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Pran was stretching out on the couch when his peaceful afternoon was ruined when he heard Pat yelp out in pain from the other room.
It took no time at all for Pran to get to his feet, quick as he could be without breaking into a run to get to the other. Once at Pat’s side, he pulled his boyfriend’s finger from his mouth to examine it. There was a small gash on the side of Pat’s finger, not too deep but still bleeding enough that it couldn’t be ignored.
Silently, Pran made his way to the bathroom to dig out their first aid kit before returning to the other, opening and finding what he needed to treat the wound without looking, years of practice making it easier than riding a bike.
Pat exaggerates his flinches when Pran starts to clean the cut, who doesn’t find it amusing at all.
“So,” Pran sighs, “What’d you do?”
Pat sends a glare over to the guitar strings that are sitting on the table next to a pair of wire cutters, his guiltily dropping his head when he looks back to Pran.
“I was trying to make a ring but it snapped back after I cut it and got me.”
Pran pushes air out his nose in an amused laugh, having to fight off a smile when he spares a glance at his pouting boyfriend.
“Out of a guitar string?”
Pat huffed loudly, hissing when Pran put a bit more pressure on the cut.
“Okay, hear me out— I was listening to my queen and the song was about making a ring out of a guitar string! I thought it was cute and wanted to do it for you…”
Pran’s expression doesn’t soften but his heart does lurch a bit.
“Blaming Canadian Pop Singer Carly Rae Jepsen? I don't think that’s what a truly devoted fan would do.”
Pat’s free hand flies up to shove Pran at the shoulder; pout even more petulant, gaze hard and brow furrowed.
“Pran! Don’t question my loyalty!”
“Alright, alright,” Pran shook his head, exasperated yet fond. “I don’t think I know the one you’re talking about, sing it for me?”
Pran shifts slightly to open the bandaid as Pat clears his throat as if he were going to belt it, but chooses to serenade Pran in a gentle, sweet voice. Not the annoying one he usually pulls out in the car, much closer to the one Pat uses to soothe Pran after a bad day.
“You were here, and then you left. Now there's nobody, nobody. Now they're all just second best. There's nobody, nobody,” Pat starts, grinning brightly at his boyfriend.
“So if you want me, I'll be around. You're a bird in the water, I'm a fish on the ground. Just hold me closer… Oh, won't you hold me down tonight?”
Pran carefully wraps the bandaid around Pat’s finger, bringing it to his lips to give it a light kiss that makes Pat melt.
“But if you cut a piece of guitar string, I would wear it like it's a wedding ring! Wrapped around my finger, you know what I mean? You play my heartstrings—”
The world stopped for Pran.
“Shut up, Pat, shut up!”
“Whaattt,” Pat whined “My singing that bad?”
“No,” Pran grips Pat’s hand tightly. “What was that lyric?”
“You play my heartstrings?”
“No, the start of that verse.”
“But if you cut a piece of guitar string,” Pat mumbles through his words with haste “I would wear it like it’s a wedding— oh fuck! I ruined it!”
Pat’s posture crumbles, harshly pulling his hand out of Pran’s hold to drop his head into them, the heel of his palms pressing into his eyes.
Pran just stared as Pat’s fingers reached up to twirl in his hair and tug slightly.
“Were you…” Pran starts, his voice so small that Pat had to strain his ears to hear “Were you really thinking of proposing to me? With a guitar string ring?”
Pat nods his head, still hidden in his hands.
“Hey, hey, Pat, come on… Look at me.” Pran reaches out to Pat’s face, coaxing it upwards. His boyfriend was still smiling even though his eyes looked hesitant.
“Pat…” Pran takes a breath, but his heart keeps racing “You want to marry me?”
In any other circumstance, the comical way that Pat’s jaw dropped would have made Pran snort. But right now, Pran felt like he was going to fucking die if Pat didn’t hurry up with answering him.
“Is that even a question?!” Pat sounds offended, and Pran has no idea why.
“Of course it is!” Pran’s voice cracks a bit, insecure like he was as a teen.
“Pran,” Pat says sternly after a moment, taking Pran’s hands in his own hand and giving them a squeeze “I’ve wanted to marry you since before we started dating. I just wanted to…y’know, make it more special than… This.”
Pat starts to deflate when Pran just stares at him and opens his mouth to apologize again but is unable to get any words out because suddenly Pran is kissing him, hard. It’s all teeth and tongue and desperate; and only when an embarrassing whine emits from the back of Pat’s throat does Pran pull away— but he doesn’t go far.
“The answer is yes,” Pran says, breathless, eyes searching for the way Pat lights up “But get me a real ring, please.”
Pat’s beaming, heart so light that he felt like it would float off and take him with. He nods enough to make himself dizzy, forcing Pran to grab his face again to pull him in for another long kiss.