Archive of Our Own ^beta

Pran wasn't stupid. Quite the opposite: If asked, he'd claim that he was pretty aware of his own feelings, and realistic on top of that. Growing up while being surrounded by tales of how soulmates found each other, every young teenager that started developing romantic feelings would logically look out for the signs of first love. If you felt a certain pull to a person, you'd try telling yourself that they were the one, and then you checked your body, searching for their name on your skin.

Pran knew this. When he was younger, he had always thought he'd one day feel really comfortable around someone, so the next step would naturally be to check if his feelings were of romantic nature, and if that was the case, he'd check for black ink that appeared - he'd be fine with whoever he ended up with since it would be his fated one after all.

Then - in the middle of his first year in highschool - Pran found himself smiling a lot more around a certain boy, and looking forward to spending time with him. When he realized what happened, he feared that it was already too late. Yet surely it couldn't be, right?

He could not have seriously developed a crush on Pat, of all people.

But the doubts wouldn't stop lingering, so in the evening after a particularly long school day, Pran stood himself in front of the mirror, undressing with the exception of his underwear. Yet with every inch of skin that he inspected, no name could be found. The dread lifted completely when he even checked under the fabric of his boxers. Bemused, Pran snorted in the quiet of his room, scolding himself mentally for even entertaining such a silly thought.

° ° °

"Shit!"

Throbbing finger in his mouth, Pran turned around when he heard someone stomp into the room behind him. For a moment, they just stared at each other, before Pran averted his gaze, trying to concentrate on his guitar. Pat seemed to have other plans though, as he came closer, asking: "What's the matter?"

"I forgot my guitar pick."

And Pat - silly, idiotic Pat - ended up cutting his student ID to make a pick for Pran, the guy he was supposed to hate. Before he realized what happened, Pran found himself smiling down at the 'world's one and only handsome pick', as the other boy had dubbed it. They resumed playing, yet Pran couldn't help the warm feeling that had spread through his chest.
In the evening, as he was taking the guitar out of its case, Pran couldn't help but take the little piece of plastic between his thumb and forefinger again, not even bothering to suppress a smile or the fluttery feeling that emerged.

His smile dropped quickly though, as he felt something prickle against his skin, covering his whole upper torso and left arm with goosebumps. Hastily jumping off the bed, Pran darted to the mirror, taking his shirt off in the process, all the while making sure that the curtain on his window was shut tightly.

There, on his left shoulder and in rather abysmal handwriting, two words had appeared.

Napat Jindapat.

° ° °

When Pran's mother shouted at him furiously, telling him to pack his clothing for a boarding school that Pran had never heard of, he almost told her. But mae, he's my soulmate!, he would say, and his mother would be left with no other choice but to stomp to the family next door and demand to see Pat's mark.

But Pat wouldn't have one.

Because that was the thing with fate: It was undeniably cruel.
There was enough research nowadays to determine that only a small percentage of couples both had their marks. Having someone's name written on your body only meant that said person was most compatible with you. It didn't necessarily mean the other would bear the same result. More often than not, only one fated person would be found in a relationship - if any - since most people either chose to believe in their gut feeling, or because they grew tired of waiting for the one.

The way Pran saw it, confessing about his soulmark would only end in humiliation and disappointment; for both his mother and himself. Pat's parents would probably see it as a reason to feel superior, and to look down at Pran; Pat himself was too kind (which had brought Pran into this mess in the first place), and he'd probably avoid the other, only ever looking at him with pity in his big, round eyes.
Because truly, wasn't it pitiful? Soulmarks only ever came once and never left, so he'd never get rid of the reminder of his heartbreak; if he ever found love again, the other would be confronted with another man's name every night. Pran's dreams of growing old with his soulmate shattered at once.

Sucking in a breath, and wiping stealthily at his face, Pran went upstairs to pack his stuff.

(And if it was easier to focus on the anger of having his younger self's fantasies shattered than to remember that in a couple of days, Pran would wake up in an unfamiliar room with not a single soul he knew and no familiar embodiment of sunshine to unabashedly grin at him from across the classroom, then no one but Pran would be the wiser.)

° ° °

Of course, things never went exactly as expected.

Which was how Pran, three years later, found himself in the same university as Pat - hell, even in dorms opposite from each other. Pran really thought fate must be out to make his existence miserable. And if it wasn't fate, then it was the guy in question himself, as he slowly but surely wormed his way back into Pran's life, uncaring of all walls that the other had built up. It was infuriating. It was endearing.

"Praaaan!"

With a sigh, the architecture student got up from his couch, putting the book he had been reading back into its shelf (he wouldn't be able to continue anyway). Putting on a blank expression, he opened the door, only to be met with the sight of Pat in his shirtless glory. Immediate regret filled him.

"What?"

Not sensing the other's distress, Pat pouted. "Can I borrow a towel?"

"No. You'd probably give it back all sweaty and smelly."

"I have manners! I'll wash it!" Pran raised an eyebrow at that. "Alright, Paa will wash it. But you'll get it back all nice and clean, I promise!" Exasperated, Pran shook his head but stepped aside anyway. In a matter of seconds, Pat was in his room, grinning from ear to ear. More for his own sake than for anything, Pran still murmured: "Next time put on a shirt, will you? Anyone could've seen you in the corridor, y'know..." He wasn't sure whether Pat had heard what he said as there was no reaction, but it didn't matter anyway. Following Pat into his bedroom - the guy really had no manners, just marching around as if he owned the place - Pran grumbled, this time louder: "Weren't you supposed to meet up with your friends now?"

Seeing that Pat now stood in the middle of the room, seemingly at a loss for where the towels might be stored, Pran passed him to get one out of his bathroom cupboard. From the other room, he heard Pat answer: "We postponed it, since I'm meeting pa in a bit."

Pran's brow furrowed with worry: "He's not going to pick you up at your dorm, right? You'll meet somewhere outside?" After all, his parents were going to meet him in a bit, too, and would pick him up at his dorm. There was no way to know how their parents would react if they suddenly happened to find out that their sons' dorms were next to each other - and Pran had no desire to find out. When he entered the room with a dark blue towel in hand, he saw Pat inspecting some of the stuff on his desk.

"Nah", Pran sighed in relief, and Pat looked up at his return, "I'll pick him up at the teacher's room when they finish their talk."

Suddenly Pran found himself filled with dread.

"What do you mean, teacher's room? Which teacher is he talking to?"

Sensing the other's distress but not understanding the cause for it, Pat went to hastily explain: "Professor Pichai. He said he wanted to thank pa for selling the materials for the bus stop with a discount, and also wanted to show him the progress before it's completely finished."

Pran let the towel drop, as he stared at Pat, horrified: "My parents are currently heading there too."

It took the engineering student a second before realization dawned: "They discounted the material too?" Pran nodded, and suddenly breathing seemed like such a hard thing. He had specifically asked his teacher not to mention Pat or the fact that they had worked together, but their parents would put two and two together once they saw the other. Pran had previously told his mother that he was just helping out his friends, but if she found out that Pat was a part of the project all along...

"Hey Pran, calm down please, it might not be as bad as we think..." Pat had carefully put a hand on his shoulder, yet the dimpled boy could only shrug it away and glare at him, because Pat had been there the last time, how could he say this, he-- "Well, I suppose that I'm moving out after all." Pat shut his mouth for a moment. When he spoke again, he sounded so utterly soft and pained, and Pran knew he wouldn't leave now, no matter any reprimands.

"Do you think she's going to make you change dorms...?"

"Pat, what do you think?! That she'll suddenly be fine with me living here?"

"Well, that's fine, right? I can still come over even if you're in another dorm, or just-" It almost seemed as if he was hopeful, and as Pran felt angry tears sting his eyes, he couldn't help but snort, as he spat bitterly:
"Pat, we were involved in the destruction of a whole bus stop."

"It wasn't our fault!"

"Do you think she'll care?! The moment I saw you, I should've turned around and ignored the whole thing if she had her way." And dammit, Pran's voice wasn't supposed to break at that, neither were the tears that now started flowing supposed to be there, or Pat's helpless and hurt expression. He'd at least get to stay in his room, in a place where he had his friends, and his family only a short car drive away.

"So you think she'll transfer you again?"

"Yes, Pat! Give me one reason in the world that would not make her send me away!"

At that, Pat's expression turned thoughtful, and Pran used the descending silence to wipe at his face and pick up the towel that he had previously dropped. His anger was slowly replaced with exhaustion, as he held out the piece of fabric. "We can't change things anymore anyway. We always knew how us being friends would en-"

"What if we were soulmates?"

It took all ounces of willpower for Pran to not drop the towel again, and if he thought his heart was beating fast before, it was nothing to how it felt now. "W-what do you mean?" Realizing he was still holding out his arm, the architecture student quickly retracted it, pressing the towel to his chest, as he gaped at Pat, probably looking pathetic. Which the other either didn't notice or didn't care for, still looking deep in thought as if he was thinking this through on the go.

"They wouldn't be able to separate us if we were soulmates, right? I mean, no one does that. That'd be disrespectful to the universe, and to us, and not even our parents would stoop that low."

