Rating:

General

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Bad Buddy

Relationship:

Pat/Pran

Tags:

birthdays, canon compliant, pre-slash

Stats:

Posted on:

2023-04-23

Words:

1,719

It was Pat’s fifteenth birthday.

It was the summer between Matthayom 8 and 9, and the noise next door was unbearable, to put it in Dissaya’s words. The sound of kids laughing and running around was unmistakable, and even louder was Ming’s voice shouting every once in a while, like he was trying to make his eldest son’s birthday party a competition. Dissaya scoffed. She was going to take her son and his friends to Dream World in Bangkok next week. She didn’t need to compete with this unnecessary rowdiness.

Up on the second floor, Pran watched the festivities from his bedroom and every so often pretended he wasn’t. He’d always been envious of the pool next door, watching Pat and his sister play and splash each other, up until the lake incident. Now, Pat often tried to goad her into the water, to which Pa would resist, even though her brother tried to convince her that the pool was shallow and wasn’t scary at all.

Pran liked the water. He wanted to play with Pat, help his sister overcome her fear of water too.

The pool wasn’t very big, and could barely fit about fifteen teenagers running around and playing. But it was the pool, it was school break, and it was hot, which was all that mattered. Pat was in blue tropical swim trunks, chasing Nuea with some frosting from the cake they had cut earlier. A few of the other boys from their grade were playing chicken in the water, trying to push each other over and laughing. Some girls sat by the pool’s edge, talking along with Pa, who was cross-legged and enraptured by the older girls.

Pat tapped one on the shoulder, then ran across to the other side as the girl tried to look at him. Pran recognized her: Nan, who Pat had dated two years prior, before she had unceremoniously dumped him. They were still on good terms, though; Pat was on good terms with all the girls he ever dated.

Nan shouted something at him that Pran couldn’t hear from his room. Pat stuck his tongue out at her and both of them laughed.

Pran felt pathetic, going back to decorating his smiley lights. Even if he wanted to go to Pat’s birthday party, which he definitely didn’t, he knew he couldn’t, anyway. Their friends, for one thing. Their parents would never allow it, either. Pat had said last night, “I’m throwing a pool party tomorrow, if you want to try to ask your mom.”

Pran had thought of the look on his mom’s face if he dared to ask, and shuddered. “She would never let me,” he’d said to Pat. “Besides, who’d want to go to your stupid party, anyway?”

He regretted it now, seeing how much fun Pat was having, regardless of how cramped his backyard looked or when the piece of cake Pat was chasing Nuea with finally fell in the water. Pat’s party wasn’t stupid. Sure, he was a whole week older than Pat now, but it would’ve been nice to let Pat know that he didn’t really mind. That their lives being intertwined together inevitably, interchangeably, was something Pran would like to celebrate after another year.

He finished decorating his lights, did some summer schoolwork, and read another book, just for fun. The sun slowly dipped as the party started to end, Pat’s presents unopened inside. Pat’s mom told Pa to help clean up, and then Pa told Pat to help them, and Pat said, “I’m the birthday boy, I don’t have to do anything.” His dad had agreed, but went to help with cleaning, as Pat teased Pa, considered his presents, then ultimately went upstairs, presumably to shower.

Except then he was climbing through his window, still in nothing but his swim trunks, catching Pran’s eye and grinning as he scaled across the rooftops. Pran looked at him with alarm, but Pat was faster—his hand caught at the side of Pran’s window before he could close it, and he said, “Hi Pran!”

“What are you doing?” Pran hissed. Below them, he could hear Pat’s family talking amongst themselves.

Pat pouted. “You won’t let me in when it’s my birthday?”

Pran realized his mistake: he should’ve never left his window open at all. Pat was going to use that as an excuse for everything for the next who-knew-how-long-he-wanted-to-bother-Pran. “Ugh, fine,” he said, and made space for Pat to slip into his room.

Pat landed on his floor with an undignified thump, but when his mom called up, “Pran?” he just shouted back down, “I dropped something!”

Then to Pat, who was shirtless, with so much golden-brown skin everywhere, dappled in the afternoon light, water droplets on his chest, his pecs, running down his abs and nipples—

“Pran?” said Pat.

“Huh?” Pran snapped his gaze back up to Pat. Fixed his mouth into a line. “What do you want?” he said, as nonchalantly as he could.

Pat gave him a little grin. “You know what I want,” he said slyly. “Don’t you have a present for me?”

