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ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛᴇꜱᴛ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍꜱ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴇɴᴅ
"Open your eyes." "I can't... I'm scared." "You can't afford to be afraid anymore."
Pat meets the love of his life in a dream, and he doesn't ever want to wake up. It's in a coffee shop, where Pat can listen to him sing and play guitar for untold hours.
Pat meets him in a dream.
A simple dream.
Of dimples.
Of him.
Pran.
Pat doesn't know how to approach the boy with the angelic face — and even more angelic voice. He panics at every thought of it, wondering whether he'll fuck it up before he can even say "hello."
So, he doesn't.
He just waits.
For him.
Pran.
The dream's endless; timeless, just like the coffee shop. Books lining the far wall, and the smell of ground coffee beans and sweets so comforting.
He doesn't like his coffee sweet, but he knows that Pran does. So that's what Pat does one day: he orders Pran a sweet coffee.
Oh.
The bubbly server points to Pat at Pran's inquiry, and Pat tries to hide behind his coffee cup as Pran looks over, a curious sparkle in his eyes. He blushes when Pran smiles brightly, raising his takeaway coffee mug in thanks.
Pran is adorable, and so sweet. Just like his drink.
Pat squeaks and raises his shoulders, trying to look smaller. He's trying to hide — and Pat knows that Pran knows, because the singer smiles wider.
But he's not laughing at Pat, no. It's an unbearably fond smile.
And that makes it worse. It's cute.
Pat can't stand it.
Pran slides into the booth with Pat one day, two coffees in his hands, and a shy smile on his face. "One coffee, less sweet."
Pat blinks.
"Oh..." Pran falters, his smile slipping slightly. "Did you not..."
Pat shakes his head quickly to dissuade Pran and takes the coffee.
"Thank goodness. I was worried that you wouldn't want it because I bought it for you."
Pat opens his mouth to speak, but, like usual, nothing comes out. Except a croak. He curses silently.
