R U MINE 2NITE?

and   yes,   the   hate   is   still   there.   it   lingers   in   his   chest   like   smoke,   thick   and   bitter,   reminding   him   of   betrayal,   of   years   wasted   bleeding   alone.   but   under   it,   beneath   it,   something   stronger   pulses.   love   that   never   truly   left.   it   has   always   been   stitched   into   his   skin,   etched   into   the   beat   of   his   heart.   and   now   that   beau   is   here,   close   and   unavoidable,   cassius   can’t   lie   to   himself   anymore.   the   fury   makes   him   bite   harder,   kiss   rougher,   but   the   truth   is   in   the   way   his   mouth   won’t   let   go.   his   body   betrays   him,   clinging   to   the   one   person   who   could   both   ruin   and   save   him   in   the   same   breath.

when   the   ropes   fall,   when   freedom   brushes   his   wrists,   instinct   screams   at   him   to   run.   there’s   a   flash   of   thought,   sharp   as   a   blade:   leave,   betray   him,   get   out   before   it’s   too   late   again.   his   mind   whispers   escape,   but   his   body   refuses.   instead,   his   hands   find   beau’s   hips,   gripping   tight,   dragging   him   down   onto   his   lap   until   their   chests   press   together.   the   decision   is   made   without   words—   cassius   chooses   to   stay,   chooses   to   burn.   and   the   way   his   mouth   catches   beau’s   again,   ferocious,   unrelenting,   is   proof   enough   of   what   he   really   wants.

the   kiss   consumes   him.   it   does   things   to   his   brain   he   can’t   fight,   unravels   every   defense   he’s   rehearsed.   his   thoughts   scatter   into   heat,   nothing   left   but   the   rhythm   of   their   mouths   crashing   and   breaking,   finding   each   other   again   with   the   urgency   of   years   lost.   he   kisses   like   a   man   starved,   like   someone   who   doesn’t   know   how   to   breathe   without   this   taste.   his   hands   travel   from   beau’s   jaw   to   his   waist,   sliding   under   fabric   until   his   fingers   brush   bare   skin.   the   warmth   there   is   electric,   a   reminder   that   beau   is   real,   alive,   still   his,   no   matter   how   much   time   or   distance   tried   to   erase   it.

cassius   lets   him   feel   it   all—   the   tremor   in   his   touch,   the   wild   pounding   of   his   heart   pressed   to   beau’s   chest.   he   wants   him   to   know:   nothing   has   changed.   no   amount   of   anger   or   silence   ever   killed   what   lived   between   them.   each   press   of   his   mouth   against   beau’s   lips   is   a   confession   he   can’t   say   out   loud.

but   eventually,   he   breaks   away,   gasping,   only   to   lower   his   lips   to   beau’s   throat.   he   tastes   the   skin   there,   salt   and   heat,   leaving   a   trail   of   marks   down   the   column   of   his   neck.   possession   coils   in   his   gut,   spilling   out   in   every   kiss,   every   scrape   of   teeth,   as   if   he’s   writing   his   name   into   him.   his   mouth   lingers   at   the   spot   where   beau’s   pulse   jumps,   slow   and   deliberate,   claiming   what   he   knows   was   always   his.

the   sharp   edge   of   need   makes   him   move   lower,   kissing   across   his   collarbone,   open-mouthed   and   hungry.   his   hands   fumble   with   beau’s   shirt,   unbuttoning   with   restless   urgency,   lips   never   straying   far   as   he   works   the   fabric   open.   he   presses   his   mouth   along   newly   exposed   skin,   drinking   in   every   reaction,   every   shiver   that   runs   through   him.   cassius   isn’t   gentle;   he   doesn’t   want   gentle.   he   wants   beau   undone   beneath   him,   wants   to   carve   this   moment   into   his   memory   so   it   outlasts   every   lie,   every   fight,   every   wall   between   them.

                                         tj   stretches   his   legs   out   on   the   blanket,   the   familiar   slope   of   their   hill   beneath   him,   and   lets   the   breeze   settle   into   his   lungs.   for   a   moment,   he   just   sits   with   the   thought   that   he   doesn’t   regret   anything   anymore.   the   mistakes,   the   pain,   the   nights   when   they   weren’t   sure   if   they’d   ever   find   their   way   back   to   each   other—   it   all   happened,   and   it   happened   for   a   reason.   that   doesn’t   erase   the   hurt,   doesn’t   justify   it,   but   it   carved   them   into   who   they   are   now.   it   brought   them   here.   married.   on   the   hill   that   started   everything.   and   maybe   that’s   all   life   ever   really   was.   falling,   breaking,   mending,   moving   along   according   to   the   universe’s   plan   neither   of   them   could’ve   predicted   but   both   of   them   were   meant   to   follow.

beside   him,   the   notepad   rests   on   the   blanket,   pen   tucked   neatly   in   its   spine.   he   doesn’t   touch   it.   doesn’t   need   to   right   now.   instead,   he   lets   the   thought   drift:   of   sketching   the   outline   of   their   own   house   on   this   very   hill.   he’s   not   an   architect—   far   from   it.   but   the   idea   makes   his   chest   ache   in   a   good   way.   to   imagine   walls   standing   here,   a   roof   above   them,   windows   opening   to   the   same   sky   they’ve   watched   since   they   were   kids.   a   place   that’s   theirs,   permanent,   shaped   by   all   the   mornings   and   nights   they   once   thought   they’d   lost.   the   thought   of   starting   a   home,   even   a   family,   doesn’t   scare   him   anymore.   it   used   to.   but   with   beau,   it   feels   like   a   promise.   a   future   he   wants.   he   would   rather   stumble   and   learn   as   he   goes   with   beau   by   his   side   than   live   safely   without   him.

his   eyes   lift   from   the   idle   notebook   and   land   on   the   man   curled   into   his   side.   god,   if   there’s   ever   been   something   worth   worshiping,   it’s   beau.   tj   loves   him   in   ways   words   can’t   hold.   he   loves   the   sharp   wit   that   makes   him   laugh   even   on   the   days   when   everything   feels   heavy.   he   loves   the   tenderness   in   his   eyes,   the   way   he   looks   at   tj   like   he’s   worth   every   risk   he’s   ever   taken.   he   loves   the   stubbornness,   the   quiet   strength,   the   softness   that’s   reserved   only   for   him.   tj   thinks   beau   is   the   most   beautiful   thing   he’s   ever   been   given—   more   than   the   sky   they’re   under,   more   than   the   career   he   once   thought   was   everything.   every   piece   of   him,   from   the   face   tj   has   memorized   to   the   heart   he’s   lucky   enough   to   hold,   is   something   he   can   never   grow   tired   of.   if   he   could,   he’d   spend   forever   just   tracing   those   features   with   his   eyes   and   reminding   him   how   loved   he   is.

