn't see traces of a steady partner around. Steady wasn't really Pat's style, anyway. Not when so much of his life was centered around work.

It was different now, with Pran. Except it wasn't, because Pran was just upstairs, as his neighbor. Then when they were at work he was a cubicle across, as his boyfriend. Pat hardly thought of them as friends now, though he supposed, between a neighbor and a boyfriend, friendship had to be somewhere in there. It was odd, too, that they could be like this without the threat of their parents hanging over their heads. Pran's mom still didn't know, but despite knowing it probably wouldn't be a big deal if she did, Pat hoped Pran kept her in the dark about it all. He was still kind of scared of her, all things considered.

He sighed and closed the dating app. He didn't really need to get laid, anyway. Sex would have meant a more exciting orgasm, but Pat was fine with jerking off on his couch. He slid a hand down his pants and felt in the mood for gay porn, so he opened up his phone with the other hand and browsed for something that he liked.

His taste in men wasn't that different from his taste in women—he liked someone a little bossy and with a cute face, but he wasn't picky about too much else. He found a video focused on a pretty guy riding another guy's cock and came in several minutes, wiping his hands on his boxers afterward.

If not for work, his days would feel repetitive. That much had been true since he graduated college, though with Pran back in his life, his life didn't just feel barely-not repetitive anymore; it felt exciting. He decided one early October morning to try to catch Pran on his way out again, and did, spotting Pran by his car in their apartment parking garage right away.

"Hi Pran," Pat said cheerfully, joining him. "I finally figured out your timetable."

Pran eyed him. "You're up early."

"I could say the same to you. Why do you get up at six a.m.?" Pat yawned and stood on the other side of Pran's car.

Pran shrugged. "I like seeing the sun rise."

Pat chuckled at him. "Nerd," he said.

Pran was undeterred. "Did you want a ride?" he asked dryly. "Because I don't see your car around anywhere."

It hadn't even occurred to Pat—he just wanted to be annoying. But now that Pran mentioned it….

"You know, that's a good idea," he said, and Pran's eyes widened for just a moment. "Why are we taking separate cars when we live in the same building? Aren't we supposed to be working on an eco-friendly project?"

"That's not what I—" Pran started.

But he'd already unlocked the car; Pat had watched him press the button seconds ago. And before Pran could lock it again, Pat opened up the passenger side door. "Thank you for offering me the ride," he said sweetly, sliding in. "What a nice boyfriend I have."

Pran glared as he got into the driver's seat. "This guy," he grouched.

Pat widened his eyes innocently. "Or do you want me to drive you next time? Do you want to be my passenger instead?"

"You're just lucky this is convenient for us," Pran said and started the car.

The drive mostly consisted of Pat fiddling with the music volume and Pran changing it back through the navigation buttons on the wheel, with his eyes fixed on the road like he wasn't scowling the whole time. Pat wasn't used to walking into the building with Pran once they made it to work, but now he had an early excuse to grab Pran's waist in the parking lot, making him flinch just as Pat wanted. "It's so good to finally come in to work with my boyfriend for once," he said, as they passed LogTech employees on their way in.

"Yeah, your lazy ass finally woke up early enough," said Pran. He didn't shake off Pat, though. If anything, he nestled a bit closer.

Pat swapped to holding his hand, because it was easier to walk that way. Pran's palm was warm, fingers long and too soft for Pat's liking. "It's not my fault my boyfriend is such an early riser," said Pat. Then, glancing around as they entered the lobby, he added in a louder, sultrier voice, "You just wear me out at night."

Pran flushed red. "Pat!" he hissed, but Pat giggled, patted Pran's butt, and headed to the elevator first.

Pran followed him in. It was about to be the two of them, and Pat was about to annoy Pran in the otherwise empty elevator, until someone outside said, "Oh, Pat, Pran! How convenient." They both looked up to see Pichai just barely make it into the elevator with them.

They both quickly bowed. "Hi, khun," said Pran, as the elevator doors closed.

Pichai clapped both of them on the shoulders. "I'll meet with the rest of your teams later about this, but I should tell you first. We'll need both of you to present at the conference in Hong Kong this weekend."

"Conference?" asked Pran, while Pat said, "The both of us?"

Pran turned to Pat. "Did you know about the conference?"

"Yeah, because I thought Chang was going to go," said Pat, looking at Pichai.

"No, no, we need the project leads," said Pichai. "The conference is for annual planning. We'll need both of you since you're the faces of your teams." He smiled at them. "Just think of it as your honeymoon. It's only this weekend, it's not for very long."

Honeymoon rang in Pat's ears as Pichai smiled again. The elevator dinged. It was Pat and Pran's floor, and they stumbled out as Pichai called from behind them, "See you guys in a bit!"

"Well, it's only for a weekend," said Pat, after a moment of walking. "Think you can tolerate me for that long?"

Pran turned to him. "I don't know what you mean," he said sweetly. "I'm very good at tolerating my boyfriend." He lifted his chin for emphasis.

"Well, we're going to have to share a suite," Pat pointed out. "You realize that, right?"

Pran had stopped. Pat walked past him. Then, after a moment, Pran said, "So? That's fine with me."

Pat smirked at him. "And a bed."

He was only joking, but when Pichai came to their offices later to let the rest of their teams know and sent Pat and Pran their itineraries, he winked at them. "Good thing about you two being a couple means we can save money on the suites," he said, and Pat looked at his email to see details for a one bed/bath hotel room.

He smiled wanly at Pichai. "Great," he said, then exchanged a look with Pran, who didn't say anything.

It shouldn't be a problem, really. Pat had helped Pran unpack his apartment after all. But that was as easy as going a floor up after work. Going to a conference together and sharing the same suite, even if for only two days, was completely different. Pat wasn't sure how he felt about it.

At least it was Pran, Pat thought later in the afternoon. He glanced across the table to where Pran was tapping the end of a pen against his mouth. The fluorescent lights of the room and the sunlight outside kissed on the tip of Pran's nose, the bow of his lips glowing with the rest of his profile. Pat didn't really mind the traveling part, either. Right out of university, that was most of what he did for his dad's materials company anyway, before it got bought out. The trip didn't sound too bad the more Pat thought about it. He was good at presentations, too.

When they left work, Pat sidled up to him. Pran didn't hesitate to take his hand, almost like an instinct.

Pat teased, "Ready for our honeymoon this weekend, baby?"

Pran rolled his eyes. "It's only going to be one night," he said. "And we'll have to present."

"I can do all the talking if you want." 

Pran shrugged, then shook his head. "No, that'll look bad, As long as I know what to say, we'll be fine."

"I think Chang has notes," said Pat.

He and Pran bickered over the radio again on the drive back. They parted ways on the elevator as Pat said, "Get ready to spend an entire weekend with me."

"Lucky me," Pran said dryly, and the doors closed.

In the next couple of days, Chang emailed them the slides of the presentation and showed them what he had for the speech. It would've only been one day, but apparently Chang's haphazard ways of taking notes for his presentations truly befuddled Pran, so Pat had to rewrite them to be more comprehensible. Pat had been doing projects with Chang since college; he usually knew what he meant without thinking about it. Chang had them practice a couple of times for him on Friday, but with the slideshow it was easy enough. Pran was mostly reading from the notes Pat had given him, but Pat liked to improvise.

He knocked on Pran's door early Saturday morning when they were set to leave, backpack slung over his shoulder. "I'll drive," he greeted Pran, when Pran opened up.

"Ugh," said Pran, and went back inside, leaving the door open. "Hold on, I'm still eating breakfast."

"How are you not done yet when you're always the first in the office?" Pat asked, amused. He shut the door behind him and looked around Pran's apartment. There were several more sticky notes than before, and Pat couldn't help but smile at them. "Did you pack yet?"

"Of course, I'm just eating breakfast." There was a half-eaten plate on Pran's table, and he went back to it. "Have you eaten yet?"

Pat had an energy bar for breakfast. "Yeah," he said, eyeing Pran's sausage enviously. "But I could eat more."

Pran scowled at him. "I wasn't offering," he said, and finished the rest of his food. "I was just asking."

"What's the point of having a boyfriend who won't cook for you?"

Pran put his dish in the sink and began to wash it. "I only cook for the people I actually like," he said.

Pat got close to him. "I thought you said we were dating the other day," he teased.

Pran glared. "You know what I mean."

"So you've done it a lot before?" Pat asked. He leaned back against the kitchen counter, watching as Pran finished methodically cleaning his plate. "Cooking for other people, I mean." He didn't want to say dating.

Pran put the plate on the dish rack. "Not really," he admitted, after a moment. "But I like the idea."

Pat liked the idea of Pran cooking for him too, but for entirely selfish reasons.

He grabbed his bag shortly afterward and they left. Pat noticed a cute smiley face hanger on the knob of Pran's bedroom door but decided not to comment on it. He led them to his car in the parking garage, and Pran said, "I'd better not regret getting into a car with you."

Pat huffed. "I'll have you know that I'm a great driver," he boasted as he unlocked and got into the car. 

He and Pran bickered over the music selection again. Pran kept wanting to listen to a classical station, while Pat kept switching back to his saved pop station. Then Pat almost took the wrong exit before Pran said, "What are you doing? We're not going to Don Mueang!" and Pat swerved back into their lane.

"Maybe I should've driven," Pran grumbled in his seat.

Pat pouted. "That's just the airport I've usually gone to," he said, but Pran refused to hear it.

They arrived at their gate a little past eight thirty, after arguing where the terminal was and then which direction to go for their gate, even though they were both right. Pat grabbed Pran's hand then and Pran looked at him funnily, until Pat said, "Just in case, you never know." The shape of Pran's fingers felt familiar, warm. Pat kind of liked it when Pran would rub his thumb on Pat's knuckles absently.

Pran said, "Sure," and they held hands on their way to the gate.

The flight was uneventful. Pat ended up taking a nap, falling asleep and waking up to Pran reading a book next to him. They got a rideshare to the hotel and picked up their keys, and before Pat knew it, they were opening the door to their hotel room with one bed.

Luckily, there was a couch as well. "You can have the bed if you want," Pat said after a moment, as they stared at the room.

It seemed to take a moment for Pran to realize what he had said. "Oh," he said. "Okay. Thanks. You're taking the couch?"

"I can sleep on anything. You saw me on the plane," Pat said. He put his backpack on the floor beside the couch. "As long as you get me a blanket or something."

"I didn't agree to that," said Pran, but he was already loosening the comforter from the bed. There was a blanket and another sheet underneath. He tossed the comforter to Pat. "But here, you can have this anyway."

"Thanks," Pat sarcastically.

Pran ignored him. "Can I use the bathroom first?" he asked, and Pat nodded.

The conference was set to be in the late afternoon, so they could take their time getting ready for it. Pat had brought his best clothes—a dark blue button up with a dark sports jacket, slacks, and golden tiger cufflinks his father had gotten him for his birthday a few years back. He styled his hair too, with a few tips from Ink and Chang, so that it was slightly coiffed. Even though he might not get laid tonight, he could look like he might get laid tonight. That's what really mattered.

When he walked out of the bathroom, it took him a moment to register what he was seeing. Pran had come out of his shower in a t-shirt and boxers earlier, but now he was in a red, silky button-up and skinny black trousers that made his legs look particularly long. The top of his shirt was loose. Pat couldn't stop staring at the bit of brown skin there.

Pran was staring at Pat too, but he also had a piece of paper in his hands. "What're you reading?" Pat asked him.

Pran blinked, then shook his head. "The conference brochure," he said to Pat. "I knew the company had sounded familiar, but I didn't realize." He lifted up the brochure. "Melody. This is the firm my mom works for."

"Oh," said Pat, taking the brochure from him. "Well. So? It's not like your mom is going to be here, right?"

Pran's mouth turned downward. "I'm not sure," he said, though Pat had a feeling he knew the answer already. "I called her last week. She mentioned she was traveling for work this weekend."

Shit. Pat hadn't been face to face with Pran's mom in years, and he was not prepared to be now. He knew he was a thirty-year old man—still, this was Pran's mom. 

"Must be a coincidence, right?" he said, and tried to laugh it off. "Come on, we should get going. Networking, you know."

"I know," Pran muttered, but he didn't protest as they made their way out of the hotel room.

The conference was in the hotel ballroom, so it wasn't like they really had to go far. It was almost like they were in their apartment building again, except instead of going to the gym they were going to a meeting of hundreds of people who might think they were a couple. And instead of having separate apartments, they had keys for the same hotel room. Pat tried to push it out of his mind as they made their way into the ballroom. 

"You ready for this?" he asked Pran, and Pran nodded silently.

It wasn't quite busy yet, but Pat knew better than to get a table alone. He looked for the one with the most people—a handful of venture capitalists it looked like, by their badges, and maybe a few project leads. He asked, "Can we join you?" and was quickly greeted and welcomed in.

Pat introduced himself with his full name—he'd learned early on how useful it was in the business world. He was correct this time, too, as one of the VCs at the table said, "Ah, Jindapat! Yes, I used to do business with your father. How's he doing?"

"Great," Pat said with a smile. "I'm helping him retire."

The VC laughed. A woman next to him asked, "And who's your friend?"

"I'm Pran," Pran said, before Pat could answer her. "Pat's boyfriend."

"Oh!" said the woman, but she merely seemed surprised. "How progressive. You're project leads together as well?"

"Yes," Pat said. He grabbed Pran's hand on the table. "But we're partners first."

"Now that's the kind of partnership we like to see," said another investor at the table, and Pat and Pran nodded in agreement.

They held their own separate conversations at the table, but their hands remained linked. At one point Pat wound his ankle around Pran's, and Pran kicked him back in response. Pat wanted to dramatically say, "ow!" but the presentations were about to start, so he settled with glaring at Pran. Pran returned the favor.

The presentations were dull, but Pat made Pran play tic-tac-toe with him on the placemats until it was their turn. Pat had the USB drive as Pran had made it his responsibility, and they presented it flawlessly. Even though they had only rehearsed it a couple of times, they received an impressive amount of applause and interest during their allotted time, especially after they mentioned they were dating as project leads as well. Pat wasn't going to pretend he didn't know the appeal of the dedication of their partnership on top of their project's environmental conscientiousness and use of less costly materials. He grinned at Pran when they were done.

But Pran was fidgeting like he was nervous, even though they'd just finished. "What's up?" Pat muttered to him.

Pran shook his head and just gestured for Pat to get off stage, so Pat did. They made their way back over to their table. Once they were seated, Pran whispered, "My mom's here."

"She is?" Pat looked around in the crowd.

Pran tugged at Pat's shirtsleeve. "Don't be obvious," he said. "But yeah, I saw her." His eyes flickered to somewhere behind Pat's head.

Pat turned slowly in the direction Pran had looked, casually, like he was just admiring the room. Almost like he could with Pran, he would recognize her anywhere—a deep scowl and pursed lips, much like the last time he saw her across another large auditorium fifteen years ago. She was sitting at a table across the room watching them, and she didn't break eye contact when she met Pat's gaze.

Pat turned back to Pran. "What do we do?" he asked quietly.

Pran had looked away to the next presentation. "We'll figure it out," he said, seeming intent on pretending that his mother wasn't glaring daggers at the both of them in a ballroom-wide radius.

They watched through the rest of the presentations. Pat was surprised Dissaya wasn't making a scene now when she seemed to care enough to do so the last time she saw Pat and Pran on a stage together. As soon as the presentations were over and the buffet opened up, though, she beelined right toward them.

Pat would've been happy to wait, but Pran was fast too, speed-walking toward the buffet table and slipping away so Pat had to run to catch up with him. "Pran," he said, getting behind him in line. "Don't you think we should—"

"When were you going to tell me about this?"

Dissaya had caught up with them, nearly as fast as her son. She was speaking to Pran, but Pat knew that he was a part of this too. Unfortunately.

Pran was picking out his food from the buffet line, but stopped at his mother's interruption. "I didn't know if you'd approve," he said plainly, then moved onto the next dish.

Dissaya spluttered. "Well, of course I don't approve!"

"Then it's a good thing I didn't tell you." Pran peered into the buffet tin, made a face, and skipped it.

"Pran," Dissaya said, stopping in front of him. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming? You could've told me before you two got on stage—"

"I didn't know I was coming until a few days ago, Mom," Pran said patiently. "And then Pat and I had to practice the presentation."

"I didn't know he was the project lead you were talking about."

"And now you know why I didn't tell you."

All things considered, Pat was impressed by Pran's responses. He'd thought it might've been like high school again, when Pran would just do as his mother said, say as his mother did. But now, Pran walked past her every time she tried to stop him.

"But dating?" Dissaya asked, and Pat realized that whatever Pran told his mom, it wasn't the full truth. "Pran, you can't possibly think this is a good idea."

Pran looked her in the eye. "Why?" he challenged. "You don't know Pat like I do. And you said that you and Dad would always give me your blessing no matter who I date. I'd like it if that were still the case."

"But," said Dissaya, then looked helplessly at Pat like she thought Pat himself might have something to say to support her. "Just take care of yourself," she said to Pran.

Pran gave her a wry smile. "I will," he said.

His mom cast one more bitter look at Pat before leaving, but Pran didn't say anything until they made their way back to their table. Pat couldn't take his eyes off of Pran. He seemed so tense and Pat wanted to tell him how admirable he had been.

"You good?" he asked, as they sat down.

Pran took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "Yeah," he said.

"That was brave," Pat told him earnestly. "You said everything really well."

Pran seemed pensive, like maybe he'd thought about it a lot. "Thanks," he muttered, but didn't say anything further about it.

They made idle conversation over dinner and were invited to karaoke afterward with a handful of other project leads. This was the part of work that Pat truly enjoyed: getting to socialize without all the logistics of business relationships in the way. "Yeah, we'll go," he said, and grabbed Pran's hand.

"We will?" Pran said, though he was standing with him.

Pat nudged him. "Hey, we can definitely agree that at least one of us can sing. So why not, right?"

"You?" Pran said dryly, and Pat elbowed him again. Pran sighed. "Not since high school," he mumbled, but went along anyway.

The karaoke parlor was just across the street, so it wasn't too much trouble for the small group of conference attendees to make their way over and book a room. The parlor had a few large rooms, one of the locals had told them, to accommodate for parties specifically from the hotel. Pat and Pran joined the bustle, and Pat was glad to be away from the room where he knew Pran's mom was watching their every movement from across the hall.

"You could tell your mom the truth, you know," Pat said, as several of the others bickered between each other on who was going to pay. "I told my dad."

Pran didn't look at him. "With my mom, it doesn't matter either way," he said. "Can we not talk about it?"

Pat almost wanted to say, but we're boyfriends, but he knew to drop a subject when Pran sounded like that. "Fine," he said. "But you should sing something."

Pran refused, until they were in the karaoke room and Pat picked a song on the machine—Never by 25 Hours—then shouted, "This is Pran's song! Hey, Pran!" and someone shoved a microphone in Pran's face. Pran glowered at him but sang the song anyway, and by the end he was belting it out, loudly, as the rest of the room cheered for him. He quickly handed off the microphone to someone else, but people were clapping and complimenting him as he sat back down. "You have a really great voice, Pran," someone said, as Pat came back from the karaoke machine.

Pat grinned at Pran as he sat back down. "Any regrets?" he asked.

Pran scoffed, but he was smiling too. "All of them."

"Don't lie," Pat said with a snicker. "You totally loved that."

Pran glanced down at his feet, still smiling, and didn't deny it.

Pat joined the crowd cheering for whoever else was singing and, when someone casually mentioned playing rugby in college, got himself swept into a swapping old college sports anecdotes. The people here were friendly, and Pat was pretty sure a girl in the corner kept eyeing him. Pat would've gone over to flirt with her, if he wasn't so aware of the looming threat of Dissaya and her son as his supposed boyfriend.

Pran, however, seemed like he was having an entirely different night. Pat paused to absently eat some peanuts from the parlor table and glanced at Pran, who had been making random conversation with whoever came to chat with him. Someone had just sat down next to him—a guy, lithe and shorter with a pink streak in his hair. Pat registered he was cute as he sat down.

The guy said to Pran, "Hi, I'm Code. You've cute dimples. Has anyone told you that before?"

Pran looked amused, so Pat didn't interrupt, yet.

"Yes," Pran said, fiddling with his water. "You're certainly not the first guy to tell me that." He glanced at Pat. "Though you may be the first in this room."

"Hey! I think your dimples are cute," Pat interjected.

