Chapter Eleven Rama
Months full of long days of filming slide by.
Sometimes I’m so tired when I leave the studio, I’m forced to take a cab home rather than drive.
I’ve become accustomed to spending all day and late into the evening with Pravat.
I’ve fallen asleep more than once with my head on his shoulder, lap, leg, or arm, and he’s done the same with me.
We’ve learned to take our naps where we can get them.
I’m closer to him than I’ve ever been to anyone in my life, and I know there’s something meaningful to that, but I’m too busy to examine it.
One day, when we’re filming scenes that don’t involve our characters being together, I have the chance to watch Pravat interacting with others.
He’s a naturally affectionate person with everyone, but I note with some satisfaction that he doesn’t pull Aran, Tait, or any of the others onto his lap between scenes like he does with me, holding me there, tapping his fingers on my stomach while he listens to Maha or New.
I miss his comforting presence. I keep having to remind myself how ridiculous that is—that I’m Pravat’s senior, and if anyone should be making the other feel secure, it should be me for him.
But Pravat has more experience than I do, both at acting and in life.
He confided in me one night when we were working late, waiting for a problem with the cameras to be fixed, that after his father died, he’d worked odd jobs to help out his mother and younger siblings.
Then, after he got into acting, he was able to help move them out of their rundown apartment and into a small house.
Two years later, a fire caused by faulty wiring burned it to the ground, taking his family with it while Pravat was a work.
“Ready for your scene?” Nahm asks me, pulling me out of my thoughts.
I nod and follow him to the room set up to be Aran’s character’s dorm room.
Two hours and eight takes later, I’m exhausted and irritable, especially since I know it was my fault we had to refilm so many times. Without Pravat, I’m off my game.
Tida sits down beside me and hands me a bottle of water. I can barely look at her, I’m so ashamed of my performance today.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble before taking a sip.
“No need to apologize,” she says. “I’m here to see if there’s anything I can do to help.”
Picking at a string at the rip in my jeans, I say, “Thanks, but I’m not sure what that would be.”
“Pravat’s still here. Do you want me to get him for you?” Tida offers.
Alarmed, I raise my eyes to hers. “No, don’t do that.”
“Rama. This is your first acting job, and it’s in a bl drama—that can be very challenging for a straight man. Yet you’ve done amazingly well. You should be proud of yourself.”
“I don’t know why I had so much trouble getting that last scene right,” I say.
“Don’t you?” Tida asks knowingly. “For the duration of filming the series, you and Pravat are partners in this—whether you’re filming scenes together or not. If you need him, you should tell him. In fact, I’m surprised he hasn’t already made that clear to you.”
I think back to the many times Pravat’s told me to come to him anytime.
“He has,” I say, face heating when I remember the night I needed him to talk to me so I could fall asleep after a bad day without him. Since then, I’ve tried hard not to be a bother.
“You should go to him, then.”
“He has some important scenes today,” I object. “I’ll talk to him later.”
She gets to her feet. “Remember this: It works both ways. Pravat needs you as much as you need him.”
As I follow her to the main room, my eyes are drawn to the head of shiny dark hair bent over a script at one of the tables. Pravat has been so good to me, but what have I done for him?
Crossing the room, I lightly rest my hand on his shoulder. He looks up at me with eyes foggy from studying before they focus and light up.
“I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever,” he says with a warm smile.
“It does feel that way,” I say, resting both hands on his shoulders and pressing into the muscles between them with my thumbs. “You’re very tense.”
Hanging his head, he groans softly. “That feels amazing.”
I’ve missed touching him like this. Using my thumbs, I massage the tension from his neck, Tida’s words replaying in my head.
You and Pravat are partners in this. If you need him, you should tell him.
Suddenly I stop rubbing and slide my arms around Pravat’s neck, resting my cheek on his head. Closing my eyes, I take a moment to breathe in the scent of him.
His fingers brush my forearm. “Are you all right?”
“I am now,” I say truthfully and feel him relax in his chair.
With that one affectionate gesture, I manage to break down the last of my walls.
Although I’ve been comfortable enough with Pravat to accept physical affection from him, until that moment, I haven’t been comfortable enough with myself to give it back.
Now that I have, my relationship with Pravat has become more meaningful than any other in my life.
And it shows. By the time filming wraps up, we are one of the most popular Y-couples in the business with a bond apparent to everyone.
Every photo shoot, every fan meeting, every interview we do is the subject of speculation on our relationship.
Are we together in “real life”? Even my sister isn’t sure, judging by her insistent hounding.
“You can tell me, you know,” she says for the umpteenth as we sit by the pool at our house on a Saturday afternoon.
