Rating:

Teen

Category:

Gen

Fandom:

Bad Buddy

Relationship:

Pat/Pran

Tags:

canon compliant, found family, outsider pov, post-canon

Stats:

Posted on:

2023-07-17

Words:

9,469

Summer, 2023

The next time the boys come is six months later, which Tong takes to be their next semester break. Before his sister had Junior, it was easy to lose track of time, falling only through the rhythm of the fishing seasons—the beginning of the year, the middle of the year, then the end. Then it’s calendar spring again, and a full year’s passed. He and Pian and Yod and everyone else in the village keep track of time by the tides, the fishing seasons, when it would be better for them to wake earlier in the morning or stay out later in the evening.

University boys don’t think of such things. Neither do elementary school boys, as Junior’s been let out for break as well; Tong’s pretty sure he was on the first bus out as soon as his school bell rang. Junior’s helping him lug fishnets back to the house when he sees a red car parked outside, and Pat and Pran are there, bickering and nudging each other.

Tong presses back a smile. “Look who’s here,” he says to his nephew, who glances back and then nearly drops the bag of fish they’re carrying, the weight shifting in Tong’s hands. “Junior!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Junior says hastily, readjusting his grip.

Then to the boys: “P’Pat! P’Pran!”

“Junior!” Pat bounds over, picking up the bag of fish easily from him; he nods at Tong, signaling for him to let go. Tong’s not going to protest getting a uni boy to do all the work for him, so he grins and hands it off.

Pat hoists it all in one hand. “I think you grew taller,” he says, indicating Junior’s height with his hand.

Junior laughs and scratches the back of his head. “You’re exaggerating.”

“No, I think he’s right,” says Pran, coming up to them, slower. He and Pat look good, Tong notes—healthy, happier than last time. Tong’s taken to a habit of noticing how the students that come by for camp seem to be—especially these two—though he can’t tell his sister, or else she’ll say she told him so for never having kids.

Tong smiles at Pran. “And how have you boys been?” he asks.

“Good, uncle,” Pran says, as Pat challenges Junior a race back to the house, with Pat lugging the fish on his shoulders. Junior accepts it and they start running, and Pran smiles after them. “How about you guys? How’s the village?”

“Not any worse without you guys around,” Tong says to him, and Pran laughs under his breath.

–

Like before, Tong offers the spare bedroom in his house to them; Pat and Pran don’t even have to ask, this time. He could draw it out, except the boys look happy and comfortable enough—more than last time, at least—that Tong’s has suspicions that if he didn’t offer, they wouldn’t ask and instead book a hotel room to themselves, which is more than fine. But Tong wants extra help around the dock, anyway.

And he likes their company, especially for Junior.

Pat and Pran take the spare bedroom together gratefully. In the morning, they come out to the docks to help them fish, five minutes early. They both look well rested, Pran with a slight limp in his step. Tong looks away so they don’t see him smiling; the salty sea wind hits his face, and even though it’s cloudy out, he can feel the sun’s rays shining through.

“You boys again,” says Pian, chuckling as they trudge through the sand. “Good, we could use your help. Can one of you untangle the nets?”

“I will,” volunteers Pran. He climbs up on the bench, and Pian starts to show him how they navigate the woven plastic.

Pat looks to Tong. “What should I do?” he asks.

“The tide’s coming in, so we should start on our first lure of the day.” Tong hands him a net, and Pat takes it with practiced ease. “You remember how we did it last time, right?”

Pat chuckles. “A little.”

“Ah, you’ll remember in no time.” Tong’s already taken his shirt off. He grabs a bucket of bait, then nods Pat over. “Come on.”

They go to the sea, a few other men joining them. Tong knows his sister always loved the ocean too, playing pirates on the sand, both of them daring each other to go further and further into the ocean before their parents called them back. Sometimes he remembers his sister is stranded on land, in the city, and feels a little guilty—that he could live out their dreams, while she’s stuck in the real world. But, he was the one who wanted to get away from the real world in the first place. Didn’t want it to make him someone he wasn’t.

These boys have the luxury of both. For now—Pat’s a natural when it comes to fishing, tossing the net out after Tong throws out the bait, holding fast onto the handle, dragging it in at just the right time. Tong helps him toss the fish into a cooler, as the rest of the men net along with him. Pat looks at home, free; he had last time, and Tong remembers him asking Yod to work at the bar. He never expected them to stay, but Pat does look happier here, unrestrained.

“How long are you and Pran staying here?” he asks Pat, when they’re taking a break. He hands Pat a bottle of Oishi Green Tea, and Pat accepts it gratefully.

Tong adds, “Not that I’m wanting you to leave anytime soon. Just curious.”

Pat laughs and takes a drink. “A couple of weeks, if that’s okay, uncle?”

“Good,” Tong says, and claps his shoulder. “You boys take your time here—it seems like you like it.”

“Yeah.” Pat drinks again, swallows. “Yeah, we do like it. It’s… easier.” His eyes turn thoughtful.

Tong watches him, patient.

Pat sighs, shakes his head. Then seems to change his mind and turns back to Tong.

“You know, what you said last time,” he says.

Tong shrugs. “I say a lot of things.”

Laughing again, Pat says, “Okay, fair.” He gets a faraway look in his eyes, and Tong knows not to pry—Pat says what he wants, when he wants to. “When we were here last, you said that you can’t change the world as one man, but the world can’t change you as one man, either. I’ve been thinking about that a lot, lately.”

Tong vaguely remembers saying that, but doesn’t interrupt.

“Pran and I.” Pat sighs, again, this one so deep-seated it’s like he’s expelling something from his body, taking off a mask, a layer. Allowing himself to be exposed. “We’re not together.”

Tong nearly startles with surprise.

Pat smiles at him. “According to our family and most of our friends,” he adds, and Tong breathes out a sigh of relief. “According to everyone except for a few of our friends. And,” he glances at all the fishermen around them, who Tong knows are pretending not to eavesdrop, “everyone in this village.”

