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“You like someone,” Pat points out one day, as he’s lying on Pran’s couch.
Pran looks up from where he’s hunched over his guitar, dropping the pen in his hand onto his half-empty notebook. He looks nervous.
Pat smirks. So, he is right.
Pran relaxes his face, ready to deny his accusation, “Who told you that?”
“You did,” Pat gives him his best shit-eating grin that he knows drives Pran up the wall. “Just now.”
Pran runs a hand through his hair and curses, to Pat’s great amusement. He chuckles, placing the open comic on his chest, “So, who is it?”
“I don’t like anyone,” Pran says. “And if I do, I’m never telling you, anyway, so you can dream on,” he says, sticking his tongue out before focusing his attention back to his guitar.
“First of all,” Pat sits up, the comic sliding off his chest and onto his lap. “Don’t even try denying it because you’re so painfully obvious. Second, you’re just losing out by not telling me. I could help you.”
He chuckles at that and Pat watches his shoulders move through his white uniform that seems almost see-through. He’s torn between wanting the school to change their uniforms so he won’t be distracted by Pran’s back or wanting to thank the government for making their uniforms be white so that he’ll be able to keep ogling Pran--- okay, he needs to focus.
He shakes his head, his wet bangs spotting the couch with water droplets which makes Pran frown, “I am not obvious and I’m sure as hell not taking love advice from you.”
Pat frowns and stands up, “What’s wrong with my advice? I’m hot.”
Pran only laughs, “And? You think that makes you some sort of love guru?”
“You didn’t deny it! You think I’m hot,” Pat’s lips curl into a Chesire cat smile as he sits across Pran at his table.
“Would you accept it if I told you otherwise?”
“Okay fine, point there. But you said it yourself,” Pat continues, crossing his arms and showing off his muscles. He smirks when he sees Pran’s eyes struggle to stay on his face. “I get with everyone I have a crush on. I have a success rate of 80%.”
“Only 80%?” Pran laughs.
“Ink,” Pat sulks, making Pran laugh even harder.
Pran smiles, eyes shining brighter than the sun outside their dorm and dimples so deep that Pat wants to reach forward and kiss it, “Your sister got with her. I’m surprised you didn’t count that as your own personal win.”
“Shut up,” Pat pouts and he actually means it because if Pran doesn’t stop laughing like that he does not want to be held accountable for whatever stupid decisions he makes on impulse next.
“Aw,” Pran coos, unconsciously mirroring his pout. God, he’s making this so hard for him. “I think you can give yourself more than 80% though. You only lost out with Ink. As much as I hate to say it, you’re at like…99%.”
“It’s not just Ink,” Pat says and he watches as Pran’s smile fades. “There’s one other person I can’t for the life of me figure out…I think.”
“You think?” Pran shrinks deeper into himself, almost hiding behind his guitar.
“I think I’ve finally figured them out.”
Pran looks down at his notebook, not asking any further questions.
Pat sighs. Guess he’s going to have to do everything himself, huh?
“Well, they flirt with me a lot but sometimes they’re also really mean to me, so it gets confusing. It really depends on the day,” Pat says, but Pran is still staring down at an empty page on his notebook as if he’s trying to read Pat’s indecipherable handwriting.
“I only get compliments from this person when I catch them off guard. They’re super guarded and sometimes they push me away a lot so I really never know what’s going on up there, ya know? We don’t really get along either. Our personalities aren’t similar at all and we do things that tick each other off all the time so sometimes I wonder if they would ever like me back when we’re so…not compatible.”
“That’s not true,” Pran mumbles and he finally looks up at Pat. “Opposites attract.” Then, he smiles, soft and weak before his face twists into what he must think is a playful expression though Pat sees right through it, “You’re a decent guy too, I guess. I’m sure you have a chance.”
“Yeah?” Pat smiles.
Pran frowns, “Why are you so happy? Is that all you wanted? You were fishing for a compliment?”
Pat laughs, ignoring his skeptical gaze, “I think he likes me too, actually.”
“So, you were fishing, you manipulative jerk.” Pran scoffs, crossing his arms and looking away as he leans back in his seat. Then, his eyes widen and he looks at Pat, “Wait, did you say he--”
“I think he likes me,” Pat repeats, louder this time. “Because he spends his time writing songs about me in front of me and he thinks I don't notice. He also checks in on me and cooks for me because he knows I live a very unhealthy lifestyle. He does laundry more than necessary now because he knows I love the smell of his fabric softener. Also, have I mentioned that he stares at me a lot? Like, a lot, Pran. Even more so, when I wear these tank tops because he’s kind of a sucker for my muscles even if he pretends he doesn’t like it.”
Pran’s jaw drops.
Pat leans back with a smirk, placing his arms behind his head.
After a minute or so of Pran just staring at him in shock, he finally stutters, “M-me? It’s me? You like me?!”
“I thought you knew.”
Pran’s eyes look like they’re about to pop out of his head now, “I knew? How the fuck was I supposed to know? I didn’t even know you liked guys!”
“I like you,” Pat shrugs, as if it’s a well-known fact about Pat that everyone knew.
Pran stands up and takes a step back. He runs his hands through his hair in a mixture of shock and frustration, “Wait, wait, wait, so let me get this straight. You knew all along I liked you? And you thought I knew too?”
Pat looks up at him, finding the fact that he’s standing there panicking instead of kissing him like a normal person, extremely adorable, “I wouldn’t say I knew all along. I just realized my feelings recently and then I suspected you might feel the same and I guess I was right.”
“Was I that obvious?” Pran recoils in horror, now, pacing around the room.
“ So obvious ,” Pat nods exaggeratedly and Pran walks over to smack him on the arm, not believing a second of it.
“Fine!” He raises his arms in defense. “I didn’t figure it out on my own. Of course, I didn’t, Pran! You’ve built your walls up so high and you’re so good at lying, it’s impossible for me to have found out on my own.”
“Then, how did you?” he narrows his eyes, trapping him in his seat by placing an arm on his chair and the edge of the table.
“I saw your doodles,” Pat offers him a sheepish smile. “There was the one with the dumplings, the cartoon me, my note on the condensed milk, and just a lot and a lot of me doing random things.”
He smirks up at Pran, tapping his chin, “You really stare at me a lot, don’t you?”
Pran glows tomato red, “You looked at my sketchbook?”
“Not on purpose! It was just open the other day while you asked me to bring you your pen drive and I thought your art was so pretty so I wanted to see more but…well, I just found a lot of myself,” he giggles.
Pran glares at him so hard, he swears he sees laser beams coming out of his eyes to incinerate him. His nostrils flare in anger and Pat instinctively moves back after seeing the weird, twisting thing Pran is doing with his mouth--- a telltale sign of his anger.
But Pran only leans forward and kisses him. He kisses him so hard that he nearly falls off the chair, if not for Pran’s hand supporting the back of his neck and pushing him deeper into the kiss. When Pat runs out of oxygen, Pran finally pulls away, still red but this time, Pat knows it’s not because of anger.
“You idiot,” he shakes his head, scoffing as he looks to the side.
Pat gives him his cutest puppy eyes, “...Your idiot?”
Pran smiles, eyes bright and all dimpled, “Yeah.”
This time, Pat doesn’t hold back from leaning forward and kissing them.