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"You actually brought spare clothes?" Korn asks, amusement and surprise in his face.
"Is that so strange?" Pat says, still breathing hard after two-hour rugby practice.
"You usually just go straight back to your dorm."
Pat allows a small smile. "Yeah, well… Pran hates it."
Korn whistles. "You're so whipped."
"I am. What about it?"
"Nothing. It's good to see you happy, man."
"Thanks." Pat opens the pouch drawstring and takes out the clean clothes that Pran packed for him.
"Whoa, what's this good smell?" Mo asks, having just stepped out from one of the shower stalls. He snatches the clothes from Pat's hands and sniffs them. "Hmm. Smells good."
Pat snatches them back. "Hands off."
"Aow. What the hell?"
"Give it a rest, Mo." Korn chuckles. "Probably it has something to do with Pran and he's being a possessive ass."
"Are those Pran's?" Mo asks.
"They're mine." Pran's, his, doesn't matter. They share a drawer now.
"I think you lied. You never smell that good. Must be Pran's."
Pat wants them to stop talking about Pran's scent. "Pran does our laundry."
"Damn, what does he use?"
"Even if I knew, I won't tell you. Back off."
"Alright, alright!" Mo says. "I'll just ask Pran myself next time we meet, then. Geez."
"Don't," Pat says, harsher than he means.
"Oy, Pat. Chill," Korn says. "Pran's our friend, too. We hang out with him without you sometimes. What the hell's gotten to you?"
Pat looks away in frustration. They don't get it and they will not get it. Pran's scent, it's… it's their thing . It's theirs.
"Sorry. Just, leave our laundry alone. Ask him anything else."
"Okay." Mo rolls his eyes. "I don't understand why you get this defensive when you don't even do the laundry. Pran does it."
"And he packs you lunch," Korn adds.
"He made reminders on your Google calendar so you won't miss any of your classes anymore," Mo chimes in.
"He stayed with you in the library so you won't fall asleep. On his day off."
"Do you know how packed the Architecture's assignments are, Pat? He could've used his day off to, you know, rest ."
"Instead, he spent it to babysit you."
"Pran is a saint."
"So perfect."
"I don't know what he sees in you." Mo shakes his head, wiping his nonexistent tears.
"Be good to him, man. Don't let him realize how useless you are," Korn delivers the finishing blow.
Instead of answering with an effective comeback to shut them up, Pat walks away to one of the shower stalls, and lets the warm water soothe his sore muscles and weary mind.
Pat knows his friends were joking. Joking by roasting each other is a part of their friendship dynamics. But their teasing just now hits too close to home. Pat knows they only did it because they didn’t know any better; because Pat hasn’t told any of them.
It’s been a year. It’s been a year since since that day Pran said yes ; when he finally agreed that yes , and fuck it , and you and me , Pat and let’s be together .
It's been a year, and Pat has imagined about a hundred different scenarios of petty arguments and full-blown fights in their relationship. He’s not being pessimistic. He’s just… realistic. Pran and his thought process have rubbed off on him, he guesses.
Let’s face it. Pat and Pran are polar opposites. It's only natural that they have disagreements over even the dumbest things. Things like whether or not they should invest in a dishwasher. Things like misplaced towels and wet bathroom floors and dirty dishes and slightly raised voices.
Sometimes they also argue about the more serious things. Things like Pran’s disapproving of the way Pat still refuses to make up with his dad, or Pat’s pointing out the way Pran is uncharacteristically a pushover when it comes to Wai. Among many others.
It's been a year, and it's normal. Arguing is their thing. They bond over arguments. Pat feels closer to Pran after each argument.
It’s been a year, and sometimes, just sometimes, like right now, Pat has a nagging feeling that asks if Pran actually needs him. Pran literally can do everything alone, and even though he had drunkenly confessed months ago that he had crushed on Pat for so, so, so long, Pat can’t help but note that Pran never had any problem suppressing it and being without Pat. It at least didn’t affect Pran’s daily life on the outside. Meanwhile for Pat… Pran walked away from him once and Pat was a non-functioning mess, inwardly and outwardly.