“Something about it, hm?” Tong asks.

Pat shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so,” he says. “It’s just a place we’ve chosen. A sanctuary where we can be ourselves. Where we don’t have to change—or pretend to change.”

To his own surprise, Tong feels his throat well up, and he beckons Pat forward. “Oh, Pat,” he says, and Pat, surprised, bends down into his embrace. “Come here.”

“Uncle, you sound like you’re crying,” Pat teases, as Tong wraps him in a hug. Pat’s only been here a few times, but he belongs here as much as anyone else. He and Pran do. “Oh, Uncle Tong, don’t tell me I made you cry.”

“You did no such thing,” Tong chokes out into this boy’s ridiculously large shoulder. “Grown men like me don’t cry, be serious.”

“I am, I am,” Pat laughs, but rubs at his back anyway, grinning a bit when they pull away and Tong wipes at his eyes with his scarf. “Ocean water, huh?”

Tong sniffs. “You know it,” he says, taking his glasses off to wipe at his eyes, before putting them back on. “You and Pran—stay as long as you want. Come back as often as you want. My home will always be open to you.”

He doesn’t know what their situation is—doesn’t know if the world doesn’t want them to be together, if they’re supposed to be with other people, like someone of the same gender, pretend to be strangers or enemies or friends. Doesn’t know if their family has a lifelong rivalry, generational trauma, meant to be at odds in every single aspect of their lives, despite what they want and who they love. Doesn’t know who they are outside of this village, and doesn’t care—as long as they keep coming back, to be who they are here.

Pat stares at him for a moment, then blinks. Smiles.

“Will do, Uncle,” he promises.

–

It’s like last time, except Pat and Pran have an actual suitcase and don’t need to borrow clothes from him anymore. They wake early with him to help him at the dock, eat breakfast, dawdle on the beach—Pran asks to borrow Tong’s guitar again, which Tong has decided to just keep for him, as a secret—while sometimes Pat offers to help with lunch. In the evening, they go to Yod’s bar, and the boys help him there while Tong drinks and watches. He should do volunteer camps more often, he thinks, he didn’t know university boys could be like this. Then again, Pat and Pran are one of a kind.

He has another camp program he’s preparing for in the fall; high schoolers, and when he tells the boys over drinks later, they both look sorry for him. Tong laughs. “I’m used to it,” he tells them, waving them off. “There’s nothing a teenager could do to hurt me.”

“What if we came here as teenagers?” Pran says to Pat thoughtfully.

Pat gives him a little grin. “You think we could’ve sped things along?”

Pran whacks him in the leg. “I didn’t mean about that,” he says. “I think the eco stuff would’ve been fun.”

“I’d still kick your ass at the tie-dye shirt contest.”

Another whack. “No, you wouldn’t have.”

“I don’t recall hosting a tie-dye shirt contest,” Tong says thoughtfully.

Both boys look at him, caught, embarrassed. Tong smirks.

“We made it a competition,” Pat says, which Tong knew; they hadn’t been very good at hiding it, during the architecture camp, trying to see who could dye their shirt faster. “I won, of course.”

“You cheated,” accuses Pran.

Pat sticks his nose in the air. “You didn’t say I couldn’t take your rubber bands.”

“If I did, how would that even be a fair fight—”

–

On their last night—they had told Tong a few days in advance—they go to the bar as usual. Tong’s not surprised when Pran slips away to ask Yod something, then several seconds later is climbing up the stage, guitar in hand. Tong glances at Pat, but Pat doesn’t look surprised either.

Pran speaks into the microphone. “Hi everyone. Um, I don’t know if you remember me,” and he smiles a little, embarrassed. “But I wrote another song, and I wanted to share it. And Uncle Yod said it would be okay…” He glances back, and Yod gives him a thumbs up.

Pran continues: “It’s a song written from the perspective of the person I love. I know that I can be hard to love—at first—” and Tong notes Pat laughing into his beer “—I’m stubborn and quiet and I always keep my walls up. But the person I love, he managed to break those walls down. And he doesn’t even rub it in my face, most of the time.” Tong laughs along with everyone else. “He just loves me, and knows that sometimes I want to keep myself a secret.

“So,” Pran says, and strums a chord on the guitar. “This song is for him.”

Pat puts his beer down, like he knew this was coming. Maybe Pran had played it for him before, maybe he’d shown Pat the lyrics. Maybe he only told Pat what he was writing about, and nothing else.

But there’s an undeniable love between them, an adoration in Pran’s eyes that Pat returns, glimmering like they’re the only two souls in the room. Tong doesn’t feel like an intruder; he feels like the lucky audience.

And Pran starts to sing:

“So what if you catch me looking at you?
Isn’t it you who looked at me first…”

 

 

Summer, 2024

Pat and Pran start coming back during their semester breaks; they’re studying at South Tech University in Bangkok, they’d mentioned in passing, and Tong checks the school schedule online and marks the beginnings and ends of their breaks in his calendar, which no one asks about. Pran offered to exchange numbers with him during their winter break, on their last night when they were drinking and playing cards on the back porch, Pat looking halfway to passed out. Tong had lied and said that he didn’t have a phone; he’s pretty sure Pran knew, anyway. But he likes the spontaneity, the surprise, especially when he has an excuse to ask them to stay longer.

The end of the year had been slow: Junior had homework over semester break, and his mother hadn’t let him come visit Tong until he finished it all, which he didn’t. Tong missed him, even though he knew schoolwork came first. When Junior called him on the phone and cried about it, Tong told him that if he did well, he could graduate and they’d celebrate in the summer. His sister had thanked him, later, since that had apparently gotten Junior to take his studies a bit more seriously. Tong told Pat and Pran and they laughed; Pat told him stories of him and Pran competing for academics when they were young, and both consistently getting top marks in their classes. When Pran asked Tong how he did, Tong said that having a good memory for that sort of thing wasn’t his strong suit.

