# 　. 　𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞.𝒛𝒊𝒑 　 𓂃　 ♥︎

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.

                                             for   the   first   time,   cassius   sees   a   whole   different   side   of   beau.   relaxed.   at   ease.   someone   who   knows   how   to   joke,   how   to   smile—   really   smile,   not   the   stiff,   polite   curve   of   lips   he’s   used   to.   and   for   a   fleeting   moment,   cassius   wonders   if   maybe   beau   isn’t   as   alone   as   he   thought.   maybe   along   the   way,   he   managed   to   find   people   his   parents   approved   of,   people   who   gave   him   glimpses   of   genuine   joy.   because   this   version   of   him,   playful,   light,   it   doesn’t   feel   forced.   it   feels   like   someone   who,   at   least   at   certain   points   in   his   life,   learned   how   to   have   fun.   still,   cassius   can’t   ignore   how   much   time   beau   must’ve   spent   being   perfect   instead   of   being   young.   he   never   saw   him   at   block   parties,   never   spotted   him   in   the   bars   they   crashed   after   exams,   not   even   once   at   paskuhan.   that   thought   plants   itself   in   his   head:   this   year,   he’ll   invite   beau.   introduce   him   to   the   local   bands   he   loves.   show   him   what   it   means   to   just…   breathe,   bond,   live.

and   truthfully,   seeing   beau   finally   relax   eases   cassius’s   nerves   too.   he’d   been   so   tense   about   inviting   him   over,   about   what   it   meant.   but   now,   with   beau   smiling,   his   own   shoulders   loosen,   as   if   a   weight   has   been   lifted.   for   the   first   time,   he   allows   himself   to   really   look   at   him.   earlier,   when   they   were   close,   cassius   already   thought   beau   was   handsome—   even   when   hurt,   even   when   his   expression   was   heavy.   but   now,   with   that   smile   curling   across   his   lips?   he’s   radiant.   it   softens   him,   frames   his   whole   face   perfectly.   cassius   realizes   then   that   reaching   out,   setting   aside   years   of   rivalry,   was   worth   it.   because   beau’s   beauty,   this   raw,   unguarded   version   of   it—   doesn’t   deserve   to   stay   hidden   behind   pain   or   bruises.   in   that   instant,   cassius   silently   vows   to   protect   it,   protect   him,   from   the   world   that’s   treated   him   so   unkindly.

he   doesn’t   like   admitting   it,   but   the   truth   is,   the   frustration   he   carried   back   in   their   freshman   year   wasn’t   just   about   friendship.   it   was   attraction.   infatuation.   that   was   why   beau’s   rejection   stung   so   much,   why   being   ignored   felt   unbearable.   instead   of   dealing   with   it,   he   twisted   the   feelings   into   rivalry,   convincing   himself   it   was   easier   to   hate   him   than   to   want   him.   and   as   the   years   went   on,   that   rivalry   became   a   mask   for   something   deeper.   every   bitter   remark   he   made   to   anthony,   every   complaint   about   beau,   it   wasn’t   anger.   it   was   longing   he   didn’t   know   how   to   name.

so   now,   with   beau   finally   meeting   him   halfway,   cassius   can’t   help   but   smile   wide.   “   okay,   deal.   sabi   mo   yan   ah.   since   blockmates   naman   tayo,   hindi   tayo   mahihirapan   sa   pag-kita   kung   kelan   tayo   magtutulungan.   we   can   work   at   the   library,   or   dito   sa   dorm.   wherever   ka   comfortable,   ”   he   says,   mentally   noting   he   should   probably   clean   his   place   more   often.   and   maybe   cut   down   on   all   the   inuman   sessions   if   beau’s   going   to   come   around.

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.