Pran laughed. "Don't worry, you're not the first boyfriend to tell me either," he said to Pat.

Pat's brain fizzled out for a second.

Pran turned his attention back to Code. "Sorry," he said, genuinely apologetic. "But he's my boyfriend."

"Oh." Code looked at Pat, unimpressed. "Bummer. Well, let me know if you change your mind," he said to Pran, before getting up and slipping away.

Pran chuckled, but Pat slid close to him. "So you've had a lot of boyfriends?" he fished. It hadn't occurred to him before that Pran might like men for real, though he supposed he had never really assumed otherwise. It was just different, the scope of it, that Pran really did like men and he was pretending to date Pat, who was also a man. Pat liked men too, of course, but it was different because it was Pran. And because it was Pat.

Pran shrugged. "Not a lot," he admitted. "But there was a guy in uni who liked my dimples. We went on a couple dates."

Pat wanted to ask more—who? how long? was it serious? did you sleep together?—but it didn't seem like appropriate conversation in a loud karaoke bar. Someone new had just gotten up to sing, and the rest of the room cheered, Pran included, so Pat left it alone. He wasn't sure if Pran would be inclined to share with him, anyway.

The evening moved faster in parts, and slower in others. At one point, someone ordered a round of beers. Pat had to go to the bathroom after downing a glass and excused himself, needing the breath of fresh air. They'd been doing karaoke for a couple hours now.

On his way back from the men's room, he noticed the guy who was hitting on Pran earlier—Code—the pink streak in his hair sweaty but visible as he headed in Pat's opposite direction. As he made his way down the hall, another man a little ahead of Pat bumped against Code on purpose.

Code glared at him. "Hey!"

"Watch it," the other man sneered. "Or are you man enough to fight back?"

He towered over Code, noticeably bigger and bulkier. Code squinted, then seemed to reevaluate and pushed him aside.

"Hey!" The man chased after Code. "Talk to me like a man—"

"Is there a problem?"

Before the man could grab Code like he wanted to, Pat had inserted himself between them, blocking him. Code was at his back; Pat faced the other man head on.

"Or do you want to leave my friend alone?" he added, staring down at the guy pointedly.

Pat was bigger. He'd always been aware of how much he towered over his classmates in high school and college, even more so when he started working out, and this guy was no different. 

He stopped, then sneered at Pat. "Your friend?"

Pat cocked his head and crossed his arms. "Yeah," he said. "Got a problem with that?"

The man opened his mouth. Then he seemed to reconsider and huffed, turning away on his heel.

Code was still standing there when Pat checked back on him. "Thanks," he muttered.

Pat smiled at him kindly. "It's no problem," he said.

He made his way back to the karaoke room and nearly startled when he saw Pran by the doorway. There was a sizable window on the door, and Pran didn't seem surprised when he saw Pat enter.

"Hey," said Pat, and did a double take when he looked into Pran's eyes. There was something unreadable in his expression. Dark. "You good?"

Pran blinked quickly, then glanced away. "Yeah," he said, and Pat rejoined the crowd.

Pran's gaze kept flickering to him for the rest of the night. Pat pretended not to notice, but he did. Had Pran seen his encounter with Code and the other man earlier, maybe? But Pat wasn't sure why that would make Pran keep looking at him when he thought Pat wasn't paying attention. Pat hadn't thought too much about stepping in to help Code. He did that at bars all the time. There was always someone looking for a fight, and luckily Pat was always looking to fight someone back.

He didn't comment on it, but it was hard not to read into the look in Pran's eyes. It wasn't unfamiliar, but it took Pat a second to realize where he'd seen that look before—from the girl in the corner of the karaoke room, and the handful of people he hooked up with before. He wasn't even certain that it was lust in Pran's eyes, but the warm tension of Pran's body beside his own felt like it was becoming hotter, pinned by the desire of someone who wanted to jump his bones. Pat liked the feeling a lot. It was why he was such a casual sex kind of guy.

But still, it was Pran. Pat had never thought of him in that way before, didn't even know why it was coming up now, of all times. But even if Pat was just making it up in his mind, now he was thinking about it too. Pran had big brown eyes and soft lips. Did he have any experience giving head? He liked men, it seemed, but did he have sex with them? 

He thought about the guy Pran had mentioned going on some dates with, but that guy was faceless, and Pran was dating Pat now. It was only natural for Pat to imagine what Pran would be like, on his knees for Pat and his back arched, his round ass pressed against Pat's cock, him on top of Pat, gasping, riding—

Pat wished he could turn his imagination off, but the darkness of the karaoke room made it harder. The night was finally called, and he was relieved when they made their way back into the fluorescent hallway. The light shocked his eyes back into his skull and made him think of something other than the tempting redness of Pran's mouth, if only for just a few seconds.

Pran had seemed like he'd gone back to normal, looking at Pat with concern and not like he wanted to fuck his brains out. "All right?" he asked Pat.

Pat shook himself from his stupor and smiled at Pran. This Pran, the real one, and not the one whose thighs Pat was exploring in his head. "Yeah, 'm fine," he said. "Did you have fun?"

Pran shrugged. "It was okay," he said, and took Pat's hand. Pat didn't let it go as they made their way back to the hotel suite.

Pran claimed the bathroom first again, leaving Pat alone, head swimming with thoughts and images and fantasies. Pat wished he could stop, but with Pran in the bathroom it was easy to fill his imagination—Pran stripping his clothes off, ducking into the shower, maybe getting a hand around his cock, behind himself, jerking off to whatever he'd been thinking about earlier. 

A part of Pat knew he could just be making this up, wishing, hoping. And maybe he did hope for it, that Pran, at least, thought he was hot. Fuckable. Because Pat hadn't thought of him in that way before—except every so often when he wondered if Pran would get pissed if Pat kissed him without asking—but now he was thinking about more. Everything. He wondered if Pran would be loud when he came, or if he'd bite down hard on his lip because he was embarrassed by his noises, or if he'd be bossy or compliant, and so much so that Pat would have to fuck him to shut him up either way. And Pat was realizing with alarming clarity how much he actually, really wanted to know, to see, to feel the heat of Pran's soft naked body pressed against his.

But it wasn't too much of a surprise, was it? He had never really considered Pran bad-looking. In fact, when they were thirteen and talking into the tin cans between their bedrooms, Pat had teased Pran that he would make a much prettier girl than a boy. Of course, that was before Pat had known he liked boys, too. 

Pran was plenty pretty as it was, especially as a grown man. He wasn't fragile but he was certainly nimble, toned arms and strong thighs with a light amount of hair. Pat had seen plenty when he'd helped Pran move in. It hadn't occurred to him then to think of Pran that way because this was Pran, the boy next door, whom he wasn't really allowed to think of as more than competition, a classmate.

But now Pran was his boyfriend. More than that, Pran was in the bathroom mere feet away from him, naked. Pat wanted to know what he was thinking about, especially if he was jerking off. If he was thinking about Pat. He almost wanted to go into the bathroom to ask, with the excuse that they were "boyfriends." But he figured that would be too much. He was more curious about fucking Pran; he had enough experience pissing him off.

Pran came out with a towel around his waist. Pat's eyes immediately started to follow a water droplet down from his neck to his nipple, before he caught himself and stopped.

He looked at Pran. "Good shower?"

Pran gave him a funny look. "It was a shower," he replied. "Don't go in yet, though. I need to get my clothes."

"I'll get them for you," said Pat, and ignored when Pran tsked behind him. He grabbed Pran's clothes from where they were folded on top of the toilet and handed them to him. "There."

"Thanks," Pran grumbled, and returned his clothes to his bag. "Bathroom's all yours then."

Pat's eyes followed another water droplet from Pran's spine all the way down until it seeped under his towel. Below his back. "Right," he said.

By the time he got into the shower he was half-hard, and he jerked off quickly and silently, hoping the rush of the shower water would disguise his noises. He would be less shameless, but these were weird and new feelings because they were about Pran, who Pat told himself couldn't be as cute as he was making him out to be in his head. 

Then he returned from the bathroom to see Pran in his big t-shirt and shorts, lounging on the bed, fluffy hair in his eyes. He was looking at something on his phone and smiling. Pat could see his dimple from here.

"Whatcha doin?" Pat asked loudly.

Pran jumped and put his phone to sleep. "I was texting Wai," he said to Pat.

"Really?"

Pran nodded. "I mean, he is my best friend."

Pat, honestly, wouldn't have guessed that earlier. He thought Pran and Wai were just coworkers. "Oh," he said. "Well. Good for you two."

"Yeah," said Pran. Pat thought that maybe Pran was staring at his bare chest, but he couldn't be too sure. "How was your shower?"

"It was fine," Pat said airily. He started rifling through his backpack. "Would've been nice if someone left me more warm water, though."

"Please, you barely showered for ten minutes," Pran pointed out.

He was right, but Pat wouldn't admit to it anyway. He got changed and looked over at Pran again, who'd laid down like he was ready to go to sleep instead of returning to his phone. There was a lot Pat hadn't really thought about Pran before, but a lot he had. The unearned resentful feelings he'd been taught to have for Pran at a young age had long dissipated into something less angry, almost even respectful and fond, to the point that when Pran was transferred, there had been an aching loneliness inside of Pat at first. Competing against him was one thing, but working with him was another, something that Pat hadn't considered so seriously until those short few weeks before the Christmas concert. But, he supposed, there was quite a large gap of years between then and now. Pat didn't know if Pran even felt the same. He had thought that Pran still hated him, just weeks ago.

Pran turned off the lights in their room as Pat got himself settled on the couch. But Pat couldn't help asking, "Do you hate me?"

"What? No," Pran said, almost automatically.

"Okay," said Pat. "I just wanted to make sure you weren't dating someone you secretly hated."

A small laugh escaped from Pran's lips. "Don't worry," he said. "I know better than to do that to myself."

It was dark and Pat couldn't see Pran's face, but just hearing Pran's voice was soothing in its own way. Pat's thoughts were racing with the tantalizing images of Pran's body, a mere half room away from him. When he was with Pran, Pat felt like he knew everything and nothing all at once—something familiar and foreign at the same time. Pat almost wanted to bother Pran into letting him share the bed, but he really was tired and didn't want to risk being kicked out.

Instead, he said into the dark, "You know, I don't think I ever thanked you."

"For what?" Pran's voice was clear as day from the bed.

Pat cleared his throat. "For saving Paa. When we were younger."

Pran was quiet for a moment. Pat wished he could see his face now, though he supposed it wouldn't be much different from his own, staring up at the ceiling fan. "It's no problem," Pran said, finally. "You would've done the same."

Would Pat have? He remembered standing there, frozen in shock and fear, doing nothing. "I mean it," he said sincerely, to the ceiling. "You're one of the best guys I know, Pran." Who else would see the sister of the boy who did nothing but torment him, and save her anyway? Pran didn't have any siblings. And he had no obligation to save Paa.

He had only been twelve—they both had—but Pat had stopped thinking of Pran as an annoying presence in his life after that, and had started thinking of him as more like a companion. Someone who was in a situation no different than his.

Pran's voice broke through the silence: "You don't hate me?"

"No," Pat said, automatic. He turned to look at Pran, whose profile was dim in the citylight glow from outside. Pat watched him exhale.

"Did you ever?" Pran asked.

If they were anyone else Pat would think it was a meaningless question. But he knew why Pran asked—didn't blame him, even.

"I used to wonder that a lot myself, before," Pat admitted. "But I also wondered if you did anything to make me feel that way towards you. And I realized you didn't." He looked at Pran in the darkness. "So, no."

Pran made a small noise of contentment, then was quiet.

Pat almost wanted to ask Pran about the guy who'd hit on him earlier, if Pran thought he was attractive, if he thought Pat was attractive. But by the time he looked over at Pran again, Pran was asleep.

*

Pat didn't remember any of his dreams when he woke up. Pran was already awake, moving around in the bathroom. Pat could hear the sound of a shower shutting off as the grogginess left his head.

Pran came out and nodded to Pat, now sitting up on the couch. "Good morning," he said. He was dressed in a different pair of clothes than yesterday, a striped t-shirt and jeans.

Pat hadn't packed a new change of clothes, only his suit. He was just going to wear what he'd worn yesterday. "Morning," he said, then yawned. "We got time to eat?"

"Yeah. Our flight leaves at noon anyway." Pran zipped up his bag and then pulled out his phone. "We can get breakfast on our way to the airport."

"Sounds good." Pat got up to stretch and yawned again. "Gonna go to the bathroom."

He wasn't thinking much as he lifted up the toilet seat, until he heard Pran say from behind him, "Are you going to close the door, you animal?"

"What," Pat said, turning his head as he peed in the toilet. Pran wasn't in the doorway, but Pat could tell from the shadows that he was lurking right next to it. "It's just peeing."

"Yeah, but—ugh." He heard Pran's noise of disgust before trudging away from the bathroom.

Pat grinned. He hadn't really meant to piss Pran off like this, but it was still funny. Besides, it had come so naturally to him. Why should he care about bathroom privacy when it was Pran? Pat had always envisioned being with a partner like this, where any necessity for walls would come down. So Pran shouldn't be any different. In fact, his walls should come down tenfold.

He washed his hands and face and brushed his teeth with the hotel-provided supplies. When he came back into the room, Pran shot him another dirty look from where he was double checking his bag. He'd made the bed too, the comforter from Pat's couch laid back on top of the blankets neatly.

Pat slung an arm around his shoulders. "You shouldn't be so scared of intimacy, boyfriend," he teased. "Remember? We're partners now. We should share everything."

"Some of us like privacy," Pran said pointedly. "Finish packing so we can check out."

They checked out of the hotel with little fanfare, and as they walked out bickering about which rideshare app to use, Pat spotted a cafe. It looked cute and there were a decent number of customers trickling in and out, so he nudged Pran. 

"Breakfast?" he asked.

Pran glanced over at the cafe and shrugged. "Sure," he said, and they headed over.

The cafe had every type of pastry, it seemed, along with an assortment of other snacks and drinks. Pat said, "Ooh, we should get macaroons for everyone when we get back. That one looks good too, don't you think? And I think Korn would like this one—"

"We can't buy everything here," Pran said, though he was smiling as Pat drew away from the display case.

Pat sidled up to him, because for all intents and purposes they were still in public, so they had to pretend to be boyfriends. "Why not?" he said, giving Pran big puppy eyes. "Doesn't my boyfriend want to spoil me?"

"No, because I'll put it on the company card," Pran said pointedly. "And then we might get in trouble for it."

Pat scoffed and started reading through the drink menu. "So stingy," he muttered.

They looked through the display case for food, though Pat kept deliberately getting in front of him so Pran couldn't see, until Pran finally said, "Ai, shit Pat, move!" Pat giggled, and then when they were ordering their food, as Pran spoke to the cashier, Pat kept getting into his space and pretending like he couldn't hear, cupping his own ear in Pran's face. 

The cashier said to them, "You two are very cute," prompting Pat to stop. But he and Pran both bowed and thanked the cashier anyway.

They both ordered two pastries each—one for breakfast, and another for lunch on the plane—and a drink (half sweet tea). When the vendor came out with their orders in two bags, Pat snatched them both before Pran could grab them, as well as the drink tray. His hands were full, but the annoyed expression on Pran's face was worth it. "I'm just being a good boyfriend," Pat said innocently.

Pran took one of the drinks from the cupholder in Pat's right hand. "You're such a dog," he said to Pat, and Pat used that as an excuse to mostly talk to Pran in little ruff ruffs on the Uber to the airport.

They made easy banter as they got through customs and security, Pat sitting on the railing of the automatic walkway and Pran laughing at him when he nearly fell over. Pran nagged at him for wearing the same clothes as yesterday, while Pat teased him for packing another set, making Pran's backpack so bulging and heavy that it barely made it through the bag scanner. They headed to their gate without talking about it, mostly because Pran was complaining about the loudness of Pat's flip-flops, while Pat pointed out that it had taken Pran five minutes to tie his shoelaces after security, because he'd done them wrong and had to tie them both all over again with needless precision. On their way to the gate, they passed by one of those airport stores, and Pat quickly excused himself to check it out before meeting Pran at the gate.

They spent the time waiting for their flight—and then on their flight—hovering over the sudoku book Pat had bought. Pran insisted he had better handwriting so he ought to be the one scribbling in it, so Pat told him where to put certain numbers every so often. When Pran put an 8 in a box, Pat asked, "Where did that come from?" and Pran said, "I just know it's an eight." Pat said, "Well there aren't any other 8s in the other rows," and Pran said, "Trust me," but Pat made him erase it. Thirty seconds later, when they had more of the grid filled out, Pat said, "Put an 8 there," and Pran said, "See? What did I tell you?"

It would've been easier for Pat to have bought two books, or for them to rip out a page for them to do the sudokus separately. But it was more fun, really, hovering over Pran and needling him with what numbers to put where, until at some point in the middle of their flight, Pran put his pencil down and said, "You're just annoying me on purpose." 

Pat was. He had just been saying numbers and pointing randomly at the paper.

He blinked innocently at Pran. "You think your boyfriend is annoying?"

Pran flicked him on the forehead. Pat whined, "Ow." 

"Yes, I do," said Pran. "Get your own pencil if you want."

So Pat did. Instead of bickering about where to put the numbers, he encroached on Pran's space, scribbling into the book, while Pran pretended he was okay with it for the rest of the flight. They left the airplane with the book Pat had bought only hours ago now wrinkled and beaten up. A couple of pages were missing from when Pran had gotten annoyed enough to tear one out to throw at Pat, and Pat had returned the favor.

They didn't hold hands as they left the airport to Pat's car, but they didn't need to. Somewhere between getting on and off the plane, they'd gotten their lunch snacks mixed up, and when Pat had opened his pastry and offered to switch, Pran had grabbed his wrist and taken a bite out of his pastry instead of taking it for himself. Pat lit up and said, "Oh, do me!" and they fed each other as they located Pat's red car in the lot.

Talking with Pran was easy, definitely easier than before. Pran commented on random places around Bangkok he'd been to, in college and beyond. Pat matched him in almost equal measure, though it seemed that they had just barely managed to miss each other when Pat's old apartment turned out to be near Pran's old work, and Pran's favorite post-grad bar had been near Pat's old university. They exchanged words like adults, but argued over the radio like children. It was fun, Pat realized, as he drove into their building's parking garage. And he couldn't help but let his gaze drop to Pran's mouth periodically, either.

Pran was easy to rile up, but Pat figured he liked it. Otherwise, Pran wouldn't have let Pat get away with as much as he did. As they got out of the car, Pat wondered idly if Pran would be the same in bed. Having thoughts like this should be scarier, taboo in the light of day. Instead, it felt easy because Pat and Pran had been pretending to be a couple for over a month now, and he honestly should've been thinking about this sooner. 

Pran's legs were long even in their baggy jeans, and Pat's mind suddenly flashed with the image of Pran on his back, winding his legs around someone faceless as they pushed into him. Then not faceless—it was Pat, and Pran was complaining, saying he was too big, or he was going too fast. The back of Pran's neck was smooth and brown and flushed so easily, the crevice in his collarbone that looked as easy to bite as anything. His black hair was short, ruffling against his neck. Pat wondered if Pran might like it if he pulled on it during sex. Or if he would complain, and cry, but not really pull away because he secretly liked it. The headiness of his gaze, his cock big (but not bigger than Pat's), leaking over his belly. His cute ass, not accentuated in his jeans, but Pat had seen enough to know, to imagine, how round and full—

"Pat?"

Pran had stopped in the middle of the parking lot, and Pat blinked, because he had too. He shook his head and then smiled at Pran like he hadn't been undressing him with his eyes.

"Sorry, I was thinking," Pat said, joining him.

"Sounds dangerous," Pran said idly, resuming their stroll to the elevator. "For you."

Pat stuck his tongue out at him, but he couldn't stop thinking about Pran's body as they got into the garage elevator. Couldn't stop looking, too, until Pran glanced at him and went, "What?"

"Nothing," said Pat. He stared into the reflective surface of the elevator, lost in thought.