I’m watching a video on my phone of a recent game show where Pravat and I competed against three other popular bl couples in a series of silly competitions designed to put us in intimate positions.
This was one of a series of appearances we’ve made in the past few months since filming ended, all leading up to the premiere of the series.
Both naturally competitive, Pravat and I are really getting into the games, going the extra mile to win every time.
I smile as I watch Pravat popping balloons against my back with a lewd jut of his hips.
“Tell you what?” I ask absently, attention still on the video where the host asks us to take turns biting a marshmallow held between the other’s teeth. The couple with the least amount will be the winner. When I take the last tiny bit from Pravat’s mouth, the audience screams excitedly.
“Are you and Pravat a real couple?” Chinda enunciates as though to someone very thick in the head, which would probably be her description of me.
Acting like a real couple with Pravat has become second nature to me.
Last weekend when we went shopping to find Maha a present for his birthday, I found myself reaching for Pravat’s hand.
Before I could correct myself, he laced his fingers with mine.
And he didn’t let go, walking through the aisles of the store for a good ten minutes with our hands entwined.
The warm feeling I got during those moments returns every time I think about it.
“If you’re asking if we’re sleeping together, the answer is no,” I say.
“Are you sure there’s nothing going on between you two, though?
Romantically?” Chinda leans across the space between our lounge chairs to peer at the next video I open.
This one titled Pravma is Real! I’m shocked to see footage from the hand-holding incident in the mall.
I shouldn’t be surprised—cell phone cameras are everywhere—but it still surprises me to be confronted with a private moment on social media to be dissected by the comment section.
“There! Look at that. You aren’t working and you’re holding hands like lovers!” Chinda points at my phone.
Turning it off, I lean my head back and look over the sparkling water of the swimming pool.
“It’s habit,” I say. “We’re just friends.”
“Friends who hold hands and kiss.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Chinda, we don’t kiss unless we’re filming a scene.” I pause, thinking. “Unless it’s fan service.”
“No fan service requires you to kiss on the lips.”
Annoyed, I say, “You act like we’re making out or something. Be serious. Isn’t this what you wanted? For Pravat and me to become a popular Y-couple?”
Slipping on her shoes, Chinda says, “Yes. I’m very happy about it. I was only asking a simple question—no need to bite my head off.” She stands.
“It was a dumb question,” I mumble. “You know I’m not into guys.”
“You’re into Pravat.”
“You’re reading too much into this.”
“When’s the last time you took a girl out?”
“When do I have the time? Maybe you should get your head out of the clouds and concentrate on your studying.”
Sticking her tongue out at me, Chinda gathers her towel and the book she was reading earlier and flounces inside the house.
Pushing my sister and her silly ideas from my head, my thoughts turn to the party Tida is throwing for the cast and crew at a local club to celebrate the first episode of the series being aired tonight.
I’m nervous. This will be much different from a fan meeting or talk show where I can partially stay in character.
No fans will be at the club, only others from the industry. How should I act?
My phone buzzes with a text from Pravat.
Pick you up at 6:30.
I let out a relieved sigh. I’d been dreading walking into the club alone. I type out a reply.
You don’t have to. It’s out of your way.
Just be ready.
What am I going to wear? Scrambling up from the chair, I head inside, shivering when the cold air hits my damp skin.
Having spent his childhood in America, Pah insists on having an air conditioning unit in our home, but I would prefer to do without.
When I get my own house, I plan to have many open windows and doors to allow the breeze to flow through and none of this fake freezing air shit.
“Rama.”
I turn. My father’s standing in the hallway, still in a suit and tie. He must have come home for lunch.
“Chinda tells me the series airs tonight,” he says.
I nod.
“So, after this, you’re free.”
I swallow. “Well, we still have some publicity coming up.”
“Even so, you should be able to take the company internship at the turn of the new year.”
I remain quiet. I still don’t want to take the internship, but with filming over sooner than I anticipated, I don’t have an excuse not to.
“Perhaps this will help you make up your mind: I’ve recently learned next year’s interns will be traveling to New York City to work at our offices there.
I need to know your decision, Rama. If you give up your place on the list, someone else will quickly snap it up.
You’ve had your fun. It’s time to buckle down for the future. ”
I bite my lip. He isn’t exaggerating. Positions in his company are highly sought after and the competition between interns is fierce. And I love New York. Would it hurt for me to take the opportunity? I could at least tell my father I gave it a try and then pursue acting when I return.
“Leave my name on the list,” I say.
A rare smile blooms over my father’s face, and he claps his hand on my shoulder. “Wise decision, Kwang.”
Suppressing a wince at the hated nickname, I escape to my room to choose my outfit for the club.