“   nakasilamin   na   ako   oh.   grabe   ka   naman   sa   asawa   mo,   mahal,   ”   tj   teases,   squinting   hard   at   the   sky   as   if   determination   alone   could   prove   beau   wrong.   he   keeps   staring,   and   then—   there   it   is.   the   ridiculous,   unmistakable   outline   of   a   penis.   a   snort   escapes   before   he   can   stop   it,   followed   by   a   soft   chuckle   that   shakes   his   shoulders.   sometimes,   it   amazes   him   how   beau’s   mind   works,   how   quickly   his   eyes   find   shapes   in   clouds,   feelings   in   people,   truths   tj   himself   tries   to   bury.   when   beau’s   arm   settles   across   his   torso,   tj   glances   down,   and   all   amusement   softens   into   awe.   he   could   spend   a   lifetime   like   this—   looking   at   him,   marveling   at   how   lucky   he   is.   that   face.   that   body.   that   heart.   he’ll   never   grow   tired   of   them.

asawa  mo.  the  words  still  startled  him  sometimes.  beau  would  catch  himself  staring  at  the  circle  of  gold  on  his  finger,  how  it  glinted  while  he  dried  a  plate.  or  when  he  reached  for  tj’s  hand  at  a  crosswalk,  and  the  thought  would  come  up  again,  amazed  and  simple:  asawa  ko  si  tj.  not  a  dream,  but  a  fact.  a  life.  he  couldn’t  believe  it  and  also  he  believed  nothing  else  more.  tj  was  the  love  of  his  life,  yes,  but  the  phrase  felt  too  ordinary  for  what  they  were.  he  was  the  person  who  could  look  at  beau  and  see  him  wholly  with  all  the  stubborn  creases,  and  not  demand  he  iron  anything  out  before  coming  close.  with  tj,  he  didn’t  even  have  to  speak  to  be  understood;  sometimes  all  it  took  was  sitting  on  their  bench,  coffee  cooling  between  them,  eyes  on  the  same  patch  of  sky.

beau  kept  thinking  how  lucky  can  one  man  be.  he’d  been  blessed;  the  word  felt  big,  but  no  other  one  fit.  blessed  that  tj  existed  at  all.  blessed  that  their  paths  had  aligned.  blessed  that  love  had  not  only  arrived  but  stayed,  and—this  still  made  him  a  little  dizzy—blessed  that  it  was  returned.  how  rare  was  that,  really?  sometimes  he  thought  his  body  had  been  designed  with  tj  in  mind,  like  the  way  certain  keys  only  open  one  door.  his  mind,  his  heart,  his  weird  little  habits,  even  the  way  his  shoulder  fit  under  tj’s  chin...  it  all  felt  made  to  match.  whether  or  not  tj  ever  wanted  him,  whether  or  not  the  world  arranged  itself  to  their  favour,  that  part  would  have  remained  true:  some  corner  of  beau  had  always  been  tuned  to  that  frequency.  even  in  other  lifetimes,  other  endings,  he  suspected  he’d  still  pause  at  a  laugh  that  sounded  like  his,  still  turn  at  the  sight  of  that  familiar  figure,  still  feel  the  pull.  a  part  of  his  heart  had  tj’s  name  tattooed  on  it,  and  there  was  no  erasing.

beau  felt  silly  with  joy.  giddy,  fizzy,  like  the  air  itself  had  gone  carbonated  and  was  bubbling  under  his  skin.  they  were  just  lying  there,  counting  clouds  and  throwing  the  worst  jokes  at  each  other,  and  somehow  that  was  enough  to  make  his  whole  chest  lift.  cuddled  up  to  his  husband  (his  husband!),  he  kept  thinking  he  might  simply  float  off  and  disappear  into  the  atmosphere,  leave  a  beau-shaped  silhouette  on  the  blanket  and  reappear  as  a  cloud—a  lopsided,  heart-shaped  one  that  followed  tj  around  all  afternoon.

after  a  while,  his  eyes  forgot  the  sky  entirely.  they  learned  a  newer  constellation:  tj’s  very  handsome  profile.  beau  rolled  onto  his  side  and  slid  closer  until  his  chest  fit  against  tj’s  shoulder.  “ang  bastos  mo,”  he  complained.  hypocritical,  considering  he’d  been  the  one  talking  about  tj’s  dick  two  minutes  ago.  he  then  cackled,  pure  and  unpretty,  reaching  up  with  one  hand  to  cup  his  face.  his  thumb  skimmed  the  cheekbone  first,  a  quiet  hello,  and  then  he  leaned  in  to  kiss  him  back.  it  wasn’t  a  grand  kiss,  but  still,  it  set  off  the  same  electric  boom,  the  same  fireworks  behind  his  ribs.  he  pulled  back  half  an  inch,  laughed  against  tj’s  mouth,  then  went  in  again  because  why  would  you  ever  stop  when  the  world  kept  offering  you  proof  that  happiness  could  be  this  simple?

happy anniversary to forevermore!

a   story   of   hearts   that   lost   their   way—   hearts   that   searched,   found,   and   returned   to   one   another.

                                            cassius   can’t   help   but   smile   at   the   thought   that   beau   still   remembers   their   first   interaction—   and   how   quickly   it   ended.   at   least   now,   he   finally   knows   why   beau   ignored   him   back   then,   why   he   chose   to   be   cold   instead   of   letting   him   in.   a   part   of   him   still   wishes   beau   had   allowed   it,   had   let   him   be   a   friend   from   the   start.   if   he   had,   then   beau   wouldn’t   have   carried   all   that   pain   and   loneliness   alone.   still,   cass   understands   why   he   was   wary.   that   first   meeting   wasn’t   the   only   time   he   tried   reaching   out;   at   first   he   assumed   beau   was   just   shy,   maybe   nervous   on   the   first   day.   but   after   being   ignored   over   and   over,   he   realized   it   wasn’t   shyness.   it   was   indifference.   for   years,   he   believed   beau   simply   didn’t   want   to   be   bothered.   and   only   now,   with   everything   spilling   out—   the   bruise   on   his   cheek,   the   truth   behind   the   walls,   does   he   see   how   wrong   he   was.

“   anong   probably?   ”   cass   teases,   mocking   lightly   to   break   the   heaviness.   he   smiles,   but   listens   intently,   nodding   as   beau   explains.   “   i   get   it   now.   at   least   you   know   you   were   wrong.   i’m   not   invalidating   your   feelings   about   distractions,   but…   did   it   ever   cross   your   mind   that   having   a   friend—   someone,   could   actually   help   you   with   the   hard   stuff?   ”   his   voice   softens,   hopeful   as   he   adds,   “   that’s   why   you   shouldn’t   close   your   doors.   while   they’re   open.   like   now.   let   me   in.   let   me   help.   hindi   lang   sa   mukha   mo,   kundi   sa   acads   din.   where   you’re   weak,   i   can   help.   where   i’m   weak,   you   can   help   me   too.   para   fair   tayo.   deal?   ”   he   knows   it’s   a   long   shot.   beau   has   always   been   the   lone   wolf.   but   at   least   it’s   worth   trying.   rivalries   are   petty   anyway.   working   together   could   mean   pride   in   each   other’s   victories   instead   of   bitterness   over   who’s   on   top.