In the summer, Junior graduates from elementary school. He comes to the seaside a little later than usual—apparently three separate friends of his had graduation parties—and when he does, Pat and Pran greet him with a giant teddy bear that Junior says he’s too old for.

“I told you we should’ve just gotten him a video game system,” Pran says to Pat.

Pat pouts. “I don’t know what kids like these days!”

Junior grabs the bear in his arms, hugging it anyway. “You’re getting old,” he says primly, before marching into the house. “Hi Uncle,” he greets Tong at the door.

Pat gapes after him. Pran is laughing at him, covering his mouth with his hand.

“Did he just call me old?” Pat says indignantly.

Pran straightens his face and shrugs. “Well, you are older than me.”

Pat turns to him. “Pran,” he whines. “Are you really going to be mean to your Nong Pat like this?”

Pran quickly shushes him and glances at Tong, but Tong’s already turning away and going back inside. The boys can have their privacy if they want. And say whatever they want, too. Tong doesn’t have to hear it.

They throw a celebration dinner for Junior’s graduation, even though Junior insists he doesn’t need it. “I’m not a kid,” he says, as Pat rushes him into a seat and Pran serves Junior his food, with an extra portion of rice and the tenderest part of the fish.

Pat says, “Yes, you are. And you can call me Uncle Pat from now on.” Junior giggles, but Pat looks pretty pleased with himself anyway.

Pran scoffs from where he’s serving out the rest of the rice. “No one’s calling you Uncle,” he says to Pat.

Pat comes over to him, gets close into Pran’s space. “Are you sure about that?” he asks in a low voice.

Tong pretends he doesn’t hear them. “Don’t worry, I know you’re not a kid,” he says to Junior, as Junior obliviously eats his dinner. “That’s why you’re coming to the docks with me at six in the morning tomorrow, hmm?”

Junior hastily shovels rice in his mouth, then wipes it off with his hand. “Oh no, I’m so messy,” he says, in a feigned whine. “Guess I am still just a kid.”

Tong laughs and ruffles his hair.

–

Pat’s hair is long; he hasn’t had time to cut it, apparently. Pran absently cards his fingers through Pat’s locks, as Pat helps Junior get a head start on Matthayom 1 homework. His mother, to at least Tong’s horror, had given Junior workbooks for the summer to get a head start. When he told Pat and Pran, they’d just looked at each other and shrugged, and Pat said he used to do workbooks during the summer all the time.

Maths is the subject that Junior struggles with the most, so Pat had suggested that they tackle it first to get it out of the way. It’s also the one he’s better at, even though Pran insists that he’s plenty good at math, too. “Who got higher scores in school, though?” Pat had said, and puffed out his chest. “Who’s the Engineering major?”

“Who’s an annoying idiot?” Pran had countered, and flicked his boyfriend in the nose.

Pat had said, “Hey!” and Pran had kissed his nose afterward.

Now, he seems lost in thought, running his hands through Pat’s hair as Tong strides over to them. Tong has nothing better to do, so he asks, “Mind if I join you?”

Pran startles. “Oh!” he says. “Yeah—Uncle, do you want the chair?”

“No, no, it’s fine.” Tong likes the sand, being able to feel all the grains underneath his feet. He feels like them, sometimes—it’s a reminder that he’s an infinitesimal being in the universe, born to exist, bound to pass. Just a spot, barely graspable, in something much larger than himself. The sand slips through his toes and his fingers as he rests back on it, each grain touching and going as he sinks in, letting it flow out and over him.

Pran watches him, as Tong settles. “Do you think you’ll ever return to the city?” he asks Tong, after a moment.

Tong looks up at him with surprise; he had not been expecting that. “Me? No, never,” he says. “This is my home.”

Pran looks wistful. “Yeah.”

With Pran, it’s like there’s always something on his shoulders—when he’s with Pat, it lightens, disappears sometimes, even. Not as a distraction—but that otherwise, Pran remembers everything else too much. But when he’s around Pat none of that matters anymore, whether he and Pat are being affectionate over food or sniping at each other over board games.

Tong doesn’t know if Pran’s realized that Pat is his home yet.

Instead, he asks, “Why? Was there somewhere you were planning to go?”

“No,” Pran says almost immediately. He glances at Pat, but Pat seems too engrossed in teaching Junior algebra to notice. “I’m not going anywhere. Just… sometimes I think about returning.” His fingers tighten in Pat’s hair, imperceptibly.

Tong chuckles. “I’m afraid you’ve lost me, son.”

Pran hastens to duck his head down, looking embarrassed. “Sorry,” he says.

“No, it’s fine.” Tong looks out to the sea. It wasn’t like he knew, deep in his bones, that this is where he’s meant to be. It’s that he made it somewhere where he wants to be, where he’s decided to stay. “I go to the city sometimes, you know,” he says to Pran. “My whole family’s there. It’s not like I’ve cut myself off.”

“Oh.” Pran looks genuinely surprised at this.

Tong smiles. “But I know that as many times as I visit, no matter where I go, no matter how long I leave…” He takes a deep inhale of the ocean breeze. The salty air, the smell of fish drifting from the docks, the residue of a candle lit the night before. All of it is familiar, and every day Tong wakes up thinking about what he’s going to do in the morning, knowing the rest will follow.

“I know I’ll always come back here,” he says to Pran.

Pran nods, lost in thought. He looks at Pat at his feet, his fingers still in Pat’s hair. When his rhythm slows, Pat blinks at him: a question. Pran smiles and sifts his hand through his locks again, and Pat smiles back, before saying to Junior, “Now we solve for x…”

“You’re right, Uncle,” Pran says to Tong. Pat tilts his head into Pran’s hold, and Tong can tell that Pran notices, by the dimple in his cheek digging a little deeper. “It’s easy to come home, isn’t it? When you know this is the life you love so much.”