Getting turned on by men wasn't new for him, but being turned on by Pran was. Pat couldn't stop his head from swimming at the comfortable familiarity setting in as they made their way up their apartments. They had ridden the elevator countless times before, but this was the first time Pat wanted to press Pran against the frosty mirrored wall and fuck him senseless. The gym had always been a place of solace and security for Pat; now, he was thinking about getting Pran over on the bench or the exercise bikes or the mirror there too, making him see it, want it. Or the locker room, which appeared in Pat's head with a flash, and the shower stalls. They both knew when the other exercised now, they used the same shower, it would be so easy—

They were on Pran's floor, outside of his apartment. Pat hadn't even realized that he hadn't pressed the 3 button in the elevator, and Pran hadn't said anything. Pat had just followed him, like he was prone to do.

Pran turned. "Do you want to come in?" he asked Pat, because Pat was still there.

Bewildered but pleased, Pat said, "Sure."

As Pran turned on the lights, Pat scoped out the place a little more. Pran's old guitar was standing out in the open, a few strings hanging off its neck, but cleaner and in better condition than Pat had last seen. "You fixed it?" he asked.

Pran nodded, opening his fridge to grab his water pitcher. "Yeah," he said. "But I'll probably get a new one, anyway."

"Oh." For some reason, that was disappointing. "Your old high school guitar isn't good enough?"

Pran laughed at him. "Pat, it's old. Besides, it's not like I won't play it. I just need to get a better one."

Pat remembered the guitar Pran had been looking at in the music store. "Fine," he said, and pretended not to care anymore. "But I think your old one is perfectly good, now that you're fixing it."

"Sure," Pran said, and poured himself a glass of water.

It was mid-afternoon; the clouded sun and dim overhang of his kitchen lights turned Pran golden brown, warm. Pat was buzzing under his skin, being in Pran's space, smelling his faint warm scent lingering around the apartment, watching Pran pace around in his kitchen. Pran was giving Pat a funny look but not telling him to leave or stay as he drank his water.

Pat traced circles on the counter. "Would you have hooked up with him? If we weren't there for work?"

Pran set down his cup. "Who?"

"Code," Pat said. "From yesterday."

Pran blinked for a moment, like he'd forgotten, then raised an eyebrow.

"We're supposed to be 'dating,' remember?" he said. "And I like to think I'm pretty faithful. So no, even if we weren't on a work trip."

"But what if we weren't dating?" Pat asked. "Then would you have?"

Pran looked at Pat carefully, then down to his water. He swirled it around.

"Maybe," he said, after a moment. "Why do you want to know?"

There were a lot of things Pat could say, but he was annoyed by Pran's vague response. "Don't be so sullen," said Pat. "You can talk to me, you know. We're supposed to be dating, we don't have to act like we don't like each other."

"Maybe I just don't want to tell you about my sex life," said Pran. "Ever think about that?"

Pat had thought about a lot, and the words were spilling out of him before he had a chance to think about it some more.

"Well, it might not be a bad idea," he said.

"What?"

"Talking about your sex life," said Pat. "With me."

Pran stared at him, but it made Pat want to brave the storm. The worst that could happen was that Pran would say no. "Or having sex," he said, meeting his gaze. "With me."

Pran's eyes were wide. He said nothing.

"Well, think about it," said Pat, because he already had the arguments lined up in his head. It was stupid to act as though this was the first time the thought had occurred to him, when Pran had looked at him like that, last night, the same as the girl in the corner. "We're supposed to be 'dating,' right? So we can't even hook up with other people. And we're both hot-blooded, attractive young men, so, you know." He gestured between them. "It makes sense."

"Pat," Pran said slowly. "What are you saying?"

"I've thought about it for a bit, okay!" Pat said defensively, before, "—well, at least over this weekend. Last night. But it could be a good idea. If we had sex."

Pran opened his fridge and stuck his head inside. Pat thought he might be getting something to eat, but then Pran said from behind the door, "Are you sure that that's something you want?"

"What?" asked Pat, and Pran closed the fridge door again to look at him. "Having sex with you? Sure. I've had sex with men before."

The expression on Pran's face was impalpably stunned. "You what."

"What? It shouldn't be that much of a surprise," Pat said. "I'm dating you, aren't I?" After Pran didn't say anything for a long moment, Pat asked, "So what do you say?"

Pran stared at him, then ran a hand over his face. He made a little noise against his palm, and Pat wasn't sure what it meant.

Finally, Pran looked Pat in the eye. "You know what?" he said. "Sure. Fine. What do I have to lose?"

Pat grinned and made his way behind the kitchen counter. "That's what I like to hear," he said, and wound his arm around Pran's waist, getting in close. Pran rolled his eyes and pulled away, but he didn't force Pat off. "And you have your virginity to me to lose."

Pran gave him a look. "I'm not a virgin."

"I said virginity to me," Pat said. Pran jostled Pat's arm off of him and left for the living room. "Where are you going? I thought you agreed."

"I did," said Pran, leading them to the couch. "But we're not doing it in my kitchen."

Pat pouted. "So prim and proper, Pran." 

He joined Pran as he sat on the couch, flinging an arm along the back so it was around Pran's shoulders. Without thinking, Pat started to lean in—but before he could get any closer, Pran put a hand between them to stop him.

"Just one thing," said Pran. "No kissing."

Pat shrugged. Pran was weird about being touchy sometimes, and Pat wasn't crazy about kissing, so he didn't mind. "Sure," he said. "You still wanna do it now?"

Pran just watched him, waiting, so Pat took his shirt and pants off so he was down to his boxers. He nodded to Pran. "Your turn," he said.

Pran's motions were slower, more hesitant, but that made the reveal of his skin that much more enticing. He was fit, like Pat had assumed from their brief encounters at the gym, but there was plenty to grab too. The top of his ass teased below his slender back, his underwear clinging to his body, his butt. He folded his clothes and set them on his desk chair. As an afterthought, it seemed, he folded Pat's clothes to place there too.

"I'll get the lube," he said. Pat stared at his tight ass as he went to the bedroom.

When he came back, it was almost a shock to see Pran's dick in his underwear—solid, thick, straining against the fabric. He was a little hard already, though his eyes dared Pat to say something.

Pat didn't want to lose his chance at this. "Any preference?" he said, as Pran handed the lube over.

Pran kicked him off the couch and sprawled over it, on his hands and knees. He must've seen the way Pat had been looking at his ass, because it was now perked up in the air, practically next to Pat's face. "You can do me," Pran said, peering behind to look at Pat. "If you want."

Oh, Pat wanted. He said, "Fuck," and tugged Pran's underwear down, immediately feeling his cock swell up at the sight of Pran's round, bare ass. It jiggled as Pat fumbled the elastic down. He squeezed, then bit, then kissed, and Pran said, "Do you really have to do that?"

"Of course," Pat mumbled, and bit him again. He bent his head between Pran's thighs to sniff him there. His scent was so strong and sweet and hot, it made Pat dizzy. Then because he could, he licked at Pran's perineum.

Pran moaned. Pat sucked lightly on his balls, his thumb trailing down to the tip of Pran's hole. As he licked over his entrance, Pat quickly uncapped the lube with one hand and splattered it on his fingers, before rubbing over Pran's hole in earnest, dipping his finger in and out ever so slightly. It flexed, dark and hungry, open, and Pat slid his thumb inside again. Pran rocked against him, moaning into his couch pillow.

He was hot, hotter than Pat had ever expected. Pat's cock had already filled up, leaking in his boxers. "Fuck, Pran," he said, then leaned in and licked Pran's hole again and again, getting him nice and messy and wet, ready for Pat's cock.

He was loud and disgusting, but that was the best part. Pran couldn't do anything about it, because he was making noises in tandem with the messy slurping sounds of Pat's mouth trying to eat Pran from the inside out. Pran moaned and rocked his hips back and just took it. Pat slid his boxers down and lubed himself up and said, "Pran, I'm gonna—" and Pran was saying, "Yeah, yeah, Pat—"

Pat nudged the head of his cock inside, just barely. Had they been younger, there might've been less give, but Pran was clearly somewhat experienced with this, so he took Pat's cock easier than expected. Just the heat of Pran's hungry body was enough to make Pat's eyes roll into the back of his head and he had to recalibrate himself, remember where he was. He'd done this countless times before, it shouldn't be that big of a deal. But this was Pran, who was working Pat inside of him with a wriggle of his hips, and it was so damn hot that Pat couldn't help but meet him halfway, sliding all in and shivering with delight when he slotted in so deep that Pran whimpered, "Oh!"

Pat had had sex before, but it didn't compare to this. He grabbed Pran's ass and quickly started fucking him, because he had to, he had to feel Pran's tight channel, fill and take and mount and make the inside of Pran's body his own. Pran was so wet and open for him, and he was thrusting back on Pat's cock like he wanted it so badly he couldn't think straight. Pat was there with him, feeling like he was just hands on Pran's ass cheeks and a cock inside of Pran's body, drilling into him and opening him up and making Pran more insane with each filthy slide. Pran grabbed a nearby couch pillow to bite into it, muffling his sounds. Pat wanted to hear him, but that was hot too, seeing Pran with his teeth digging into the flesh of the pillow as he took Pat's cock rhythm by rhythm, thrust by thrust. Pat was sure he could go on forever, because he didn't want to come yet, he wanted Pran to come first.

Pran pulled him out and off, and Pat protested. Then Pran was climbing on top of him, pushing Pat into the couch, and Pat was watching Pran sink down onto his cock. "Let me handle it," Pran said, and Pat's mouth hung open as Pran lifted his hips, hypnotically, gliding off his cock with one motion and seating himself all the way down the next. Pat could feel every inch of Pran's body like this, his soft walls, his ravenous warmth. Then Pran started riding him in earnest and Pat couldn't think at all anymore.

Because how could he, with Pran bouncing on his cock like it was what they were both made to do? So fast that Pat was starting to lose momentum, that both of their movements were getting sloppy. And before Pat knew it, he was gripping onto the backs of Pran's thighs and spreading his cheeks apart and coming, with his cock lodged inside of Pran. Pran moaned as Pat came inside of him; then, like it was an instinct, Pat slid out and laid Pran's body across the couch and got Pran's cock into his mouth, sucking at him and looking up at Pran's face. Pran was watching him with heavily lidded eyes, and Pat got Pran's legs over his shoulders and reached between his thighs, where he was still leaking, dripping from his hole. He slid a digit inside and fingered his come out, his middle finger burying in deep, loud and squelching and filthy as he swallowed Pran's cock down. Pran shuddered, gripped Pat's hair, shouted, and came down Pat's throat.

It was the best sex Pat had ever had. All thoughts of his fantasies from earlier had vanished and been replaced with this, with reality, and that was even better. "Phew," Pat said, and ignored that his dick twitched when he noticed that Pran's ass was a little red from being grabbed so much. "That was pretty good."

Pran was still catching his breath on the couch. "Yeah," he said, and then, shakily, stood up. Pat grinned at how wobbly his gait was.

"Fucked you good, didn't I?" he said.

Pran rolled his eyes. "Shut up," he said, then plucked the lube from the coffee table and trudged back to his bedroom.

Pat watched him and his bare dripping ass, satisfied with his work. "We should do it again sometime," he called to Pran's back. "In like, an hour."

He heard another light switch turn on, then the sound of a shower spray. Pat let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding, and smiled.

Pran kicked him out after that, though.

"You're still here?" he said, toweling his hair and addressing Pat's naked body. His eyes raked over Pat's shoulders and chest and cock more than once.

Pat stretched. "Like what you see?"

Pran went to where he'd put their clothes on his desk chair earlier and threw Pat's clothes at him. 

Pat said, "Hey!" then, "I was serious about having sex again, you know."

"I didn't agree." At least Pran was still limping as he walked back around with his own clothes. "Besides, I usually call my parents on Sunday evenings."

Right. Pat remembered Dissaya at the conference. "You're going to get an earful from your mom," he said. Then, hopefully, "You could skip it." He waggled his eyebrows. "We could do something more fun."

"Get dressed and leave," Pran said instead. "We have work tomorrow."

Pat didn't really think work was an excuse for that. If anything, it was all the more reason to stay. But once he'd gotten his clothes back on, Pran picked up Pat's backpack and held it out, looking expectantly at him.

Pat sighed and made his way off the couch slowly. "Fine," he said. Then he smacked Pran on the butt and gave a little squeeze. "I didn't clean you out all the way, anyway," he said with a grin.

He could feel Pran's glare at the back of his head as he left.

FOUR.

The next day, Pat met Pran down at the parking lot at the same time as before, despite it being atrociously early. "Good morning my sexy boyfriend," he greeted.

Pran didn't look at him as he opened the car door. "You should drive us tomorrow," he said, as Pat got in. "I don't like driving that much anyway."

Pat grinned. "Of course!" he said, and then leaned in close to Pran. "Can I get something in return?" He poked Pran's butt.

Pran slapped his hand away. "I should've known you'd be a horny bastard," he said, but didn't say no.

Pat decided to let Pran take control of the music—Pran had CDs of classical music he liked to listen to, but they all sounded the same to Pat—mostly because he didn't want to risk not being able to sleep with Pran again. He couldn't stop thinking about it.

Pran noticed him watching. "What are you looking at?"

"You," Pat said plainly. "What, I can't stare at my boyfriend?"

Pran gave him a funny look, but didn't say anything.

They made their way into the office holding hands like usual, though when they were crammed in the elevator, Pran pressed back up against Pat on purpose, his ass against Pat's crotch. He gave Pat a smirk when they left for their floor. Pat gritted his teeth, but smiled. Fine, if that was the game Pran wanted to play, then Pat could play too.

They reported on the reception they'd gotten at the conference to the impressed responses of their team members and coworkers. Pat said, "Yeah, Pran and I did really well and everyone loved us," and winked at Pran, who rolled his eyes and pretended not to notice.

Later that day, while Pat and Pran were passing a note back and forth (currently a stick figure drawing growing more sexual in nature), Korn walked by Pat's cubicle. "So," he said. "We're having a Halloween costume contest."

Pat quickly folded the paper in his hands distractedly. "Good idea," he said.

"Well, I wasn't asking your permission," said Korn. "We're just gonna do it."

"Yeah, we decided while you guys were gone," said Safe.

Pat got into Korn's face. "Disrespecting your team lead, now?"

"Yeah?" Korn retorted. "Wanna fight?"

Pat stared him down, then snorted. They both burst into giggles. 

"We need to do something matching again," Pat said, when they were done.

Korn nodded. "I'll think of something," he said, and Pat knew that he would, because he'd loved coming up with matching costumes for the both of them since university.

As Korn returned to his cubicle, Pat rolled his chair to Pran's desk where Pran had been watching them with some amusement. 

"Halloween, huh?" said Pran.

"Yeah." Pat looked him up and down. "You could dress up too, if you want. Something sexy."

Pran shoved his hand into Pat's face. "No thanks," he said. "Tell that to Korn."

Pat went back to his desk, sticking his tongue out at Pran's back along the way. "Maybe I will," he said.

After work, Pran drove them back as usual, and Pat trailed behind as they made their way into the elevator. Pran pressed the button, then looked expectantly at him.

Pat smiled at him innocently.

Pran gestured to the button wall. "Press the button for your floor."

"Well," said Pat. "I was thinking. We could do a repeat of yesterday afternoon?" He batted his eyelashes convincingly.

It took Pran a moment to realize what Pat meant. "Oh," said Pran. "Really?"

Pat nodded, getting close to him. "Why? Didn't you think it was good?" he asked, placing his hand on Pran's hip. He slid his hand beneath Pran's shirt, stroking the skin there. "Or do I need to do better?"

Pran stammered, and then the elevator hit the fourth floor. Pran quickly stumbled out and turned back around. Like he wasn't blushing or hadn't tripped over his own feet, he demanded to Pat, "Are you coming?"

Eagerly, Pat followed.

Inside the apartment, Pat pressed Pran against the wall, sniffing his neck. They couldn't kiss, but this was good enough. Pran's scent was more than enough to satiate him. Pat was hard already, grinding against Pran.

Pran said, "Are you an animal in heat? What's wrong with you?"

He was hard too. Pat could feel his dick against his thigh.

"And what if I am?" Pat said. He stuck his hand down the front of Pran's pants, and smirked when Pran bucked and gasped against his ear. "I can't help it if I have someone to breed."

Pran shivered and smacked him. "If that's the case, then get on with it," Pran said, and Pat eagerly took off his pants.

He had Pran on the floor this time, ass up and out in the air while Pat fucked him like a dog, on the rug in front of the TV stand he had helped Pran build. Pran was bucking into him beautifully, back curved, his long, lean body swaying and glowing, glistening with sweat as Pat kissed the ridge of his spine and drove his length into Pran. He hiked one knee up and rutted in deeper, squeezing and spreading his cheeks apart around his cock. Pat came first, filling up Pran's insides. Then he reached around and tugged at Pran until Pran was spilling all over his fist.

Pran grinned at him when they were done. "That's twice now," he said, standing up.

"What?" said Pat.

"You were the first to come both times so far," said Pran. There was a challenging glint in his eye. "So I'm winning two-zero."

He stretched, then limped over to his bedroom, presumably to clean himself up. 

Pat followed him. "Or maybe I'm winning two-zero," he said as they made their way through the bedroom and into Pran's bathroom. "Just because I came first doesn't mean I lost."

Pran raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? So you just have weaker stamina then?"

Pat narrowed his eyes. "I do not," he said, because he didn't. "Fine. Let's go again. This time, I'll make you come first."

"We just did it, Pat," Pran complained, but didn't protest when Pat followed him into the shower.

Pat got on his knees and blew him, looking up at Pran through the water as Pran held onto his head and forced his cock deeper into Pat's throat. Afterward, Pat tried to help Pran clean himself and Pran kept smacking him away with his loofah. When they were done, Pran threw a towel at Pat's head so Pat didn't have to step back into his work clothes wet.

As Pat dried his hair in the living room, he asked, "What are your plans for dinner?"

"Fried rice and leftovers," Pran replied. "For one."

Pat made a thoughtful noise. "I could always order delivery here," he said hopefully.

Pran rolled his eyes and handed Pat his briefcase from his coat rack. "Goodbye Pat," he said. "I'll see you at work tomorrow."

"You don't want to get dinner?"

Pran held up an index finger and shoved it in Pat's face. "We're at two-one now," he said. "Bye, Pat."

Pat let himself get kicked out, but snickered to himself in the hallway. They were idiots for not doing this before. Pat wished they'd been fucking since the beginning.

It was ridiculous, how much he felt like a horny teenager again. How much he thought about it, wanted it, and could actually have it. When they met at Pat's car the next day, Pran went down on him, sliding Pat's cock down his throat in the driver's seat before Pat could even start the engine. Pat wasn't able to see his face while Pran had his cock in his mouth, but he heard him—felt him, Pran suckling down hungrily, eagerly. Practiced. His head bumped into the steering wheel a little bit, but it wasn't long before Pat's thighs tensed and he came into Pran's mouth. Pran wiped his mouth off when he was done.

"What was that for?" Pat asked, zipping his trousers back up.

Pran shrugged and readjusted his shirt. "I just wanted to," he said, and Pat couldn't argue with that.

They flirted in the office and at lunch, their fingers brushing. After work, they were the last ones in the office, and Pat pressed Pran against his desk and fucked him standing, with only their precome and saliva. It was rough, but Pran was still a little loose from yesterday and wanted it too, moaning and shuddering, tighter than usual around Pat. Pat couldn't help coming first, filling Pran all the way to the brim.

Pran was smirking when they were done. "Four-one," he said and pulled up his pants.

Pat frowned. He picked up his boxers from the ground. "It's not a game," he complained.

But it was, because everything between them was a game. They separated at the elevator; the next day, Pat fingered Pran in the men's room at work. The day after that, Pran cornered him in the gym, locked the door, and then rode him so hard that they nearly broke the bench press. Then later when they were back in Pat's apartment and Pran complained about Pat's dick being so big and rough inside of him earlier it was like he'd rearranged his guts, Pat got hard again so quickly that he'd bent Pran over the nearest not-so-flat surface and they nearly broke his electronic drum set.

Pat had never felt anything like this before, so bloodthirsty, so electrified. It was like he couldn't get enough of Pran's body, his hole or his cock, whatever they were feeling for the day. He memorized the way Pran liked to move his hips, to close and wrap his legs around Pat's body, to touch his own nipples sometimes. Pat touched him everywhere too, delighting in the shivers he elicited from Pran's whole body, the goosebumps up his spine. Pran seemed to want it as much as Pat did, shooting him dark and heady looks as Pat did the same, biting his lip red enticingly if they caught each other staring across the office, and sometimes getting their pants off the moment they were alone before Pat could even think about it.