cass   never   cared   much   for   being   number   one.   he   only   wanted   to   make   his   mother   proud,   to   bring   home   good   grades.   cum   laude   was   enough   in   his   mind.   never   magna,   never   summa.   that   was   fine.   his   mother   never   pressured   him,   and   he   always   believed   that   hard   work   and   preparation   would   get   him   through.   others   studied   just   as   hard,   but   maybe   luck   leaned   his   way.   so   if   beau   ever   took   his   spot,   he   wouldn’t   mind.   not   if   it   meant   beau’s   parents   stopped   hurting   him.   if   anything,   cass   would   make   sure   beau   still   felt   the   push   of   competition,   while   quietly   giving   away   the   place   he   once   held.   he   knew   a   career   wasn’t   guaranteed   by   grades   alone.   skills   mattered   more.   communication   mattered.   and   that,   cass   believed,   was   something   he   had.

it   feels   good   now,   this   fragile   truce   between   them.   beau   letting   him   in   more   than   he   probably   ever   has.   cass   learns   things   he   never   bothered   noticing   before:   how   selfless   beau   is,   how   much   he   hides   to   avoid   burdening   others,   how   he   regrets   pushing   away   the   people   who   only   wanted   to   be   his   friend.   even   over   something   small,   like   paying   him   back   for   medicine   that   barely   cost   a   hundred   pesos,   beau   insists.   cass   chuckles,   shaking   his   head.   “   sure   ako,   beau.   hindi   mo   talaga   kailangan   bayaran,   ”   he   reassures.   but   when   he   sees   how   hard   beau   is   trying,   how   much   he   wants   to   offer   something   back—   cass   softens,   calculating   in   his   head.   “   sige.   kape   na   lang.   pero   kopiko   lang   ha,   yung   nasa   pack.   promise,   hindi   naman   ganon   kamahal   yung   gamot.   so   isa   o   dalawang   kopiko   lang,   sapat   na.   ”   

beau  never  really  learned  how  to  speak  unless  it  was  in  one  of  the  sanctioned  dialects  of  his  house:  reporting  numbers  to  his  father  like  quarterly  earnings,  or  chatting  tidily  with  middle-aged  men  who  smelled  faintly  of  cigar  smoke  and  whiskey,  golf  caps  askew  while  they  asked  him  about  “prospects.”  he  knew  what  to  say  there—percentages,  rankings,  a  tasteful  joke  about  the  market—and  when  to  say  nothing  at  all.  but  when  it  came  to  anything  else,  beau  found  himself  at  a  loss. opening  up  wasn’t  a  skill  he’d  been  taught.  hell,  it  wasn’t  even  a  category  that  made  sense.  he  delivered  results,  not  feelings.  if  something  was  wrong,  he  solved  it  or  he  hid  it.  preferably  both.  he  carried  his  life  like  a  briefcase  he  wasn’t  allowed  to  set  down.  doubt,  pain,  the  constant  anxiety  that  cinched  his  shoulders  higher  than  they  needed  to  be...  he  didn’t  think  of  those  things  as  shareable.

telling  someone  about  his  pain  was  the  last  thing  he  wanted  to  do.  it  felt  dangerous,  like  it  might  infect  the  air  around  him,  make  things  worse,  or  worse  still,  make  him  weak  in  someone  else’s  eyes.  in  his  family,  weakness  wasn’t  a  moment  to  be  met  but  an  error  to  be  corrected.  it  was  a  flaw,  a  sign  that  you  were  vulnerable  enough  to  be  picked  apart,  remembered  for  later,  and  have  those  weaknesses  used  against  you.  and,  in  a  way,  he  believed  it.  it  was  terrifying  to  consider  handing  someone  the  raw,  unedited  parts  of  himself  and  then  trusting  them  not  to  make  a  copy.  what  if  they  stored  it  for  later?  what  if  they  dropped  it  without  meaning  to?  what  if  they  looked  at  the  worst  of  him  and  agreed—that  there  was  something  fundamentally  broken  at  the  core?

it  had  never  once  crossed  beau’s  mind  that  having  a  friend  could  make  any  of  this  easier.  he’d  always  believed  that  whatever  difficulties  he  faced  were  his  alone  to  deal  with.  never  make  your  mess  anyone  else’s  burden.  he’d  gotten  so  used  to  moving  through  life  with  that  thought,  that  the  idea  of  letting  someone  else  in  felt  not  just  foreign,  but  unnecessary.  this  was  not  anybody  else’s  problem.

so  with  cassius’  offer,  beau  was  surprised.  help,  freely  given,  with  no  invoice  attached.  his  first,  crooked  instinct  was  to  search  for  the  catch.  for  a  sick,  brief  moment  he  wondered  what  was  in  it  for  cassius.  what  did  he  want  in  return?  every  interaction  he’d  ever  had  growing  up  was  transactional.  gifts  expected  repayment,  favours  repaid  in  full,  kindness  was  always  a  debt  to  be  counted.  there  was  a  cynical  voice  in  his  head  whispering  that  this  would  cost  him  later,  that  nothing  was  ever  just  given.  but  he  saw  the  open  honesty  in  his  eyes,  the  understanding  in  the  way  he  spoke—and...  there  was  no  hidden  agenda.  cassius  was  simply  being  kind,  offering  help  because  that  was  who  he  was.

this  was  cassius,  reaching  out.  again.  just  like  he’d  done  all  those  years  ago  in  freshman  year,  when  he’d  wanted  to  be  friends  with  beau  for  no  reason  at  all. now  here  was  the  same  gesture,  a  different  season.  reach,  receive.  just  because.  that  was  it,  wasn’t  it?  there  didn’t  need  to  be  a  reason  for  kindness.  maybe  there  were  people  in  the  world  who  helped  simply  because  they  could,  because  they  wanted  to,  because  they  saw  someone  struggling  and  didn’t  want  them  to  feel  alone. perhaps  cassius  was  simply  what  he  looked  like  in  this  moment:  a  person  trying  to  make  a  difficult  day  less  so.  and  there  was  nothing  to  interrogate  beyond  that.

“deal,”  he  said.  a  smile  found  him  without  asking  permission,  small  at  first,  then  wider,  as  if  the  face  had  been  waiting  for  an  excuse  to  try  the  expression  on  again.  it  was  good.  good  to  be  restarting,  good  that  cassius  had  a  heart  wide  enough  to  forgive  the  clipped  answers  and  cold  shoulders  beau  had  handed  him  before.  this  was  what  friendship  was  supposed  to  be,  beau  thought.  a  series  of  small,  kind  gestures:  pressing  a  cold  pack  to  a  bruised  cheek.  offering  to  help  with  their  studies.  cooking  someone  dinner.

