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“It’s so nice here,” Pat says absent-mindedly, elbows propped on the table, eyes fixed on the night-blue sea that seems to stretch on forever. “Romantic. Like we’re on our honeymoon.”
Pran looks at him out of the corner of his eye, and his heart aches in a way he hasn’t felt in months. Pat and his eternal longing for a honeymoon. One day, he’ll get what he wants. One day, they’ll find themselves in a place that looks just like this, and there will be rings on their fingers, and it’ll be the real deal, the start of something new and wonderful.
Pran turns his head back to the sea. “You’re right. It’s nice.”
Waves wash onto the shore with a gentle sigh. On the patio around him, the clinking of cutlery mingles with the soft murmur of conversation. Servers weave their way between tables, bringing out steaming hot dishes and clearing away empty plates. They’re still waiting for their dinner to arrive, and while Pran doesn’t expect the food to match the view, he has to admit that the smells wafting over from the neighbouring tables are delicious.
The trip had been a last-minute decision. They don’t really have the time or money to travel right now, but the city has been suffocating lately, and a weekend getaway to the beach sounded like a good idea. It’s been almost a full year since their fake break up, and the burden of secrecy has been weighing on Pran more than he’d like to admit. He’s tired of spending his evenings cooped up in his room with Pat, dreading that someone who’s not in on the secret shows up unannounced. He’s tired of the sting of jealousy that flares in his chest every time he sees couples out in public, holding hands and laughing at shared jokes, basking in the joy of loving and being loved without restrictions. He’s tired of feeling small and invisible and other, like his relationship is made of different fabric, and not in a good way.
It’s a complicated emotion because secrecy aside, things are going so well with Pat. They always have fun together, and Pran—well, he’s in love. All they need is a bit of freedom and a change of scenery, even if it’s only for two days and two nights.
“Most people here are couples.” Pat’s lips twitch with the hint of a smile. “It’s a popular destination for a romantic vacation.”
Pran nudges Pat’s leg with the tip of his shoe. “And you said you booked the first available accommodation you could find.”
“I did!” Pat says. “There wasn’t much to choose from. Almost every hotel in this area was fully booked.”
Pran shakes his head with a smile and takes a sip of his water. He lays his hand on the table, looks out to the sea, and allows himself to get lost in thought.
A warm, familiar weight settles on his hand. Pat’s palm. Pran can’t help it; the touch makes him wince, his shoulders tensing and hand twitching under Pat’s. He glances around the patio, his mind racing too fast for him to keep up. What if someone they know is here and sees everything? What if they end up in the background of someone’s holiday photos? What if their friends come across said photos on social media? What if—
As soon as the rational part of Pran’s brain catches up with his body, his heart sinks in his chest. What’s wrong with him? The people around him aren’t jumpy or anxious or paranoid. They’re holding hands and sharing desserts, content and relaxed after a day in the sun. The people around him don’t recoil at their partner’s gentle touch, because—because what kind of person does that?
Pran makes a conscious effort to relax. He tries to act like nothing’s wrong, but the damage has already been done. Pat withdraws his hand with an uncharacteristically serious look on his face, which makes Pran feel even worse than he already does.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Pat says. “These people don’t know who we are. They’re not even looking at us.”
“I know.” Pran sighs. “I’m sorry. I just—it’s just—you know.”
“Yeah,” Pat says softly. “It’s on my mind all the time, too. Even here. Even now.”
They share a look of mutual despair only they know the meaning of. Pran likes to think that they’re pretty good at dealing with the day-to-day minutiae of keeping their relationship a secret, but there’s no denying it: it’s tough. It’s always a little stressful. It’s starting to mess with his head, and he doesn’t like the person he’s becoming because of it.
“I understand if you’re not comfortable with me touching you in public,” Pat says. “That’s okay. Don’t worry about it. I just want you to have fun while we’re here.”
Pran’s heart twists in his chest. This is not what he had in mind when they came here. He pictured romantic dinners at nice restaurants and hand-in-hand walks along the beach, not tense bodies and general awkwardness. This is a rare chance for them to spend time together without having to worry about being caught, and he’s not going to ruin it by overthinking everything. Pran needs to get out of his head, and he needs it now.
Pran bumps the toe of his shoe against Pat’s and holds it there. Pat looks up at him, his face lighting up with surprise. Pran uses the opportunity to initiate a conversation without words, allowing his expression to soften as he looks into Pat’s beautiful dark eyes.
