rain in your heart - patpran

21.

Pat stirs the pot of porridge, the soft bubbling filling the quiet tent. He glances over at Ink, who is standing beside him, handing him ingredients one by one, her movements calm and assured. The sunlight filters through the windows, casting a warm glow over the kitchen, and everything feels easy, peaceful- despite the exhaustion that has sunk into his bones. Pran is asleep in the bed, obscured from where they’re standing in the kitchen- his scent now softened and less sweet as his heat temporarily wanes.

Ink watches Pat closely, a soft smile on her lips. “You seem different lately,” she says, her voice gentle as she hands him a handful of herbs to toss into the pot. Pat looks at her, a question in his eyes, though his hands move automatically, stirring the herbs into the mixture. “Different?”

Ink nods, her gaze drifting towards the bedroom. “Happy. You look happy, Pat.” Her voice is light, but there’s a depth to her words, something knowing in her tone. “Not that you seemed sad before this, but you’ve just never looked this happy before- this satisfied.”

Pat chuckles softly, his gaze following hers. His heart feels full, warm in a way that he hasn’t experienced before, a contentment that settles deep in his bones.

“Yeah,” he admits quietly, a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips. Just the thought of Pran does that to him. “I am.”

Ink’s smile only widens as she watches him, her eyes bright with something like pride. “I’m glad,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “About the two of you. About your decision to mate.”

Pat stills for a moment, the words hanging in the air between them. It’s something that had felt inevitable in the way that sun rises and sets. It’s not out of obligation or expectation- it’s out of something deeper, something that pulls at his heart every time he looks at Pran.

“I’m glad too,” he says, his voice soft but certain. He stirs the pot one more time before pulling it off the heat, the scent of the warm porridge filling the tent.

Ink leans against the counter, watching him quietly for a moment. Her expression shifts slightly, curiosity flickering across her face. “Pat…” she starts, her voice careful, tinged with a question.

“What would you do if your destined mate shows up? What if…” She trails off, her smile becomes less cheerful- more serious. “What if they’re out there, waiting for you? The way you’ve been waiting for them all this time?”

The question hangs in the air for a moment, and Pat feels a flicker of something in his chest, a memory of the dream he’s had too many times to count. His destined mate, the blurred face, the voice he’s never quite been able to place. The soft touch of fingers against his cheek as he kneeled on the ground- begging for forgiveness.

He doesn’t even hesitate. “I’d choose Pran,” he says, his voice steady, sure. He turns to face Ink, meeting her gaze with a certainty that surprises even him. If he’d been asked this a month ago, he would have been conflicted. But now? Now he knows he’s sure. “I’d choose him every time.”

Ink’s smile softens, her eyes warm with unbridled joy. “No second thoughts?”

Pat shakes his head, his gaze drifting back to the bedroom. Pran is probably curled up, furs covering him entirely from head to toe as he breathes softly. Pran always runs cold, after all, despite being in heat.

“None,” he murmurs, more to himself than to Ink. “It’s Pran. Of course I’d choose him. Always.”

Ink watches him for a moment longer, her expression thoughtful, before she reaches over and gives his arm a gentle squeeze. “Then that’s all that matters,” she says softly.