"But we're not soulmates", Pran croaked out. His knuckles were turning white from clutching the fabric so hard.

"Well, I know that", Pran repressed a sigh of relief, even as there was a pang of pain in his chest, "but they don't. We can pretend to be. Hey! Maybe that would actually solve our parents' feud! That'd be great, wouldn't it? And once they stop fighting, and the dust has settled, we can reveal the truth, and they'll apologize for being so stubborn over this whole thing."

The other couldn't help but gape at him. "Are you out of your mind? Once we reveal that we've been lying the whole time, they'll see red. Not to mention that they'll never speak to us again." He couldn't believe that Pat would actually suggest something so ridiculous, all the while looking like he had just found the solution to a really tough problem. "No one jokes about being soulmates."

"I'm not joking. I'm serious. This could work, you just gotta trust me. Or do you want to leave again?"

To leave again. Pran's previous incredulity changed to fury. Because he hadn't left. Pat made it sound like what had happened was because of his own accord; as if it was as easy as that, as if things were ever as easy as that.

"If staying means lying to my parents for probably years while playing house with you instead of looking for my actual soulmate, then shouldn't the answer be obvious?"

Pat's face contorted to something almost funny if it was in any other situation. With an angry huff of "Fine then", he turned around and barged out of the room.

Only when the sound of a door falling into its place echoed in his bedroom, did Pran allow the tears to flow freely.

° ° °

There were three short but urgent knocks on the door.

For a small moment, Pran hoped it might be Pat. He then wanted to slap himself for hoping it was him. Of course it wouldn't be the guy he spent so long pining over, because he was probably already out with his father and getting scolded. Or maybe not. He hadn't really cared too much about the Christmas concert, too, only ever worried that they'd become friends instead of rivals. Pat's father had always supported their competitions and them going head-to-head, as long as Pat was the winner. When it came to Pran's mother...

She'd never back down from a challenge if the competitors were the neighbors, but when Pran was involved, she had always wanted him to stay away from the neighbor's kid. Him having a better GPA, or winning in sports or getting an award would be something that either his mother could boast about, or it would eventually make its way to the other family, to show them that Pran was a better kid. If Ming cared about whether Pat won whenever they got into a physical fight back in the day, then Dissaya would reprimand him for getting into a fight in the first place with someone not worthy of his attention.

Checking himself one last time in the mirror, Pran went to open the door. "Mae", he rasped out, and immediately pressed his lips together as he saw his mother's furious expression.

"Pran."

Her voice was somewhat calm, contrasting the way her eyes hardened immediately. Pran wasn't sure what to expect. Maybe for her to ask about what happened between him and the kid next door. To demand, You became close to them, didn't you? And she would probably be able to guess, but plead for answers anyway because she'd want to hear it from him.

Yet nothing of the sort came. Instead, she stormed past him, looking around the room as if assessing its belongings. Pran slowly closed the door, discarding all thoughts of just bolting away, as he turned around to his mother.

"Take a jacket and anything you'd need today, we're going home. Your pa is waiting in the car."

Jaw clenched, Pran didn't move a muscle. He wasn't sure he would be able to, even if he wanted to. "Why?" Apparently not expecting to be talked back, his mother halted for a moment, looking at him with an emotion that Pran couldn't quite put his finger on. "You know why! You're aware that our house and that house-"

"I am. I know they are disgusting. They are cheaters. They did this and that to us. I know all of that. You've implanted that in my head since I could remember."

"Why did you do it if you were aware? Have you forgotten to save my reputation?"

"Mae." Pran hadn't wanted to talk back. To cause a scene, especially after telling Pat off and telling him he'd rather transfer than to be an unfilial son. But while waiting for his mother to appear, for his world to crash, he couldn't help but to remember his first night at the boarding school and the way that everything had hurt. This wasn't just about Pat. And Pran wanted nothing more but to understand. "We just worked on a project together! He helped my friends and me when he wasn't even requiered to, what could I fault him for? Would you rather I run away everytime we cross paths? What's next then? Maybe we should move away?"

"Well, if you keep this up-"

Pran couldn't stand to hear that sentence finished. Because in all these years, his mother had always been too proud to ever suggest such a thing. He wasn't sure what exactly possesed him in that moment - maybe it was anger, maybe fear, maybe something else entirely - but with one swift movement of his hand, the fabric on his left shoulder was pulled to the side, revealing the messy handwriting underneath.

His mother's words died in her throat, as her hands flew to her mouth. "That can't be right. He's- he's Ming's son--" Trying his best to control the shaking of his fingers or the trembling of his voice, Pran let his sweater fall back into place, as his arms fell uselessly to his side.

"Pat is my soulmate, mae."

° ° °

"And she just left? Without wanting to see the mark?"

Pran tried to look anywhere but at Pat who was sitting cross-legged in front of him, because apparently, Pran deciding to sit on a chair meant that the couch was too far away. After his mother had left, Pran had immediately texted Pat (in reality it had taken him about half an hour to process what just happened and to make himself pick up his phone, and another ten minutes to hype himself up enough to actually start typing; he had stopped checking the time after the fourth attempt at a message), to let him know that he would agree to his plan.

"Of course she wanted to see it, but I told her I'd only show it once she calmed down."

The expression on Pat's face could only be described as pure wonder; Pran wasn't sure what the other was more surprised about: that his mother had supposedly dropped it, or that Pran had actually given her a condition. It didn't matter anyway. In actuality, she had just stared, and for a second, Pran had thought she'd lose it; so he quickly disappeared into his bathroom, locking himself in. After having finally texted Pat, he had returned to an empty room.

"Ah, that's good. See, if you had agreed to my plan earlier, we could've already found a solution for this beforehand."

A dopy smile was plastered on Pat's face, and it made Pran clench his jaw. Why was he so calm about it? Why wasn't he more bothered? Soulmates were a huge thing - hell, dealing with their parents alone was already enough to give Pran a headache most of the time. Still, in a small, far-away corner of his mind, the architecture student couldn't help but to feel a little bit grateful for the confidence of the other. Taking a deep breath, he just motioned for Pat to continue with a slightly judgemental raise of his eyebrow.

"Well, my dad is definitely going to want to see it. So we'll have to write each other's names on us. Huh, anything written with a pen would rub off... oh, we should totally get tattoos!"

Pran smacked him on his head. "Are you out of your mind? You do realize those are permanent? What will you tell your future wife?"

The response was Pat leaning slightly closer and winking, all teeth and smug grin. "No worries, there's enough of me for both of you!" He was promptly shoved away as Pran scolded, voice slightly pitched: "We're not gonna do real tattoos. Think of something else."

"Why do I have to be the one thinking of something?"

"It was your plan, wasn't it?"

In the end, they both ended up researching alternatives. While Pran had occupied his laptop, and was half-heartedly looking at some cheap children's tattoo pens (it wasn't like he'd actually have to get one anyway), Pat had taken over the couch, and was scrolling through his phone, all the while giving out suggestions.

Like: "What about chinese ink?"

As with the previous dozen or so suggestions, Pran would just sigh and rub his temple: "Did you read about any side effects?", to which Pat would look back at the screen and read out loud whichever ridiculous text he had just found: "According to professionals, semi-permanent tattoos are impossible to achieve. Chinese ink is a method where a tattoo artist cuts the surface of the skin and applies their own blend of ink to create a semi-permanent tattoo that lasts up to 6 months. This technique is controversial because the ink ingredients could be toxic and, in many cases, last much longer than expected. Huh, maybe not then."

"Maybe not."

It went on for hours. Either the tattoos only lasted for a couple of days, or they had some seriously concerning health risks. In any case, Pran was dreading agreeing to this whole thing with every minute that dragged on. Taking a look at the clock, Pran decided that he had enough for one day. "We have classes tomorrow morning", he spoke up by way of conveying to Pat to get out.

"But we didn't find anything yet." At this point, Pat was definitely pouting, yet Pran could also see the way his limbs moved more slowly and his eyes were sometimes blinking rapidly as if to focus. "We will - tomorrow. If you're so adamant on continuing, then do it in your own room."

"Alright, I'll sleep, sir." Then his pout turned mischievous, and Pran tried to seem annoyed. "Surely I can stay the night, right, soulmate?"

"No. Get out. I want to rest."

When Pat finally relented and left for his own bed, Pran couldn't help but to slightly smile to himself. The situation with their parents was quite frankly horrible, and having Pat so close yet not close enough, surely sucked big time. But maybe not everything about it was bad.

° ° °

Pran was being pulled into an alcove. What the fuck?

Seeing the culprit, Pran glared as hard as he could muster. "Pat, are you crazy?! What are you doing here?!" He quickly stuck out his head to see if anyone had seen them. He had just left one of his lectures on his way to the next one, and was supposed to meet Louis at the entrance of the building.
Unapologetically, Pat shoved his phone toward him, as if he wasn't engineering's class president hiding in the middle of architecture's territory.

