Call It What You Want (BounPrem-Reimagined)

xii

I think I've been going insane. I mean, not literally. Mentally, sure but- what? I don't know. Does that even make sense? I don't think it makes sense. I'm not too damn sure anymore.

To keep Fluke off of my tail, I sent him a rough draft of a portion of my book. It still needs so much polishing here and there; a handful of revisions, but I guess that was enough to shut him off for another week or so.

Anyway, I decided that I was getting tired of my office's atmosphere so with a tired but determined mind, I decided to change the setting a tad bit (also, it's Saturday today, which means that nobody is entitled to bother me the entirety of the day). Showering at six-thrity am and brewing fresh coffee to help my mind start working, I decided to bring my laptop and some papers in the pool area, setting the papers and pencil on the chair that I dragged beside my lovely hammock, me sitting on the comfortable thing with my laptop resting on my lap, of course.

Living with Prem has been okay. He started working at Fluke's bookstore about six days ago, which was, and still is, a huge relief on my part. Don't get me wrong, I still care for him and all that but I just couldn't help this unsettling feeling that I developed when I found out that he basically lied to me about his age. I mean, I get that he possibly told me a fake age because of privacy reasons but he basically lives in my house now, couldn't he trust me enough with such simple information about him?

Coming to think of it now, I basically don't know jack shit about the guy. Sure, he opened up a bit to me before about his family but other than that, our conversations were mostly dense and mindless.

"Good morning." Speak of the devil.

"Morning." I greeted back, looking at him briefly and sending a very small and hesitant smile as I momentarily took my gaze off of the screen of my laptop.

"This is a different set-up." He commented, dragging a chair so that he could sit near me, not too close, maybe a couple of feet away from my stuff and my hammock. I just mumbled a small sound, indicating that I heard him - or whatever that sound means, I don't care too much.

I could not help but to feel so weird around him. This is the first time in the entire week that we just sat and talked. When he was working, I could manage to dodge any chance of him and I sitting and just jumping in a casual conversation but today is not like the previous days since it's his day off of work and just my luck, he seems to be a morning person, too.

"What're you up to?" He asked, seeming genuinely curious. I really did not intend to look at him but somehow, my eyes unconsciously drifted up to him. Seeing him with that look of innocence really knocks me right back to that illusion that he is just an eighteen year-old teenager. Having that thought back in my head makes me feel weirder now. I looked back down to the screen in front of me.

I sighed to myself, shaking off all the weird feeling that I could shake off of me, "Writing, same old same old."

I saw him nod a little although I'm not looking directly towards him now. To be honest, I'm just dragging my cursor around, trying to look for something that would occupy me and my mind - take them away from this guy beside me.

"Um, have you eaten?" He asked, trying to prolong the obviously dense and weird conversation. I know that he feels the weirdness that built up between us - I mean, it's too obvious. Anyone could sense it, if they are to see us.

"Just coffee." I said, shrugging a little.

"Boun, is everything okay?" He asked, clearly throwing the question out in the open.

I shrugged my shoulders, making it seem like this entire encounter doesn't make me nervous off of my own ass. "Yeah."

"No, really. You've been distant lately. Did I do something wrong? I'm sorry." He said in one breath, making me look at him in.. Awe. It's weird, I know. But Prem just looks so innocent and pure and inviting. And did he just apologized?

"I- okay, just listen," I breathed out, closing my laptop and setting it on top of the small stack of papers on the chair beside my hammock. I sat down as properly as I could considering the space and material of where I am situated, closing my eyes for a moment before shaking my head and looking at the guy who is now sitting in front of me with his doe-like eyes staring straight at me. "How old are you?" I asked direct to the point. There's no more point in beating around the bush, right? It has been bugging me for almost a week now so might as well just put it out there.

"Twenty-three." He answered, his eyebrows knitting together, as if curious as to where I'd be heading with this conversation. And I know for sure that I mimicked his facial reaction. How could he seem so calm and sure about this? Can't he remember that he told me that he's only eighteen?

"Yeah, I figured that one out through your resume that you submitted to Fluke." I explained further, which only resulted in him looking at me weirdly, nodding slowly as if telling me to continue. "You told me that you're eighteen. Remember?"

"I did?"

"Yeah. While we were in the club.. When you were.. You know." I mumbled, trying as best as I could to refresh his mind. As if on cue, something clicked inside his head, making him smile a little, a flash of relief appearing on his pale face.

"Oh, shoot. That's what I normally tell my customers." He shrugged his shoulders, looking nonchalant.

Scrunching my eyebrows I asked, "Huh? What?"

"It's a thing, y'know? Like, guys who go there are usually fond of younger boys, y'know? Like, it's a kink thing." He chuckled lightly, nodding his head at his own statement as he looked at me, awaiting for my response to that little speech that he just gave me.

"Oh?" I nodded, trying to wrap my damned head around it. I'm still confused, though but what the hell, right? What did I expect, really? For him to be straight-up honest with his age with me? I wasn't anyone special so why the hell was I expecting for him to trat me differently and.. Special?

"Yeah. I'm sorry. It must've slipped my mind." He shrugged, seeming genuinely relieved that we finally got over with this conversation. "Is that all?" He queried after a few seconds of me just staring at the concrete underneath our cold feet.

"Yeah.. I guess." I mumbled, really unsure. Was that really it? Was that my only issue about him - about everything? I don't know. Prem Warut is my current definition of confusion. He intrigues me and I want nothing but to figure out everything about him. I don't want to seem like a creep so I've been stopping myself from asking too much curious question but the thrill of it all - the mysteries, they just add up to his charm, really. I know that I am over-thinking everything but I can't help it. Every time I over-think the smallest thought of him, the worst keep spilling from my head to my fingers as my book slowly puts its pieces together.

I've never been this inspired to write before.

"You know that I trust you, right? I really, honestly, genuinely do, Prem."

"Yeah." He breathed out, the dull light coming from the early morning sun reflecting through his bright eyes. "And I hope you know that I couldn't even begin to thank you for that - for everything."

I nodded, feeling this weird thing go up to my chest. "I just - what else is there that I should know about you?"

Suddenly, this confident and nonchalant aura that naturally radiates off of Prem went out with a wisp of breath, his head shaking, silently telling me that he has nothing to confess anymore. Although it's such a simple and silent response, something inside of me suddenly believed him. I know that I can trust him.

He looked down on his lap, looking all shy and pink. "I just- thank you so much." He spoke in such a small voice. "Thank you."