                                            just   a   moment   ago,   adam   is   all   softness.   his   posture   is   easy,   his   voice   steady,   his   tone   almost   tender.   it   throws   piper   off,   makes   her   wonder   if   she   really   knows   him   at   all.   then,   just   as   quickly,   he   slips   back   into   the   version   of   himself   she’s   most   familiar   with:   irritating,   cocky,   the   kind   of   boy   who   can   roll   her   eyes   for   her   without   her   even   trying.   and   yet,   beneath   the   exasperation,   there’s   a   spark.   a   tiny   thrill   that   makes   her   pulse   stutter   because   only   adam   knows   how   to   get   under   her   skin   and   make   her   feel   something,   even   when   it’s   infuriating.   especially   when   it’s   infuriating.

after   all,   two   years   of   memories   are   gone—   faces,   names,   moments   blurred   into   nothing.   but   adam   is   the   only   exception.   he   stays.   he   lingers   in   her   mind,   stubborn   and   unshakable,   the   one   person   she   can   still   recall   even   when   everyone   else   slips   through   the   cracks.

she   remembers   waking   up   in   the   hospital,   disoriented,   and   how   santi   sat   by   her   bed   and   filled   her   in   with   brutal   honesty.   he   told   her   what   happened,   what   she’d   missed,   and   how   little   her   world   had   shifted   except   for   one   thing—   her   grades,   surprisingly,   had   soared.   not   because   she   suddenly   became   someone   else,   but   because   adam   pushed   her.   he   had   guided   her,   motivated   her,   kept   her   from   falling   behind.   piper   still   remembers   scrunching   her   nose   in   disgust   when   santi   mentioned   him.   adam?   out   of   all   people?   she   had   echoed   her   brother’s   words   with   disbelief,   only   to   see   the   confusion   written   across   his   face.   santi   seemed   startled   that   she   remembered   adam   at   all,   but   not   in   the   way   she   used   to.   no   mention   of   love   or   the   way   she   once   talked   about   him   with   stars   in   her   eyes.   instead,   her   memory   painted   him   as   the   boy   who   never   stopped   teasing   her,   who   never   let   her   forget   he   was   there.   when   santi   pressed   her,   asking   how   it   was   possible   she   forgot   everyone   else   but   not   adam,   she   only   shrugged   and   kept   him   from   the   truth:   he   was   simply   unforgettable.   special,   even   if   she   couldn’t   put   into   words   why.

and   maybe   santi   is   right,   because   when   she   first   woke   from   surgery,   adam   was   the   first   thought   that   cut   through   the   fog.   not   the   romanticized   version,   not   the   boyfriend   she   apparently   once   loved,   but   the   adam   she   remembers   vividly—   the   tall   boy   with   thick   glasses,   a   lopsided   grin,   and   an   infuriating   knack   for   making   her   laugh   against   her   will.   the   same   adam   who   irritates   her   endlessly   but   still   makes   her   heart   beat   wildly,   against   all   logic.   just   adam.

adam  once  watched  a  japanese  drama  about  a  woman  who  dies,  gets  offered  a  strange  mercy,  and  chooses  to  relive  her  life  with  all  her  memories  intact.  each  run-through  makes  her  a  little  wiser;  she  recognises  the  trapdoors,  sidesteps  the  old  cliffs,  makes  better  decisions  and  ends  up  saving  her  closest  friends.  the  show  had  stayed  with  him,  long  after  the  credits  rolled—of  being  able  to  approach  familiar  moments  with  new  eyes,  carrying  all  the  secret  knowledge  of  what  was,  what  could  have  been,  and  what  might  still  be  changed.  this  felt  like  that,  only  the  roles  were  a  little  skewed.  piper’s  mind  had  “rebooted,”  but  he  was  the  one  carrying  the  save  file.  he  knew  the  way  she  gets  flustered  and  tries  to  hide  it  by  looking  away;  the  little  bite  she  gives  the  inside  of  her  cheek  when  she’s  fighting  a  smile;  the  performative  sigh  she  uses  as  a  shield  because  pretending  to  be  annoyed  is  easier  than  admitting  she  cares.  he  doesn’t  need  proof.  he’s  seen  the  scene  before.

now  he  wonders  if  a  better  science  is  available  to  him.  if  you’re  lucky  enough  to  keep  the  memory  when  someone  else  loses  it,  maybe  the  point  isn’t  to  rebuild  the  old  path  brick  for  brick.  what  if  he  changed  tactics?  maybe  it’s  to  choose  a  gentler  route  this  time.  he  imagines  dialing  the  volume  down  on  the  banter.  still  himself,  of  course,  still  playful,  but  less  prying.  the  thought  feels  right  in  his  hands.  if  the  old  version  of  them  was  about  getting  her  attention,  this  version  can  be  about  him  giving  her  a  bit  of  room.  especially  considering  what  had  happened.

it  was  one  thing  to  decide  he’d  be  gentler;  it  was  another  to  remember  how  adorable  piper  looked  when  she  was  annoyed.  the  scowl  did  something  to  his  heart.  it  had  been  a  while  since  she’d  acted  this  way  toward  him.  he’d  forgotten  why  teasing  her  used  to  be  his  favourite  sport:  her  reactions  were  a  whole  show.  “oo,  ang  emo  kasi  ng  itchu—aray!”  he  yelps  as  she  shoves  her  backpack  into  his  chest.  the  thing  weighs  as  much  as  a  small  planet,  but  he  laughs  anyway  and  takes  it  like  he  always  does,  the  strap  sliding  into  place  on  one  shoulder.  “ang  bait  bait  ko  na  nga  sa'yo  tapos  binubully  mo  pa  rin  ako,”  he  complains,  then  his  hand  finds  the  small  of  her  back—guiding,  habitual—as  they  slip  into  the  slow  river  of  bodies  leaving  the  building.

                                            neither   of   them   would   have   ever   guessed   that   endless   bickering,   teasing,   and   glaring   at   each   other   could   lead   here.   their   friends   always   saw   it   coming   though,   swearing   it   was   obvious   from   the   start.   maybe   it’s   true   what   they   say—   that   childish   line,   the   more   you   hate,   the   more   you   love.   it’s   not   like   piper   ever   hated   adam.   she   only   acted   like   she   did,   hiding   her   crush   behind   rolled   eyes   and   sharp   words   because   she   didn’t   know   how   else   to   deal   with   him.   and   adam?   he   wasn’t   exactly   kind   either,   but   he   always   found   a   way   to   poke   fun,   to   get   under   her   skin   in   that   infuriating,   irresistible   way.   for   piper,   snapping   back   became   second   nature,   even   if   half   the   time   she   was   secretly   entertained.   it   made   her   feel   closer   to   him   somehow,   even   while   she   pretended   otherwise.   but   there   was   another   reason   too.   she   wanted   the   girls   in   her   block   to   stop   giving   her   hell   for   being   “   adam’s   magnet.   ”   it   wasn’t   her   fault   he   gravitated   toward   her.   still,   their   whispers   dug   deep.   forgetful,   dumb,   undeserving.   a   waitlisted   spot   in   architecture   that   must   have   been   bought   through   her   mother’s   connections.   too   clumsy   to   belong,   too   ordinary   to   ever   be   enough   for   someone   like   adam.   after   a   while,   she   started   to   believe   them.

but   adam   never   let   her   stay   there.   he   pushed   back   against   every   ugly   thought,   every   lie   she   tried   to   swallow.   reminded   her   it   wasn’t   her   fault,   that   forgetfulness   didn’t   erase   her   worth.   told   her   she   could   match   anyone’s   level   if   she   tried,   and   promised   he’d   help   her   get   there.   and   he   did.   bit   by   bit,   piper   grew   braver.   she   stopped   letting   their   taunts   consume   her,   ignored   them   until   they   finally   faded   away.   even   without   allies   in   her   block,   she   knew   she   had   adam—   and   somehow,   that   was   enough.   the   peace   that   followed   felt   like   something   new.   she   still   struggled   with   her   memory,   still   had   to   fight   harder   than   others,   but   she   didn’t   let   it   stop   her   anymore.   her   goal   stayed   the   same:   prove   everyone   wrong.   and   with   adam   as   her   anchor,   she   always   found   the   strength   to   keep   going.   they   weren’t   even   in   the   same   course,   but   their   drive   to   work   together,   late   nights   finishing   plates,   research,   projects,   kept   her   steady,   even   pushed   her   higher.   she’d   learned   so   much   from   him,   and   for   once,   she   was   proud   of   herself.