"I think I found the ideal tattoo ink! It can stay anywhere between two weeks and a month, and there are many tips on the internet; it's pretty safe. I'd say we redo them every two weeks, and since it's just our names, it's not a lot of ink, and will last--"

"Pat", Pran hissed, looking around hysterically, "I literally do not care, just get something we can use; and now leave, before someone sees us!"

Satisfied, Pat slipped away, already typing away on his phone as he was receiving looks from other students around him. Pran took a deep breath. That guy was going to be the death of him.

° ° °

Later that same day, something similar happened again. This time it was during lunch break when Pran's phone started vibrating in his pocket. At a quick glance that showed 'Just A Friend' lighting up the screen, Pran decided to decline the call to not arise suspicion. To his great annoyance, the phone started vibrating again the moment he put it back into his pocket. After the third time, all of his friends were openly staring at him, curious as to who could be so persistent.

"Ah, I promised one of my coursemates to let them copy my homework. I guess I'll pick it up."

After excusing himself, Pran left the lunch table to stand outside the cafeteria. "This better be important", he hissed as way of greeting. In the same manner, he also didn't receive any pleasantries, as Pat immediately jumped to the point:

"Let's get them done professionally in a studio together!"

Pran's heartbeat picked up a beat. "No."

And he could swear that he practically heard the other pout, as he asked miserably: "Why?"

Really, how did one say 'I'm sorry I can't go to a studio with you because I'm not actually going to write your name on my skin as I already have it there' without mentioning that you're said person's soulmate? Naturally, the sigh that followed was probably more on the melancholy side than exasperation. What had his life come to?

"Anyone could see us in a studio, it'd be too risky." Feeling the other starting to protest, he quickly barrelled on: "Pat, I really can't talk right now, I think Wai is coming over."

He really ought to stop avoiding the other if this whole deal was supposed to work.

° ° °

Pat stood in front of his door, plastic bag filled with supplies in hand. Reluctantly, Pran let the other in and took a moment to gather himself while still facing the door. When he turned around, it was to Pat spreading the supplies on his couch table.

This felt wrong.

It was like roping Pat into something without giving him the full picture. Pran had scolded the engineering student before for wanting to lie to their parents; how was he any better? Pat might have been one of the smartest students in highschool, and he definitely wasn't the least responsible person Pran knew (there was a guitar standing in his bedroom to prove that), but he was also too kind for his own good, and silly, and reckless. Did he even realize the extent of what they were planning to do?

"You're thinking too much. You already told your mum about us anyway, didn't you? I'll call my mum today to tell her too, so she can let my dad know."

About us. As if there was a real us in any of this. It was going to be a game of pretend that would leave Pran in shambles; knowing what it could be like, only for it to be ripped out of his grasp at a moment's notice. But... Pat was also right. They had already agreed to this. Pran had told his mother. They had bought the stupid ink. And sometimes Pran wanted to be weak. If pretend was all that he could get, then pretend it would be.

"Alright, where do you want it?"

"Ah." The guy looked caught off-guard. "I guess I haven't thought about it yet."

Pran snorted. "You've been planning this non-stop and have lost sleep over it, but you didn't once spare a thought to where you'd want it?"

He received a helpless shrug and an innocent-looking grin in reply. “Well, it must have slipped my mind.” Exasperated, Pran shook his head. “In the past, when you imagined your soulmark appearing, what body part did you think of?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Pran felt like swallowing them; what kind of foolish question was that? Why would Pat want Pran’s name to occupy someone else’s space?

Instead of getting upset though, Pat only looked thoughtful. “I’ve never really thought about it. If I like someone, I just like them, and that’s enough for me. If they turn out to be my soulmate, then I surely wouldn’t miss it.”

“Yeah, with the number of times you look at yourself in the mirror, you’d miss nothing.” It was funny though. Pran remembered freaking out over the whole thing as soon as he learned what a soulmate even was. If he liked someone, he wanted them desperately to be his soulmate, just like fate suggested. So when Pran's soulmate turned out to be someone he could never be with, his perfect picture had been ruined.

"The website said if it's a thick-skinned place, it'll hold longer though. So maybe my thighs?"

The thought of writing on Pat's thighs immediately warmed Pran's face, and he quickly shook his head. "They're gonna sweat a lot during rugby, and you need to wash there properly. Let's pick your back or upper arms."

"What would you like more?"

Pran's breath hitched. Why did Pat have to keep doing this? To ask things that made Pran's heart rate faster, despite his best efforts? What did it matter to him where Pran would like to see it? It didn't, he reasoned with himself. Just like it didn't matter to him where it would go. "Let's do the arm. You'll be able to keep a look at it in case it starts fading earlier."

With a nod, Pat plopped onto the couch and promptly took off his shirt. "Pat! What are you doing?" The other only innocently raised his eyebrow at him. "It'll need hours to dry afterward, I don't want to hold the sleeve up the whole time. And I don't want to dirty any of my clothes. I even showered myself before coming over! And used a skin lotion, to get my skin as smooth as possible." Ignoring the latter, Pran found his reasoning was ridiculous - it wasn't like he didn't own any sleeveless shirts, or like he ever cared about getting messy. Pran refused to continue thinking about Pat's state of undress, and promptly grabbed the tube. "So what do I do?"

"Cut the tip, and then just write it evenly in a relatively thick layer."

So Pran did exactly that. He tried his best to focus on the task at hand, as he slowly cut off the tip, though it was harder to concentrate when he turned to Pat, who was leaning back languidly, arm outstretched. He wasn't even flexing or anything. It was just a stupid, tanned, muscular arm.

Pran gulped.

Then he inched closer to Pat, their thighs inevitably touching. Slowly leaning forward, Pran forbid himself from looking directly at Pat. Willing his hands to stay still, he carefully splayed one across his biceps, getting a feeling of what he'd be working with. Pat's skin was still rosy from the shower, and smelled nice. Pran felt him tense for a second, but immediately relax afterward. Lifting the hand holding the tube, he slowly brought it a width away from the skin and then did the mistake of looking up.

Pat was staring at him, the corners of his mouth slightly upturned, and gaze focused. His face was so impossibly close, Pran felt intoxicated.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" His voice came out in nothing more than a whisper, as if it would shatter whatever fragile tension was hanging in the air between them.

"I am." He answered so fast that it almost seemed like Pat was surprised himself.

"You get what we're doing, right? We have no idea how long we'll have to uphold the ruse, and if anyone finds out you've been lying to them, they'll be incredibly upset, Pat."

"You mean us?"

"Right."

Stifled, Pran looked away to return to his task at hand, now finally putting light pressure on the tube to let the ink settle over Pat's skin. They spent a couple of minutes like that, Pat's breath occasionally tickling Pran's ear as the architecture student gave the nicest signature he had ever attempted. When he finished, Pran couldn't help but to stare at his work with a complicated feeling in his chest. It wasn't yet like he used to imagine, on simpler days when the both of them would sit together in the clubroom, trying to memorize a melody that Pran would never forget again. The ink was still thick and sticking out, and glistened in the light, nothing like an actual soulmark tattoo. But it was still something real, and graspable. It made Pran feel close to tearing up.

"It's your turn now."

Pran quickly snapped out of it at Pat's words, who had waited way too long to speak up. His voice was cheerful, but there was a tender and quiet underline, as if he too, didn't want to ruin the moment.

So Pran had to be the one to do it: "I actually already got myself one." After processing for a moment, Pat sat straight, looking surprised. "What? Why?" Not wanting to look the other in the eye, Pran busied himself with putting away the tube. "I wanted it done professionally. I just said we shouldn't go together, I didn't mention not going there by ourselves." At that, Pat slumped back, eyes big and mouth pouty. Pran warily watched his arm with the fresh ink, scared that it would brush the couch any second. "But wasn't I supposed to do it? It needs to be my handwriting, after all, that's always how the marks work."

"I don't trust you to not mess up, and then I'll walk around with blotched ink; how are my parents supposed to believe us then, hm?"

"Let me see it at least!"

Now this was the moment that Pran had been dreading. From the moment he agreed to this mess; from the moment he first looked into the mirror to see the neighbors' kid's name adorning his shoulder. But he couldn't very well be stubborn in this, or Pat would get suspicious. So - biting his tongue - Pran grasped his own collar, and slowly slid it down, reveiling the scrabble that had been a part of him for years at this point.

His eyes flickered nervously up to search Pat's for some sort of reaction: there was open curiosity, and wonder, and something else that Pran couldn't decipher. It took them both a moment to realize that Pat's hand was hanging in the air between them, almost but not quite reaching for the spot on Pran's shoulder. Realizing what he was about to do, Pat limply let it drop down, while clearing his throat.

"It looks really pretty. I like it. Looks like my handwriting."

Pran nodded, awkwardly. "I took a picture of your signature from last week's class. Professor Pichai uploaded them, so... yeah. The tattoo artist used it as a model-- Stop looking like a kicked dog, you can do yours professionally next time too, then."

There was a moment of silence before Pat - who still  looked very much grumpy - quietly murmured: "No..."