Pat puts his hand back on the table. Pran reaches out to cover it with his own, his grip firm and reassuring.
Pat stares at their hands for a long moment, deep in thought.
“We can ease into it,” he says finally, his eyes flicking up to Pran’s face. “I can help you if you want.”
Pran’s face relaxes into a small, grateful smile.
“I’d really like that, Pat,” he says. And he keeps holding Pat’s hand, not letting go even when the server shows up with their food.
–
The next day, they wake up to sunshine, clear blue skies, and a beautiful view of a row of palm trees swaying gently in the breeze just outside their hostel room. It’s the perfect weather for a beach day, warm but not too hot, and even though Pran much prefers being indoors, he finds himself looking forward to spending time by the sea. The city feels like a distant memory now, and he wants to keep it out of his thoughts as much as possible.
The beach is a vision of pristine white sand and azure blue waters, dotted with families and umbrellas in a riot of bright colors. After finding a spot with a good view of the sea, Pat shrugs off his already unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt, lies down on his stomach on the beach towel, and rests his cheek on his folded arms, looking very much at ease with his surroundings, like this is something he does every day.
“I need someone to put sunscreen on my back,” he says to Pran. “Can you help me?”
Pran smiles at the obvious invitation in Pat’s voice, the memory of last night’s conversation still fresh in his mind. Pat is nothing if not a man of his word.
“Sure,” Pran says. He squeezes a generous dollop of sunscreen into his palm, rubs his hands together, and glides them over Pat’s back in long, slow strokes, making sure to cover every dip and curve.
Pat’s eyes slide shut in pure bliss.
“Mm,” he hums happily. “Feels so good, baby.”
Pran’s hands still. He recognizes that low, breathy voice. His face heats up, the flush traveling all the way down to his chest—and it has nothing to do with the bright overhead sun.
“Pat,” he hisses, half panicked, half amused. “We’re in public.”
“What?” Pat’s face melts into a mischievous grin that tells Pran he knows exactly what he’s doing. “Can you blame me? You’re really good with your hands.”
Pran swats him on the shoulder.
“Pat,” he says again, the warning clear in his voice.
“But it’s true,” Pat says. “You draw. You make origami. You play the guitar. Those are all things you do with your hands.”
Pran pinches the back of Pat’s neck. “Oh, you were talking about making origami, weren’t you?”
Pat squirms a little, laughter bubbling up his throat. “Of course. What did you think I was talking about?”
Pran heaves a long-suffering sigh. “Forget about it. Just don’t say it again.”
“Okay,” Pat says. He’s still smiling, and it doesn’t take long for Pran to figure out why: his hands never left Pat’s body. Pran shakes his head fondly and gets back to work, his heart already lighter than it was the day before.
–
Later in the afternoon, they embark on a boat tour to explore the nearby islands and the turquoise waters that surround them.
Together with a handful of other couples, they climb the stairs to the upper deck and sit down near the front, their arms brushing against each other. It feels nice, like they’re just another couple on vacation. Going out and doing things. Relaxing and having fun. Touching each other like people in love do.
Pat throws his arm around Pran’s shoulders as soon as the boat pulls away from the dock. He leans against Pran and puts his chin on Pran’s shoulder as he gazes out to the sea, the wind ruffling his hair and the sun glinting off his sunglasses.
“Look!” he says, gesturing vaguely with the hand that’s wrapped around Pran’s shoulders. “I’ve only seen that island in pictures. It’s so green!”
Pran hums in response, momentarily distracted. He’s acutely aware of the weight of Pat’s arm around him and the press of his body against his own, but today, it doesn’t make him want to retreat into his shell. Instead, it feels like home. This is exactly how Pat drapes himself over Pran when they’re watching Youtube in Pran’s room before bed and Pat wants to be cuddled. It’s a sign of comfort between two people. It’s an act of love, plain and simple, and Pran’s already melting at Pat’s touch, his body gravitating toward him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Pran glances around the upper deck, not because he’s worried, but because he’s curious. All the couples are preoccupied with the stunning views. They’re taking photos, talking animatedly to their significant others, or simply looking out to the sea with their arms around each other. Pat and Pran are no different from the others. Nothing about them or their body language stands out here, in the company of other couples. It’s a bland observation, but it brings a smile to Pran’s lips. It makes him happier than he’d care to admit.