adam  admired  piper  in  a  way  that  felt  bigger  than  love.  it  was  mixed  with  respect  that  arrived  fresh  every  time  she  chose  the  harder  path.  she  had  this  relentless  throttle  toward  doing  better.  what  amazed  him  most  was  how  little  of  herself  she  gave  to  hate.  the  remark  would  land,  bruise  for  a  second,  and  then  she’d  be  back  at  her  desk,  fixing  the  one  thing  in  her  control:  the  work.  he  knew  what  people  said.  everyone  did.  words  like  try-hard  and  favoured  and...  it  was  stupid—childish—and  it  made  something  hot  burn  in  adam’s  chest.  why  was  tearing  someone  down  still  the  cheapest  entertainment  available?

if  he  had  to  guess,  he’d  call  it  jealousy,  the  bitterness  of  people  who  recognised  themselves  as  half  of  what  she  was  willing  to  be.  half  the  discipline,  half  the  courage  to  be  seen  trying.  piper  failed  out  loud  and  then  tried  again  out  loud;  that,  he  thought,  was  the  part  that  stung  them.  and  it  wasn’t  like  she  just  took  it.  there’s  a  world  of  difference  between  letting  people  talk  and  letting  them  be  right.  adam  pushed  her,  yes,  but  not  the  way  people  imagined.  no  barking  from  the  sidelines,  no  micromanaging.  he  merely  nudged  when  needed.  he  was  proud  because  she  proved  them  wrong.  she  made  the  workthe  work  and  let  the  results  talk  at  a  volume  no  rumour  or  nasty  comment  could  match.  and  every  time  she  walked  out  of  a  room  taller  than  she’d  walked  in,  adam  felt  that  lift  in  his  own  heart  too.

he  admired  the  part  of  her  no  one  can  counterfeit:  the  insistence  on  showing  up  kinder  than  the  loudness.  and  when  she  finally  started  getting  her  grades  up  at  an  impressive  pace—he  didn’t  think,  i  made  this  happen.  he  thought,  i  was  lucky  to  witness  the  work.  their  majors  couldn’t  have  been  farther  apart.  adam  knew  nothing  about  architecture  beyond  the  obvious.  he  couldn’t  fix  a  section  drawing  or  critique  a  plate.  but  he  could  sit  beside  her  while  she  wrestled  with  it.  he  could  turn  his  solo  library  routine  into  something  that  felt  like  someething  they  shared.  two  laptops  opening  in  sync,  chargers  snaked  to  the  same  outlet,  his  notes  on  one  side,  her  papers  on  the  other.

he  learned  to  help  from  behind.  he  did  the  coffee  runs  and  remembered  her  order.  he  printed  schedules  and  taped  them  to  the  wall  so  the  week  was  less  of  a  guess.  he  proofread  write-ups  when  her  brain  was  cooked.  when  she  needed  things  he  could  carry,  he  carried  them.  but  it  wasn’t  just  him  pulling  her  forward;  she  pulled  him,  too.  she  slid  a  hand  over  his  notebook  when  he’d  been  staring  at  the  same  line  for  an  hour  and  told  him  to  take  a  break  with  no  room  for  argument.  he  started  sleeping  more  like  a  human  and  eating  meals  that  weren’t  just  coffee.  where  he  had  once  been  all  schedule  and  discipline,  he  learned  the  surprising  efficiency  of  laughter  as  a  way  to  reset.  a  shared  joke,  a  shared  snack,  then...  miraculously,  better  work.  better  versions  of  themselves  arrived  almost  by  accident.  if  love  demanded  a  definition,  this  was  the  one  he  trusted.  it  was  not  merely  the  warmth  that  makes  the  hard  parts  bearable,  but  also  the  steady  insistence  that  you  can  be  more—and  the  daily,  unromantic  help  to  become  it.

>>   /usr/bin/loveszip    𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚣𝚎𝚍 >>   𝙰𝙲𝙲𝙴𝚂𝚂_𝙶𝚁𝙰𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙳:    [   beau   ]

▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▱     (  97%  )  

>>   welcome back.    𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚞𝚗𝚙𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍.

                                            cassius   wonders   if   there   will   ever   be   a   day   he   stops   circling   back   to   regret.   he   tells   himself   no.   he   doesn’t   regret   ending   it,   doesn’t   regret   breaking   up   with   beau   when   their   love   had   curdled   into   something   toxic.   but   in   quiet   moments,   when   his   guard   slips,   he   admits   to   himself   he   regrets   how   he   ended   it.   he   regrets   the   way   he   shattered   beau   in   public,   humiliating   him   in   front   of   his   family   because   it   was   the   only   way   he   knew   how   to   finally   break   free.   he   regrets   the   cruelty   of   it,   the   final   twist   of   the   knife.   he   had   wanted   once,   long   ago,   for   their   story   to   end   gently,   to   preserve   something   of   what   they   had   been   before   it   all   turned   sour.   but   he’d   been   too   drained,   too   resentful,   too   hollowed   out   by   everything   between   them.   by   the   end,   he   didn’t   care   how   badly   it   hurt,   only   that   it   was   over.   and   still,   some   nights,   he   wakes   up   with   that   image   of   beau’s   face   burned   behind   his   eyelids—   wide,   furious,   betrayed.   and   he   can’t   shake   the   guilt   of   being   the   one   to   put   it   there.

even   now,   with   beau’s   shadow   looming   over   him,   cassius   feels   the   same   conflicting   pull.   hatred   sits   heavy   in   his   chest,   yes.   but   so   does   the   ache   of   memory,   the   knowledge   of   what   they   once   had   when   things   were   good.   he   despises   beau   for   manipulating   him,   for   dragging   him   back   into   this   twisted   orbit,   for   keeping   secrets   all   those   years   ago.   but   beneath   the   fury   lives   the   bone-deep   truth   he   doesn’t   want   to   acknowledge:   he   still   feels   something   for   him.   he   doesn’t   want   to   name   it   love,   doesn’t   want   to   give   it   power.   but   it’s   there,   stubborn   and   alive,   no   matter   how   hard   he   tries   to   kill   it.

so   when   beau   presses   his   thumb   past   his   lips,   teasing   like   he   used   to,   cassius   bites—   not   to   hurt,   not   even   to   really   wound,   but   to   remind   him   he’s   no   pet   to   be   toyed   with.   his   jaw   clenches   as   beau   only   laughs,   licking   his   own   skin   like   it’s   a   game,   like   cassius   hasn’t   just   tried   to   draw   a   line.   but   he’s   not   going   to   lie,   the   image   alone   of   him   licking   on   to   his   thumb   fucking   brings   something   within   him   into   life.   or   maybe   that’s   just   his   pants   getting   too   tight.   beau   fucking   knows   how   to   turn   him   on   and   it’s   infuriating.   