It shouldn't have made him as happy as it did to hear that. The prospect of meeting like this every week, bodies pressed against each other and atmosphere charged, should be a cause of worry for Pran; should make him fear getting his own mark exposed.

But Pran was weak.

And maybe that was okay.

° ° °

Pat's dad had taken the news... not exactly well.

When Pat's mother had forwarded the 'news' to him, he had called Pat, enraged and aghast. Pat had confirmed that his soulmate was, in fact, Pran. After that, his dad had hung up and refused to talk to his son. If there was something urgent, then Pat would either hear it from his mother or Paa (who was incredibly confused when first told about them being soulmates but seemed to accept it easily afterwarx (a little too easily, for Pran's taste)).

Pran had immediately pleaded with Pat to stop this whole thing, apologize to their parents, and reconcile. It didn't take a genius to know that Pat loved his father deeply, even if he was a stubborn man. But - sometimes it was too easy to forget when it was just the two of them - Pat was also stubborn in nature and refused profoundly. At some point, he must have had enough, so he had rounded on Pran, chin raised arrogantly, and declared:

"Whoever pretends to be the best soulmate, wins."

And Pran? Well, he could never decline a challenge when it came to Pat, so they had fist-bumped then and there in his room, sealing the deal. Pran came to regret his past self's easy acceptance now, as he was fumbling with the cutlery, trying and failing to steal a look at the clock. It was almost six in the evening, and his demise would arrive in about nine minutes. Probably later, if Pat's usual punctuality was anything to go by.

Right as he thought this, the doorbell rang. Pran almost let the fork fall that he had been in the middle of placing on the table. He quickly scrambled to the door, calling out: "I'll get it!" as he sped there. When he opened the wooden entry, he was met with the sight of Pat, standing in one of his nicer jeans, and a seemingly ironed button down there. He was unfairly attractive.

"Hey", he greeted with a little wave, voice high-pitched, and Pran couldn't blame him, as he heard his mother's steps nearing them.

"Hey", Pran echoed, as he stepped aside to let Pat enter. Seeing Pran's mother, Pat quickly wai'ed deeply, as he greeted her politely as well. Only when his mother returned the gesture, did Pran realize that he had stopped breathing for a moment, not daring to miss anything. What happened next was all blurry in Pran's mind: Pat had hung his jacket, and offered to help set the table, which didn't help Pran's condition at all; until they suddenly all sat around the table, paying their respects.

So that was a thing. Pran's mother had invited Pat over, not even a week after they declared themselves soulmates. The moment his mother had called him to let him know to bring him over on Friday, Pran had felt faint and hadn't stopped feeling that way ever since. Pat had tried to put on a tough front, but seeing him now, sitting there with his back straight and more on edge than Pran had probably ever seen him in their lives, it was clear that he was just as overwhelmed. Pran's mother had basically offered an olive branch for the neighbor's kid to take.

"So your faculty has gotten into a fight with Pran's again?"

Or maybe not, Pran thought hysterically, as he looked helplessly between the two people he was seated next to. To his surprise though, Pat answered easily enough: "Yes, our faculties tend to get into fights a lot, no one really knows the reason. I've been trying to keep my friends from crossing paths with the architecture students, but the whole bus stop incident happened when I wasn't paying enough attention."

It was almost impressive, one could say. Pat had really thought this through, huh? It was as if he specifically worded the answer to a malicious question in a way that would make him seem mature, responsible, all the while not even once blaming the people that Pran chose to spend his time with. Dissaya hummed, before immediately firing up the next question: "When did you realize the nature of your feelings for my son?"

Pran felt his blood freeze as silence settled over them. Shit, they should have talked this through better before. It's not that Pran hadn't known these types of questions might be posed (though he had hoped his mother wouldn't be shameless enough to bombard them right at the beginning), he just couldn't bring himself to actually... bring it up. Because bringing it up would mean having to talk about their past, and their 'faked' feelings, and their status.

He was ready to step in and to change the topic, but then Pat answered calmly: "It was only recently, during our work with the bus stop, and after figuring out that we were living opposite from each other. I suppose I might have had feelings for Pran since back in highschool, but only after spending time with him again did I realize why the time in-between was so lonely."

That shut everyone up quite quickly.

Dissaya averted her eyes - in anger or guilt Pran couldn't tell - while her son flushed and looked down at his plate. Something inside him twisted - in pain, in regret, in love, but he quickly squashed those down, as he looked up again, rolling his eyes so that Pat could see, mouthing: 'Sappy.' Pat smiled at that, brilliantly, and before Pran could come up with another epiphany or lyric about how his smile lit up his world and made him burn from inside out, his father coughed loudly:

"Maybe we should start eating?"

Dissaya nodded, and turned back to Pat, her gaze no less intimidating: "Do you like curry?"

Pran's whole face lit up. "I do! Pran used to always gush about 'Madame Dissaya's famous curry', so I've always wanted to try!" Surprise flitted over his mother's face, replaced by pride, and finally a blank expression.
Minutes later, they all had rice loaded with curry on their plates, and when Pran took the first bite, he shot his mother a betrayed look. He had meekly, yet specifically asked her to make the curry less hot today, since Pat wasn't great at handling spice, yet it almost felt like the opposite was the case. His mother was decisively not looking at him.

Checking on Pat, he could already see the guy's face redden after only a couple of bites, yet, he still managed a: "It's really good. I get why Pran loves it so much." His smile luckily didn't appear too forced, especially when he glanced at Pran. He almost seemed genuine.

Pran felt a bit like crying when it hit him: Pat was eating his mother's curry.

Because she thought they were soulmates. Because this was what was expected of her. And they lied about it.

After they ate a couple of minutes in awkward silence, Dissaya spoke up again: "So are you two in a relationship?"

Pran was going to jump in to quickly affirm and move on, but once more, Pat beat him to it: "Not yet, actually. When we found out, we wanted to take our time, especially since we knew we'd have to tell our parents first, before jumping head-first into something like this. I was going to ask Pran to be my boyfriend though, if today went well."

This time, Pran did choke on a rice grain, and Pat immediately started tapping his back, offering his glass of water. To anyone else, his face would probably scream concern, but Pran knew better: It was a wicked expression, one that said: I'm winning, do you see? Pran felt something else entirely squeeze in his chest; the same thing that had made him agree to this stupid bet in the first place. Feeling bold, he picked up his spoon, and brought it to Pat's mouth: "Ah, thank you", he said in his sweetest voice, enjoying the way that Pat's eyes bulged - from surprise or from the spice or most likely both.

"Pran." Hearing his mother's disapproving voice, Pran immediately pulled his hands back over to his side and apologized quietly.

His father must have wanted to lighten the mood, as he turned to Pat, genuine interest on his face, asking: "What are your plans for the future?" After swallowing (really, where had he suddenly gained manners?), Pat explained how he'd probably take on the family business. It looked like he wanted to add something but thought better of it.

"So you'll take over the business after your father."

Something in her tone had switched; as Pran looked over to his mother, her expression was tense and dark. Something was wrong. It seemed the mention of Pat's parents - his father, specifically - had torn down all her walls of even the barest amount of politeness. Pran tried to catch his father's attention, hoping he'd step in, but he only looked down at his plate, with one hand grabbing his wife's hand on the table.

"Is your father putting a lot of pressure on you?" Both Pran and Pat internally winced, because they knew the answer to that one. "Well, a bit, but it's nothing I can't handle. He only worries for me", Pat replied, unsure. Dissaya didn't take her eyes off of him. Her tone had gotten a bit louder, harder. "Tell me, do you care more for your father than you care about Pran?"

"Mae!"

"Honey!"

As if only now becoming aware that others were present, Dissaya looked between the two people seated next to her, and Pran felt shock freeze him when he noticed the glassy sheen on her eyes. She then excused herself and left the room. Pran's father quietly apologized to Pat, and wished him farewell, before following his wife. The two boys were left sitting next to each other in silence, as Pran tried to find his bearings. Pat - speaking quietly, as if scared he could be heard - asked: "What was that?"

Pran shook his head. "I have no idea."

The air was tense as Pran looked over helplessly to Pat, who was already watching him. It tugged at his heartstrings. "I suppose I should probably go then."

Pran nodded and quickly got up to accompany the other to the door. When Pat was halfway through, he called out for him. Gathering the last remains of his courage, he tried to convey his sincerity, as he said: "I'm glad you were here."

Pat smiled at him.

"Me too."

° ° °

To their surprise, that wasn't the end of it.

Later that night, Pran's mother had stiffly knocked on his door before entering his room (where Pat had left only minutes ago). Apparently, Pat was invited to dinner on Sunday, and he should bring Paa along. It went quite alright; Dissaya never apologized for her previous outburst, but she didn't ask anything of the sort either. Having Paa there, who tried her best to be cheery and polite (and who could handle spice to a level that Dissaya approved of), made it all feel a little less awkward. Pran still felt mostly uncomfortable and tense, and ended up being quiet throughout most of the meal - only remembering to join in on the conversations when someone called out his name or when Pat nudged him under the table.

After dinner - when the siblings had left - Pran's mother approached him, her expression looking stormy as Pran feared for the worst.