Their teams had organized an intramural rugby game that weekend, just for fun. The original idea was to have both teams play against each other—MOI and Olive—but then Toto said, "That's too boring, we should mix it up," so they held a draft, with Pat and Pran as captains of the opposing teams.

Pat picked Wai first. He grinned at Pran, who rolled his eyes and picked Korn. But Wai was better at rugby and played off Pat easily, consistently passing the ball to him to score before Pran's team could intervene.

Pat went over for a high-five after they made another goal. "Good job, man," he said to Wai.

"Thanks." Wai glanced at the bleachers, then back to Pat. "Pat, you should know, what you're doing with Pran—"

From the stands, their referee, Safe, blew his whistle. Both teams came to the middle. 

Pat asked Wai, "Yeah, what's up?"

Wai seemed to second guess himself. "Never mind," he said. "Just don't hurt him."

Pat wasn't planning on it, but shrugged to himself when Wai said no more.

Pran could play against Pat, it seemed, but not Pat and Wai, so by the end, it was clear that Pat's team won. As they reconvened to shake hands—which mostly consisted of them wrestling each other—Pat went up to Pran.

"That's thirty-three to four now, isn't it?" he said in a low voice.

Pran pushed Pat's face out of the way. Pat could see him blushing. "Your rugby points are not going towards your other points," he replied. "We're still four-one there."

"Want to come to my place after so I can make it four-two?"

Pran did, riding Pat on his bed for all he was worth and pinning Pat's wrists above his head so Pat couldn't do anything about it. Pran wanted him to come first, Pat knew, but he was stubborn too, and drove his cock into Pran, getting it in deep, feeling Pran inside and out. He saw when Pran lost focus and his grip loosened; Pat shook an arm free and got his hand around Pran's cock and watched with delight as Pran came first, eyes closed and mouth open, spattering across the both of them. When he was done, he fell against Pat's chest as Pat gripped his hips and ass and started fucking him in earnest, slapping and pinching Pran's thighs until he fingered around the skin of Pran's hole where he could feel them joined, and came with a shout.

It was incredible. Then again, it always was. As Pran started putting his clothes back on afterward, Pat watched him, naked from his bed. 

"Leaving so soon?" he asked.

"Yeah." Pran slid his jersey back on. "I have dinner plans."

Pat frowned. "With who?"

"Wai and my mom."

It was like something had caught in Pat's throat. Pran slid his shorts back on and looked expectantly at Pat. "What? You gonna see me out, or just lie there?"

Pat walked him to the front door naked, strolling through his apartment. His dick was soft for now, but if Pran hadn't had plans, Pat would've tried to see if he'd stay for dinner and then maybe dessert afterward. "You and Wai seem close," he said casually, as Pran grabbed his bag. "Your mom approves?"

Pran rolled his eyes. "You know Wai and I aren't dating," he said to Pat. "We are. Remember?"

Right. That did make Pat feel a little better.

"I wish I could have dinner with you and your mom," he piped up, before Pran could go.

Pran paused, then gave Pat a wry smile.

"As if that would ever happen," he said, and left.

*

Halloween was about a week later, after a whole lot of hooking up in bathrooms and apartments and cars and the nearest surface, flat or not. Pat was dizzy with how much he wanted Pran, but he was dizzy with how much Pran wanted it too. Even though Pat was taking the lead most of the time, Pran, like always, gave as good as he got, whether it was wrapping his mouth tantalizingly around the head of his water bottle, or licking the salt off Pat's fingers after he ate seaweed chips, or pressing his tongue to the inside of his cheek as he looked pointedly at Pat while leaving the elevator to his apartment. Pat was going to follow him anyway, otherwise he would've gotten off sooner. But Pran looking at him seductively like that made Pat's blood jump under his skin, and he rushed to follow so he could fuck him against his kitchen counter.

He had never thought he could be like this with Pran before, but it made a lot of sense in hindsight. Pran knew what he wanted and gave Pat just a little, made him work for it. And Pat, in turn, wanted to work for it, to ruin Pran until he was a sobbing, incoherent mess. They fucked so many more times that Pat lost count what the score was, though the night before the Halloween costume contest, after they'd come down from their orgasms, Pran propped his elbow on Pat's chest.

"Tied at fifteen now," he said with a grin. Somehow, it felt like a lot and not enough at the same time.

"You mean thirty to fifteen," Pat said, and got up from his bed. Pran, clutching Nong Nao in his arms, watched him move around nakedly. Earlier, Pran had made fun of him for still sleeping with his old childhood toy, then tossed it to the ground and teased his hole over Pat's cock and made Pat beg for it. He was intoxicating.

Pran was openly admiring Pat's body. "Whatever you tell yourself to make you feel better," he said. Then, "Are you doing the costume contest tomorrow?"

"Yeah, with Korn." Pat grinned. He grabbed the tricorne hat that was hanging from his bed post. "We're going as pirates." He put it on.

Pran pushed the hat down and smiled when Pat complained. "It better be a good costume, then," he said.

In the morning, Paa came over with Korn to do their makeup, so Pat wouldn't be going in early with Pran like usual. "Hold still," she told Pat, who complained as she drew the eyeliner around his eyes as he sat on his kitchen stool.

"I'm pretty sure it's not supposed to hurt," he told her.

"It doesn't hurt, you're just being annoying," she shot back.

She did the same to Korn afterward. Both he and Pat were wearing pirate hats and a poofy silk shirt and pants as part of the getup. They had swords, too, which Korn held onto as they drove to work.

"We're totally gonna win sexiest costumes," said Korn, admiring himself in the sun visor. Pat laughed, though he wasn't sure if that was the contest evaluation. Still, he thought he looked pretty good in his dark blue shirt.

They made their way into the office. Pat pretended not to notice how Pran's eyes lingered as he got set up at his desk. "Happy Halloween," he greeted Mo and Chang across from him.

Mo wrinkled his nose. "This again? You guys are so basic." He was dressed like Ken from Barbie.

"Hey, we last did it—" Pat thought to himself "—five years ago! It's been a while."

"At least do something new," said Chang.

Pat squinted at his outfit. "What are you supposed to be?"

"A ghost." Chang was wearing a white sweater and sweatpants, but nothing beyond that. "Duh."

Pat laughed and turned on his computer.

He had a few emails to reply to first. When he was done, he swiveled around and glided his chair over to Pran's desk. "You didn't dress up," he said with a pout, backing up so they were face to face, opposite each other.

Pran was wearing a striped turtleneck and corduroy pants. Somehow, he still looked as good as ever. And smelled it, too.

"I wasn't planning on it." Pran flicked Pat's hat. "Nice costume."

"Thanks." Pat pointed his index finger and thumb under his chin. "Don't I look good?"

Pran rolled his eyes and returned to his work.

At lunch, though, as everyone left to cause chaos in the cafeteria with their costumes, Pran made Pat stay behind and dragged him into the office supply closet. Pat went with it, but once Pran closed the door, he said, "What—"

"Shut it." Pran fiddled with the loosened belt around Pat's waist. "C'mon, fuck me."

Pat grinned and turned the light on. Pran was undoing Pat's pants fast, then tugged his boxers down as well.

"What are you doing? You're not moving," Pran said impatiently, starting on his own pants.

"I just didn't realize you wanted me that badly," said Pat. His cock was quickly getting hard, though, as Pran held it in one hand, thumbing over the head. Pat bucked in his grip. Pran's other hand was fumbling with his own zipper.

Pran glared at him, contrasting his words when he said, "Just fuck me," and got his own pants and underwear down with one hand.

Pat pressed him against the wall. "Will do," he said with a smirk.

Pran had a small tube of travel lube in the back pocket of his pants, and it was quick work for Pat to work his fingers inside, and then his cock. Pran sighed as Pat breached him, and Pat was impressed. "You know, people usually ask me to go slower," he said conversationally, as he pushed his cock into Pran rhythmically.

Pran had his eyes closed and clung to him, biting his lip to muffle his moans. Pat readjusted Pran's legs so they were practically around Pat, better than he could have ever imagined, and Pat had to hold Pran up against the wall as he fucked into him.

Pran peeked an eye open. "What, you want me to tell you that you have a big dick?"

"Is that you telling me?" Pat asked.

Pran rolled his eyes. "You could make me feel it more, you know," he said, instead of answering.

Pat grabbed his hips and lifted his feet off the ground, holding him in place as he drove his cock into Pran, getting in deep like it was the only thing keeping him up. Pran was so cute in his striped sweater and red bitten lips, arms wrapped around Pat's shoulders, breathing against Pat's face as they fucked. He came first, tightening and shuddering around Pat's cock. Pat came soon afterward, making sure the whole length of his cock was inside Pran so that his thrusts, his come could hit the back of Pran's throat just like that.

Pran disentangled his body from Pat's when they were done, breathless. "You can have that one," he said to Pat, and put both his feet back on the floor.

Pat grinned as he pulled his pants back up. "I'm just that irresistible, aren't I?"

Pran hesitated. "You're not bad," he said after a moment, which was practically a glowing review from him.

They were standing close and Pran was smirking in his face. He was so cute and looking so kissable that Pat almost pressed his lips against Pran's, but Pran pushed him away. 

"No kissing, remember?" he said. He fastened the top button of his pants. "And I can't help it if you're hot."

That was a surprise. Mostly hearing it out loud, but even knowing Pran thought so was a surprise of its own, too. "You think I'm hot?"

"Does it look like I have eyes?" Pran said dryly. Then he gestured to himself. "What about me? Do you think I'm attractive in my own Halloween outfit?"

Luckily, Pat had fucked Pran enough at this rate to know the answer. Not to mention that Pran was in a turtleneck and corduroy while the rest of them were in silly costumes—he was so prim and proper and silly all at once, and that caught Pat's eye more than the costumes did.

He traced a finger around Pran's collar. "You'd be surprised," Pat said. "The striped sweater does things to me."

"I suppose there's no accounting for taste," Pran said, snorting, but he was smiling too.

After lunch, Korn came around to Pat's cubicle to talk to him, but smirked when he saw the strangeness in Pran's walk. "Defiling the office now, huh?" he said to Pat in a low voice. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone."

"I don't know what you mean," Pat said airily.

Korn snorted. "All right. Well, get your sword for the costume rankings."

Pat did, but it didn't matter. Chompoo won first place in a very detailed superhero costume, and Louis and Mo took second and third, Louis dressed up as a bus stop to fit their project's theme. Korn was more disappointed than Pat was, but Pat clapped him on the back and said, "That sucks, man. Next year."

He glanced at Pran, whose bottom lip was bruised from where he had been biting it when Pat fucked him earlier. Pat felt like a winner in his books.

*

Before any of them knew it, it was November. The newly rainless days indicated that enough, the sun glowing during the daytime instead of peeking out every so often like a shy neighbor. 

They were making good progress on their project too, though when Pat looked from far away, it seemed like they were stuck in development hell. But that was only because they hadn't entered the production phase yet, when they would get the investment and actually be able to afford the materials. In the meantime, both teams were getting permits, finalizing the design constructions, and institutionalizing a new structural system and design to the bus stops around the city.

Paa stopped by Pat's apartment on a Saturday afternoon for them to spend the weekend eating junk food and watching dramas again. Early in the evening, though, Pat got a LINE message: Do you have plans tonight? He smirked.

My sister's visiting, if you want to say hi, he replied. It would be a nice surprise for Paa; she hadn't seen Pran in even longer.

I was thinking more along the lines of you inside of me, was the text Pat got in response, which made his brain white out for a moment. He almost didn't register when several minutes later there was a knock at his door. He didn't want his cock twitching when he was around his sister, but that wasn't exactly an easy feat right now.

"Pat," Paa said, then kicked him when he didn't respond. "Hia. There's someone at the door."

"Oh." Pat rushed to get up and opened the door to Pran's raised eyebrows. "Hey."

Pran stuck his face into Pat's apartment. "I heard something about your sister?"

Paa turned around and brightened when she spotted Pran. "No way!" she said, clambering off the couch and rushing to the door. "P'Pran, is that you?" She smacked Pat on the arm. "You're neighbors with P'Pran? After all these years? Why didn't you tell me?"

"It didn't come up," Pat said lightly, as Pran walked in. Pran's text was still echoing in Pat's brain.

Paa was gawking at Pran, then giggled and blushed. "You look good," she said. "Just as hot as before."

"Hey." Pat nudged her. "Don't you have a girlfriend?"

"I do, but that doesn't mean I can't admire someone good-looking when I see them." Paa was still looking at Pran appreciatively. Pat couldn't even blame her. 

"Pat invited me over, too," Pran lied easily, and Pat made a face at his back. "What are you guys watching?" He gestured to the TV, where they had Viki up.

They had been in the middle of binge watching their drama, but with Pran there, it was harder for Pat to focus on the show. He glanced at Pran every once in a while; Pran was in a t-shirt and shorts, nothing fancy, but his t-shirt was black and accentuated the shadows around his collarbone, and his knees were cute, curled up on the couch with him. The three of them watched a few episodes of the drama before Paa begged off, saying there was something weird between the two of them that she didn't care for.

Pran said to her, "Yeah, we're boyfriends, didn't you hear?"

His tone was teasing, but something about hearing those words made Pat feel funny. He elbowed him.

"Fake boyfriends," he corrected, and Pran rolled his eyes.

Paa squinted between them. "Do I even want to know?"

"It's related to work," Pat explained. "We're coworkers now, and Pran's the lead project manager on the other team, so—"

"So it's boring then," Paa said, getting up, because she hated when Pat talked about work. She grabbed her bag and trotted to the door. "I'll leave so you guys can talk about being project managers or whatever. Ugh. Bye P'Pran."

"Are you going to say goodbye to your hia?" Pat called after her, but Paa ignored him and shut the door.

Pat tsked and turned back to Pran. Pran brought his eyes over Pat's body, slowly, but didn't say anything.

Pat grinned. "What were you saying about me being inside you earlier?"

They fucked on the couch, Pat bending Pran over an armrest to work three fingers inside of him until Pran was wriggling against him and complaining. "You could ask for it, you know," Pat said, and Pran was silent for a moment until he said, "Please." Pat didn't let up until Pran said, "Please," again, then, "C'mon, Pat, please, I want it so much."

"Fuck, yeah," Pat cursed, dick twitching at the sound of Pran begging. He slid inside Pran and they both moaned. It didn't take too long for Pran to come, just from Pat's cock, and that was so hot that Pat spurted inside Pran, hoping Pran felt it too.

That was how Pat's days went, now. He would just be going about his routine like he always did, and the next thing he knew, he was having sex with Pran. He was always up for it, and Pran was too, which was even better. Pat used to feel like he had too much of a sex drive for some of his past relationships. It was nice that Pran matched him, beat for beat.

Loy Krathong was about a week later. Since they all lived in the city, both of their teams decided to go to the river together on Sunday to celebrate. Pat and Pran arrived together in the evening; earlier, Pat had sucked Pran off in the back seat of his car.

Korn waggled his eyebrows at them when they joined the group. "Someone's mouth looks bruised," he said.

Pat wrangled him into a headlock. "Yeah? You want a kiss or something?"

"Ai, Pat!" Korn said, as Pat made a kissy face at him. Pat messed with him and then planted a loud one on Korn's cheek before letting him go. "You and Pran just seem awfully close lately," Korn said, wiping his cheek.

Pat and Pran exchanged a look. "That happens," Pat said, after a moment.

He noticed that Wai was watching them, but didn't say anything. Pran hadn't really said it in as many words, but Pat remembered what he said about Wai being his best friend earlier and figured that Wai probably knew something. Pat didn't really think of his friends in terms of best friends or not, though he supposed if he had to pick someone, it would be Korn or Paa. Still, they didn't have to know because it wasn't their business. It wasn't anyone's besides Pat's and Pran's.

They bought their lamps and floated them on the water when it was time. Pat watched as Pran laid his down. Pran had a small smile on his face, illuminated by the golden glow of the lamp, making him look wondrous, joyful. It was like there was gold glittering in his eyes.

He looked up at Pat and said, "What?"

Pat glanced away, suddenly aware of his stupor. "Nothing," he said.

It really was the holiday season by the way the days were moving quicker, the nights slower. Pat got a text from Ink the next day that said, Paa says you've got a boyfriend now and didn't tell us? Pat sent back, He's just a fake boyfriend, because it was the truth, and because both of them lived with his dad and he could explain it to them if they wanted. Pat didn't care. It felt good to be around Pran so much and not face any consequences for it.

He went to the gym the next day, because it was Monday. Even though Pat was getting enough of a workout as it was with the amount of sex he was having, muscle training couldn't be replaced by orgasms. But when he got to the gym in the afternoon, Pran was already there, lifting his dumbbells guilelessly.

He glanced over at Pat. "You're late," he said.

Pat set his gym bag on the ground. "You don't work out on Mondays," he accused.

Pran shrugged and lifted his bell again. "I just felt like it today," he said.

Pat went for his own usual dumbbells at the end by the rack of weights. "Okay," he said, then glanced at the size Pran was lifting. Forty—Pat could easily do one higher. He didn't always like doing so, but he could. He grabbed the 50 and started lifting it, maintaining eye contact with Pran.

Pran was undeterred, and grabbed his own 50. He lifted, like he was daring Pat to stop curling first. Pat could see his muscles tensing. He could feel his own, too.

Pat gave up first, and ignored the victorious smirk on Pran's face. He went over to the bench, still holding the 50, then switched positions so he was lying on the bench, lifting the bell again. He watched from the corner of his eye as Pran did the same thing. Pran was straining though, he could hear, and Pran's bell clanged to the ground before Pat was done.

Pran walked over to his bench. "What's next?" he asked.

Pat gave him an innocent look. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Pran easily took the dumbbell from Pat's hand and set it back on the rack, before offering his hand out. Pat took it.

They did several sets of chin-ups next. Pat had thought Pran might struggle, but Pran lifted himself easily, doing one more set than Pat as Pat finished his third. He gave Pat a smug look when he was done, but Pat ignored him and went to the weight bench. "C'mon, spot me," he said to Pran.

Pran spotted him, though more out of courtesy than competition. He removed a couple of weights when it was his turn, which Pat preferred, since it was safer. Pat said, while spotting him, "You gonna change your routine from now on? Isn't it nice, exercising with me?"

Pran's muscles barely strained from where he was lifting the bar. "I just had some free time tonight," he said loftily, then sat back up. "We should do the treadmill."

He liked the treadmill a lot more than Pat did, but Pat entertained him anyway, jogging alongside with increasing speed until they were both nearly sprinting. Then Pran said suddenly, "You don't have to go that fast," and quickly decreased the speed on his treadmill, though he kept the inclination high.

Pat panted and decreased it a little, too. "You're the one who told me to," he said, and Pran didn't answer him. "When did you start going to the gym, anyway?" Pran was good at this, but Pat didn't want to admit it out loud.

Pran shrugged and returned to a walking pace. "Sometime in post-grad, I decided that I wanted to get fit. So I did."

Pat couldn't argue with that.

They warmed down in the last ten minutes or so, giving their muscles time and room to breathe as they stretched. Pran was eyeing him, but Pat only noticed because he was watching Pran too, the muscles in his thighs and the curve of his chest underneath the t-shirt that was sticking to his skin. He met Pran's gaze and saw the same thing he was feeling—lust, desperation—in the blown pupils of Pran's eyes. Pat swallowed. His dick twitched against his thigh.

They made their way into the locker room when they were done, but Pran was ahead of Pat and didn't stop in the showers. He continued through, so Pat followed him into the stairwell. The elevator was working perfectly fine, but Pat didn't want to wait either. They went up three flights of stairs, three steps at a time, then down the hall to Pat's apartment.

Once Pat had gotten the key in the lock, Pran shoved him inside with both hands and pressed their bodies together. He was warm, hot, so fucking hot. Pat could feel his cock between the thin fabric of their shorts, underwear, their stomachs. He grinned.

"Didn't know you'd want this so much," he admitted, as Pran ground their hips together and they both moaned.

Pran grimaced. "Just trying to take what I can get," he said, and stuck his hands down the front of Pat's shorts.

They stumbled into Pat's bedroom, their clothes following them in a mess by their feet. Pat pushed Pran onto his bed and spread his legs open. Pran grabbed the bottle of lube from Pat's bedside and handed it to him. 

"Hurry it up," Pran said, breathily. "I wanna feel you."