that   laugh   cuts   deeper   than   the   violence.   cassius   scoffs,   anger   a   shield   to   hide   the   sting   in   his   chest.   “   you’re   so   fucking   stupid,   ”   he   hisses,   his   voice   rough.   “   it’s   don’t   bite   the   hand   that   feeds   you,   you   dumbass.   and   newsflash—   i’m   not   your   pet.   you   don’t   feed   me   shit.   we’re   long   done,   beau.   you   don’t   do   shit   for   me.   ”   the   words   are   meant   to   wound,   to   push   him   away,   but   cassius   can   hear   it   himself.   the   tremor   underneath,   the   fracture   in   his   tone.   he   feels   betrayed,   still,   by   all   the   things   beau   never   trusted   him   with:   the   late-night   meetings,   the   blood   on   his   clothes,   the   phone   calls   he   never   explained.   cassius   had   begged   silently   for   honesty,   had   wanted   to   share   the   weight   even   when   it   was   ugly,   but   beau   had   shut   him   out.   and   it   had   broken   them.

it   isn’t   fair.   cassius   knows   it   isn’t   fair,   because   no   matter   how   much   he   says   otherwise,   no   matter   how   sharp   his   words,   his   body   betrays   him.   the   second   beau   steps   closer,   pressing   into   him,   caging   him   in   with   hands   on   his   jaw   and   nape,   the   old   hunger   sparks   to   life.   rage   simmers   in   his   blood,   yes,   but   desire   roars   over   it,   flooding   every   nerve.   he   should   fight,   should   spit   in   his   face,   should   remind   himself   why   he   left.   but   all   he   feels   is   heat,   the   remembered   weight   of   beau’s   touch,   the   phantom   ache   of   years   without   it.   he   hates   himself   for   it,   hates   beau   for   making   him   feel   this   way   again.   and   yet,   he   leans   in   all   the   same,   his   breath   coming   heavy   as   though   he’s   been   waiting   for   this   all   along.

“   you   think   i’m   yours?   ”   he   scoffs,   though   it   comes   out   weaker   than   he   intends,   his   smirk   laced   with   something   more   fragile.   “   that’s   the   biggest   joke   you’ve   ever   told.   ”   but   beau   doesn’t   care.   he   only   presses   closer,   and   cassius   feels   the   ground   slip   from   under   him.   he’s   bound,   restrained,   powerless—   but   he’s   never   felt   more   undone   than   in   this   moment,   with   beau   claiming   him   with   words   he   can’t   afford   to   believe.   cassius   wants   to   scream   that   it’s   a   lie,   that   beau   can’t   own   him   anymore.   but   his   chest   tightens   with   the   ugly   truth:   part   of   him   wants   it   to   be   true.   wants   to   still   belong.   wants   to   stop   fighting   and   let   himself   fall   again,   no   matter   the   cost.

then   beau’s   mouth   crashes   into   his,   and   cassius   shatters.   the   kiss   is   brutal,   rough,   claiming,   and   cassius   doesn’t   resist.   he   tilts   his   head,   opens   to   him,   welcomes   the   heat   and   the   pain   and   the   possessiveness   in   it.   his   lips   bruise   against   beau’s,   teeth   clashing,   tongues   tangling,   and   he   drinks   it   in   like   he’s   starving.   every   ounce   of   restraint   evaporates.   he   doesn’t   want   gentle.   he   wants   this.   the   ferocity,   the   violence   of   it,   the   desperate   affirmation   that   what   they   had   isn’t   gone,   not   entirely.   his   hands   ache   in   their   restraints   with   the   need   to   touch,   to   claw,   to   hold,   but   all   he   can   do   is   lean   forward,   pressing   his   mouth   harder   against   beau’s,   giving   back   every   ounce   of   hunger   he’s   held   at   bay.

it  made  him  want  to  laugh,  want  to  tug  cassius  closer  and  murmur,  see?  i  knew  it.  i  always  knew  you  never  let  go,  either.  there  was  something  so  exquisitely  satisfying  in  the  way  cassius,  for  all  his  venom,  for  all  his  spitfire  words  and  biting  glares,  had  practically  melted  under  beau’s  touch.  not  that  he’d  gone  soft,  but  that  all  that  resistance  was  theatre,  and  as  soon  as  beau’s  mouth  met  his,  it  changed  shape.  he  could  feel  cassius  pushing  back,  desperate  to  reclaim  control,  trying  to  kiss  him  back  even  as  the  ropes  bit  into  his  wrists  and  kept  him  pinned  to  the  chair.  he  could  taste  the  anger,  the  hunger,  the  want—undeniable  and  unrepentant.

whatever  cassius  had  spat  out  earlier,  sharp  little  daggers  tossed  with  perfect  aim  to  keep  him  at  arm’s  length,  suddenly  felt  moot.  weightless.  under  this  heat,  they  lost  their  edge.  i’d  rather  die,  we’re  long  done,  beau...  those  were  good  lines  for  a  room  with  witnesses,  but  up  close,  with  their  breaths  shared  and  pulses  answering  pulses?  they  didn’t  matter  now.  the  mouth  that  had  minted  poison  was  busy  with  other  work  now,  and  the  body,  a  treacherous  historian  that  it  is,  was  telling  a  truer  story.  it  was  as  if  cassius  was  eating  his  own  words,  swallowing  every  bitter  syllable  and  replacing  them  with  gasps,  with  the  way  his  mouth  chased  after  beau’s  even  when  he  should’ve  been  fighting.  no  matter  how  much  they  lied—to  each  other,  to  themselves—the  truth  was  written  in  the  way  cassius’  body  shifted  forward,  the  way  his  mouth  clung  to  beau’s,  the  way  his  eyes  fluttered  shut,  as  if  surrendering  to  something  he’d  been  running  from  for  years.  his  heart  remembered.  and  so  did  beau’s,  no  matter  how  hard  he’d  tried  to  forget.  all  of  this  was  mere  proof,  plain  as  day,  that  beau  had  been  right  all  along.

cassius  closes  the  distance  on  his  own,  mouth  finding  his.  the  kiss  is  rough,  unpretty,  all  heat;  he  licks  into  beau’s  mouth  and  catches  his  lower  lip  between  his  teeth.  the  sting  sparks  a  gasp.  beau’s  hands  are  already  in  cassius’  hair,  fingers  tightening,  pulling  him  closer  with  the  helpless  insistence  of  thirst,  chasing  the  pressure;  whatever  words  they  threw  at  each  other  earlier  fall  straight  through  the  floor.

he  is  parched  for  this  (starving,  even)  and  the  kiss  drinks  for  him.  cassius  tastes  the  same  as  he  did  back  then.  they  kiss  like  they’re  arguing  and  agreeing  at  once,  mouths  meeting  and  breaking,  then  meeting  again  because  stopping  would  mean  admitting  how  much  they’ve  missed.  there’s  nothing  tidy  about  it.  teeth  click;  a  low  sound  escapes  from  somewhere—his,  cassius’,  impossible  to  tell—and  the  entire  room  tilts  around  the  point  where  their  mouths  refuse  to  part.  beau  can’t  make  himself  pull  back.  the  only  place  it  makes  sense  to  breathe  is  here,  pressed  close  enough.