                                             even   if   she   can’t   piece   together   the   last   two   years,   piper   feels   like   her   brain   will   always   remember   adam   somehow.   like   there’s   a   little   folder   tucked   in   the   corners   of   her   mind,   permanently   labeled   adam.   as   if   alongside   the   frontal   lobe,   parietal   lobe,   temporal   lobe,   occipital   lobe,   cerebellum,   and   hypothalamus,   there’s   a   small   hidden   section   where   his   name   lives—   connected   to   her   heartbeat,   wired   into   her   system.   she   doesn’t   understand   why   he’s   so   unforgettable.   maybe   it’s   because   she’s   never   had   a   crush   this   strong   on   anyone   else   before.   maybe   it’s   because   that   annoyingly   handsome   face   can   deliver   the   most   irritating   lines   but   also   the   smartest   insights.   annoying   but   brilliant.   or   maybe   it’s   because   sometimes—   rarely—   he’s   gentle.   kind.   caring.   and   whenever   those   moments   appear,   piper   takes   note.   just   like   she’s   taken   note   of   everything   about   him   since   freshman   year.   the   way   he   walks,   the   way   his   voice   shifts,   the   way   he   pushes   his   glasses   back   up   his   nose,   the   irritation   on   his   face   when   something’s   off.   all   those   details   imprinted   before   she   even   realized   she   was   memorizing   him.   her   brain   might   blur   out   years,   but   it   refuses   to   erase   him.

what   hurts   is   not   remembering   what   really   happened   between   them.   the   missing   pieces   gnaw   at   her,   and   she   begged   santi   for   answers.   but   he   only   told   her   she   had   to   remember   on   her   own.   basically   telling   her   she’s   on   her   own.   she   considered   asking   adam,   but   with   her   memory   reset,   she   feels   like   she’s   back   to   square   one.   which   means   she’s   once   again   the   girl   snapping   at   him,   rude   and   prickly,   hiding   the   flush   on   her   cheeks   and   the   smile   that   keeps   threatening   to   spill   whenever   he’s   close.   god,   maybe   she   isn’t   normal   at   all.   who   lets   themselves   get   teased   by   their   crush   and   still   feels   giddy   instead   of   offended?   she   should   be   crying,   feeling   embarrassed,   even   hurt.   but   she   can’t.   not   when   adam   keeps   showing   up,   offering   his   time,   his   patience,   his   help.   their   banter   doesn’t   feel   like   cruelty.   it   feels   like   care   in   disguise.   and   that’s   not   normal   either.

as   soon   as   piper   calms   herself,   she   glances   at   him,   only   for   that   calmness   to   vanish   because   of   his   next   comment.   typical   adam.   teasing,   relentless—   and   she   secretly   loves   it.   her   lips   form   a   pout,   brows   furrowed   as   she   stomps   a   step   ahead   after   shoving   her   backpack   at   him.   “   ako   pa   talaga   yung   nang-bully?   eh   ikaw   nga   itong   tawag   sa’kin,   dead   kid!   sino   kayang   bully   sa’tin?   ”   she   rolls   her   eyes   dramatically,   arms   crossing   tight   across   her   chest,   like   that   might   keep   her   blush   hidden.   then   she   feels   it—   his   hand   against   the   small   of   her   back,   guiding   her   out   of   the   building.   it   startles   her.   she   jumps   slightly,   heat   crawling   back   up   her   neck,   blooming   across   her   face   in   a   deep   shade   of   red.   her   pulse   spikes,   hyperaware   of   his   touch,   of   how   close   he   is.   but   the   strangest   part?   she   doesn’t   feel   uncomfortable.   not   at   all.   in   fact,   it   feels…   safe.   natural.   which   makes   her   stomach   twist   because—   how   did   they   get   here?   from   petty   fights   and   name-calling   to   something   that   feels   like   this?   what   exactly   did   she   miss   in   those   two   lost   years?   did   she   miss   him?   the   thought   leaves   her   frowning,   restless,   aching   for   answers   she   doesn’t   have.

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.