"You always feel me," said Pat, but he was pouring the lube on his fingers, working them into Pran. Pran arched his back and moaned. He was so damn slutty that it made Pat's head spin, sometimes, every time he watched. "It's a good thing I'm clean."

Pran's hole flexed and tensed around his fingers. "Yeah, yeah," Pran said absently. "C'mon, get in me."

It occurred to Pat, as he slotted his cock into Pran's body and Pran's legs fell by his sides, that they didn't even have to be fucking right now. They didn't have to see each other, if Pran hadn't come into the gym earlier. It was worth it though, with the way Pran wound his legs around Pat's waist, ankles at Pat's thighs, pushing Pat into him as much as Pat was thrusting. Pat felt removed from and entirely too attached to his cock all at once, the heat of Pran's body sucking him in more, like he was trying to get all of Pat inside him, as much as he could. 

"Pran," Pat said, but then Pran flipped them over and rode him.

He bounced, chest and stomach jiggling. Pat grabbed at him everywhere, ass, stomach, thighs, and Pran moaned. Pran touched Pat too, the hard planes of his chest and tweaked a nipple, and Pat felt like his cock got even harder in Pran's body, somehow. Pran was riding him hard and fast, bucking his hips and twisting down on his cock like this was what the muscles in his thighs were built for. Pat felt dominated and wanted to retaliate, so he did, pushing Pran onto his back once more and lifting his legs.

"Pat," Pran said, annoyed, but Pat didn't care. 

He hiked up one leg over his shoulder so he had more room to spread, to reach inside Pran; and then he braced himself and fucked Pran harder, trying to make him feel it. Pran did—Pat saw his eyes flutter shut a few times—and Pat held his calf, kissed his ankle. Pran didn't seem to register the kisses, just taking it, letting Pat widen the space inside his body, like it was made for him, for Pat only.

It was so much. It was too much. Pat was looking at Pran's face—they rarely did it like this—and Pran's mouth had fallen open, eyes hazy as he watched Pat. Pat looked at him too, and his gaze dropped to Pran's lips, and he thought about kissing him. But he didn't—couldn't—so instead he bent down and gripped Pran by the shoulders, fucking him harder now, burying his face into Pran's neck, sniffing and moaning and biting at him there, because it was the next best thing. Pat sucked and wanted, and Pran shuddered underneath him. Pat kissed where he'd bitten, then bit Pran again, his earlobe and jaw and the meat under Pran's chin, and his cock was so deep inside the tight velvety space of Pran's body that it wasn't long before Pat was spilling inside of him.

Pran came too, seconds after Pat. Pat felt Pran's hand between them, jerking himself off, and the warmth across their chests and bodies at Pran's release. Pat collapsed on top of him, but Pran didn't complain. In fact, with Pat still buried deep inside of him, one of Pran's hands found its way to Pat's back—the one he must've jerked himself off with, as it was slightly sticky—and rubbed circles onto it.

Pat made a face into Pran's neck. "Your hand is dirty," he mumbled.

Pran's lips were close to Pat's ear when he replied. "Says the one still inside me."

Typically, that would prompt Pat to get up, but he wanted to be more annoying, so he didn't, grinding his soft dick inside Pran. He was sore, but he always was these days, and Pran made a little whimpering noise at the motion. 

"I sure am," Pat said with a grin, and propped himself up on his elbow so he could see Pran's face.

Pran shoved at Pat's cheek lightly with his own hand. "Don't give me that look," he said, and wriggled under Pat. Not to escape, just to help slide Pat's cock out. Pat could feel a little bit of his come trickle out of Pran's hole, too, and didn't let himself go too far, resting his weight still against Pran's leaking entrance. "You look too satisfied," Pran told him.

Pat shifted. "Can you blame me?" he said, and wiped Pran's sweaty forehead. "I'm proud of my work."

Pran stared at him, and Pat looked into his eyes. Then Pran quickly slipped out from under him, said, "I'm gonna go clean myself," and made his way into Pat's bathroom.

Pat watched him leave—notably, he watched Pran's ass—and felt something funny in his stomach. He and Pran weren't anything, so there was no reason for him to think much of the moment at all. Yet the whole situation itself was wrong—they didn't have to be there, in Pat's bedroom, fucking like animals like they were making love. No one knew except them, but that nagged at Pat too, somehow, because why would they? Why wouldn't they? He and Pran weren't—anything, really. They were in a relationship on the surface, but beneath it all they just knew each other really well and had sex sometimes. A lot. They were everything except for the one thing everyone thought they were: dating. It should be exciting having this secret, fun even. 

Pat's stomach turned, unsettled at the thought instead.

He was brought back to reality when Pran ducked his head back into the bedroom, looking at Pat expectantly. 

"Are you coming?" Pran asked, and Pat hurried off the bed to join him in the shower.

They didn't have sex again this time, though Pat was tempted as he cleaned Pran out, feeling his come drip out onto the shower floor. Pran didn't want to, at least, despite his semi-soft cock, but at the silent pleading look on Pat's face, he rolled his eyes. "You can fuck my thighs if you want," he said. "But that's a point for me."

"Yeah, sure," said Pat, and slid his dick between Pran's thighs. He wasn't keeping score anymore, anyway.

Later, Pran poked at the hickey on his collarbone, while Pat admired his handiwork in the mirror. Pran scowled at him from the corner of his eye. "You really are a dog, you know that?" he said, and flinched when Pat reached out to touch the bruise as well. "It's a good thing I have concealer."

"Aw, but you should show it off." Pat leaned against the counter. "It's like a medal."

"For you maybe," Pran grumbled, and batted his hand away. "It's just a nuisance for me." He glared at Pat. "Like you."

Pat smiled winningly at him.

He did want to see the hickey, though, and was gratified when Pran walked into work with it uncovered the next day, earning whistles from around the office. "Damn," said Wai, as Pran passed his desk to sit at his cubicle. "That's a big hickey."

They were later than usual that day, too. Pat had to go to Pran's apartment earlier that morning to wake him up, and had been delighted to see Pran limping to the door, sleepy and grumpy at eight in the morning. Pat winked at Wai, now.

"You don't want to know what we were doing when he got it," he told Wai. 

Wai said, "I really don't."

At some point it had become an open secret that they were sleeping together, though Pat wasn't sure when. He and Pran hadn't really been trying to hide it. In fact, in recent weeks, Pat figured they were more obvious than not. A part of him wanted to tell their teams that it wasn't what it looked like, that it was still all fake, that they were just—fucking, and nothing more. But maybe they knew that. Or maybe they didn't, and Pat didn't really mind if they thought otherwise. He wasn't sure.

Ink texted him later that morning: I'm visiting you at lunch, I've gotta see this fake boyfriend. When Pat saw the text, he giggled. He thought about telling her that his boyfriend was Pran from high school, but the appeal of a surprise was too enticing.

Paa thinks he's cute, he sent Ink.

Ink replied, I'm going to have words with her.

Pat snickered and pocketed his phone. He noticed Pran watching him from across the office.

"Who're you talking to?" Pran asked.

Pat scrunched his nose at him. "Just a friend." 

Ink arrived at noon. Their office usually got lunch together at half past, so they were all still working when their office got the security call for guest retrieval.

"I didn't even realize we had that," Korn said, after Pat had accepted it.

Pat went downstairs to see Ink standing in the middle of the lobby. She lit up when she saw him.

"This is fancy," she said, impressed. "Not like your old office."

"Hey, my old office was fine," Pat said. "What about you, huh?"

"You're the city boy," said Ink. "I live with your parents. You're coming over for your dad's birthday this weekend, right?" she added.

Pat nodded. "He'll want to hear how the project's doing, I suppose. Did you and Paa get him a present?"

Ink shrugged. "Paa said she had something perfect, so I just went with it."

They turned into the office. Korn exclaimed, "Ink!" and ran over, nearly hugging her before she put her hand between them.

"Korn," she said, forcing him into a handshake.

Hesitantly, Korn took it.

Then Ink grabbed him. "I'm just messing with you," she said, and hugged him.

Pat grinned, and Chang said, "You never come around anymore."

"She has a job," Pat interjected, amused. "And she doesn't live that close to uptown now."

Ink elbowed him. "I can speak for myself," she said. "But he's right. Now." She scoped out the room. "Where is this boyfriend of yours?"

But Pran had stood up from his desk the moment they'd come back in. His eyes were wide. "Ink?"

Ink gasped in shock. "Pran!"

Then she ran over and hugged him. "Pran, it's been so long!" she enthused, and looked him over. "You look good! What are you doing here?"

"I'm." Pran looked at Pat for help. Then back to Ink.

The moment it clicked together for Ink was visible on her face. She glanced between them as well, and said, "This is your fake boyfriend?"

Korn and Wai rushed to shush her. "Not so loud," Korn said. "It's supposed to be a secret."

"Well, the fake part," said Wai.

"It's just," Ink said loudly, and Korn and Wai shushed her again. She glared at them. "It's just," she said, quieter, "I knew them both in high school."

Pat grinned. He remembered that. "Good memories," he said.

Ink swatted him. "Of you trying to flirt with me," she said. "You're such a loverboy. But look who you're tied to now." She nodded at Pran. "I'm sure he'll hold you down."

"Don't you see the hickey on Pran?" said Korn. "I think I know who's holding who down."

Both Wai and Ink reached over to smack him.

"Well, it's good to see you, Pran," Ink said genuinely. "We should get drinks sometime."

Pran smiled in thanks.

"And hey, wait." Ink gestured between Pat and Pran. "Paa said you guys live in the same apartment building, right? So that must make your dating arrangement so much easier."

Pat and Pran looked at each other. Pat's eyes strayed to the bruise on Pran's neck again.

Pran said, "That's one way of putting it."

"Ooh." Ink put her elbows up on the walls of the cubicle. "Do you guys get up to some fun?"

Pran blushed bright red. Pat went, "Ink!" and elbowed her gently, and she laughed and elbowed Pat back.

"I'm just kidding. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to." She smiled wickedly at them.

"So," said Pran, clearing his throat. "What's new with you?" 

Ink and Pran got caught up at Pran's desk, Ink leaning against his wall as the rest of them dispersed to resume their work until lunch. From his own desk Pat did too, but he couldn't help glancing over at Pran and Ink every so often. They'd never been particularly close before, Pat knew, and Ink's girlfriend was literally his sister, but his stomach still felt… funny, watching them talk and laugh. It didn't take him long to realize it was because he kept looking at Pran—his big brown eyes when he looked up at Ink, laughing at her comments or scrunching his face when she pinched his nose and teased her back. He wasn't looking at Pat like that, not right now.

Pat's heart kicked.

He shook his head. "Hey," he said across the room, because suddenly it was half past and the rest of their officemates were getting up and heading to the cafeteria. "Lunch?"

"Let's go," said Ink. 

Pran got up from his desk too, a weird look on his face as he joined Pat. He offered his hand out anyway. Pat smiled and took it.

They made lively conversation with Ink during lunch, with Ink telling them exciting stories about being on set as a lighting director in films and then getting questions about the ones she'd worked on. Pat wished he was interested, because it sounded fun, but he couldn't help looking at Pran, the way Pran was so expressive with his laughs, his frowns, his subtle smiles. Pat blinked, then went back to eating. Pran had always been good-looking. It wasn't anything new.

Ink left after lunch with a, "See you at your parents' this weekend!" as she waved to Pat.

Pat waved back and quickly lost himself in his work along with everyone else, instead of thinking too much and Ink and Pran. Since he was one of the project leads, he had a lot more to manage, both in terms of project goals and all the micro-communiqués. When the end of the day hit, he couldn't have been more relieved. He stretched, looking forward to the prospect of going home and maybe even getting laid. Smiling at the idea, he glanced at Pran.

Pran was staring at him while he was packing up his bag. Pat hadn't even been paying attention. He didn't look away when Pat noticed, but he stopped for a bit to organize his pens before putting them into his bag. Then he walked over to the door.

"Shall we go?" he said.

Pat grinned. He was so getting laid tonight. "After you," he said.

Pran didn't say much on the way to the parking garage, but Pat could feel the heat of his gaze as he got into the driver's seat. "Were you surprised to see Ink today?" Pat asked conversationally, as he started up the car.

Pran looked out the window. "Yeah," he said, after a moment. "It's been a long time. I hadn't seen either of you since high school."

He opened his mouth again. Pat thought he might say something, but then he closed it instead.

Good thing, too, because Pat had more important things on his mind. "So," he said to Pran, with a smirk. "What are you doing after this?"

Pran didn't say anything, not until they were stumbling into Pat's apartment. Pran pushed him forward, then slammed the door behind them as he pressed Pat to the wall. "Oh?" said Pat, grinning down at him. "This is a change of positions, isn't it?"

Pran gritted his teeth. Pat saw him glance at his mouth and hoped he might kiss him, but Pran just said, "Shut up," and practically tore Pat's pants off.

He mouthed at Pat's cock through the cotton of his boxer briefs. Pat gasped and clutched Pran's hair and pulled him closer, trying to get more of his cock into Pran's mouth, but his skin was barred by the fabric. Pat's thumbs went to the elastic of his waistband. Pran used a hand to bat him away.

"You don't do anything," he said to Pat, and his mouth was still around the length of Pat's cock, vibrating in his throat. 

Pat shuddered and leaked furiously, suddenly wet for it. Pran worked his mouth over Pat's cock for a bit, then slipped his underwear off and got Pat's cock into his mouth without even using his hands to guide him. He was swallowing Pat down, eagerly and hungrily, and Pat had never had better oral in his life. 

It made him dizzy how tight and wet Pran's throat was, how he deepthroated him again and again like it was nothing. Pat's mind was spinning from the suction of Pran's mouth, but also from imagining who else had he done this to. He was so practiced and confident, and it was so damn hot. But it made Pat's chest hot, too, that Pran was so good at this, that he was only sloppy when he popped Pat out of his mouth, drool dripping from Pat's cock to his chin. He slurped the string of precome between him and the head of Pat's cock, and then put Pat in his mouth again and swallowed him down in earnest. Pat shouted when he came, gripping Pran's head and thrusting into his mouth as he spilled down his throat, seeing stars behind his eyelids like the pleasure was getting punched out of him.

"Holy shit," Pat said. He wasn't even mad at the self-satisfied look on Pran's face. "Fuck, Pran."

He ate Pran out on his kitchen table despite Pran's insistence that it was unhygienic. "Looks hygienic enough for this meal," Pat had said, then hiked Pran's leg up his shoulder and kissed his hole. He refused to touch or fuck Pran until Pran was begging for it, cursing, saying, "Pat, you asshole, I need it." 

Pat was hard again, because Pran always did this to him, and he pushed into Pran with one smooth glide and fucked him because Pran was still glaring at him. As Pat fucked into him, Pran dragged him close with his feet on the back of Pat's thighs and brought his own fingers to his lips and— 

Pat wasn't ready for it as he watched Pran suck on his own fingers while getting fucked by Pat, maintaining eye contact with him. He looked so good with something in his mouth, his lips red and swollen, and Pat parted his lips, thinking, Maybe—

His thoughts got cut short when Pran took his fingers out and then worked behind Pat, sliding against his crack. His fingers were long enough to slide a tip into his hole, a damp wet pressure, and Pat jolted, fucking Pran deeper so he could feel Pran's fingers more.

Pran smirked. "Like that?" he asked.

Pat didn't protest, because he couldn't even lie. Pran nudged a couple of fingertips inside with one hand, grabbed Pat's ass and smacked it around a little with the other, and that felt good too. Pat was still fucking into Pran, but his hips were stuttering, arrhythmic, and he came without warning, plugging Pran up. Then he pulled out and took Pran into his mouth and down his throat and fingered his come out until Pran was twisting and moaning and spilling, warm and wet, into Pat's mouth.

Pat licked his lips, and grinned when Pran rolled his eyes. "We're so good at this."

"Yeah, yeah." Pran shoved Pat off so he could get back up from his kitchen table. As he was picking their clothes up from the floor, he said, "You're going back to your parents' this weekend?"

"Yeah, it's my dad's birthday," said Pat. 

He watched as Pran picked up both of their socks and folded them neatly. He still had the hickey on his throat. Pat had been staring at it, earlier, while fucking Pran. He kind of wanted to touch it, now.

"Your parents and Ink are close?" Pran asked.

Pat shrugged. "They're okay."

Pran got dressed and went to the door. He'd put Pat's clothes in a tidy pile on the couch, which made Pat smile. As he walked Pran to the door, he said, "So you won't see me this weekend. Think you might miss me?"

Pran turned to him. "Miss you? What would I miss about you?"

"You can't think of anything to miss about your boyfriend?" Pat glanced down at his naked body, then waggled his eyebrows at Pran.

"Hmm." Pran got close to him and peered down at Pat's cock. Then back at Pat's face. "No. I have a hand." He walked back towards the front door. "And an imagination."

"Yeah, but it's not as good as the real thing, is it?"

Pran hitched his messenger bag over his shoulder. He cast one long look at Pat's body.

"Bye, Pat," he said and bit his bruised bottom lip pointedly. 

Then he left.

FIVE.

On Friday they hooked up in a shower stall in the men's locker room, and then later in Pran's apartment, because Pat hadn't wanted to separate yet and Pran hadn't stopped him. As Pran got up from his couch, Pat asked, "Do you want to get dinner? Then we can go again."

"Don't you have to go to your parents'?" Pran reminded him.

Pat hadn't forgotten, but he kind of wanted an excuse not to go. "Oh yeah," he said. "I mean, it's just my family. I can see them whenever I want."

"It's your dad's birthday," Pran pointed out. "Get dressed so you can see your family."

"Since when do you tell me what to do?" Still, Pat had begun to wrangle his muscle tee back on. "This is the last of my body you'll see in a bit," he said, rolling his shirt down his abs. He winked. "Don't miss it too much."

"I won't," said Pran, and walked him to the door.

Pat turned back around. "Actually, I think Paa has my home keys."

"Well, you'll see her there, won't you?" Pran said, amused, and Pat remembered, right, shit. "Bye, Pat."

Pat tried not to be too embarrassed. "Have fun with your hand," he said and left.

His family house was on the outskirts of the city so it wasn't too much of a drive. Paa had more time to come into the city than Pat did to visit home because of work. He listened to a classical radio station on the way there, nostalgia flooding in his bones as he pulled onto his street. This was his first time visiting home since he'd run into Pran again, he realized, and now he was driving in front of both of their houses. He looked forlornly at the house next door, then parked up the driveway.

His mom was already cooking when he came inside, and she exclaimed, "Oh, Pat!" as Pat announced, "I'm here!"

Ink and Paa came to greet him as well, while his dad waved to him from the kitchen table, where he was reading a Chinese newspaper. Pat kissed them all on the cheek, and then said to his dad, "What, are you an old man now?"

"Don't make fun of your father's age," Ming said to him, kissing him on the forehead.

Dinner was loud and chaotic. Ink had long become part of the family ever since she and Paa had started dating in undergrad. She and Pat both kept picking food to put in each other's bowls, and when she fed Paa some shrimp, Pat teased, "You two are too sweet."

Ink nodded at him. "Yeah? What about you and your boyfriend? Why didn't you bring him?"

Pat's neck went hot. "You know he's not my real boyfriend."

"For now."

"And how is he?" Ming asked. "And your project?"

Pat knew that Ming more meant his project than Pran. "It's going well," he said to his dad. "It looks like we'll get the investment. And family is invited to the Christmas party," he added to Paa. "That's when it'll get secured."

"Ooh," Paa said excitedly. "Ink told me how fancy your work looked. I hope there's expensive food."

"Eat a lot for me," Ink said to her, and Paa giggled.

Ming nodded at his son. "Good," he said and lifted his glass to sip his whiskey. But he was smiling, so Pat felt a swell of pride.

His dad's birthday was the next day, so there wasn't any song and dance yet. Pat made his way to the living room with Ink and Paa as his parents cleaned up after dinner.

"You know," said Ink, as they sat down. She was talking to Pat. "I did always think you and Pran would make a cute couple, back when we were in high school."

"High school?" Pat crinkled his nose. "We were kids then."

"So? You guys kept looking at each other like you were too scared to talk to each other." Ink giggled. "It was cute."

Pat made a face. "I don't get you," he said, as Paa turned on the TV and started idly flicking through dramas. "But of course we make a good couple." He thought about how Pran looked on his back, how they both looked, the other day, when Pat had fucked him against the mirror inside the gym. It had happened way too fast and Pat had bit down on Pran's neck when he came. "We're both hot."