beau  tore  back  a  bare  inch,  sucking  air  like  he’d  been  held  under  too  long.  his  face  was  hot,  lips  sore  and  aching.  it  wasn’t  enough.  it  was  never  going  to  be  enough  with  rope  in  the  way.  beau  pulled  a  tiny  knife  out,  slicing  one  clean  draw  at  the  wrists.  rope  fell  to  the  floor,  and  for  a  heartbeat  he  did  nothing.  just  watched  the  first  real  choice  enter  the  room.  cassius  could  run.  strike.  spit  another  line.  or—

he  wanted  cassius  to  stay.  he  hated  how  greedy  he  felt  admitting  it,  even  to  himself.  greed  had  kept  him  alive  in  other  rooms:  greed  for  information,  for  the  fraction-of-a-second  edge.  this  was  another  kind.  the  want  that  said  closer.  he  could  feel  it  answering  in  cassius,  too;  not  submission,  never  that,  but...  “say  it,”  common  sense  insisted.  say  go  if  you  want  him  to  go.  say  stay  if  you’re  willing  to  pay  the  cost.  beau’s  hand  rose  almost  of  its  own  accord,  cupping  cassius’  face,  thumb  smoothing  once  over  the  skin.  he  leaned  in  once  more,  closing  the  space  between  them.

                                           cassius   grew   up   with   only   one   parent   present,   and   that   had   always   been   enough   for   him.   sure,   there   were   moments   when   he   wondered   what   it   would   feel   like   to   have   a   father.   someone   to   look   up   to,   someone   to   call   when   he   needed   advice.   but   not   having   one   was   fine   too.   why   beg   for   scraps   of   affection   from   someone   who   never   wanted   him   in   the   first   place?   when   his   mother   finally   told   him   the   truth,   that   his   father   knew   about   her   pregnancy   but   still   walked   away,   even   pushed   her   to   terminate—   cass   believed   her   without   hesitation.   by   then,   he   was   old   enough   to   understand,   and   maybe   even   grateful.   grateful   that   she   stood   her   ground,   chose   him,   raised   him   on   her   own.   she   became   both   mother   and   father   all   at   once,   teaching   him   everything   he   needed   to   know.   how   to   love,   how   to   care,   when   to   stop   before   he   hurts   himself.   she   taught   him   to   ride   a   bike,   played   with   him   when   he   was   little,   showed   up   to   every   graduation   and   extracurricular,   cooked   for   him   when   he   was   down.   she   made   sure   he   never   once   felt   like   he   wasn’t   enough.   to   cass,   she’s   perfect,   flaws   and   all.

which   is   why   it   baffles   him   that   there   are   parents   out   there   who   have   everything,   yet   still   manage   to   make   their   children   feel   like   nothing.   children   who   never   asked   to   be   born   into   their   cruel   worlds,   yet   get   punished   for   failing   to   meet   impossible   standards.   beau,   for   example.   on   the   outside,   he   has   it   all—   wealth,   status,   a   family   name   that   carries   weight.   but   behind   all   that   luxury,   he’s   cursed   with   parents   who   don’t   care.   parents   who   see   him   as   a   product,   not   a   son.   and   that   thought,   how   someone   as   brilliant   as   beau   could   be   reduced   to   that—   lowkey   upsets   cassius.   his   own   mother   had   nothing,   yet   raised   him   with   love   first,   and   wealth   only   came   after   years   of   hard   work.   even   with   money,   she   never   changed.   never   made   him   feel   like   he   owed   her   something   just   for   existing.   cass   chooses   to   give   back   to   her   by   doing   well   in   school,   because   he   wants   to.   not   because   he   has   to.

he   wonders   sometimes   what   beau   would’ve   been   like   if   he   had   a   mother   like   his.   or   a   father   who   didn’t   think   violence   was   the   only   form   of   discipline.   maybe   beau   would   still   be   top   of   the   class,   but   without   the   constant   pressure   gnawing   at   him.   maybe   he’d   have   a   normal   life.   friends   to   hang   out   with,   nights   to   drink   after   exams,   moments   to   actually   breathe.   cass   can   picture   it:   beau   as   a   campus   crush,   the   guy   everyone   falls   for,   the   one   people   write   about   like   he’s   straight   out   of   a   romance   novel.   because   beau   is   beautiful,   in   that   quiet,   striking   way.   if   he   wasn’t   so   guarded,   he’d   shine   even   more.   and   cass   makes   a   mental   note:   when   they   get   closer,   he’ll   introduce   beau   to   his   mom.   he   knows   she’ll   show   him   the   kind   of   love   and   care   he   deserves,   the   kind   that   softens   scars   no   one   else   sees.

so   when   he   finally   hears   beau   crack   a   joke   and   even   let   out   a   small   laugh,   it’s   like   proof   of   that   image   he   has   in   his   head.   for   a   moment,   cass   sees   what   beau   could   be   if   his   life   wasn’t   tainted   by   cruelty.   a   normal   guy,   laughing,   living.   the   sound   eases   something   in   cass’s   chest,   and   he   feels   a   weird   relief   that   he’s   the   reason   behind   it.   he   immediately   matches   it   with   his   own   soft   chuckle,   though   it   fades   just   as   quickly   when   beau’s   expression   slips   back   to   neutral.   “   have   i   ever   told   you…   ”   he   pauses,   then   laughs   at   himself.   “   okay,   never   mind,   i   never   told   you   this.   but   i   actually   wanted   to   be   your   friend   from   the   start.   ang   sungit   mo   lang   kasi,   kaya   sinungitan   din   kita.   ”   his   tone   is   joking,   but   the   truth   behind   it   lingers.   maybe   beau   needs   to   hear   that—   needs   to   know   that   people   would   want   to   be   close   to   him   if   he’d   only   let   them.   “   and   just   so   you   know,   hindi   ako   napipilitan.   my   mom   raised   me   right.   siguro   kung   nag-UP   nga   lang   ako,   palagi   na   akong   nasa   kalsada,   nagpo-protesta   if   i   see   something   wrong.   parehas   lang   din   ’yun   sa   sitwasyon   mo,   beau.   violence   is   never   the   answer   just   because   you   didn’t   meet   your   parents’   expectations.   ”   his   voice   softens,   sincere.   almost   without   thinking,   he   mutters   under   his   breath,   “   sayang   mukha   mo.   ”   because   really,   how   could   anyone   ruin   a   face   like   his?   if   cassius   had   a   son   that   looked   like   beau,   he’d   admire   him   every   damn   day.

his   train   of   thought   snaps   when   beau   suddenly   offers   to   pay   him   back   for   the   medicine.   cass   blinks,   eyes   widening,   before   he   scoffs.   “   huh?   parang   tangek   to.   wag   na.   barya   lang   ’yun   at   ako   na   may   sagot   doon.   ”   his   tone   is   half-teasing,   half-serious,   but   his   chest   warms   at   the   thought   anyway.

a   few   minutes   later,   he   notices   the   cold   compress   in   beau’s   hand   has   lost   its   chill,   the   ice   inside   melting   away.   cass   takes   it   from   him   gently,   sets   it   aside,   and   picks   up   the   ointment   he   bought   along   with   the   ibuprofen.   “   lagyan   ko   lang   ng   ointment   yung   pasa   mo   ah.   don’t   worry,   hindi   naman   masakit   ito.   ”   he   squeezes   a   small   amount   onto   his   fingertips,   then   leans   in.   his   clean   hand   cups   beau’s   jaw,   steady   but   careful,   while   his   other   fingers   spread   the   ointment   in   soft,   precise   strokes   over   the   bruise.   he   tilts   beau’s   head   lightly,   blowing   on   the   spot   to   help   it   dry.   and   it   hits   him   all   at   once—   how   close   they   are,   how   his   own   heartbeat   drums   loud   in   his   chest.   for   someone   who’s   always   so   quick   to   talk,   cassius   suddenly   feels   nervous,   hyper   aware   of   every   inch   between   them.   