He places his hand on Pat’s thigh and listens to his enthusiastic commentary as the boat ventures further into the deep waters, the smile on his face never fading.
–
Once they’re back on land, Pran turns to say something to Pat but bursts out laughing instead, unable to help himself.
“You can’t go out to dinner looking like that,” he says. “Your hair is all messed up.”
“Really?” Pat tries to smooth the windswept strands back into place but somehow only ends up making it worse, which makes Pran want to laugh even harder.
“Let me help,” he says, voice thick with amusement. He steps in front of Pat and combs his fingers through Pat’s hair, trying to make it look presentable. Pat’s hair is soft to the touch, and Pran finds himself leaning even closer, close enough to feel the heat coming off Pat’s body. Pat smells different here, like sunshine and sunscreen and saltwater, and Pran tries very hard not to swoon, but figures he must have, because Pat’s eyes go all soft when he looks at Pran, affection clear in his expression.
Pran’s hands falter. No matter how much time passes, he can’t wrap his head around it. This is not a dream. This is not a figment of his desperate imagination. This is real. This is his life now, and even though the road here has not been easy, the good far outweighs the bad. Moments like these are precious, the source of his happiness, and Pran wouldn’t change them for anything, not now and not ever.
“Better?” Pat asks.
Pran pulls his hands away.
“Yeah,” he says, his voice a gentle rasp. “Much better.”
“Great!” Pat grabs Pran by the elbow and steers him toward the seaside restaurant they have chosen to have dinner at. “Let’s go eat. I’m starving.”
Pran smiles as he allows himself to get pulled along, charmed by the warmth of Pat’s touch on his arm. Yes, the road here has not been easy, and there are still obstacles to overcome, but if there’s one thing he knows for sure, it’s that he’d follow Pat anywhere in the world.
–
After dinner, they take a leisurely stroll along the beach, admiring the vibrant orange hues of the setting sun and listening to the endless push and pull of the waves as they roll onto the shore and back out to sea. The sunbathers are long gone, but there are still quite a lot of people around, and everyone’s having a good time. Kids splash along the water’s edge while their parents look on, and groups of friends sit in circles on the sand, talking and laughing. Pran breathes in a lungful of salty sea air and releases it slowly, basking in the freedom of being so far away from home.
“So, did it work?” Pat asks after a moment of companionable silence.
Pran looks at him, confused. “Did what work?”
“Are you more comfortable with me touching you in public?” Pat says.
Pran responds by taking Pat’s hand in his and intertwining their fingers.
“I am,” he says, giving Pat a smile that brings out his dimples. “Thanks for helping me ease into it. It means a lot, Pat.”
Pat swings their joined hands back and forth.
“I get it, honestly,” he says. “It takes time to get used to it. We’re always so careful about avoiding each other in public, and this—well, it’s pretty much the exact opposite of that.”
Pran lets out a weary sigh. “I wish things weren’t so hard for us. I just want to live my life without having to hide who I like.”
“Me too,” Pat says. “But hey, we still have another day ahead of us before it’s time to go back home, and we can spend it however we want.”
“What do you want to do?”
“I want to sleep late.” Pat grins at the thought. “Then, I want to go to the beach and play in the water with you. And after we’ve tired ourselves out, I want to lie on the sand with my head in your lap and take a nap.”
Pran bumps his shoulder against Pat’s. “Sounds like you just want to be clingy with me in public.”
“Of course,” Pat says, not even trying to deny it. “I want to make the most of being here.”
Pran smiles at the idea of Pat’s perfect day. He looks back to the sea and takes in the vast beauty of it, enjoying the warmth of Pat’s hand in his.
“Do you want to race back to the hostel?” Pat asks. “The winner can do anything he wants to the loser.”
Pran gives him a look. “Pat, we’re having a nice moment here. Do you really want to ruin it with something as banal as competing?”
Pat chuckles and squeezes Pran’s hand in apology. “You’re right. It wasn’t a good idea anyway. Running on a full stomach is unpleasant.”
Pran bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. Then, he yanks his hand free and takes off like a rocket, laughing at Pat’s indignant yells behind him as the world narrows to nothing but soft sand and roaring wind and the heady thrill of a good competition.