"If his family invites you over for dinner, then you can go, as long as Ming isn't there."

It was a strange request; both Pat and Pran agreed to this when the architecture student brought it up over text in the evening after they both returned to their dorms.

Just A Friend: it's good, i think ma actually wants to have you over soon, but pa probably doesn't want to join anyway

It calmed Pran down, a bit. He had always found Pat's father somewhat scary, even though he'd never admit it. Trying not to think too much about possibly entering the neighbor's house soon, Pran fell asleep.

° ° °

Then Ink returned.

Their two groups had to take pictures in front of the construction that was their bus stop for the university's magazine when the photographer turned out to be none other than their old classmate. She and Pat disappeared, and Pran definitely didn't stare after them. When Pat didn't show up to present their progress to professor Pichai so that he could model for Ink, Pran did his best to ignore the sinking feeling in his chest, and the green snake that he could feel rear its ugly head again, stirring up buried memories.

It was all he could do to not break off their whole deal. They were too deep into it now. And anyway, Pran knew that Ink was a great girl. They were technically friends too, after all. She was kind, and smart, and someone definitely deserving of Pat's love and attention and--

"We should be boyfriends."

Startled, Pran looked up from his homework to stare at Pat, who was returning the gesture. It quickly turned into a game of who could hold contact longer, and when none of them seemed to want to give up, Pran decided that it didn't matter - he could maintain eye contact while talking. "Excuse me?"

"We already told your mother that we would take the next step soon-"

"You told her!"

"- and since we're requited soulmates, there's really no reason why we shouldn't be. Anything else would be unbelievable." Ah.

The idea made Pran scowl. This would just add another layer to the pile of lies he told his parents. "It's too risky. What if one of our parents sees us flirting with someone else? Or if they ask our teachers about us, and they tell them that we're never even hanging out? It'll only complicate things; let's not."

"Actually", here Pat gave up on their small contest, avoiding eye contact and looking sheepish, "I was thinking we could expand our plan towards our friends too?" As soon as the words left his mouth, he looked up again to search Pran's gaze, who quickly schooled his expression from flabbergasted to neutral. It probably looked closest to a grimace.

"What about Ink?"

The words came out before Pran had time to think them over, yet he couldn't find it in himself to regret them. Pat - for his part - looked rather confused. "What about her?"

"Don't you... like her?"

"I think I do, but if it means losing you again, it can wait. If we're meant to be, then I'll try my luck in the future; I don't mind waiting. You're my priority right now."

Pran looked away as he gulped, heavily. Pat... Pat really had to stop doing this to him. Had to stop giving Pran what he wished for most, only to have an expiration date looming over them. The rugby player must have sensed Pran's hesitation, as he barrelled on: "You want our friends to stop fighting, don't you? Maybe this is our only chance at permanent peace! And anyway, I think Korn has gotten suspicious about me disappearing to the toilet whenever we need to change for rugby." As if an afterthought, he added, pouting: "I also miss my sleeveless shirts."

That forced a laugh out of Pran, who rolled his eyes (fondly), teasing: "You're a big baby, you know that? And so picky too!"

"You're the picky one! Especially when it comes to eating, sleeping, even peeing."

Smiles were adorning their cheeks as they looked at each other. Then Pran's expression turned serious once more: "We need to set boundaries." Pat nodded eagerly, as he got up from the couch and scampered over to the desk where Pran was residing at. "Let's write them down." Following his order, Pran moved his homework to the side to get a blank piece of parchment and a pen, when he felt Pat drop his head on his shoulders.

"Ai! You're heavy!" With a strangled laugh, he tried to shove the offending body part away, but Pat didn't budge - he instead slung his arm around Pran's waist, setting the guy's face and insides on fire in the process.

"Is this okay?", Pat laughed, but Pran understood that he meant the question. Thinking about it, he nodded short and awkward. "Not immediately though. I need to get used to this, and our parents and friends especially so." Following a hum of acknowledgment, Pran wrote it down. Pat stayed where he was.

"What about hand-holding? That's a couple thing, right? And I've always wanted to do that with someone." Even if that someone is me?, Pran thought miserably, yet his stomach betrayed him by doing a swoop at the image that came to mind. Focus, dammit.

"Same as before."

After scribbling it down, silence settled over them. Pran felt the other shift, yet not letting go. He was nervous. Sighing, Pran braced for the worst, as he asked: "What is it?" He couldn't help but to hold his breath.

"Do you think we have to kiss?"

He did not think of Pat's lips at that and definitely didn't imagine what they would feel like on his. A little defensive, he asked: "What? Do you want to?"

There was another beat of silence. "I suppose kisses on the cheeks are fine? I just, I feel like- I mean--"

"It's fine, Pat, I wouldn't want to kiss anyone unless it's real either", Pran wrote Only Kisses On The Cheek unto the list as he felt his heart break into pieces, "anything else?"

A couple of hairs tickled Pran's neck, and he squirmed a bit. "I've been the only one suggesting rules so far, that's not fair. How about you say something?" Swallowing, Pran thought about it. On one hand, there probably wasn't a thing that he would forbid Pat from doing to him - on the other hand, the more real they felt, the more Pran would suffer. He had to stop thinking about this with what his heart wanted and to start analyzing this from a technical point of view: Convincing their parents and friends.

"We should eat lunch together, at least twice a week. And one date per week, it doesn't have to be anything fancy; we'll switch every week with the planning. You can post about it on Instagram then, to sell it. And no flirting with anyone while we're doing this."

"Wow. You almost make it sound like work."

The architecture student swiped at the other, making him jump away, laughing. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, those are good rules! You can write them down! Let's tell our friends tomorrow then, and after that, I'll take you on our first date. It'll be fun."

Pran hummed as he started writing.

Sure, fun.

° ° °

After lunch break, Pran felt quite exhausted. He had told his friends about Pat at a nearby curry restaurant, deciding to go for a practical approach: To explain how they were boyfriends first, and soulmates second. Wai had been pissed at the former, asking how the hell that happened, but quickly shut up at the latter. Wai cared about soulmates a lot, and he was probably the one knowing best how much of a sensitive topic this was for his friend, ever since their time in boarding school.

He wasn't happy about it, but he shut his mouth.

The others may have been grumpy about the fact that Pran's soulmate was an engineering student, but everyone knew that a soulmate was a more pressing matter. Afterward, Pran shot Pat a quick text to ask how it was going on his side; he was still to receive a reply.

When their last class of the day approached, it was their joined class. The group of architecture students arrived earlier than Pat and his friends, yet when the engineering group finally arrived, Pran couldn't find any sign of them behaving differently. Not once did anyone pay attention to Pran (his own friends, for that matter, were way less subtle. They kept ogling Pat as if they could see the proof of them being soulmates through his fleece jacket).

Surprisingly, Pat also didn't pay any attention to him, which irritated Pran to no end. He honestly felt inclined to get up and stomp over there, when Wai suddenly elbowed him hard into the side.

"What the hell?", he wheezed as he turned around, but before even properly facing his best friend, Pran halted mid-movement, as he saw the teacher's screen light up with a loading sign, which did nothing to cover the fact that Pran was blurrily standing in the background of the video.

A younger Pran, Pat, and two of their highschool friends.

Pran's breath hitched as he stared at the screen, transfixed.

The video started playing, and the group of four started playing a song on a small stage, surrounded by lights and decorations. The video was shaky, of low quality - and frankly - rather short (it was luckily cut off before a younger Pran had stopped singing, terrified), yet it was unmistakable them. Pat must have found one of their old classmate's LINE IDs who had filmed the whole thing, since of course Pat would go to such lengths, because he was dramatic, and he wanted to win their bet, and because it was so Pat. Stealthily, Pran wiped at his eyes. He couldn't even find it in himself to be pissed about having to explain to his friends how he lied about their past, too.

"Who was that?!" The professor's voice boomed as she scanned the room.

Shamelessly, Pat stood up and raised a hand. "Me." As the architecture student looked over, he noticed that Pat had taken off the jacket, displaying his tattoo for all the world to see. "I just wanted to show off my cute boyfriend."

Sternly, the professor scanned Pat, then grinned. "Your boyfriend must be quite lucky then, to have such a proud soulmate."

Not even ten minutes later, Pran's phone vibrated with a notification: 'Korn.MVP55+ sent a friend request.'

° ° °

Their first date turned out to be a hotpot date. Something simple, yet so domestic that Pran felt his heart squeeze. Never in his life had he imagined that he would one day be here.

Halfway through their meal, Pat took a tiny, blue pouch out of his jacket pocket as he slid it over to Pran. Seeing his questioning look, he quickly went on to explain: "When I was looking for a clip from the Christmas festival, I had to think of our time practicing together. You forgot your guitar pick once, and I made you one out of my student ID, remember?"

How could I ever forget?, Pran wanted to plead. How could I ever forget the day that my life turned upside down? Instead, he started opening the pouch as Pat continued with his explanation: "I don't think I've seen you use it since you got your guitar back, and I wasn't sure whether you maybe lost it or if it was  damaging the guitar strings or something, so I decided to get you a proper one this time."