Ink grinned at him. "Better not catch feelings for him," she said, and entangled her legs with Paa's. "He's your fake boyfriend after all."

Pat kind of wished he could slot his legs with Pran's and watch dramas with him in his family home. "Yeah," he said.

*

The next day Pat's mom had him run errands so Ink and Paa tagged along, driving around their little neighborhood and picking out the next place to go grocery shopping. They drove past their old high school at one point, and Pat remembered: not the last time he'd been there, but the last time he'd seen Pran there, the day after the concert, when Pran was being pulled out of the principal's office. It was so long ago, but Pat could remember it like it was yesterday.

"What are you thinking about?" Ink asked him from the passenger seat.

Pat shook his head and smiled. "Nothing," he said.

Everything was harder to forget, now. It was easier when Pran hadn't been in his life at all, because now when Pat thought about going home, he wasn't thinking about his apartment. He was thinking about going to Pran's.

When he pulled into the driveway, Paa rushed out. "I gotta go pee!" she said, and hurried inside.

Ink laughed at her girlfriend as she and Pat got out of the car. Pat took a handful of groceries and the cake, which was in a large box, as Ink grabbed the rest of the groceries. She hoisted up one end of the cake box when Pat's grip wavered.

"Careful, you're gonna drop it," she said, and she reminded Pat so much of Pran for a moment that Pat did nearly drop it. "Pat!"

"Sorry!" Pat quickly held the box steady in his arms. "Must've slipped."

"Would've been a disaster if it fell," Ink said, and held it alongside him so it was equally balanced. She nudged her hip against Pat's. "This is better isn't it?"

Pat nudged her back. "Yeah, yeah," he said.

From the corner of his eye he thought he might've seen movement at Pran's window. When he looked again, no one was there.

Pran's family house had always had a gate surrounding it and the driveway, but luckily it didn't shield Pran's bedroom window, almost directly parallel with Pat's. Later that evening, after his dad's birthday celebration, Pat stared forlornly out his window from the floor of his bedroom. The cake had been vanilla (Ming's favorite), and they’d had wine and fruit as well. Pat had given his dad the imported liquor he'd nabbed off Pran one day after a hookup. Pat had been awed by it because his dad had mentioned to him years ago that it was some expensive foreign brand he'd always wanted to try, and Pran had said he could have it, because Pran was never going to drink it. Pat had told him that he might give it to his dad, and Pran had shrugged and said okay. Then Pat had fucked him on the floor of the kitchen.

Pat sighed again.

Paa came into his room and saw that Pat was gazing outside. "Hey," she said. "What's with you?"

"What?" Pat turned to her.

"Why're you up here?" Paa gestured out into the hallway. "C'mon, we're watching a movie. Dad's already opened the liquor if you want some, too."

Pat chewed on his bottom lip, then smiled. "I'm fine," he said to his knees.

Paa closed the door. She sat on his bed, looking down at her brother. "Seriously, hia," she said. "What's up? You can talk to me."

He knew that. He always did talk to her, his whole life, about anything—except one subject. One person. But that was before, when talking to Pran, about him, felt like a matter of life and death. Now, it felt like breathing.

Pat looked out his window again. "How did you know that you liked Ink?" he asked.

"Huh?" Paa said. She followed Pat's gaze. "Oh." Then, "Oh!"

She rushed to cling to Pat's arm. "Do you like Pran?" she asked excitedly.

Pat fidgeted out of her grasp. "Maybe," he mumbled. "I'm just not sure."

Paa sat up straight and took a bossy tone. "Well," she said. "I knew that I liked Ink because first, I was always conscious of when she was touching me. And I wanted her to keep doing it." She brushed her hair behind her ear, like a memory. "Second, it was hard for me to look her in the eye without feeling self-conscious about it too."

"Maybe you're just self-conscious," Pat told her.

Paa shoved him. "Maybe you're not conscious at all," she said. "Plus, I kept trying to hear around for if she had a boyfriend or girlfriend, or whenever anyone said her name." She smiled, shy. "Mostly, I just always paid attention to when people talked about her. Even if I was jealous."

"Jealous?" Pat echoed.

"I mean, everyone at uni thought she was so cool, didn't they? And she was." Paa's voice took on a dreamy tone. "And it was just hard for me to be myself around her. I just wanted her to like me, too. Though, apparently, she liked me all along." She ducked her head, smiling again.

Pat had heard this story before, how Ink had liked Paa since high school, and then Paa had joined her photography club in university. One thing led to another, and Paa was taking Ink home and introducing her to their parents. Pat knew he’d had a crush on Ink in high school but he hadn't been jealous of his sister. Mostly because he and Ink had never dated.

"That's nice," he said absently, looking out at the other bedroom window again.

Paa got off his bed and poked his ankle. "Stop sulking," she told him, as she left. "I won't bother you again, but you should join us."

Pat watched his door close and placed his chin on his knees. He was prepared to sulk some more, but then he saw the light in the bedroom window next door flicker on. A shadow appeared, and the curtains were being pulled aside—and Pran was there. He pulled the windows open and left.

Pat jolted up. The bed was blocking the view from the window, so Pran must not have seen him, but he was there, visiting his parents that weekend too. Pat climbed onto his bed and delicately clambered out of the window, making the jump between the roofs of their houses, and ducking below Pran's window. He pressed his body to the outside wall as Pran glanced outside. When Pran wasn't looking, he slid the window open, slipped into Pran's room, and grabbed him by the waist.

"Boo!" he said, and Pran nearly shouted. Pat covered his mouth with his palm. "Surprised?"

Pran glared at him. Pat removed his hand.

"You could've texted," Pran said, as Pat got onto Pran's childhood bed.

Pat tested the mattress. Sturdy. "I thought this was more fun," he said and grinned. "What're you doing here?"

"Visiting my parents." Pran glanced at the closed door. "What does it look like?"

Pat got up again and pressed forward into Pran's space. "It looks like you followed me," he said, breath against Pran's lips. "Like you couldn't get enough of me."

"As if," Pran said, but Pat heard the waver in his voice as he pressed their bodies closer. "Pat, stop, we can't—"

"Why not?" Pat held onto Pran's hips, grounding their cocks together. Pat was already half-hard. "It's kind of hot, isn't it? In our childhood bedrooms?"

"Freak," Pran said breathlessly, thrusting back.

He didn't protest after that, clearly wanting it as much as Pat did. When he knelt on the ground and started taking Pat's pants off, Pat couldn't help from saying, "You really like that, don't you?"

Pran looked up at him from where he was on his knees. "Like what?"

"Having a cock in your mouth," Pat said, and smirked when Pran glowered. "What? You're good at it. Had a lot of practice?"

Pran took him in his mouth, but Pat wasn't done yet. "A boyfriend?" he strangled out, as Pran deep-throated him. "Someone you did it to a lot?"

He couldn't help it. Pran's mouth drove him crazy.

Pran ignored him, blowing Pat like it was the only thing he cared about. He was on his knees on the floor of the bedroom Pat had seen him in for half his life, looking up at Pat through heavily lidded eyes, and suddenly Pat knew exactly what he wanted.

He pulled Pran off and Pran let out a little moan, his mouth following Pat's cock. "Pran," said Pat, and Pran looked up at him, eyes dark, hazy, like he was drunk on Pat's dick. "I want you to fuck me."

Pran moved so quickly that Pat barely had time to think, shoving Pat to the bed, and grabbing his lube from the nightstand. "Shit, yeah," Pran said, and moved to take his own pants off. When he looked at Pat again, he stopped and said, "This is weird."

Pat had bent his knees, spreading his thighs apart. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, you're in the bed I've been sleeping in since I was, like, ten." Pran poured the lube on his fingers. "You sure you want to do this?"

"I've done it before," Pat said, and Pran's eyes narrowed.

He fingered Pat open, his fingers deft and long. Pat remembered, randomly, that Pran was a guitarist. Even if it had been years, according to Pran, his fingers knew what they were doing, where they were going, curling inside Pat, thick and spreading him open. Pat's knees were in the air, and Pran was alternating between sucking on his balls and fingering his hole, running his tongue over Pat's length every so often, mouthing at him with his soft, wet lips. Pat felt everything, electrifying, body focused on every point Pran was touching him, fingers inside, the wet heat around his dick. Pran fucked his fingers into Pat fast, and Pat stretched, felt his hole gaping, and said, "Pran, fuck me."

Pran lubed himself up clumsily and too quickly, but Pat didn't care. He pushed into Pat and Pat gasped. It had been a while since he’d been filled up like this. He liked it as much as the other way around—it was different, full, and Pran sighed as he bottomed out. Pat wriggled Pran inside of him, turned on by the sound of the slick lube at his hole lapping against Pran's cock.

"You gonna fuck me or what, big boy?" Pat said, and Pran glared.

He fucked Pat in short shallow thrusts, so as to not rock the bed, Pat realized. But it was enough, having Pran's cock deep inside of him, full and splitting him open. Pran seemed to really like it too, but he liked getting fucked just as much, Pat remembered, and his cock twitched at the thought of being inside Pran again. Pran was focused on him, as though fucking Pat was the only thing in the world.

Their eyes met, and Pran wasn't glaring, anymore. He stared at Pat intently. Pat's eyes dropped to Pran's lips, and he had to remind himself not to.

I wonder what he's thinking about, he thought.

It was hard to know with Pran, but that was one of the things Pat liked most about him. Pran lifted him up by the knees and Pat wound his legs around Pran's thighs, helping ease the strength of Pran's thrusts while getting Pran as deep inside of him as he could. Pran hovered over him, still staring. One of his hands almost drifted across Pat's face, somewhere around his chin, but then he pulled his hand away. Instead, he gripped Pat's ass and fucked him deeper.

He came in seconds, warm and thick inside of Pat. Pat bit his lip and groaned, feeling it rush into his body. "You're pretty good," Pat said, as Pran spurted in him, trembling ever so slightly.

Pran rolled his eyes, then flipped them over, so that he was the one on his back, Pat now hovering above him with a slight oof! "Are you gonna return the favor?" Pran asked, bossy.

Pat hadn't really expected to. He thought Pran would suck him off or something, but he wasn't complaining. He grinned and grabbed the lube again. "As you wish," he said, and Pran huffed without protest.

Sliding into Pran again was still as good as the first time, and Pat fucked him just as he did so they would stay quiet. He heard the faint sounds of dishes clanging downstairs. Pran's parents were home, and it wouldn't do for them to hear their son getting fucked in his childhood bedroom. But that thought made Pat hotter. Pran moaned, and Pat covered his mouth with his hand, and that was hot too.

Pran didn't fight it, looking into Pat's eyes as Pat kept him quiet, well-fucked. Pat couldn't look away, because it was Pran. It was as though they were the only two people in the world, and when Pat finally came inside him, it was like in slow motion, emptying all of himself that he could inside. Pran was eager for it too, grinding down and moaning against Pat's hand, getting his palm wet, his hole sucking Pat's come in. Pat thrust a little in him as he finished, and then again afterward, to watch Pran wince.

Pran caught his breath before wiping his dirty hand on Pat's shirt in retaliation. "You're such an animal," he said, but it didn't sound like an insult.

Pat wrinkled his nose at him. "You're getting my shirt all sticky," he complained, pulling out.

He kind of wanted to look to see if Pran's hole was swollen and open, like how Pat's felt, but Pran put his legs down and closed his thighs. "Pervert," he said, and grabbed a t-shirt from his laundry basket. There was barely enough room; the bedroom, though sizable for one, felt smaller with the two of them as grown men inside, naked. Intimate, somehow.

Pran handed the shirt to Pat. "Here, if you're so concerned about clean clothes."

Pat wasn't, but he wasn't going to pass up on the opportunity. "You just want to see me take my shirt off," he said, doing so.

Pran's eyes scanned up and down his body. "Maybe," he said.

He handed the shirt to Pat. Their fingers brushed, and the heat of Pran's calluses sparked from their fingertips to somewhere in the back of Pat's spine. He pretended not to notice.

"Friend," he said, reading the front of the shirt. "Unfriend." He sniffed it. "And it smells like you." He grinned and wrangled it on.

Pran was watching him with amusement. "What, are you a dog or something?" he said. "You know it's dirty."

"Well duh," said Pat. He sniffed it again. "But it has your sweet scent. The scent you have everywhere." He looked pointedly at Pran's crotch.

Pran pushed his face away, but Pat could see the dimples in his cheeks. "Go back to your room," he said, nodding to the window. "Before my parents come in."

Pat pouted. "You're always kicking me out."

"You want to confront my mom?"

"You could always defend me." Pat snuggled close to him on the bed, and Pran protested but didn't pull away. "I've seen you do it before. When you were defending your boyfriend."

"Maybe not tonight," said Pran, pushing Pat away. Pat felt the warmth of his palm on his chest. It hurt a little to have Pran putting distance between them, but Pran just gave him a look. "Go home, Pat."

Pat's gaze dropped to his mouth discreetly, and he touched Pran's cheek. "You've still got my handprints on your face," he said, and used that as an excuse to thumb Pran's lower lip. It was red, and plush, and Pran didn't do anything about it, just watched him with raised eyebrows and waited. "It's hot," Pat said.

Pran pushed him off the bed. "Bye, Pat," he said emphatically.

As Pat made his way to the window, he said, "I'll see you at the apartment, then?"

"See you," said Pran, and Pat left.

He made his way across the rooftops, still feeling Pran's lip under his fingers. Pran under him, on top of him, inside of him, around him. Pran's fingers brushing against his, his scent on the shirt that Pat was wearing, the look on his eyes when he came inside Pat, when Pat came inside him. And the funny little hiccup in Pat's chest when he thought of Pran coming home to his family and thinking of him.

Yeah, Pat had it bad.

*

It felt like the revelation should've been more earth-shattering, but it wasn't. The next morning, Pat woke up and looked across their houses and thought, I'm in love with Pran, and it was as easy as looking into Pran's window.

He didn't know if Pran was there—Pat had jerked off once more that night and passed out at who knew when, but he fantasized about Pran being there, anyway. Watching him, maybe.

Pran wasn't, because Pat heard him say goodbye to his parents in the driveway outside. Their houses had always been close, but Pran was a quiet kid. He only wasn't when Pat was around, especially if Pat was annoying him into competition. Then, he got stubborn and became feisty Pran, who wouldn't give up unless Pat gave up first. Their relationship had always been a push and pull, and that had made it into their beds too, now, when being enemies didn't matter anymore, and neither did their families or friends. They could just be who they always were. Pat and Pran.

The issue was Pran's feelings. Pat entertained the thought over breakfast. Would Pran even be interested in dating him? He didn't seem to be the type to date, period. But then, Pat supposed, he wasn't sure if he’d thought Pran would be the type to have a lot of sex, either. Not before Pat found out firsthand that he was. So Pat didn't know.

Pran also didn't seem willing to talk about it when Pat tried to lightly bring it up later, back when they were in the parking garage of their apartment building, walking towards Pat's car.

It was Monday again, and they were heading to work. "So you've had boyfriends before, right?" Pat asked him casually.

Pran cast him a weary glance. "I guess you could say that," he said vaguely. "Why?"

"Nothing." Pat started the car engine. "I was just thinking, you know. If you did, you might have more suggestions for what we could do. As fake boyfriends." He cleared his throat.

"It's just the same as dating anyone else," Pran said, amused. "Why? Have you had boyfriends?"

"Why do you want to know?" asked Pat.

"You asked first." Pran laughed, and Pat drove them out of the parking garage.

Being in love with Pran was easy when he was already pretending to date him, and fucking him. The only problem was the part where Pran kept kicking him out, even if Pat had an excuse to stay, and the very loud nagging voice in the back of Pat's head—that sounded a bit like Pran—saying that this was all pretend. Plus, Pran couldn't actively date anyone else while he was pretending to date Pat. So even if Pat felt jealous of Wai and Pran ducking their heads together over a sheet of paper, he knew he was being irrational. He and Pran were in a relationship as long as they needed to be to secure the investment. And maybe a bit longer wouldn't hurt.

December rolled around sooner than expected. Fairy lights started showing up around the LogTech building, adding to the ambience.

"This is kind of romantic," Pat said one evening, when he and Pran had stayed late. He had Pran pressed against his desk, lube and saliva leaking around his cock and Pran's hole, where they were joined. The rest of the office was dark. Pat could only see the planes of Pran's face through the colorful Christmas lights. "Don't you think?" he added.

Pran pressed his ankles into Pat's ass. "What do you know about romance?" he asked. "Fuck me," and Pat did.

When they were done, Pat pulled his pants back up and said, "How long do you think we'll be dating?"

Pran shrugged. He was re-buttoning his shirt even though he hadn't taken it off. He was so cute. "As long as we need to, I guess," he said.

Pat handed Pran his laptop from his desk, and Pran put it in his messenger bag. "Imagine if we dated for real though," he said with a grin. "It'd be so easy to fall in love with me, wouldn't it?"

Pran rolled his eyes. "It'd be pretty damn hard, actually," he said, and opened the door. There were red, green, blue, and orange lights around the doorframe, dancing on Pran's face, accentuating the bridge of his nose, the shadows of his lips. "Let's go," said Pran, and Pat followed him.

He supposed there was no need to tell Pran about his revelation. Pran might reject him and be all weird about them having sex. He might not even want to have sex with Pat, if he knew Pat had feelings. Pran was avoidant and smart, and if he didn't return Pat's feelings, he would just run away the moment Pat admitted them out loud. He didn't think his feelings might come as a surprise, since they were having sex and pretending to be in a relationship already. But the thought of telling Pran made his heart race, nervous. He didn't want Pran to reject him. He didn't want his heart to be broken.

It was fine. He didn't have to tell Pran. If he had to go the rest of his life fucking Pran and pretending to be in a relationship with him, then he could live with it. Unless Pran decided they should stop.

Before they knew it, Pichai was marching into their office a week before the Christmas party with a big smile on his face. Pat was already sitting on Pran's desk and holding Pran's hand, playing with his fingers idly and talking to Wai. He'd gone there naturally, and Pran had let him take his hand without complaint.

Pichai clapped his hands. "Congratulations on your upcoming investment," he said to their teams. "We wanted to invite you to help plan the Christmas party, since it'll partially be your celebration."

"Oh!" Korn ran up to him excitedly. "Really? Because I've had some ideas. We could have a talent contest, and play games, and rent entertainment, and have prizes—"

"We are on a budget, of course," Pichai said, but more pointedly to Korn. "So think carefully about what you want to do."

He congratulated them again and left. Pat turned back to Pran.

"Do you have any ideas?" he asked.

Pran shrugged. "Not really," he said. "You?"

Pat didn't, not until he was looking at the tips of Pran's fingers. He had faint calluses. They had been there for a few weeks now, and Pat had noticed Pran's hands were a little rougher when he was blowing him in his car a while back. "Hey!" Pat said to the room at large. "Pran will play music for us at the Christmas party!"

"You got him to agree?" said Wai.

Korn whooped. "I didn't know you were a musician, Pran!"

Pran was glaring at Pat. "What are you doing?"

"C'mon." Pat nudged him. "Think about it. It would be fun. And you loved performing in high school."

"That was high school. Besides." Pran fidgeted. "I really haven't played that much recently."

"Don't lie. I can tell you have." Pat held tight to Pran's hand before he could snatch it away. "See? Look at those calluses."

Pran pulled his hand back. "What if I don't?" he said. "Then what?"

"Well, then, I guess you don't have to," Pat said, and sighed. He gave Pran puppy eyes. "But I'd like to hear your voice again."

Pran gave him a long look. Then, from a cubicle over, Louis said, "You guys are so lovey dovey around us. It's like you're a real couple!"

"We're not a real couple," Pran muttered, and Pat ignored the twinge in his stomach.

Later, they joined the party committee in the break room to plan catering and organization for the party. When one of the committee members asked if they had anything planned, before Korn could interject with his ideas, Pran glanced at Pat and then said, "I'll play music."

"Oh?" Pichai asked. He was on the planning committee, too. "What do you play?"

"Um, I play guitar." Pran suddenly looked shy at everyone in the room paying attention to him. Pat wanted him so bad. "And I sing."

"People will like that," said Pichai, and the others nodded.

After the meeting, Pat ran up to Pran eagerly. "So," he said. "What are you gonna play?"