Pran folded his arms. “Who would have a present for someone as sucky as you?”

“C’mon, you don’t have something for your phi?” Pat asked, and giggled when Pran just scrunched his nose at this. “Pran, Pran, nong Praaaan. I’m fifteen now, you have to have a present for me.”

“You got all those presents at your party,” Pran said, nodding his head toward the window.

Pat didn’t even call him out for knowing. All he said was, “Yeah, but I want a present from you.” He poked at Pran’s cheek and Pran scrunched his nose again.

“Ugh,” said Pran, but moved to his bed to bring a large platter out from underneath it. The year before he’d saved up for Pat to get drumsticks, which he’d later claimed to his parents were a present from one of his classmates (not technically a lie.) The year before that Pran had simply given him a black eye, which Pat had told his parents was an accident (one could say he “accidentally” fell on Pran’s fist.)

Pran had told his mother earlier that he wanted to learn how to bake, and she’d been ecstatic to help him. Her specialty was her flower cookies—they were always perfectly crisp and not too sweet, just how Pran liked them. He knew Pat liked sweets that weren’t too sweet too, so it seemed like the perfect thing to make. He didn’t have much money to buy anything that Pat wouldn’t already get from his friends or family, so cooking something was the next best thing.

Pat’s eyes lit up when he saw the cookies. “Kanom dok jok! You made this for me?” he said, sitting on Pran’s bed.

Pran joined him, and pushed the plate at him. “If you have room for it,” he said to Pat. “You ate all that cake earlier.”

Again, Pat didn’t call him out for knowing, instead rubbing his stomach and saying, “Suddenly I’m starving!” Pran uncovered the plate and Pat took the first cookie, biting into it and making a satisfied noise. “Mm, it’s so good,” he said to Pran. “Who knew you could cook?”

“I can cook a lot better than you,” Pran sniffed. He took a cookie of his own, because there were simply too much for Pat to eat on his own; but he wanted there to be enough that Pat wouldn’t complain.

Pat laughed. “That’s not much of an accomplishment, friend,” he said, before taking another cookie. He was crunching loudly, and when Pran made a face at him, grinned and crunched louder. “What?” Pat said, through his chewing. “It’s my birthday, I can do what I want.”

“You definitely can’t,” Pran said, taking another cookie.

They were getting crumbs everywhere, but Pran could clean that up later. Even though some of them were dropping onto Pat’s chest, which he was trying not to follow with his eyes. Pat chewed happily, like he could eat the whole plate himself, even though he wasn’t protesting that Pran was helping.

About four or so cookies later, he put another one into his mouth and then faced Pran with it.

Pran stared at him. “What?”

Pat batted his eyelashes at him. “Want some?” he asked.

Pran did not know how to respond. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again.

“Absolutely not,” he said.

“Aww, Pran.” Pat dragged the cookie into his mouth to munch on it, then grabbed a new one to bite out. “Your cookies taste extra sweet in my mouth. Don’t you wanna try?”

“I thought you liked it less sweet,” Pran couldn’t help himself from saying.

“That’s right!” Pat said through the cookie. He ate this one too. “But I don’t think the sweetness is from the sugar.”

“You’re a psycho,” said Pran, handing the plate off to Pat. His ears and neck felt like they were on fire, coupled with sitting so close to Pat’s bare chest. “You should go home. You can return the plate to me later.”

“You’re no fun,” Pat said with a frown. He held out a cookie to Pran, and after a second of deliberating, Pran took it. “I’m looking forward to whatever you have for me for my next birthday.”

Pran rolled his eyes. “Sure,” he said, but he was smiling, dimples bubbling up his cheeks.

Pat turned to leave through the window, cookies in hand, but looked at Pran expectantly. “Are you forgetting something?” he said to Pran.

Feigning ignorance, Pran crossed his arms in mock thought. “Am I forgetting something…?”

“Pran!”

“Fine, fine,” Pran said, as he went to shut his window. “Happy birthday, Pat.”

Pat beamed at him. “And happy early birthday to you too,” he said, before slipping down the roof, skin warm and golden in the sunset. Pran watched him go, wondering if one day they could celebrate properly together, eating cookies and cakes and splashing each other in the pool without a care in the world.

(Several months later, Pat watched as Pran was pulled off the stage, out of his grasp, to go far, far away with his bedroom window more dark than not.

They wouldn’t see each other for the next three years.)