In his hand, Pran held a small, black guitar pick, with the initial 'P' engraved twice on it - overlapping - in red and blue.

It was hard to tear his gaze off the small chip, but seeing Pat smile brilliantly at him seemed worth it; he smiled in return, and for the first time ever, Pran thought that maybe having Pat as a soulmate wasn't a curse - no matter the outcome - as long as he could have this. His voice was hoarse when he spoke his next words, but they both chose to ignore it:

"Thank you."

° ° °

Two weeks had passed since they started 'dating', and both their faculties knew by now. Pat had started to become clingier, draping himself over Pran every chance he got. Which usually wouldn't have been many - that was, until Pat had somehow managed to rope his friends into joining the architecture group at lunch (Pat had sworn that it wasn't even his idea to begin with, blaming Korn instead). He definitely wasn't shy about teasing, flirting, and touching Pran in public.

Or in the privacy of Pran's dorm.

It wasn't hard to explain his behavior away, though. Pat was a naturally affectionate person, who craved attention and care; he was also a surprisingly good actor. No one suspected a thing. Hell, even Pran found himself sometimes forgetting that it was all just an act.

Except.

Except for some days, when Pat was asleep on the floor next to him, Pran would stare at him, thinking of number three on their list of rules. Only Kisses On The Cheek. So far, they had yet to share a single kiss. It wasn't like they had to; everyone ate up their lie without further questioning, it was just that Pran... Pran knew he was selfish. And with every hug that Pat had given him, with every nuzzle into his neck, every inhale or demand to sleep in Pran's bed or cuddle - Pran had started wanting more. If he had been given the permission, then why not go for it?

Then the day of the bus stop completion came.

When their pictures were taken, the two students turned around to see Pat's father approaching, and Pran felt the other grab his hand more tightly, to the point it almost hurt. Seeing his friend's apprehension, he quickly turned him around, so that Pat now stood with his back to his father. "It's going to be okay, you hear me? You can do it." And in the spur of the moment, Pran pulled the hand he was holding closer to his face, brushing his lips softly against the knuckles that immediately relaxed. Pat's eyes were wide, and his mouth open, but before he could vocalize his thoughts, Ming called him from behind, so he could only let go of Pran's hand and hurry to meet his pa.

When he left Pran's dorm that evening, his usual 'See you tomorrow!' was replaced by a swift kiss on the cheek, and a softly murmured 'Good night', which made Pran almost lose his sanity.

After that, casual kisses became a regular thing.

° ° °

For the first time in the university's recorded history, a group of engineering students joined in on the architecture trip (this even prompted other faculty students to come along - apparently it was the biggest group since the introduction of the architecture trip). At first, Pran had been quite worried - their friends had sworn not to fight and so far kept to their promise, but spending lunch breaks together was an altogether different matter than being crammed into the same space for every activity over the course of three days.

"Let's play spin the b-bottle!"

Looking back, Pran wanted to shake his past self for worrying about the wrong things. His top priority should have been to take hangover medicine with him.
An arm was slung around his shoulders, as Pat leaned heavily on him, cheering with the others at Korn's idea. Pran must have been a bit tipsier than anticipated as well since he just angled his head to lie more comfortably on the mop that was Pat's hair.

"The kissing game?", Chang asked, to which Korn promptly waved his arms. "Nonono, the one with questions and dares!" Everyone was on board, so they sat in a small circle in the sand, placing a half-empty water bottle in the middle. Since Korn proposed the idea, he insisted on starting. Promptly, the bottle landed on Wai. The latter was already scowling at whatever ridiculous scheme the other would come up with.

"I dare you to... make out with someone in this circle!"

Some of the people burst out laughing while others threw Korn horrified looks, who just giggled. "Just kidding! That stuff should wait 'till we're drunker anyway. Okay, so: Do you have a crush on someone?"

Wai - who had turned a hilarious shade of red - just blushed more deeply, which made a chorus of Ohhh!'s erupt. To everyone's surprise, Wai glanced at Pat, who was oblivious to what was happening, too busy sniffing Pran's neck drunkenly to care. So Wai stammered out: "Uh, remember the girl that recently joined us at lunch, to bring Pat his dorm room keys?"

Korn gasped, clutching his mouth: "Paa?!" A solemn nod was the response. Someone even patted the architecture student on the back, wishing for his heartbreak to be 'swift and painless'. The game commenced. For the next half an hour, they all just goofed around and drank more; throughout the game, Safe had to let Mo use his phone any way he wished for five minutes; Korn had to give Wai a lap dance, Pat had to take off his shirt, and Louis had to spill the beans on his first time having sex. Many other students came to join them - most of whom Pran had never seen before, so he assumed they were from the other participating faculties, wanting to join in on the fun and alcohol, to make their last night at the trip more memorable.

It must have been one of those students that decided to give Pat his next dare when the bottle landed on him.

"I dare you to give the prettiest girl here a kiss on the cheek."

Pran more felt than saw Pat tense up next to him, head shooting up, looking like a dear caught in the headlights. Korn immediately butted in, offended on his friend's behalf: "Excuse you, he has a boyfriend!" The girl's eyes immediately widened as she quickly wai'ed, voice shrill: "I'm sorry! I didn't know! I can think of some-"

"It's fine."

All eyes turned to Pran, who was schooling his expression to the best of his abilities. With a shrug, he elaborated: "I don't mind if he does. It's just a kiss on the cheek." What he didn't say, was: I need a reminder that Pat and I are not a thing. That we're not real, and that whatever we do, is nothing special. I need to recall that this is an act, and no matter how much this hurts me, it'll at least prepare me for when the inevitable happens.

"Uh, sure." Awkwardly, Pat scrambled up and traipsed unsteadily toward the girl that had made the request, as he placed a quick peck on her cheek, before returning to Pran's side. Then it was his side to spin the bottle, and - as fate would have it - the tip turned towards Pran. When the architecture student looked up to meet his eyes, he realized that Pat actually seemed pissed. What the heck?

"I dare you to kiss the prettiest person here."

Pran gaped at him for a short moment and found himself growing increasingly aggravated too. Because what right did Pat have to get angry with him?! This was just a damn game, that no one was too serious about anyway. It was for shit and giggles. Fine, the architecture student mentally declared, meeting Pat's challenge head-on. "Sure", he proclaimed airily, as he turned around to plant a quick smooch on Wai's cheek. Planning to ignore Pat for the rest of the game, Pran grabbed the bottle and spun it without sparing the other a single glance.

Fate must hate him indeed.

Wai probably thought the same, going by his snort; Mo murmured just loud enough for everyone to hear: "Soulmates indeed."

The tip of the bottle had indeed landed on Pat again, therefore nullifying Pran's previous efforts. Not wanting to lose whatever fight they were having, he scowled at Pat, huffing: "You kiss the prettiest person here, then."

Suddenly Pran found it hard to breathe, as lips crashed unto his, effectively cutting off any air. A hand found its way unto his nape, demanding to come impossibly closer, and Pran followed like a moth following the light. His body working on instinct, one of his hands slid into Pat's hair, grasping and slightly tugging, while the other grabbed helplessly at Pat's collar. Eyes closed, Pran felt his skin tingle and his heart beat out of his throat, overwhelmed with the single thought of Pat, Pat, Pat.

Someone coughed loudly.

Coming to his senses, Pran hastily pulled away as he felt everyone stare at them. Someone whistled (it sounded suspiciously like Korn), and their close friends teased without mercy, as Pran tried to catch his breath. His lips were prickling, feeling too hot from what had just happened, yet too cold from the loss of contact. Once their friends had done their fair share of shenanigans, they demanded to continue the game. The impromptu makeout session was soon forgotten, and Pran slipped away when most people got too drunk to notice anyway.

He didn't dare look back, though, just like he hadn't for the rest of the evening since the kiss.

What the hell had gotten into Pat?!

𒊹︎︎︎ 𒊹︎︎︎ 𒊹︎︎︎

I definitely drank too much.

He wanted to kick himself. What had he thought when making that dare? Sure, the kiss felt incredibly, incredibly nice, and a repeat would be greatly appreciated, but the circumstances had been the worst. They needed to talk about this first. What if he had spooked the other completely away now? What if their whole relationship was now on the verge of collapsing just because of his stupid impulsiveness? He was such an idiot. And he needed to fix this. (He needed to get sober first.)

"Pat? You here?"

The engineering student looked up from where he was currently splashing water in his face, to see Wai enter the room they were supposed to share tonight. The guy wasn't even walking straight, as he immediately headed for his side of the bed. Pat wondered how this guy and Pran could be best friends - if it had been him, who threw himself unto the bed with the same clothing that he wore during the day, on the beach, with alcohol involved, then Pran would've kicked him to the floor.

Yet he only grunted in response, as he picked up his bag and placed it on the covers. Sluggishly, he pulled at the shirt he had slept last night in (next to Pran, when they had still shared a room with a partner of their choice, his mind supplied unhelpfully), the action turning out to be way more aggressive due to his annoyance. It was so aggressive, in fact, that not only the shirt got pulled out, but a small, black tube as well, right into Wai's field of vision.