"Not telling," Pran said without looking at him. He was making his way out of the room. "It's a secret."

Pat pouted. "Aw, why?"

Instead of answering, Pran shrugged, and they walked back to their offices.

Pat tried to figure it out, but the Christmas party was only a week away. And, as the head team lead, Pat had even more to oversee and people to talk to and manage. They were closing up development and he had the final say, so Pat stayed late, while Pran went home, surely to practice his song. They were still fucking, of course, on the days when Pat could let himself leave a little earlier. But even then, Pran distracted him with his mouth, or his hole, or his dick, and Pat couldn't go snooping to see what sheet music he might have lying around.

He'd always known Pran loved music more than anything. Pran was an artist in a way that Pat didn't want to be, when he could be watching Pran instead. He didn't know if he'd picked up drums or if Pran had picked up guitar first, but one thing had led to another, and the next thing he knew they went from glaring at each other during music class in middle school, to joining the music club together in high school. But even then, Pran had been the one in charge of the Christmas band. Pat had just tagged along.

Pat had suggested they sing a cover, but Pran had wanted to write something original, a new song, sung by a fifteen-year old boy to their whole school. It was so ambitious, but Pran had suggested it like he was speculating on the weather. He had gone on thinking out loud like Pat wasn't there, even though Pat had been the one who contributed the most. When Pran had asked him, Have you ever had a secret crush on anyone before? Pat shrugged and said, I don't know, but sometimes before I confess to someone, I get insecure . Pran had lit up and written it down— Insecure—saying he liked the word. Pat demanded half of the credit, before Pran wrote everything else, the song and lyrics and all.

But he ended up naming the song Insecure anyway.

That had been approximately fifteen Christmases ago. Now, on the day of the Christmas party, Pat didn't know what to expect. He looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror at LogTech, adjusting his bowtie and pushing back his hair. He'd coiffed it with gel, and was wearing his nicest tux—all black, with suspenders underneath. He looked hot, and he knew it. Maybe he could get Pran to jump him before he had to sing.

Pran had gone home with Wai earlier in the day and was driving back for the party by himself later. Pat had stayed at the office because there had been a confusing, circular email thread between some of the materials companies they were trying to partner with, and no one had known who was communicating what to who, until Pat had unraveled it all. He was glad to be done with work. Though Pran loathed it, Pat felt that the LogTech party might relieve him of some stress.

He finished getting dressed in the work bathroom, then headed down to the ballroom where the party was going to be held. Some guests had arrived already, including a couple of members from Pat’s and Pran's teams. Pat had volunteered to help carry the boxes around, and the planning committee was just finishing cleaning for the decorations, so Pat joined them in carrying out the large boxes of tinsel.

It was an impressive party, with red and green streamers along the walls and ceiling. Pat smiled when he saw the stage, and knew that was where Pran was going to perform, just like all those years ago. Back then, he had been glowing as he sang out into the audience, Pat remembered, because he'd wanted the world to hear it, he'd loved the stage. At some point, Pat had started going to music club practices to watch Pran sing more than to play the drums. Pran performing had always made him watch in wonder, though Pat thought at the time it had been no more than admiring a skilled artist. Now, Pat had the same itch, burn, want to watch Pran create and perform because he loved it and because it was what he was made to do.

Pran was intoxicating, especially when he appeared later with his parents, wearing a white tux that contrasted with his dark skin. His hair was styled so that his bangs fell in light curls across his forehead. Pat's family had arrived earlier, and he and Paa were currently in the middle of a debate about their drama. But the moment he spotted Pran, Pat said to his family, "Gotta go," and rushed over.

He knew he didn't have to be scared of Dissaya now, but he slowed when they made eye contact. "Hi," Pat said, mostly to Pran. "How was the drive back?"

Pran rolled his eyes. Pat could tell that he was self-conscious around his parents.

"Fine," Pran said.

The shirt beneath his tux jacket was baby pink, and he had golden music note cufflinks. Pat wanted to eat him up.

He leaned in close. "You look good," he said, and sniffed him deeply. Pran glared at him. Pat could feel Dissaya's eyes on them.

Pat pouted. "What? I can't compliment my boyfriend?"

"Pat," Pran warned.

Dissaya was giving them a steady look, but not saying anything. Pat said, "Pran and I ought to join our teams," and dragged Pran away by the hand before Pran or his family could protest.

"So," said Pat, once they'd gotten to their teams' table. Chang and Louis whistled at both of them. "Did you get me a Christmas present?"

Pran blinked. "What?"

"Never mind." Pat thought about the package in his car. "I just wanted to get you away from your parents."

Pran rolled his eyes and patted Pat's hand. "You don't have to worry about me. I can deal with them," he said. "You're just obnoxious."

"Hey," Pat said, but the rest of their table laughed.

Pran got pulled aside by some family friends who worked at LogTech, so he eventually rejoined his parents. Pat kept his eye on him for a bit, then glanced around his table. Their teams got along so well, chatting about sports and getting excited when they read that pork was on the menu. Korn was beside him, arguing with Wai about the next football season.

"Hey," Pat said to Korn, elbowing him.

Korn didn't notice. "Not with the number of field passes he had last season—"

"Who's counting field passes? The team's still—"

"Hey, Korn," Pat said, and Korn turned to him. "Do you think Pran and I would make a good couple?"

Korn furrowed his eyebrows. "You are a good couple."

"No, no," said Pat. "I meant for—"

But he got cut off when there was sudden feedback over the speakers. Pichai, at the front of the room, said into the microphone, "Okay, okay, everyone, I think it's time for the entertainment portion!"

There were scattered cheers in the audience. Pichai frowned at them until the cheers grew a little louder.

"We have some musicians today," he said, and gestured to Pran as well as the hired pianist for the event. There were some chuckles, but Pat clapped rigorously. "So we'll hear from Pran, then you can get your food while we listen to some nice classical piano."

Pran's dad did a little whoop from their table.

"Alright, Pran?" Pichai said.

Pran nodded. He had his old high school guitar slung across his chest, and he looked cool as he approached the stage. "Hi everyone," he said, and then laughed self-consciously at how loud he was with his mouth pressed so close to the microphone. "Sorry, I haven't done this in a while."

The rest of the crowd laughed too. Pat's heart felt like it was going to burst from his chest.

"Um, the song I'm going to sing today is a song that I wrote with my friend in high school," said Pran, and it took a moment for Pat to process the words. "We also played it some—well, here it is." Pran quickly cut himself short and started playing his guitar.

Pat would recognize those chords and those words anywhere. It was almost like he was back in high school again, on stage with Pran, behind him on the drums as Pran sang in front of the school. But it was different now, because Pat was in the audience, watching with everyone else as Pran sang their song.

It was their song. The melody, the chords, every note and lyric. Pat's head was spinning at the rush of blood in his veins, at the sound of the song again, of Pran singing, “There must be nothing in the way you talk to me, no need to feel insecure or read between the lines .” It had sounded good, years ago. Pat had thought Pran was a brilliant writer. And he still did because the song was familiar and true even now, but this time, Pran was on the stage alone. He was on the stage alone and his eyes found Pat's and then he was singing the song to him.

It was so clear. So obvious. The realization didn't even shock Pat. He saw the way Pran looked at him as he sang, “Are we friends or are we more? You make me feel butterflies in my core,” and Pat knew, in his bones, that this song was about him. That Pran was singing about him, to him, like he had all those years ago.

There were at least a hundred people in the room, but Pat didn't see them, and he didn't think Pran did either. They could only see each other.

“If you don't mean it ,” Pran sang, “ Don't act that way. That is not what a friend would do or say.”

Then the song was over, and there was thunderous applause around the room. Pat joined in, his heart thumping in his ears.

"Wow! Well done, Pran," said Pichai, when it was over. "Now, everyone, enjoy the food!"

Pat couldn't focus. He rushed over to Pran immediately.

Pran didn't seem surprised. "Hi," he said.

His mouth looked so soft. "Hi," Pat said, pretending his gaze didn't drift down. "That was amazing. You were awesome."

Pran smiled at him. "Thanks," he said, and headed over to the buffet table.

Pat didn't know what to do. He wanted to tell Pran so badly. He wanted to kiss him. He wanted to fuck him there with everyone watching. He didn't care anymore.

"What—" he started to ask Pran, then noticed something on his wrist.

It was a green bracelet. "What's that?" Pat asked.

Pran looked at him funnily before he realized what Pat was staring at. "Oh," he said. "Ink gave it to me the other day when we went out for drinks." He pulled his sleeve up. It was a green and blue bracelet with a P charm on it. "Isn't it nice?"

It was. Pat had his own somewhere in his bathroom drawers.

"Well," he said to Pran. "I have a present for you too."

Pran raised his eyebrows. "Really? Where is it? Or," he looked Pat up and down, "are you just going to say it's your body?"

"No, I do," Pat insisted. "Just you wait. I'll give it to you after dinner."

He couldn't stop bugging Pran at their table once they'd picked out their food, demanding Pran feed him some of everything on his plate, and offering the same to Pran in turn. Everyone was watching, but Pat didn't care because he wasn't doing it for them. He was doing it because he wanted to, because he loved Pran. Because Pran loved him back, and Pat wanted him. He wanted it all.

Once they’d finished dessert, Pran turned to him. Pat expected him to say something to stall, but instead Pran said, "So where's my present?"

"I'm gonna go get it!" Pat jumped out of his seat. Then, on second thought, he added, "Meet me on the rooftop."

He rushed to the parking lot to grab the present from his trunk. It was big, certainly too big to heave into a room full of so many other people. But that was convenient because Pat wanted to talk to Pran alone. He had to ask. He had to know. He had to tell Pran the truth about how he felt.

He took the elevator and felt a rush of comfort when he saw Pran already on the rooftop. It was Pran, whom he'd known all his life. Whom he'd loved all his life. Probably. At least for the first fifteen years. But maybe even longer than that.

Pran turned when he heard Pat arrive. The rooftop was decorated in white Christmas fairy lights, and Pran had taken off his suit jacket, the light pink of his undershirt washing his skin with a soft blush. Pat wanted him so much. "That's a big box," he said to Pat.

Pat teased it in front of him, awkwardly waving his arms around. "Don't you want to see what's inside?"

"I can open it when I get home." When Pran saw the look on Pat's face, he sighed. "Fine. Sure, give it here."

Pat handed him the gift and Pran unwrapped it. He paused when he saw the finish of the fabric on the casing, beneath the cardboard.

Pran looked up at Pat, then wordlessly unwrapped the rest of the box, guitar case, then the guitar, lifting it up and examining it. It was the one Pran had looked at longingly in the music store all those weeks ago. And a few more times, Pat had noticed, when they had gone to pick up lube from the nearest convenience store because they'd run out.

"There you go," he said to Pran. "You said you wanted a new guitar, right? So now you don't have to worry about it anymore. You can have your old one from high school and a new modern one. The one you want."

"Pat," said Pran, examining the guitar again. He was holding it carefully in his hands. "This must've been expensive."

Pat shrugged. "It was nothing." It cut a little into his savings, but it was worth it.

"It's definitely not nothing," Pran said, then sighed. "Now I feel bad. I didn't get you anything."

"It's fine," Pat said quickly. Pran made to put the guitar away. "I wanted to talk to you."

Pran closed the case and settled his elbows on top of it, standing it on the ground between them. "What about?"

The way he was looking at Pat was clear, open, and suddenly, it felt so easy.

"Why did you play that song?" Pat asked.

Pran furrowed his eyebrows. "What do you mean? It's my song."

"No, I mean." Pat's gaze dropped to Pran's lips, but Pran didn't seem to notice. "It's not just your song. It's our song. We wrote it together, remember?"

Pran scoffed. "Hardly. Why? Is it that important to you?"

Pat wanted to say that's all it was, but there was so much more to talk about—about his feelings, and Pran's.

"It is," he said. "Because it's why I got you that guitar too. It's why I wanted to talk to you. It's why—it's why we're here." He looked around at the rooftop, then back at Pran, who was watching him with an unreadable expression on his face.

"I'm in love with you," Pat told him. "Isn't it obvious? We've been—we've been so close these past few months, but it feels like we've always been like this—like we were meant to be like this." He thought back to a conversation fifteen years ago, in the courtyard of a high school. "It feels better with you in my life now, Pran, like there's... there's been something missing this whole time. But now there's not anymore, because what was missing was you."

The moment he said it out loud, he realized it was true. Life without Pran had been depressingly lonely; Pat had just gotten used to it. But the past few months had felt like living again, like this was what he wanted, needed all along, like this was what his life was meant to be. With Pran. Hand in hand, and everywhere else.

"I don't just want to be friends with you," he said, and got close. Pran's eyes were big and brown, and he was still perched on top of his guitar case. "I don't want to just pretend to be dating you. I'm in love with you." He brought his hands to Pran's face. "And I really, really want to kiss you."

Pran stared at him. His eyes had filled up, a tear trickling down his cheek. Pat brushed it aside with his thumb.

Pran didn't say anything, didn't push him aside, so Pat took his face in his hands and looked at Pran's mouth again.

Then they were kissing and Pat had never felt more electric, more on fire, more alive in his life. From his blood to his veins to his bones to his lips where there was just the softness, the sweetness of Pran's mouth pressed against his own, damp and warm and tasting like home. He kissed and kissed Pran like an answer, like a prayer, like a boy climbing through a window just to say hi. He kissed Pran because he'd known him his whole life, because he loved Pran his whole life, because there was nothing else in this world that he wanted more than this very moment.

Pat withdrew and exhaled, smiling, cupping Pran's face. Pran looked at him for a second—then he was dragging Pat back in, kissing him more now, hotter, desperate, furious, wanting and wanting and wanting. Because he did, he did want Pat. He loved Pat too, biting and kissing and sucking on his tongue, dragging Pat's bottom lip between his teeth, like he was trying to climb into Pat's body and get all of him, heart and mind and body and soul. His hand was on the back of Pat's head, tasting every inch of Pat's mouth. Pat gripped his neck, kissing him back because he needed it too, wanted to feel Pran's mouth, his warmth, and every atom in Pran's body.

Then Pran suddenly pulled away.

"I can't," he said, and his voice broke. "I can't do this."

Pat blinked at his words. His mouth felt bruised and numb.

"What?"

Pran had left the guitar case. It nearly clattered to the ground. Pat caught it just in time.

Pran walked over to the other side of the roof. "I'm not doing this, okay?" He wasn't looking at Pat. "I can't."

"What—" Pat ran after him. "What do you mean?"

Pran turned to him. His eyes were shining.

"You don't love me," he said. "You barely know me. We've only been fake dating for, what, four months? We haven't seen each other in years. And now suddenly you've decided that you're in love with me?"

Pat didn't know what to say.

"We barely know each other, Pat," said Pran. "We're barely even friends. What we have now? This?" He gestured between them. "This is nothing."

Pat felt like he’d been physically punched. "It's not," he said. "It's not nothing, it's—Pran, I love you, it's real for me—"

"It's been real my whole life! " Pran wasn't screaming, but his voice was loud and pierced the air, and Pat's heart felt bruised to the core. "I've been in love with you, Pat. I've been in love with you for so damn long. I never stopped being in love with you. Even when we weren't pretending, when it wasn't real, even when—" he took a deep breath "—we were in high school."

"I know," Pat said. "I know, Pran—"

Pran laughed, but it sounded like it hurt, watery, deep inside of him, and Pat hurt too and didn't know what to do. "Do you, though?" asked Pran. "When I left for years and didn't get anything? Any letters, a text?" He was looking Pat dead in the eye. "During the summer? Across our rooftops? Right next door? Anything?"

Pat could envision it now: a young, pining Pran, being torn away from his school, from Pat, looking across the window, and wishing Pat would just come over. Make a move, say hi, say sorry, anything. It had always been up to Pat to do it; the tin can phones were still in his childhood bedroom. Pran visited his parents' house during breaks, too, so it wasn't like he was gone completely. But he had been gone for most of the year, and Pat didn't have him to compete against in school. And he'd been so annoyed by Pran's old friends saying that Pran transferring had been his fault that he didn't even want to bother. It was easier putting Pran out of mind, so that he would eventually forget about him, until he did.

With the way Pran was looking at him across the rooftop, it was a lot harder now.

"And you're telling me," Pran continued, "that just because we fucked a handful of times in the past couple of months that you're in love with me?"

Pat wished he knew what to say.

After a moment, Pran said, "Yeah, I don't think so." He stepped back. "Pichai was right. This was never going to work out."

He left.

Pat wanted to follow him, but he was too stunned to move.

By the time he had processed what had happened, Pran was long gone. Pat took the guitar and made his way back down to the ballroom, trying not to repeat Pran's words in his head.

Wai spotted him almost immediately from their table. "Pat!" he called, and Pat thought for a moment that Wai might beat him up.

But Wai just looked worried. "Do you know what happened with Pran? He just took his things and left."

"He looked like a wreck," Louis added.

Pat's stomach turned. "Let me go find him," he said, and rushed out to the parking lot.

When he got there, Pran's car was still in the lot. Pat didn't know what that meant—where could Pran have possibly gone? He wanted to look, but he knew Pran was good at hiding when he wanted to. He’d usually won their games of hide and seek when they were younger.

Pat didn't really want to be around people anyway. His heart was aching and his mind was swimming. He sent Paa a quick text: I'm going home. Then he thought about it and sent the same to Korn before driving back to his apartment.

He knocked on Pran's apartment door but he got no answer. Pat knocked for an hour straight before someone else in the hall opened their door and said, "If you don't stop that, I'm going to call someone." Pat hurried away to his own apartment and pulled out his phone. He sent Pran 208 texts with only his name, then tried to call him, but got sent to voicemail twelve times. Pat fell asleep with his phone in his hands, with the last text he sent to Pran saying, Please believe me.

*

He had work the next day, but he woke up too late to try to catch Pran in the parking lot. It didn't matter, though, because when Pat got to the LogTech office, Pran's cubicle was empty.

"Where's Pran?" he asked, but everyone else was talking amongst themselves too, glancing at Pran's desk.

Pichai came into their office. "The investment's off," he said, and Pat's heart sank further. "Pran talked to me this morning." He looked at Pat. "He said you guys broke up."

Pat's head swam; he could barely hear the words. Korn said, "What?" and Chang exclaimed, "Since when? It was just Christmas yesterday!"

"But we haven't signed any contracts," Pichai pointed out. "And you remember the conditions of our agreement, don't you?"

Wai looked at Pat. "What happened?"

Pat blinked. "I don't know," he said.

The room was in an uproar—Korn cried, "What are we supposed to do now?" and Chompoo said, "But we were here for months!"

Pichai said, "It doesn't matter. Our agreement was that the relationship between Pat and Pran would remain stable." He eyed Pat. "But apparently they couldn't manage that."

He told them to pack their things. With the investment dropped, this was no longer their office space, and they had to go back to their regular workplace buildings. The office rental had been conditional too, and everyone grumbled as they went to the supply closet to grab boxes.

Mo bumped into him on his way. "Nice going, Pat," he said.

His team was pissed. Pat wished he could worry about it, but he was still thinking of Pran—and his team still had their jobs, anyway. The MOI team was nicer to him, with Louis clapping him on the shoulder as they walked out.

"Wish it had worked out for you, man," he said, before leaving with his box of desk supplies.

As they headed out, Pat glanced at the desk that had been Pran's one last time. He remembered seeing Pran's car still in the parking lot after their encounter on the rooftop last night, and realized. Pran had wanted to run away as fast as he could.

But Pat wanted to chase him, too. He barely registered when his team didn't talk to him all day as they resettled into their old cubicles, Korn grumping about the internet connection, and Chang complaining about the cafeteria food. Pat opened up his laptop and did his work, and it should've felt like everything was back to normal. But it didn't. It felt wrong.

He left at a normal time and drove home, first listening to pop music, then classical music, then turning his radio off. When he pulled into the parking garage, he went through all the levels looking for Pran's car and couldn't find it. It felt hard to breathe, even more so knowing that the oxygen was right there. He went home and told himself he should give Pran some space.

The next day, Pat woke early but couldn't find Pran's car again. So he called out of work, got into his car, and drove to his family's house.

He'd always found the gate around Pran's house obtrusive, but now it was just annoying. Pat couldn't see if Pran's car was in the driveway. He parked outside of his own house and rang the bell outside of the gate.

Dissaya came out, her arms folded. She had the same scowl as Pran, dark eyes and pursed lips, and a twinge of curiosity. There was a green car behind her.