“huh?”

surprisingly—beau  did  remember  the  first  time  cassius  approached  him.  you  remember  the  people  who  sit  next  to  you,  even  if  you  spend  the  whole  day  pretending  you  don’t.  orientation  had  them  sitting  in  plastic  chairs,  arranged  alphabetically  so  no  one  could  game  the  seating  chart.  their  initials  fell  close  enough  that  they  ended  up  shoulder  to  shoulder—ahn,  cho.  back  then,  he  had  no  interest  in  making  friends.  the  conviction  lived  in  him:  social  life  is  a  distraction;  distractions  cost  you  your  academic  performance.  he  kept  his  eyes  on  the  booklet  and  his  hands  folded,  answered  questions  with  short  sentences,  nodded  like  a  machine.  when  cassius  finally  spoke,  beau  brushed  it  off  so  cleanly  it  fucking  squeaked.  it  read  as  snobbery;  in  truth  it  was  him  panicking.  he  was  too  tense  to  try,  only  knew  how  to  cut  off  any  possibility  of  an  attachment  that  might  tug  him  off  course  later.

now,  when  he  looks  back,  he  can  admit  that  academics  aren’t  the  be  all  end  all,  no  matter  how  often  his  family  tried  to  solder  that  thought.  he  can  list  his  excellent  grades  from  those  first  semesters  and  still,  if  you  asked  him  for  his  most  memorable  moment  in  university,  he’d  come  up  blank.  he  only  remembers  deadlines  and  GPA  spikes,  not  a  single  evening  that  felt  fun.

“natatandaan  ko  ’yun.”  he  goes  on,  thumbing  at  the  seam  of  his  jeans.  “i’m  sorry,  i  probably  came  off  as  snobbish.”  not  probably—certainly.  and  with  cassius’  admission,  he  can’t  even  argue.  he  doesn’t  blame  him  for  the  way  he’d  acted  back  then  either;  if  there  was  hostility  at  the  start,  beau  had  been  the  one  to  light  the  match.  “i  always  thought  that  having  friends  was  only  going  to  be  a  distraction.  i...  was  wrong.”

regret  arrives  in  a  reel  of  almosts.  he  regrets  how  much  time  he  spent  holed  up,  book  after  book.  sometimes  he  wonders—if  he’d  answered  cassius  that  day  with  friendliness,  if  he’d  asked  for  his  socials  instead  of  shutting  the  conversation  down,  would  he  be  the  same  person  now?  he  can  see  the  what-ifs.  maybe  they  would’ve  traded  notes  and  then  jokes  and  became  close.  maybe  he  would’ve  discovered  there’s  a  way  to  be  serious  about  your  life  without  being  cruel  to  it.  and  then  there’s  his  father,  a  shadow  even  here.  would  the  old  man  have  been  pleased  at  all?  but  another  version  fights  its  way  in.  cassius  as  a  counterexample,  somehow  managing  to  manage  both:  the  grades  and  the  social  life.  could  i  have  been  that?  beau  wonders.  someone  who  balances  instead  of  bargains  away  whole  pieces  of  himself.  would  he  have  enjoyed  the  rest  of  college  more  if  he’d  let  himself  try?

he  thinks  of  the  version  of  cassius  he’d  built  in  his  head  since  freshman  year:  annoying,  pretentious,  too  loud,  too  snappy.  back  then,  that  was  all  he  let  himself  see.  now,  with  the  compress  against  his  cheek  and  cassius  fussing  over  him,  beau  watches  a  different  picture  come  into  focus.  cassius  is  kind.  earnest,  too.  “sure  ka?”  he  asks  when  cassius  waves  off  the  money,  brows  pulling  together.  he  then  stops,  considers  another  currency.  “let  me  at  least  pay  you  back  a  different  way,”  he  says,  “kahit  kape  lang  or  something  next  time.”  it’s  a  small  thing,  but  for  beau  it  feels  like  an  olive  branch  extended  with  both  hands.  his  way  of  saying  i'm  sorry  for  misjudging  you  and  i  want  to  be  your  friend,  even  if  it’s  semesters  late.

beau  lets  out  a  soft  breath  when  cassius  lifts  the  compress  from  his  cheek.  it  isn’t  really  cold  anymore;  it  never  stood  a  chance  against  the  heat  gathering  under  his  skin.  funny,  how  fast  ice  gives  up  when  nerves  won’t.  then  cassius  leans  in  with  the  ointment  and  beau  prays,  absurdly,  that  he  can’t  feel  the  warmth  emanating  from  his  face.  the  tube  clicks;  a  fingertip  spreads  something  minty-sharp  and  clean  along  the  bruise.  beau’s  heart  starts  its  unhelpful  sprint  again,  throat  bobbing  as  he  tries  not  to  notice  cassius’  breathing,  his  hand,  the  way  his  palm  held  his  jaw,  how  nice  he  smelled.

“salamat,”  beau  says  again,  aware  he’s  said  it  too  many  times  and  somehow  still  not  enough.  his  fingers  find  the  remote,  turning  it  end  over  end  while  his  brain  fumbles  for  somewhere  else  to  look.  a  random  show  is  safer  than  the  particular  danger  of  cassius’  proximity.  so  he  thumbs  the  power  and  lets  the  first  channel  play—white  noise  to  give  his  thrumming  heart  a  place  to  hide.

when  cassius  mentions  dinner,  beau  stands  too  fast,  surprised  into  motion.  his  plans  included  an  exit,  not  a  seat  at  a  table.  he’d  assumed  he’d  be  patched  up  and  ushered  out.  “okay  lang,  cassius.  ayoko  maging  abala,”  he  blurts,  eyes  wide.  but  is  it  ruder  to  insist  on  leaving,  or  to  risk  overstaying?  he  can’t  tell.  he  follows  cassius  to  the  kitchen  anyway,  an  apology  hovering  at  the  back  of  his  throat  in  case  he  needs  to  use  it.  there’s  meat  in  a  glass  dish,  marinating  in  something  dark  and  fragrant.  his  mouth  waters  before  he  can  feel  embarrassed  about  it,  an  involuntary  reminder  that  he  hasn’t  eaten  all  day.  the  incident  with  his  father  had  leeched  appetite  from  his  body;  now  the  smell  returns  it  with  interest.  his  stomach  makes  a  treacherous  sound.