Pat cursed mentally.

Blinking, Wai groggily sat up and grabbed the tube of ink that Pran had used the previous evening to renew Pat's tattoo (he had renewed his own the day of the trip, apparently). Squinting his eyes, Wai inspected the bottle, until they seemingly widened in recognition and surprise. "Is this for Henna tattoos?"

They were absolutely doomed.

Oh god, Pran would kill him. Their parents would kill them. They had only managed to uphold the ruse for a couple of months - that was not enough. Would Pran's mother still send him away? Or worse, now that she would know her son had lied about being soulmates with someone she hated; maybe they would move away, to, to the other side of Thailand, or Singapore, or into the west, so that Pat would stop corrupting her precious son, and he'd never get to see those dimples again, or inhale his scent, or repeat what they had done earlier that night--

Wai snorted as he threw the tube back into Pat's bag.

"You wanted to prank someone or something?" Staring at the other with disbelief, he could only stammer out a quick affirmation, as he tried to get his breathing under control again. Surely not even Wai could be that oblivious?

"Good luck with that, though you better be careful. I tried the same once with Pran when we were in boarding school and had gotten drunk. Drew a dick on his arm when he was asleep, and then we had to go to a doctor the next day, as it turned out that he was highly allergic."

Pat stilled.

What?

As if feeding off of Pat's disbelief, Wai just nodded and continued: "Yeah, it was a shitty night for him. He couldn't even recall half the night afterward since we were still drunk as hell, and I actually had to ask the supervisory teacher to drive us to the hospital in the middle of the night, since I didn't have my motorbike yet. Turned out to not be as horrible as we thought, but his arm was red and itchy for days. I had to beg him to not tell his mother that it was my fault, or else she would've probably forbid me from ever entering their house again."

In drunken oblivion, Wai just kept blabbering about the two years that he had spent befriending Pran; under different circumstances, Pat would've listened intently, willing to soak up everything about Pran's life outside of their bubble like a sponge. Instead, he could only stare at the small tube lying innocently on a pair of shorts, reflecting on everything that had happened these past months.

Could it be?

𒊹︎︎︎ 𒊹︎︎︎ 𒊹︎︎︎

Pran did not mention the kiss once they returned.

Pat would have loved to do it instead, but he had more pressing matters to clear up. And because the bet was still going, and Pat was frankly an amazing soulmate and boyfriend, he obviously - first thing upon arriving back in Bangkok - bought allergy cream and pills. Only then did he put his plan into action (technically, it was a week later after that, but logistics).

"Praaaaan!"

The door finally opened, and Pran let him in, never once meeting his eyes. "Let's make this quick, I've got to finish this presentation tonight." They both knew it was an excuse; they didn't have any more exams or presentations since this was the last week before the end of the semester. Pran was trying to avoid him. Not on Pat's watch, though.

They quickly got to work, as Pran cut open their third tube of ink now, to then proceed to renew the old lines with swift and careful hands. The old ink hadn't even cracked yet - it had never before, since they made another layer every week, just to be on the safe side - as the new one now took its place, starting to dry. When Pran finished, he assessed his work as he always did, pure professionalism on his face. Deeming it alright, he went to cover the open tip to stop it from drying up, but Pat quickly reacted.

"I'll do it!" As he reached out, he specifically grabbed the tube too hard, so that some of the ink squirted out and right unto Pran's hand.

"Ai'Pat! You bastard! You almost dirtied the couch!" Cursing, Pran quickly got up as he inspected the couch for any stains. In the meantime, Pat put the tube away, so he could stare intently at Pran's reaction. Who was still cursing, and went to move to the bathroom.

"Wait!"

Turning around with a glower, Pran raised his eyebrow at Pat's sudden shout. "What is it?"

"I- I think I left my dorm keys in my other pants."

Unimpressed, Pran stared at him. "Go sleep at Korn's, then."

"You know he lives so far away! It's already dark outside! And the ink still needs hours to dry! Would you really let me walk around the city in the middle of the night?"

"Absolutely."

Putting on his best pout, Pat took a step closer to Pran, and then another, so that they almost stood nose-to-nose. Pran's eyes went wild for a moment, then he sighed. "Fine." With that, he sauntered away, leaving a grinning Pat in his wake. Seconds later, the water running from the tap could be heard, then some more cursing. There was a slightly dark blotch on his hand, though Pat couldn't tell if it was the remains of the ink, or his skin color.

With a nod towards Pat's backpack, Pran asked curiously: "What's in there?"

"I got us take-out, from our favorite noodle place." He went to get the plastic bags, not even bothering to hide his pajamas or Nong Nao obviously stuffed hurriedly inside. True to his expectations, Pran pretended to see nothing, and soon enough, they were sitting on his couch, digging into the food. When Pat's excitement kept him from enjoying the silence, he decided to aim for casual talk: "I've thought about joining the architecture play next semester."
The response was a quirked eyebrow and a lopsided grin. "At least you know you're great at acting." Looking the other directly in the eye, Pat questioned: "Am I?"
At that, Pran sent him a questioning look, though Pat waved him off. Now was not the time.

In the meantime, the engineering student kept stealing glances at Pran's hand, which had started to turn redder and redder around the spot where Pat had squirted the ink onto. Once Pran actually started to discreetly itch the area, Pat decided to speak up:

"Can I see my name again?"

"Why?"

"I just like to see it. It suits you."

Pran searched his gaze skeptically, but something must have made him go soft, as he raised his clear hand to lower his collar, exposing the cause for Pat's suspicions.

There, to the right of his collarbone, black lines adored clear skin, looking as mesmerizing as the first time that Pat had seen it. Yet now, Pat felt like he was seeing it for the first time, and everything in him screamed to get closer, to touch, to feel, to appreciate, and to love.

He leaned forward - hesitated when Pran went rigidly still, continued when no further objection followed - and pressed a soft kiss to the cool flesh. Goosebumps immediately broke out over the skin, as a shaky hand found Pat's clean arm, digging its nails into his skin. Pat found he didn't mind one bit.

"Pat."

The other's voice was a hoarse whisper. Pat pressed another kiss over the same spot as before, drinking in the scent before pulling away - just enough so that their faces were now inches apart from each other. "Pat", he breathed again, this time whinier; needier; more desperate. More than anything, Pat wanted to close the gap, so he leaned slightly back, not trusting himself to resist the temptation. Especially not when Pran's eyes were so round and big, pleading.

"We should get your hand treated first."

The architecture student blinked twice, before processing, looking down at his hand, and scurrying back as if his life depended on it. Seeing the fear in Pran's eyes made Pat's heart heavy with guilt.

"What are you on about?"

Seeing how the other had brought as much space between the two of them as humanly possible on the small couch, Pat stood up with a sigh and trudged over to his bag, where he retrieved the allergy cream and pills. On his way back to the couch, he refilled Pran's glass, who was staring at him - bewildered, confused, unsure. Sitting down again, Pat carefully moved Pran's hand unto his lap, where he started to apply the cream. When he finished, he popped one of the pills out of the blister, holding it up for Pran to take with the glass of water.

Pran didn't move one inch.

"Pat, what is this?" His voice was shaky, and Pat stomped down the urge to take the other into his arms. "I gave you an allergic reaction, so I'm treating it now."

"How...?"

"Wai told me during the trip."

With a nod, Pran took the offered water and medication, swallowing the latter. Holding the glass with both hands on his lap now, Pran didn't look at Pat. Pat hated it more than anything.

"So it's a real soulmark?"

The words seemed to awaken something in the architecture student, as he harshly put the glass back onto the table, and then stood up. "Pat, I think you should go back now."

"I really didn't lie about that part! I left them my keys in my apartment, so you'd not send me away." Also getting up, he quickly moved into Pran's line of vision. "Please just tell me whether it's true." There were tears in Pran's eyes. With a start, Pat realized he was no better off.

"If you already know the answer, then why bother asking?"

"I need to hear it from you."

"What do you want to hear, Pat? That yes, you are my soulmate? Or that I've been lying to you this whole time, and using you? That I loved nothing more than to live in this silly little illusion that we've created, fully well knowing that one day, you'll leave? I know that what I did was wrong and that I should have been up-front from the very beginning, but if you care even the slightest bit about me, then please spare me the little bit of dignity I have left and go back to your room. I can't do this anymore, Pat. I can't play pretend anymore."

Pat didn't move closer - yet he also didn't step away. His eyes searched for Pran's, as he pleaded through them for Pran to just listen.

"I may not have your name actually placed on my skin by the universe, but Pran", he swallowed thickly, allowing for the emotions to overtake him, "I don't think you were ever pretend to me. I'm serious about you, and about us, and I'm sorry I couldn't put into words any sooner what my heart seemed to know all along. I like you, I love only you, I'm head over heels for you, and even if it means facing our parents and friends again from the other side, I'm willing to drop all pretenses, as long as you give me a chance, mark or no mark."