"What do you want?" she asked Pat rudely.

Pat didn't care. "Is Pran home?" he asked.

Dissaya ignored his question. "Were you taught to behave poorly by your father? Or are you just like this?"

"I'm sorry," Pat said to her, because if he couldn't say it to Pran, then at least he could say it to his mom. "I didn't mean to hurt him—"

"What are you talking about?"

Dissaya frowned at him. Pat gave up and tried looking behind her to see if maybe Pran was peeking around the corner, lurking in the window.

He saw nothing.

He faced Dissaya again. "Can you give Pran a message for me?"

Dissaya looked him up and down.

"No," she said, and closed the gate.

*

"Pran," Pat said into his phone, when Pran didn't answer for the billionth time. "You're acting like a child. Talk to me." He hung up.

He was at work again. Pran hadn't come back home to the apartment building, which meant Pat couldn't even try to accost him in the parking lot. He'd driven back to Olive even though he'd called out sick. His team wasn't talking to him anyway, so it didn't matter.

He scrolled through his texts. Pran was still at the top, though Pat's last text to him was from last night, saying: I miss you. He sighed and pulled up his texts with Wai instead.

Is Pran in the MOI office? he asked.

Wai's response came surprisingly quick. Yes. He's sulking and won't talk to anyone.

Pat felt a pang in his heart. Can you tell him to talk to me?

Two minutes later, Wai said, What'd you do?

What did he tell you?

Nothing. He just ignored me and went back to working.

Pat could see it in his mind—Pran grumpily going over documents on his computer, like he didn't have a care in the world, like he could shut everything out. Even Pat.

I might've fucked up, he sent back.

He looked through the parking lot of their garage again that afternoon. To his relief, he spotted Pran on the top floor, walking to the elevators interconnecting the garage building, and parked in the nearest parking space.

"Pran!" he called across the garage, clambering out of his car. "Pran—"

Pran walked faster. "Pran, please," Pat said, following him. "Talk to me. You can't just—"

Pran made his way into the elevator and nearly shut it on Pat. Pat shoved the doors aside so they wouldn't close and pushed his way inside, getting close to Pran.

"You can't just ignore me for the rest of your life," he said, trying to look him in the eye. "Talk to me. Come on."

Pran didn't look at him. He walked out of the garage through the lobby of their apartment, then to the main elevators, Pat trailing along in his wake. He tried to grab Pran's hand, but Pran was strong and didn't budge. He followed Pran down the floor of his apartment, but Pran was walking fast.

"Aren't you supposed to be in love with me?" Pat asked him, but Pran shut his door in Pat's face.

*

The next morning Pat had a different plan. He got up, showered, dressed, and drove straight to the MOI offices.

He'd never been there before and had to look up the address and route. MOI wasn't much of a drive from Olive, only about fifteen minutes, though its building was a bit nicer. Not as nice as the LogTech building, but Pat didn't want to think about that now. He didn't want to think about what being at LogTech with Pran's fingers and body and mouth so close to him had been like.

The campus was green and in a more secluded spot in the city. Pat thought, absently, that Pran probably liked the scenery. He was into stuff like that.

Pat went through the front entrance and strode up to the front desk.

"I'm here to see someone," he told the secretary.

The secretary glanced at him. "It's standard for guests to be accompanied by employees."

"Oh, it's a surprise visit," Pat said smoothly.

He got a squint in return. "We don't do surprise visits."

Pat sighed. "Can you just—I'm trying to see Pran. Parakul," he added. "If you need to know his first name."

The secretary returned to his computer. "Tell him to come get you," he said, and then ignored Pat.

Pat tried. He texted Pran, Hey I'm at your work, wanna talk? but didn't get a reply like usual. He stretched and covered his face and sighed. As he trudged out of the building, he felt like maybe he was being watched from somewhere, but as he glanced around the parking lot, and even up the scale of the building, he didn't see anyone.

He drove to work. His team didn't greet him when he came in. Chang even said, "Oh look, there's the guy who ruined everything," as Pat went to his desk. Korn and Mo and Ice and Bie made noises of agreement.

Pat tried not to care, but even when he joined them at lunch, they collectively glared at him and moved tables. Pat sighed and poked at his microwaved meal. He pulled out his phone.

Hey , he sent to Wai. Are you guys mad at Pran? You know, for the investment?

Wai replied after lunch, when Pat was back in his cubicle. Nah. What's the point, right? Besides, it's not his fault.

Yeah, Pat thought to himself. It's mine.

*

The following day at lunch, Pat sat alone. Pran hadn't come home yesterday. Presumably, he was back with his parents. Pat would've gone, but he was running low on gas. Besides, he'd see Pran again eventually. Probably.

He was so lost in thought that he didn't notice the chair next to him being pulled out until it squeaked against the floor. Pat looked up. Korn had his meal and was sitting next to him.

Korn didn't say anything, or look at him. But the rest of their team joined and ate amongst themselves, pretending they weren't glancing at Pat every once in a while. They gossiped about some party their company had recently been invited to. Pat had gotten the email too, a partner company of Olive's, called Tinidee, was hosting a New Year's party. Tinidee was a big company that specialized in lodging and had sent out invites to multiple different companies. Right now, it was the last thing on Pat's mind.

Later in the afternoon, Mo came to his cubicle. He had a drink in his hand and placed it by Pat's hand on his desk.

"I'm not talking to you," Mo said when Pat gave him a questioning glance. Then he left.

A little before the end of the day, Chang and Korn came back from getting snacks from the vending machines as Pat was finishing up his work. He didn't think much of it, especially as they were talking about the New Year's party again. Korn's girlfriend apparently worked for Tinidee, so he had to go. Not like Pat was eavesdropping.

Then Chang said, "Here," and tossed a packet of seaweed snacks on Pat's desk.

Pat startled in surprise.

Chang met his gaze. "I'm still mad at you, you know," he said.

Pat's gaze flitted to Korn, too. He didn't look particularly mad. Neither did Chang.

When they left, Pat smiled.

*

The weekend couldn't come soon enough, though Pran's car wasn't in their apartment parking garage again. Pat suspected Pran was going home to his parents every night, and it hurt that Pran was putting so much effort into avoiding him. That he might even go to the lengths of moving out of the building, the city, the country.

But Pat would find him. He always did.

He was bored, though, and horny. It was hard to jerk off when Pran wasn't here, gagging for it, begging for it, spreading his legs for Pat, with his eyes doing all the talking, because they hadn't been allowed to kiss. Pat wanted to kiss him, and he wanted to fuck him. He wanted to feel Pran all over, inside and out. He wanted to wake up to Pran complaining about his arm being sore from Pat sleeping on it all night; to Pran feeding him bits of food as he made breakfast; to Pran kissing back as Pat touched him, held him, made love to him on his living room couch. Pat wanted so much, he wanted everything.

His heart clamored when he came, face stuffed in the shirt Pran had lent him all those weeks ago, spilling over his fist. He wiped himself off, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't ever going to be, not without Pran.

He was in bed in his apartment but it was only the afternoon, so he took a shower and dried himself off and decided to go to the gym later, just in case Pran was there. He also hadn't gone to the gym in a while, but he figured Pran wasn't that stupid. He wouldn't go to Pat's favorite haunt. Pat sighed in the shower as he found himself thinking about Pran again.

As he was packing his gym bag, there was a knock at his door. Pat rushed over to answer it.

Wai stood in the doorway, looking apologetic. "Hey," he said.

Pat was surprised. "How do you know where I live?"

Wai nodded his head to the side pointedly. "How do you think?" he said. "Pran told me a while ago."

Pat let him in. Wai was holding a guitar case. "He wants to return this to you, too," he said.

Pat didn't need to open it up to know what it was. The guitar he'd gifted Pran was back in his car trunk. This was the guitar from high school. The one Pran had been playing barely a week ago.

His chest felt tight, like he couldn't breathe. "I don't want it," he said.

"Well, neither does Pran." Wai handed it to him. "You should take it."

Slowly, Pat took it, feeling like his heart was being stomped into a million pieces. He held it carefully, preciously, delicately. His throat felt thick.

"You know," Wai said suddenly. "We have this work event coming up. Everyone's supposed to be there. Are you guys partnered with Tinidee?"

"Yeah," said Pat. "Why?"

Wai shrugged like it didn't matter to him. "Just wondering," he said. "They have a venture capitalist who helped MOI's start up. So we're all supposed to go. Especially our team leads."

He gave Pat a look, and left.

Pat blinked after him.

Then he started plotting.

*

By the time Pat had turned fourteen, he was used to looking out his window and seeing Pran next door. Pran usually wasn't looking back, busy drawing in his sketchbook or doing homework or getting out of the shower, but he'd caught Pat's eye every once in a while. Pat had been embarrassed, but he couldn't help himself sometimes. Plus, he'd always gotten a swell of pride in his chest whenever Pran glared back. Pat had always liked getting a reaction out of him.

Pran had jumped into the lake to save his sister, but the first time they'd taken swimming lessons together, he'd poked his toe in and complained about the cold. He sat out and refused to take his shirt off for a good fifteen minutes. It wasn't until Pat bugged him and dared him to get in the water and called him a chicken for it that Pran had snapped and said, "Fine." He'd jumped into the water, shirt and all, and glowered at Pat through his wet fringe. Pat had grinned at him in the pool until Pran splashed water at him, and Pat shouted, "Pran!" and splashed back before the teacher told them to stop fighting.

Pran would never just take it. He always had to fight, to run away, to make Pat push him and chase him, over and over again, until one of them won. What mattered most was that one of them always did. And this time, it was going to be Pat.

He hadn't planned on going to the Tinidee New Year's party. Now, with the near-assurance that Pran was going to be there, it was the only thing he could do. Melody was invited too, but Pat didn't care about Dissaya anymore.

Incidentally, Ming had been invited as well, since one of the major shareholders in Tinidee was a friend of his. He texted Pat, asking if he was going, and they met up in the parking lot, adjusting their tuxedos. Pat's was white, with a pink tie and slacks.

"I heard your project's investment fell through," Ming said as they made their way into the Tinidee lobby.

"Yeah." Pat scoped out the building, hoping to catch a glimpse of Pran.

"It'll be fine," Ming said, putting his hands in his pockets. "Who knows where that eco project would've gone, anyway? These things happen. I'm sure you guys can find another architecture group to work with."

"Yeah," Pat said again. He thought he'd spotted Pran's parents, but they turned out to be someone else.

"They probably weren't good enough anyway," Ming said, as he and Pat looked for directions to the party, then headed down the hallway. "You could probably still get the project funded even without the partnership. I know this company—"

"Dad," Pat interrupted, turning to him. "Can you stop? I don't care."

"What do you mean?" said Ming. "Think of the pay raise."

Pat let out a noise of frustration and stormed off.

He didn't care about the pay, and he barely cared about the project at this point. It was all companies and money and politics, none of which mattered when Pat thought about what he wanted right now: Pran, standing on the side of the amphitheater with his team, gazing around the room. Pat's breath caught. Pran looked good as usual because he was Pran, wearing a sky blue tuxedo with white trousers. Pat’s heart was about to leap out of his throat.

Pran caught his eye, then moved on like it was nothing. Pat gritted his teeth and stood at the edge of the crowd. He grabbed a small flute of champagne when a waiter passed him by.

He'd gotten the itinerary earlier; having connections through his father made that easier. The Tinidee shareholders were planning to welcome them and introduce the live band, before they would all eat and network and mingle in a room full of people thinking with their wallets. But Pat wasn't worried about everyone else, because Korn's girlfriend knew someone on the planning committee who owed her a favor.

When eight o'clock struck, the Tinidee CEO clapped his hands from the stage. "Thank you for joining us this year for our New Year's party!" he said into the microphone, and the room went quiet. "We're glad so many people from so many different companies could join us today. It's lovely seeing all of your faces right before the new year."

In the crowd, Pat pushed his way forward.

"It's an important time of year for all of us, because it's a promise of new beginnings," the CEO continued. "Though the current year may be coming to an end, it also means that we're about to start a brand new chapter for all of our companies. This means a fresh start in our own lives, no matter who we are or where we're going."

Pat slid between two waiters.

"We have so many partners, and we're grateful that everyone could make it today. We've prepared a special feast, as well as some live music!"

Pat headed for the stage stairs, where security was standing.

"Let me introduce—"

"Excuse me," said Pat, because the guy who owed Korn's girlfriend a favor was a security guard and had let Pat through. He grabbed the microphone for himself. "May I?"

The CEO, momentarily stunned, took a step back.

Pat scanned the room. Dissaya was here, like he'd thought. So was his dad, and Korn and Wai, and Pran, standing along the wall, watching Pat. There were a lot more people Pat didn't know, but somehow, that made him feel better. Braver.

He looked at Pran.

"When I was fifteen," Pat said into the microphone, "I played in my high school's Christmas concert. Me and a few other friends from the music club. I was on drums. One of my friends—or maybe it'd be more accurate to call him a rival—was in the club too. He was the singer."

Pran held his gaze. Though there were so many people around them, it seemed as though they were the only people in the room.

"But then something happened," said Pat. "His parents came. You see, our parents never liked each other. Hated each other, even. So we did too. We competed at everything, fought over everything, couldn't even pretend to let the other person win. But somewhere along the way, we became friends. We wrote a song together and played it for our high school. And we were both so excited for it.

"When his parents saw me on stage with him, they got so upset that they took him away. They transferred him to a boarding school, and I never saw him again." Pat's eyes flickered to Dissaya, then back to Pran. "Until recently.

"Until this year, when I ran into him again. I never thought I'd see him again, and if I did, I thought we'd have to hate each other. Instead, we met because our teams—our companies—wanted to partner together. So we were on the same side for once. But the investors knew our parents." Pat couldn't help scanning the audience. He spotted Pichai with some other LogTech employees. "They knew about the bad blood between our families, so they didn't believe that our partnership would work. Not unless we had a good reason for why it would work out.

"So, we told them we were dating. That we were a couple, and then we pretended to be, for four months. I dated my friend, my rival, and I got to know everything about him. And in that time, I fell in love with him, and everything I learned about him. I learned that he was president of his faculty in undergrad, and that he goes to the gym because he wants to get hot. That he can't get out of his car without locking it twice, and that he still has the same astronaut keychain that he did when we were kids. He's picky about everything being in order, and he has to listen to songs all the way through, and he can't eat if his chopsticks aren't the same length."

Pat had come down from the stage holding the microphone. He was making his way towards Pran, across the auditorium, and the crowd parted, letting him through. Pat couldn’t take his eyes off of Pran.

"I love that he always orders three wontons with his noodles and likes listening to music in his car because otherwise he'll forget his headphones," Pat continued. "I love that he's a lot to handle and so damn picky when it comes to everything—eating, sleeping, and even peeing. I love that his computer password is a reference to his favorite band from high school. And I love that he smells really, really good."

Pat stopped in front of Pran.

He beamed. "We've been through a lot," he said to Pran. "And I just wanted to tell you how much I love you, Pran. Even if it's on stage, even if I'm shouting it out to the world, and even if we're in front of a whole room of strangers."

He ignored the faint laughter scattered around them.

"So do you believe me now when I say it? That I love you? That I want to be in a relationship with you?"

It was like the whole room was holding its breath. Pran got close to Pat, and took the microphone.

Pran was shaking his head, embarrassed, but he was teary-eyed and glowing. "Pat, you fucking idiot," he said so that the whole room could hear.

Then he grabbed Pat's face and kissed him on the mouth.

The room erupted into cheers, but Pat couldn't hear any of it because Pran was kissing him and he was kissing back, desperately, feeling it in his heart and his toes. Pran's lips were soft and sweet against his, warm, like coming home, and he held Pat's face like he never wanted to let him go.

They kissed and kissed until Pat was certain all of the oxygen was drawn from his lungs, that he wouldn't smell or breathe anything else for the rest of his life except Pran, the crinkle by his eyes when he smiled, the dimple in his cheek, the adoration in his gaze when they broke apart. Pat touched his face, his lips with his thumb, and said, with everything he had, "I love you."

"I love you too," Pran said, less than a heartbeat later, and Pat felt like he was on top of the world.

CODA.

"You guys are so dramatic," said Paa. She'd come to the party with Ink because apparently, the production company Ink worked for also had a stake in Tinidee.

Pat bumped his shoulder with hers. "Don't pretend like you weren't crying."

"So you guys are together now?" Ink asked, looking between the two of them. "For real this time?"

Pat looked at Pran, and Pran looked back at him.

Pran smiled and took Pat's hand. "Yeah," he said to Ink. "For now."

"What do you mean, ‘for now’?" Pat asked, as Pran led them away.

Pran ran his thumb over Pat’s knuckle. "Because you're so annoying that I might just break up with you next week."

"Hey," said Pat, pouting. "You've been in love with me since we were kids."

"Well, we're not kids anymore, are we?" Pran said pointedly.

They certainly weren't. That was made clear when, the moment they finished their meals, Pran took his napkin off his lap, glanced at Pat, and said, "Let's go." Pat knew what the heat in his gaze meant and eagerly followed him, because they were about to have some nasty car sex.

Except, they had arrived in separate cars, and in the parking lot, Pran said, "I want you to fuck me at home." He kissed Pat, cupped his face for a moment, smiled, and left. His silhouette shone in the fluorescent lighting of the street lamps against the night sky. Pat watched him walk away until Pran said, "Are you coming?"

They met in the parking garage and Pran took his hand, leading them to his apartment. Pat kissed him once they were inside and Pran let him, kissing back hungrily, hot, his tongue inside Pat's mouth as they stripped off their jackets. Pat almost shoved them to the couch, but Pran tugged him back by the tie, heading to his bedroom, and pulling Pat's body on top of him.

Then they were naked, and Pat slid into Pran's body so easily, he shuddered at how good it was. At how good Pran was, hot and soft, his ankles stroking the backs of Pat's legs as Pat fucked him good and deep and long, memorizing the sensation all over again. He'd done it countless times before but it was never enough. Pran was fucking him back, his hole clinging to Pat's cock with how much he wanted it, slutty and desperate as Pat dropped his hand to feel them. Where they were joined, the skin around Pran's entrance tightening with each thrust, the give of Pran's body and the take of Pat's.

He didn't want to stop, felt like he could go on forever. Pran didn't come yet either, and soon enough, he was saying, "Please, Pat," and, "Fuck, Pat," and, "Come on, Pat, give it to me, I wanna feel it, I wanna feel you inside of me." He was pushing Pat further and further over the edge, heels digging in to the backs of Pat's thighs like he wanted to keep him there, feel Pat inside him as much as he could, his come and his cock and everything else.

"Pat," Pran gasped.

Pat pushed forward and covered his body with Pran's. Pran was on his back, and they were facing each other, and then they were kissing, Pran breathing heavily against his lips as Pat slid his tongue inside so he was in his mouth and in his ass, filling Pran up with as much of himself as he could. Pran slipped his own tongue against Pat's and Pat sucked on it, and fucked Pran so deep that it was like they were molded together, like he didn't know where his body ended, and where Pran's began.

He thrust his cock one more time, and then he was coming inside Pran, filling him up inside and out, warm and wet and mumbling, "I love you," against Pran's lips. Pran moaned into his mouth—then he was coming too, spilling across their chests.

"I love you," Pat said again, pumping his come inside of Pran. "I love you, I love you, I love you," and he kissed Pran until they were both done.

He couldn't stop kissing Pran afterward, on the mouth and the chin and the cheek and the dimple that appeared when Pran tried to push him off and Pat wouldn't let him. Pat bit his jaw, and Pran scrunched his neck like he was ticklish. Pat bit him again.

"Boyfriend," he said nonsensically.

Pran didn't protest. "Jackass," he said, but he let Pat hold him in his arms.

They rolled over so they were spooning. Pat nuzzled his face into Pran's neck, where his scent was strong. He kissed Pran's shoulder and then his neck. "Guess this means I should move in, huh?"

Pran laughed. Pat could feel the vibrations against his chest. "Since when? We're not quite there yet."

"Aren't we?" Pat asked.

Pran laughed again, flipping them over so that he was sitting on Pat's lap. His soft cock was enticing, but more so was the smile on his face, the music in his voice, and the joy in his eyes as he looked at Pat.

"Prove it," Pran said, so Pat did.

And if he had a ring in the pocket of his suit jacket on his ground, that was neither here nor there.