It's been a year, and Pat hasn’t told any of his friends that sometimes, just sometimes, the ugliest part in the depth of his gut wonders whether or not it would make any difference for Pran if he wasn’t around.
“You smell like freshly crushed almonds,” Pat says like he’s in a dream, inhaling the warm skin of Pran’s neck.
“Hmm?” Pran responds noncommittally. He doesn't tear his eyes away from the thick stack of journal papers on the coffee table. He’s been doing that a lot, actually. That being not giving Pat full attention.
Pat understands. They are now in their third year of university, and Pran is determined to graduate and enter the working field as soon as he can. As much as it turns Pat on to see Pran so focused like this, Pat hopes Pran would loosen up a bit.
“Freshly crushed almonds,” Pat repeats, now dropping soft kisses alongside the smooth skin his lips can reach. Pran’s collarbone, Pran’s jaw, Pran’s earlobe…
When Pat begins to apply the softest of suction on the delicate nook behind Pran’s ear, Pran groans and shifts forward, dislodging Pat’s chin off his shoulder. Pat sits back only to hug Pran around the waist. Pat is clingy. It surprises even himself that he has this much desire to be as close as possible to Pran at all times, especially now that he is actually allowed to. He is the boyfriend.
Boyfriend, boyfriend, I’m Pran’s boyfriend, Pat wants to scream so that the whole campus knows.
If he did that, maybe then it would've been impossible for Pran to ignore him, because he had the whole campus to remind him that Pat is your boyfriend Pat is your boyfriend Pat is your boyfriend.
To be fair, Pran told Pat on the phone earlier that he had to work on his project and couldn't fully indulge him, but Pat was the one who insisted that they had to spend time together. They just had to. They already don’t get to see each other much as it is, busy with their respective thesis projects.
“It’s strange, because your perfume smells nothing like almonds,” Pat says, softly pushing Pran’s hair back from his forehead.
Pran flips to another page. “Maybe I’m wearing another man’s perfume.”
Pat whacks the back of Pran’s head. It’s not hard, but enough to get his full attention. “Please don’t even joke about that.”
Pran’s gaze softens. “I won’t. I’m sorry.”
Pat kisses his forehead. Because it’s right in front of him and slightly creased in distress and he just has to. “I’m just saying, Pran. Your skin smells like freshly crushed almonds. The freshly cut one. When it’s not overwhelmed by your perfume, I can always smell it.”
“I never knew that. You like it?”
Pat scoots closer to inhale the very base of Pran’s neck. “Never put much thought into almonds before but now, yes, I love it. Smells divine.”
“Hmkay.” Pran scribbles some notes on the paper, still not looking at Pat. Pat feels his jaws clench. No, no. Pat, don’t be that kind of guy, he scolds himself.
But still, he’s dying to have Pran’s full attention. He misses him like an ache.
“What do I smell like?”
Pran’s eyebrow twitches. “What?”
“Do you know what I smell like?”
“Did you just ask me to sniff your skin?”
“If you must.”
“Pat, if this is your trick to distract me from my project...”
“Is it working?”
“No.”
Pat groans low in his throat and lets go, finally giving Pran his personal space. This is not what he expected. At all. He resigns himself to silently watch as Pran mumbles to himself, shakes his head, and highlights some lines. His highlighter color is beige. Pat asked him once why he didn’t use yellow or green or pink like normal people, and Pran said those colors on white paper hurt his eyes.
In that case, Pat approves, because nothing is allowed to hurt Pran's pretty eyes.
“Pran, come on,” Pat tries again.
“What?”
“Sniff me.”
“What the hell, Pat?”
“So you’d find out if you like my scent.”
“Pat, I’m working!”
“Well, can you stop working for one second?”
Pran massages the frowny space between his eyes that Pat likes to kiss. Pat can tell Pran’s annoyed for real now. Pat kind of wants to shrink on himself. All he does is annoy Pran. Pran had told him he would work on his project today and what did Pat say? Okay, I’d just sit there. I just want to see you, baby. Promise. But here he is, being an annoyance instead of a helpful boyfriend. Just because Pran is so indulgent and always good to him doesn’t mean he can whine like a kid and take advantage of it.