Receiving no response, Pat carefully lifted his hands to wipe the other's tears away. A second later, Pran crashed into his arms, holding him tightly. For the first time in days, Pat felt like he could properly breathe again, as he enveloped the guy he liked, careful not to get ink on him.

"You should probably go wash off your arm then, as long as it's not dry yet."

The other's voice came out hoarsely, yet no one commented on it. Instead, Pat found himself giggling slightly, being filled with so much happiness that he couldn't help but to litter whatever he could reach of Pran with kisses. Despite his suggestion, no one moved an inch, both needing the other's comfort and presence to keep each other from bursting with emotion.

° 𒊹︎︎︎ ° 𒊹︎︎︎ °

The fresh layer of ink had luckily come off quite easily. The older ones were a different matter altogether - with the weekly renewal in the past months, no amount of scrubbing would get all of it out. Ultimately, Pat and Pran had decided to leave it be, and just wait out until it faded by itself. At least that way, they could still enjoy the calm before the storm; before the first person noticed the cracks and lack of color-intensity on the rugby player's arm.

"Won't your parents speak up against our relationship?", Pran asked once, while they lay together in bed after an exhausting day, ready to dose off. The question had plagued his mind ever since they decided to let the tattoo wear off, and as he finally found the courage to voice his worries, he gripped Nong Nao tight to his chest.

Feeling his boyfriend's discomfort, Pat in turn pressed Pran closer to his chest, muffling: "I doubt it. Ma adores you, and Paa has always seen you as a second brother. Sometimes I even think she sees you more as a brother than she does me. When it comes to pa..." There was a beat of silence. "We'll have to see. Whatever he says or thinks, it won't make me stop loving you any less though."

Pran gulped. Pat's father's and his relationship had been strained ever since they revealed themselves to be soulmates; it left the architecture student feeling guilty, though Pat had assured him often enough that he wouldn't want it any other way.

Tell me, do you care more for your father than you care about Pran? Sometimes Pran feared what the answer would be - he was grateful enough that his mother had toned down the invasive questions during their weekly weekend dinners.

With his boyfriend's reassurances in mind, Pran managed to fall asleep being slightly less scared of when the ink would fade.

° 𒊹︎︎︎ ° 𒊹︎︎︎ °

In a similar fashion, two weeks passed.

Then three.

When the calendar marked their first-month anniversary, Pran felt his patience wear thin, so he crowded his boyfriend one evening against his childhood room's door, a printed list of research in hand.
"Get it off."
Pat's eyes lit up, before he took notice of the parchment titled '10 Ways To Get Henna Tattoos Off'. He groaned. This would be a long night, and definitely not in the way he had hoped it would be.
Following each tip, Pat tried it all: Salt water soak, exfoliating scrub, olive oil and salt, antibacterial soap, baking soda and lemon juice, make-up remover, micellar water, hydrogen peroxide, whitening toothpaste, coconut oil and raw sugar, as well as hair conditioner.

"Baby!"

The head of his boyfriend appeared in the doorway to the bathroom, one eyebrow quirked up as he held a knife and a bundle of spring onions in his hands. "Do you want make-up in our dinner?" Pouting, Pat raised his arm to point at the name written over his bicep. Now both of Pran's eyebrows lifted into his hairline. "Still nothing?" He looked thoughtful, before adding: "Try harder."

"Praaan. I've been trying for hours now. That's not how I imagined our first weekend back at the dorms as official boyfriends."

A wicked grin appeared on his mean boyfriend's face. "Eh? However else could you have planned this, hm?"

Cooking abandoned, Pat soon forgot what he had even called Pran for in the first place. Only later that night, when the sleeping form of his beloved lay in his arms, did he remember, silently cursing himself out.

Pran had avoided the topic again.

° 𒊹︎︎︎ ° 𒊹︎︎︎ °

Pran wasn't stupid. Quite the opposite: If asked, he'd claim that he was pretty aware of his own feelings, and realistic on top of that. Growing up while being surrounded by tales of how soulmates found each other, a young Pran had to find out the hard way that tales were just that: Tales. It wasn't always as easy as looking out for the signs of first love, of feeling a certain pull to a person and trying to tell yourself that they were the one; to check your body, searching for their name on your skin.

Pran knew this: When he was younger, he had always thought he'd one day feel really comfortable around someone, so the next step would naturally be to check if his feelings were of romantic nature, and if that was the case, he'd check for black ink that appeared - he'd be fine with whoever he ended up with since it would be his fated one after all. When said soulmate turned out to be the neighbor's son, it had taken years for Pran to accept it, and to believe that he could be with his soulmate, even though said soulmate didn't have his name written on his skin.

Because that was the thing with fate: It was undeniably cruel.

There was enough research nowadays to determine that only a small percentage of couples both had their marks. Because having someone's name written on your body only meant that said person was most compatible with you. It didn't necessarily mean the other would bear the same result. More often than not, only one fated person would be found in a relationship - if any - since most people either chose to believe in their gut feeling, or because they grew tired of waiting for the one.

When they had started dating, Pran found that he was okay with that: He had the mark, and Pat had the gut feeling. That was supposed to be enough. That was the only surety that Pran had ever had since the age of sixteen when he first learned what heartbreak felt like. The notion of their dynamic was engraved in his skin and in his mind, and with time, he told himself that it was easier that way.

What if their parents got their way? What if Pran got over-bearing? What if Pat grew tired? He'd always be free to leave. Nothing would bound him to Pran except for his own feelings; and Pran's worldview would not have to be upturned.

But Pran wasn't stupid.

When Pat's tattoo still hadn't faded the slightest bit after one and a half months, he knew exactly what it meant.

° 𒊹︎︎︎ ° 𒊹︎︎︎ °

Pat was someone who loved naturedly.

Sometimes he would look at someone, feel a certain way, and think, Oh. This must be it.

Other times, his love would creep slowly up, and weave its way into his every action and word. It was in the way that 'I' turned into 'We', or in how he would see a couple walking with their dog, and think, 'Pran and I should get a pet someday'; it was in the way he never bought food for a single person anymore, or in how he taped a photograph carefully on the wall, mindful not to crinkle it so they could reuse it once they finished university.

Pat couldn't pinpoint the exact moment that he had started feeling this way. Some of his thoughts he recognized from as early on as highschool (I want to see you smile because your happiness is the greatest source of joy to me); some he only developed once they met in university again (Your dimples are cute, let me buy you food, let me be in your sphere of existence, constantly, forever); and others again, he only discovered once they started to pretend they were dating (I don't want to kiss anyone else but you, I don't want you to kiss anyone else but me, I want your lips on mine, and myself to be yours.)

Maybe his mark had appeared the moment that he first held Pran's hand. Maybe it appeared the moment he pleaded for Pran to tell him he was right about his suspicions.

Maybe he had just renewed the ink often enough to turn it into a permanent tattoo, for all that Pat cared.

But he knew that Pran cared. His adorable, overthinking baby of a boyfriend had always cared, and always would, and Pat wouldn't want it any other way. It used to be difficult for him to read the other boy; it wasn't anymore. Now, he was aware that Pran needed some semblance of control; to have proof, and to get time to think, and to weigh his options, even if the result would always stay the same, no matter how much effort they put into reaching a different outcome. Just like with the way that Pat had to scrub his skin sore when they both knew there was no trace of ink on his skin anymore.

But frankly, Pat was tired of scrubbing, and the money they spent on supplies was better spent elsewhere.

So two months into their relationship, Pat - who had been lounging on the couch, waiting for Pran to finish drawing so that they could go to the new Korean restaurant - suddenly spoke up: "I could get my skin checked, maybe?" His eyes never left his boyfriend, whose movements stilled. Now the choice was Pran's: He could agree so that they would get it black-on-white; or he could brush it off, for them to keep pretending.

The only sound filling the room was of the pencils clinking against each other, as Pran put them back into their boxes. After moving everything into its correct place, he got up and tiptoed to the couch, where he slid in next to the engineering student. Pat immediately circled his arms around his waist, pulling him closer.

"I don't need you to get it checked."

Doing his best to hide his disappointment, Pat nodded and cuddled into his boyfriend's shoulder. With a slight sigh, Pran used his fingertips to push his head back. Frowning, Pat looked up.

"Let me finish, you big doofus. I meant, I don't need you to get it checked, because there is no need. Pat, baby, if anyone knows what it feels like to not acknowledge their mark and hide it from the one they like, then it's me. I love you, and I don't want you to have to do the same, especially since there really is no reason to. You don't need to go soft on me, okay? Especially since I'm probably the only one who could put up with your annoying ass." Pat huffed at that, his grin threatening to split his face in two. "And I'm happy that the universe seemingly agrees with me."

Pat felt like the happiest human to ever exist when he declared: "And I'm also happy that the universe thinks I'm the best at putting up with you."

Then, he quickly added: "And even if the universe didn't agree, I'd fight tooth and nail to be with you."

Pran's answering kiss was enough to convey that he, too, felt the same way.

° 𒊹︎︎︎ ° 𒊹︎︎︎ °