“Exactly,” says Tong, beaming with pride. “No matter where I go, or whatever changes, as long as I’ve chosen my home, it’ll always be there for me.”

Pran looks down at Pat again. Smiles.

“Yeah,” he says. “I know.”

 

 

Summer, 2025

During the school year, the boys send him a video with the message, Enjoy!! which Tong squints at, until he clicks play and sees the title cards: A Tale of a Thousand Stars, performed by students of the Architecture and Engineering faculties of South Tech University. Junior’s over for Songkran, and Tong suspects that the boys might’ve expected that. He pulls the video up on the projection screen, and he and Junior watch the play, a love story that Pat and Pran are playing the main characters of.

When it’s over—and they kissed, which surprised Tong, and filled him with a happiness he couldn’t name—Junior turns to him.

“Wow, P’Pat and P’Pran are really in love,” he says.

Tong ruffles his hair. “Who told you?” he asks. “Aren’t you supposed to think love is for crappy adults?”

Junior rolls his eyes and huffs like kids do. “I’m twelve, Uncle, I’m not a kid anymore.”

“Alright,” Tong says with a laugh. He looks back up on the projection screen; they’d paused at the curtain’s close, Pran and Pat’s silhouettes visible in the red. “Do you want a love like theirs?” he asks Junior.

Junior shrugs. It’s to be expected, when Pat and Pran have the kind of relationship where they want it as badly as the other, that they’re willing to fight for it. And, as Junior had said, he’s only twelve.

Tong thinks about the architecture camp. “Do you remember when they weren’t like this?”

Junior tilts his head up, crinkling his nose in thought. “They weren’t like this before?” he asks.

“Don’t you remember? It was—” Tong counts on his fingers “—three and a half years ago, when they first came with their school. We went to the market together.” The tension between them had been fraught, but Tong had left them to it; both were the presidents of their faculties, he’d been told, so he’d just trusted that they would sort themselves out, and he minded his own business. They’d gotten along better than he initially thought, anyway, after the market trip and after they’d helped get his car moving and washed off at the beach. He hadn’t expected them to end up as a couple, of course, but it didn’t come as much of a surprise either.

Junior looks like he’s trying to think again, then shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe,” he says, and Tong ruffles his hair again. “It’s just hard to think of them as not in love, you know?” He glances at the screen again, Pat and Pran’s shadows tipped into each other that they almost look like one.

Tong thinks of them bickering in the backseat of his truck, teasing each other over the Canon Pixma printer, their unspoken tie-dye t-shirt competition all those winters ago. Of Pat and Pran showing up nearly a year later with nowhere else to go, hands so close that they could be in each other’s pockets, following each other to the beach and bar and the fishing dock every day, bright and bruised and happy.

“You’re right,” he says to Junior, and ruffles his hair again. “Let’s watch the movie again, shall we?”

–

This time before Pat and Pran come for the summer, Pat sends Tong an email:

Hi Uncle!

We wanted to let you know that we look forward to seeing you and Junior this summer again ):) Would it be okay if we brought over four friends?

Hope you guys are doing well!
Pat & Pran

Pran sends a follow up message from the same email shortly afterward:

Dear Uncle Tong,

We forgot to mention that our friends would need three additional beds, but two beds would also be okay, depending on what is convenient for you.

Hoping you and Junior are staying safe.
Pran & Pat

Tong doesn’t have four spare bedrooms, but he does have two guest rooms and a living room, and his own bedroom, which Junior is all the more happy to share with him if he’s meeting Pat and Pran’s friends. Tong replies back to both of them with the details, and Pran sends back that the arrangement sounds great, and gives Tong the dates. Tong marks them in his calendar, then he and Junior start moving some of his things from the guest room Junior was staying in to Tong’s room.

The friends Pat and Pran bring along, crammed into Pat’s car, are two boys and two girls, spilling out of the backseat as soon as they arrive. One girl, the shorter one, is saying, “I’m driving on the way back, I’m not sitting in the back again,” and Pat replies, “Like hell you are, it’s my car.” Tong and Junior are waiting outside, Junior visibly excited and trying to look aloof.

The shorter girl had already started walking towards them, huffing, but stops when she sees Tong and Junior. “Oh, hi,” she says, turning embarrassed suddenly. “I’m… you’re… this is… ?”

Tong smiles at her and waits for her to continue, but the girl blushes and turns to the taller girl behind her, hiding her face in her chest.

The taller girl strokes her hair. “Hi, Uncle Tong, and Junior, right?” she says, nodding at them each. “I’m Ink. This is my girlfriend, Pa.”

Pa waves her hand from where she’s still hiding her face in Ink’s shirt.

Pat comes over with a small suitcase and sighs. “Pa’s my sister,” he informs Tong and Junior. “They’re—we’re—this is supposed to be a graduation trip.”

“And it’s still a graduation trip!” says one of the boys who’d come along with them. Tong vaguely recognizes one of them, but not this one: a squirrely looking boy with thick eyebrows, holding his backpack over his head. “We’re real adults now!”

“I don’t think you’ll ever be a real adult,” says the other new boy—and Tong squints at him, and remembers how he recognizes him.

“Wai?” he asks.

Wai turns to him, surprised. “You remember me?” he asks Tong.

Tong lets out a little laugh, and folds his arms across his chest. “I remember every student that passes through here.”

“That’s not true,” Junior says, and Tong elbows him.

Regardless, Wai looks pleased. He and Pat help Pran out of the car while Pran insists, “I’m fine,” and Pat says, “You were complaining about your legs being asleep,” while Wai picks up his tote bag at the same time. Tong decides not to comment on it.

He claps his hands. “Well, welcome to my house, everyone!” he says.

Junior throws his hands up. “Ta-da!!”