But with their busy schedules and his friends’ unknowingly poking into where it hurt the most, Pat desperately needs Pran to do something, say something. Say yes. Hug him. Anything.
“If you must know,” Pran suddenly says, halting Pat’s thoughts. “Your clothes smell like the laundry detergent I use.”
“Okay,” Pat says slowly, unsure. “You like it?”
“I do. Smells like you’re mine.”
Pat’s cheekbones hurt from smiling too wide. He flings himself to Pran’s side and clings to his waist like a Koala to its favorite tree. “What about when I have no clothes on? Smell even more like yours?”
The glare Pran shoots makes Pat throw his hands up in surrender. But he still feels himself grinning. “I'll stop, I’ll stop. Promise."
Pran sighs, as if dealing with a petulant child. “Do you really want to know?”
“Yes.”
Pran gives Pat a weird look that Pat knows says why are you like this and why do I even like you. “Why?”
“I just want to know if you like it.” Suddenly it matters a lot to Pat that Pran likes what he smells like.
“You just smell like your soap and cologne and sweat. Oh, good choice of after-shave cream, by the way.” Pran reaches out and removes gunk off Pat’s left eye with his bare fingers like it’s nothing. “It’s fresh. Comforting. And I love it. Happy?”
“Very.”
Pran blinks slowly. He starts tidying up his pens.
"You're done?" Pat can't hide the hopeful tone.
“No. But I’m just gonna continue tomorrow.” Pran massages the bridge of his nose. “I still need to finish cutting those boards.”
“Baby, take it easy.”
Pran gives a rueful smile. “You sound so worried.”
“I am worried,” Pat says, more heated than he means to, because Pran looks so tired it’s like he’s going to collapse any second.
Pran is silent for a moment, just staring at Pat. “It’s been days since we last spent time together and here I am, making you worried. I’m sorry.”
“Rest more if you’re really sorry."
Pran smiles, fully facing Pat and finally giving Pat the attention he’s been craving all night. “How was your day?”
“Well, I…” Pat scrambles to remember how his day went, a bit taken aback by the abrupt change of topic. “I woke up late in the afternoon–thanks for calling me until I woke up, baby–and then dropped by the campus to meet my professor to hand in my revisions. Got an approval, but more revisions, too. The usual. Then I had rugby practice. It was intense. Or maybe I was just out of shape because of study season and all. And I hurried back because my boyfriend said I could come over. Then I watched him read his papers. I watched his gorgeous face for hours.” Pat feels a smile bloom on his face. “You know what? I had a great day so far.”
Pran leans over and gives Pat a soft kiss that ends too soon, but it still leaves Pat a bit toe-curled.
“Yup, definitely a great day,” Pat breathes out, pulling Pran closer to deepen the kiss and get things heated. Minutes later, Pat is busy peppering Pran's neck with open-mouthed, wet kisses when he feels Pran’s hand tighten on his shoulder.
Pat pulls away. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah.” Pran's a bit breathless. “We can’t go all the way, okay? Early class tomorrow. And those boards won't cut themselves."
“I’ll help you.”
“You’ll mess it up.”
“I won’t.”
“You will.” Pran sighs, and softens his words with a caress along Pat’s cheek. “Please, Pat? I need to get it finished as soon as possible, so I can put it away for good.”
Pat stares at Pran for a moment, gauging if he is serious. Judging from the pleading shine in his eyes, he is. “Okay. Don’t sleep too late. I’ll wake you up early tomorrow, I promise. Just. Please have some sleep.”
“Will do, sir.” Pran then makes a show of setting his phone alarm to 11 PM. “I’ll drop everything when it rings. Promise. Now leave me alone.”
Pat stands up, thoroughly pleased, and starts to walk away to the kitchen.
Pran grips Pat’s wrist, stopping him. Pran has a questioning and slightly panicked look. “Not leaving me alone literally .”
“I’m just… going to warm some milk for you.”
“Oh.” Pran releases Pat’s wrist like it’s burnt. His face is flushed pink.
“I’ll be quicker than light," Pat promises.
Because Pran needs him.
Pran needs him.