“I wish you’d said earlier that you guys had graduated so I could’ve gotten something for you from the market. A cake, maybe,” Tong says thoughtfully. “I’ll have to go back down—”

“We’ll go,” Pa and Pran volunteer almost immediately, and then glare at each other. Tong suspects that Pran met himself and Pat, and Pa meant herself and Ink, and almost laughs again. Wai and the other friend look blissfully unaware.

“Well, you guys sort that out,” Tong says to Pa and Pran. “Anyone else want to help me out with dinner? There’s a lot of mouths to feed.”

As they enter the house, Tong gives them a brief tour of the bathrooms and the kitchen and tells them to help themselves—he did stock up earlier for all of his guests, though he had no reason to think he’d need a cake. He shows everyone the guest rooms and the living room and they start to get settled in; Wai and the other boy, who’d introduced himself as Korn, decide to take the living room, and Tong helps them rearrange the coffee table and couch so that they both have enough space to sleep.

“I’m sleeping on the couch, by the way,” Wai says to Korn.

Korn pouts at Wai. “I thought we could cuddle together,” he says.

Wai shoves a pillow into his face. “In your dreams,” he says. “Uncle, do you have any blankets?”

Tong tells them that the blankets and sleeping bags are in a closet in the hallway, and Wai and Korn race to go grab them. Just as they leave, Pat comes out with Pa and Pran in tow, and says to Tong, “Uncle, all three of us will go to the market for cake.”

Ink pokes her head out of the room. “And leave me here alone with those two?” she says, gesturing into the hallway where Wai and Korn are bickering over blankets.

Pat sighs at her. “Well Junior and Uncle Tong are here.”

“No, she’s right,” Tong says, as Junior watches all of them argue with each other, delightfully entertained. “How about you and your sister go?” he asks Pat. “Some nice sibling bonding, don’t you think? Pran, you stay here and help me cook. I need your recipes again.”

Pran and Pat give each other longing looks; even Ink and Pa seem reluctant to separate, and Tong restrains himself from making a comment about young love. But then Pran says, “I’d be happy to, Uncle,” and Ink asks, “Can I help too?” and Pat and Pa are discussing what cake flavor they should get as Tong leads their partners away into the kitchen.

Korn and Wai find them later, but Korn opts out of helping—”I’m useless with food that doesn’t just require a microwave,” he says seriously, which Tong is inclined to believe—and instead shows mobile games on his phone to Junior, who has stars in his eyes with every new one Korn introduces to him. Tong will have to give his sister a heads up later.

Ink and Wai are perfectly capable of helping him cook and set up food along with Pran, though they don’t seem very inclined to conversation with each other; Tong decides not to question it. Instead, he asks Pran, “So are all of you graduating this summer?”

“Oh!” Pran says from where he’s skinning the fish. He’s improved a lot over the years; Pat has, too, but still works the knife rougher than he should. “No,” Pran answers, sliding the knife down gently. “Pa is a year younger than us, and the architecture program—for me and Wai—” he nods to his friend “—has five years. So it’s just Pat, Korn, and Ink.”

“Well, still,” Tong says, after shutting off the sink. He puts the washed bok choy in a bowl, and starts pulling the sprouts apart. “Congratulations to all of you. Especially to you,” he adds to Ink, who smiles at him gratefully. “What did you study?”

“I study photography,” Ink replies, and Tong lights up, because he’d been thinking of ways to advertise the village more and if she didn’t have a lot lined up right away (a grad school program that doesn’t start for another six months) he would love to work with her.

By the time Pat and Pa come back with the cake, they’ve mostly finished making dinner: soup, vegetable dishes, two large fish, and rice, set in the middle of the table. The cake goes in the refrigerator and then they figure out seating arrangements; Tong doesn’t have enough chairs, so they make do with stools and benches they locate around the house, circling under the pavilion with their rice bowls and chopsticks in hand. Conversation is lively and noisy, with Tong congratulating Pat and Korn on their graduation as well—”All good grades, I hope?” he asks, and Korn says, “Good enough to graduate!” Pran says, “Don’t ask Pat, you’ll give him a big head because he graduated summa cum laude,” and sounds more proud than anything. Ink and Pa feed each other shrimp, and Wai does the same to Korn until he shoves it up his nose, and Pran says, “Don’t you think about it,” to Pat before he can even ask. They all offer Junior something of the closest dish next to them and Junior doesn’t say no until his plate is overloaded and he shouts, “Can I just eat, guys?” and they all go quiet, stunned, before bursting into laughter.

The ocean waves crash on the beach behind them. Tong can’t think of the last time his house was so loud, full of life, full of love and people sharing with each other, stories and food and laughter, not even during the camps he’s hosted.

After dinner, Pat and Korn bring out the cake, cutting it into even slices before they each grab a piece, look at each other, and smash it into each other’s face. Tong barks out in surprised laughter.

Junior does, too. “Hey!” he says, and then turns to Tong. “Uncle, can I do that?” he asks.

Tong shrugs at him. “Why not?”

And before Junior can do anything else, Korn’s taken the plate out of Junior’s hands and shoved it into his face, too.

Junior laughs and laughs and Pat’s picking at the cake on his own face before saying to Junior, “I’m gonna get you!” and starts chasing him to the beach, Junior shrieking, both of them with bits of frosting and cake flying off their faces. Korn’s turned to Wai, who’s holding his piece protectively towards his chest; Ink and Pa are eating cake and talking by themselves, ignoring the others. Pran’s watching his boyfriend chase Junior around with amusement, shouting out, “You can get away from him, Junior!”

Junior can’t; Pat catches up to him eventually, grabbing Junior from around the waist and bringing him back, under his arm like a sack of potatoes. “You ran so fast,” he says to Junior as he comes back up. “You could be a track star when you grow up.”

“You still caught me though,” Junior grumbles. He’s licking bits of frosting off his fingers from his cheeks and nose, so he doesn’t look that unhappy.

Pat lets him down and Junior goes for another piece of cake, after glancing at Tong, who nods.

Pran goes to his boyfriend and swipes a finger down his face, getting cake residue and licking it off his finger. “You and Korn are idiots,” he says.

From where he’s now talking about some Korean pop music with Pa, Korn calls over, “You know it.”

Pat bats his eyelashes up at Pran. “Feed me some?” he asks, and Pran sighs long-sufferingly; but there’s love in his gaze, too, and he forks over a piece of his cake and feeds it into Pat’s mouth.

Junior’s still there, eating and watching with amusement. Tong is, too, and Pran seems to notice after a moment, coughing self-consciously. “Uh, so,” he says. “Junior, how are you doing in school?”

Junior starts eating cake quicker from his plate then.

Pat laughs. “What, my tutoring didn’t help?”

“I’m fine at math,” Junior says, not meeting any of their eyes. “It’s just that some of the other subjects… English…” His voice drops to a mumble.

Pat hits Pran’s shoulder, and Pran goes, “ow,” and rubs it, glaring at his boyfriend. But Pat just says, “You should’ve helped out, too! This is your fault.”

“It’s fine, I don’t care anyway.” Junior puts his plate down, a resolute look on his face. He had this expression last time he argued with his mother, too; she and Tong had thought that by now Junior would get bored visiting him during breaks all the time, but Junior is no less excited than before.

“It’s just English,” Junior continues. “If I don’t think I’ll use it, why should I learn it?”

Pat and Pran glance at each other; they’re probably not the best to answer that, both evidently used to being the top of their class. But Tong’s attempts at talking to Junior hadn’t quite worked, either, because Tong had never been too good or cared much for schoolwork, so his trying to get Junior to care was futile as well. It’s what his mom wants for him, though, and Junior should try to stay in school this young, at the very least.

“Well,” Pran says kindly. “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

Junior takes a sip of water from his paper cup. “I don’t know,” he says.

To Tong’s surprise, Pat pitches in then. “He has a lot of time to figure it out, Pran,” he says. He swipes a frosting-covered finger on Junior’s face, and Junior says, “hey!” but he’s laughing.

“You have a long time to think about it,” Pat tells Junior. “You don’t have to know what you want all the time.”

“Yeah, but he should have some idea,” says Pran.

There’s a strange undertone in their dialogue—and especially when Pat looks at Pran again, a flash in both of their eyes like this is a conversation they’ve had before, even if not necessarily with Junior.

But Tong doesn’t want them to get into it right now. It’s supposed to be a night of joy and celebration, especially with Junior oblivious between them, eyeing another slice of cake. Tong clears his throat.

“Did I tell you boys that we watched the video you sent me?” he says loudly. “I think I’ve seen it nearly five times now.”

Both Pat and Pran light up at this, following his change of topic. “Oh?” Pat asks. “What did you guys think?”

“It was awesome!” Junior exclaims, before Tong can get another word in. “You guys looked so cool! You’re just like movie stars.”

Pran laughs, taking another bite of his cake. “We’re not movie stars,” he says.

Pat asks, “I could get a career in acting, don’t you think?”

“Junior wanted to watch it all during Songkran,” Tong says. “Then when he went home, he wanted me to burn it to a DVD so he could watch it at home. I don’t know how to do that.”

Both boys laugh at him. “I could get him a copy, if you want,” Pran says. “Well, Pa can—she’s the one who put it together.”

Tong nods, and Pat says, “Hey, Junior, who do you think was better in the play? Me or Pran?”

“Umm.” Junior glances between them, then swipes his hands in the leftover cake on his plate. “Oh no, my hands are dirty. Guess I’ll have to go inside and wash them.”

“Junior!” Pat calls after him, and Tong and Pran laugh at him as the waves crash onto the sand in the distance.

–

The days are long in the best way: Tong often wakes up first, Junior snoring beside him, and makes breakfast in the kitchen. He’d tried to be quiet on the first morning, but after discovering that both Wai (on the couch) and Korn (spread-eagled on a sleeping bag on the floor) sleep like the dead, he decides that he can be as noisy as he wants; both of them are usually the last ones to show up at the fishing dock, anyway. Tong had expected some comment from any of Pran and Pat’s friends about them working at the fish dock during summer break, their graduation trip, but every day the six of them show up without complaint, eager to learn and help the village out.

Tong doesn’t make them work all the time; it’s their graduation trip, after all. They go to the market, sometimes in groups or pairs. Pran starts to help Junior with his English; and then when Junior expresses interest in the guitar, offers to teach him that later, too. Ink and Tong scout out the best parts of the village to photograph, to advertise both online and in person. Pa collects shells, and makes necklaces for everyone. Korn takes to fishing; and when Tong takes them out to Yod’s bar for the first time, Korn and Wai and Yod start talking about the technical aspects of owning a bar in the country, which Tong writes off as indiscernible business talk—he’s just here to have a good beer.

They’re scheduled to stay for two weeks. Afterward, Pran tells Tong, they’re going to meet up with some friends up north, in the mountains. Tong can’t imagine being so landlocked so he tells them to have as much fun as they can without the sea. Junior asks them if they’re going to Phu Phan Dao, like in their play, and Pat says yeah, they’re even friends with the teacher and the chief from the play, and Junior looks starstruck and asks him to get their autographs.

Pat asks, “Don’t you want my autograph?” and Korn says, “Dude, if you ever get famous in the future, I’m selling every towel you’ve ever put sweat on.”

“Pran would buy all of them,” Wai says without hesitation. Pran, practically sitting in Pat’s lap, doesn’t deny it.

Then they spot Tong’s raised eyebrows, looking pointedly at Junior, and they quickly change the subject. Blissfully not participating, Pa and Ink commentate about the drama on the TV in the background.

On one of their last nights here, after a day of gallivanting on the beach and in the ocean and doing nothing else, Tong’s sweeping up the sand in the house when he passes by Pat and Pran’s room; and he hears Pran say, “I still don’t think it’s a good idea.” Tong slows with the dustpan. If anyone were to ask, he’s absolutely not eavesdropping.

Pat’s voice comes clear through the door. “And I told you not to worry, Pran,” he says, insistent. “It’s fine. It won’t matter in a few years, anyway.”

“But it’s your dad.” The way Pran talks about Pat’s father has an undercurrent of disgust. “Are you sure you want to—”

“It’s what’s easiest,” Pat says, cutting him off. “He expects me to, and even though I haven’t seen him in a while—”

“You haven’t even gone home since you graduated.”

Silence. Tong stays still with the dustpan and broom out on the porch, as the tide rolls in.

“I’m going home when we’re done,” Pat says. His voice is thicker now. “Don’t worry about me, okay? I’m sure he’ll be happy that I’m finally doing something he wants again.” But his tone is bitter, and Tong almost wants to walk away now, from intruding on a moment he’s not privy to.

Pran says, “Working with your dad isn’t going to be easy.”

“Easier than doing anything else since I’ve done it all my life. Plus, it’ll pay well,” Pat says wryly. His voice is clear again, strong. “You should be thinking of all those international programs you’ve been talking about, Pran. Not my dad.”

“I just want you to be happy.”

“I am happy,” Pat says fiercely. “In a few years, my boyfriend’s going to be some famous architect and make more money than I can dream of, and I’ll quit my job because he’ll buy me whatever I want and we’ll adopt three children and live together forever.”

Pran’s laugh is bright and watery and sounds through the door. “We’re adopting three children?”

“If you don’t get me pregnant first,” Pat says, and Pran laughs and laughs.

Tong shuffles away quietly and continues sweeping up sand, heart a little fuller, a little lighter. The door to Ink and Pa’s room is closed as well; in the living room, Wai and Korn are passed out in their usual positions, Wai’s phone dangling from his hand. Tong puts it on the coffee table for him, then when he’s done cleaning, puts everything away and gets ready for bed.

University boys grow up too, and Pat and Pran are no exception, blossoming before Tong’s eyes when he wouldn’t have expected this a few years ago. Their lives entwined with Tong’s doesn’t feel like luck, but a change Tong would’ve welcomed at any other time they stumbled upon his doorstep. It’s not about fate, or blessing, or anything bigger than the world. It’s about Pat and Pran choosing their futures, choosing each other, and choosing, every summer, to come here. And, Tong knows, it’s about him choosing to let them in, every time.

 

 

Summer, 2026

The project with Ink goes so splendidly that when Tong’s on the phone with her about it, he hears a crash in the background and then Pa’s voice going, “Tell him about the movie offer, P’Ink!”

“Movie offer?” Tong asks.

Ink laughs into the phone. “Yeah, the directors at Pa’s internship saw my photos and now they want to shoot a movie in your village too,” she says.

Overwhelmed, Tong leans back on the couch, putting a hand to his forehead, and says, “Wow. Let me think about it.”

“Of course,” says Ink. “But you’re doing all the partnerships with the schools that contacted you, right?”

“Already emailed them back,” Tong tells her.

Working with Ink is a breeze, even though neither she nor Pa (or Wai or Korn) come to visit the next summer. This time when the red Toyota stops outside of the house, only Pat and Pran step out, more relaxed than ever.

Tong comes down from the front porch. “You seem to be missing a few people.”

“I don’t believe at all that you miss Korn or Wai,” Pran says, though he’s wrong; both had been a huge help at the dock and the bar, and Tong had found it funny when he’d accidentally drop the cooking spoon when making congee and neither of them would stir from their sleep. “It’s just us this time, Uncle.”

“And it’s your graduation too, right?”

“Yes,” Pran says, pleased, and makes a surprised little noise when Tong pulls him into a hug of congratulations.

“Good job,” he says in Pran’s ear, patting his back.

Junior comes out then, saying, “Uncle, where did you—Pat! Pran!”

“Junior!” both of them say, and Junior runs down for a hug, still shorter than both of them.

Pat pushes him back after his hug and gives Junior a funny look. “How old are you now? Ten?”

Junior laughs. “Aren’t you supposed to be good at math?” he says, and Pat wraps him into a headlock.

“It’s just as loud with only the two of you,” Tong tells them, and they both grin as he leads them inside.

–

Over dinner, Pran tells him and Junior about getting into an elite internship in Singapore with a well-known architecture firm—”Wow!” says Tong. “That’s impressive. Congratulations again, Pran.”

Pran beams at him. “Thank you, Uncle.”

“It was the one he wanted the most,” Pat adds, also looking proud. Then he reaches for his boyfriend’s hand across the table. “Even though it means you’ll be away from me for two years,” he says, putting on a somber tone.

Pran rolls his eyes, but takes his hand anyway. “It’ll be over before you know it,” he says, and Pat smiling back at him tells Tong everything he needs to know.

Junior asks, “Where’s Singapore?”

Eventually, the conversation leads to Pat talking about his work for the past year, too—his father runs a materials company that Pat’s been helping out at, traveling a lot and managing clients. “My dad and I don’t really get along,” Pat tells them honestly, fiddling with the chopsticks in his rice. “But at least this way I don’t have to interact with him as much.”

Junior looks thoughtful. “I don’t see my dad much, either,” he says; his father and Tong’s sister had separated when Junior was young. “But I don’t really know if I miss him. He visits me, sometimes.”

“You don’t have to know if you miss him,” Pat says. “It can be complicated.”

Junior shrugs. “I guess,” he says, before grabbing another piece of fish to put in his bowl. Tong puts a piece of bok choy in too, and Junior scowls, but doesn’t protest.

Tong says, “I wish I could offer you a job somewhere around here.” He knows not to, as Pat seems sure of himself enough that even if Tong insisted, he knows that Pat would say no.

And like he thought, Pat smiles at him gratefully but shakes his head. “Thank you, uncle,” he says. “I think working with my dad will tide me over for now. But maybe when Pran’s done with his internship, we could move out here and build a house on the beach.”

“That sounds like a great idea,” Tong says.

Junior looks excited. “Yeah! You guys studied architecture and engineering, didn’t you? You could make your own house! That would be perfect!”

Pran says, “Now let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” but he doesn’t seem too displeased at the idea, his fingers winding around Pat’s.

–

The next day, Pat and Pran reveal that they had brought their graduation gowns and want Tong to take pictures of them. Tong is all the more happy to, getting them to pose on the boardwalk as they stand proud next to each other, even though Pran points out more than once that Pat graduated the year before. Then they decide to swap gowns, Pran in Pat’s blue and Pat in Pran’s red; the sky is overcast but bright as the tassels in their caps fly in the breeze. Junior comes over to photobomb them, then they make Junior and Tong pose with them anyway, and then they lift Junior up and carry him, shouting with delight as Tong snaps as many photos as he can with Pran’s phone.

Tong asks Pran to send him a copy later, and Pran asks him, “Do you want me to email them?” and Tong says, “No, just text me,” and gives Pran his phone number. Pran positively sparkles with joy.

Even though they’ll be separated in a few months, even though Pran will be in an entirely different country soon enough, neither he nor Pat look troubled, or in a rush—more like they’re taking their time together, because they know how things will play out. They don’t look at each other too long over food, and they volunteer to do separate tasks while fishing. Pat helps Junior with his homework, while Pran assists Tong in the kitchen.

One afternoon, while Tong’s setting up lunch, waving Pran away—he’d decided on something simple—Junior looks up as Pran comes over to the table to cling to Pat from behind, and says to them, “I need help.”

Pat cranes his neck so he can glance at Pran, who peeks down at Pat as well. “Oh?” Pran says.

Junior takes a deep breath. “I think I—” he starts, then shakes his head. “What if I—” He cuts himself off again.

Meeting Pran and Pat’s eyes, Junior asks, “How do you know if you like someone? A friend?”

Tong’s so surprised he drops a spoon, clattering into the serving bowl. The three boys look at him. “Sorry, sorry, ignore me,” Tong says hastily.

Pran turns back to Junior. “Is it a close friend?”

Junior seems reluctant to answer at first. Then he nods. Tong’s a little offended Junior didn’t ask him first, despite the fact that Tong is technically partnerless and Pat and Pran are the closest thing in his life as an example of a functioning relationship, even though they’ve surely set the standard high. Tong understands it, too, a clear sign that Junior is growing up. These feelings must be new for him, and he might not be sure what they mean.

“Well,” says Pat. “Pran and I have been close friends since we were born, but I didn’t know I was in love with him until I was in uni.”

Junior’s mouth drops open. “Really?”

“We weren’t ‘close friends’ since we were born,” Pran says, elbowing Pat.

Pat grins at him. “We were pretty close.”

“You were the one who said you didn’t want to be friends.”

“You did?” Junior asks with surprise.

Pat doesn’t even look embarrassed. “Well, I didn’t,” he says to Junior. “I wanted to be more than friends. But I didn’t know until I got jealous.”

Pran, still clinging to Pat’s back from behind the chair, scoffs into Pat’s cheek. Pat says, “Really!”

“So you have a crush on your best friend?” Pran asks Junior, ignoring Pat.

Junior fidgets, then nods. “I think so,” he says. Tong doesn’t react, even though he knows Junior’s best friend is a boy; Junior had told him stories about their sleepovers before, how every anime they watched together was so cool, how he was willing to go back after summers now because of him. Suddenly, a few things make a lot more sense.

“Well, I knew I liked Pat because I couldn’t stop thinking about him.” Hearing Pran saying that so freely makes Tong immeasurably proud, and he turns away so they can’t see him smile. “And I know I still like Pat because I still can’t stop thinking about him.”

“And you call me the gross one,” Pat says cheekily.

Pran smacks a kiss onto his face. “You are the gross one,” he tells Pat. Then, to Junior, “And I got jealous, too. I wanted to write every song about him. I didn’t want to open my mouth, sometimes, because I was afraid I would say how I felt about him at any moment.”

After a second, Junior says, “I wish I could fall in love like you guys.”

They laugh, and Tong does too, under his breath.

“We hope you do,” Pran says, and Pat turns around to peck him on the lips.

–

It’s the last night they’re staying here this summer, and Tong is on the porch swing with Pat, Pran and Junior further down the beach where Pran is teaching Junior guitar. Pat and Tong are watching them; Junior says, “My fingers are too short!” and Pran replies, “Your fingers are nearly as long as mine.”

The sky is a rust-over blue, the village close enough to the city that the polluted air is evident even down here. It never feels like it, though, far away enough and simple that the oxygen almost feels clean. They’ve lit candles and placed them on the edge of the porch, promising Junior he can blow them out before they turn in for the night. Tong doesn’t think about the future much, usually, just today, and then the next morning.

But right now, he’s thinking about the next summer.

“Pat,” he says, and Pat tears his gaze off Pran to turn to him. “I know Pran is going to Singapore soon, but you boys better keep visiting me, alright?”

Pat’s caught off-guard for a moment. Then he beams.

“Of course, Uncle,” he says.

Tong gives him a stern look. “Promise me,” he says. “Junior’s growing up, too. And I don’t know if I’m going to rent out your room to anyone else ever again.” He hasn’t, not for years. He’s started to think of it as Pat and Pran’s room, and years ago he never would’ve thought it would come to this—but Tong has much love to offer as Pat and Pran have between themselves. This, he knows now.

And Pat’s laughing, but his eyes are serious as he reaches out his hand and says, “I promise, we’ll keep coming back.” Tong shakes it, then laughs at himself too; and then Pran and Junior look at them and Pran calls up, “What are you laughing at?”

Pat calls back down, “It’s nothing!” but Tong thinks to himself, no, this is everything.