                                             there   are   still   moments   when   piper   asks   herself   why   adam   chose   her   out   of   everyone   else.   there   are   prettier   girls   in   school,   smarter   ones   too.girls   who   don’t   struggle   with   their   own   mind,   who   can   carry   themselves   with   more   grace,   who   don’t   get   grumpy   around   the   boy   they   like.   for   someone   like   adam,   she   always   thought   his   perfect   match   would   be   someone   like   him:   intelligent,   confident,   beautiful,   always   at   the   top   of   the   class,   poised,   polished.   everything   piper   feels   she   isn’t.   okay,   maybe   she   has   her   looks,   and   that’s   all   she’s   ever   been   certain   of.   once   upon   a   time,   before   the   accident,   she   thought   she   was   smart,   too.   but   now   remembering   feels   like   swimming   against   the   current,   and   every   year   it   gets   a   little   harder   to   hold   on.

still,   even   if   all   she   has   to   offer   is   beauty   and   a   cranky   streak   reserved   mostly   for   him,   piper   knows   she’s   a   good   person.   at   least   she   tries   to   be.   she   can’t   remember   much,   but   she   knows   enough—   she’s   never   done   anything   cruel,   never   sought   revenge   on   those   who   hurt   her.   she   never   wished   them   ill.   she   just   kept   her   head   down,   ignored   their   whispers,   and   tried   to   prove   them   wrong   by   being   better.   people   gossip,   of   course.   some   say   she   only   clings   to   adam   so   he’ll   do   her   plates   for   her,   like   she’s   using   him.   but   she   doesn’t.   and   she’s   tired   of   explaining,   tired   of   proving   herself   over   and   over.   so   she   lets   them   think   what   they   want.   she   knows   her   truth.   adam   doesn’t   do   her   work   for   her.   he   just   pushes   her,   reminds   her,   makes   the   heavy   things   lighter.   and   she   loves   him   for   that.

at   the   end   of   the   day,   whatever   anyone   thinks,   the   fact   remains:   adam   chose   her.   he   accepts   her   in   all   her   messiness,   all   her   broken   edges,   her   flaws   and   gaps   and   memory   lapses.   a   beautiful   disaster—   that’s   what   she   is,   and   he   doesn’t   mind.   he   stands   by   her   when   others   gang   up   on   her,   defends   her   without   hesitation,   and   nudges   her   not   only   to   do   better   in   school   but   to   keep   choosing   life.   maybe   that’s   what   happens   when   you   fall   for   someone   who   loves   constellations   so   much.   maybe   he   found   a   way   to   bend   the   stars,   to   make   them   align   so   that,   out   of   everyone   else,   their   orbits   collided.   the   universe   could’ve   spun   him   toward   anyone,   but   somehow   it   spun   him   toward   her.   maybe   fate   doesn’t   always   look   clean   or   perfect.   sometimes   it   looks   like   two   imperfect   people   drawn   together   by   gravity   they   can’t   fight.

for   now,   that’s   enough.   as   long   as   they   have   each   other,   piper   feels   like   she   can   face   anything—   college,   the   whispers,   even   her   forgetfulness.

her   smile   widens   when   adam   takes   her   bag   from   her   shoulder.   in   return,   she   threads   her   fingers   between   his,   because   that’s   all   he’ll   ever   let   her   carry   of   his:   his   hand.   he   never   burdens   her   with   weight,   not   even   the   lightest   of   things,   so   she   gives   what   she   can—   a   squeeze   of   his   hand,   a   bright   smile   she   knows   he   adores.   “   huey!   ang   bastos   mo   naman,   ”   she   blurts,   cheeks   heating   as   she   playfully   slaps   his   arm   before   breaking   into   laughter.   “   edi   pag   sinabi   kong   gusto   din   kitang   kainin,   kinilig   ka   diyan   bigla,   ”   she   teases,   grin   mischievous.   “   baka   hindi   ka   na   makapagsalita,   baka   hindi   ka   na   rin   makagalaw.   ”   their   footsteps   fall   into   rhythm   as   they   leave   the   library,   walking   side   by   side   into   the   bustling   stretch   of   p.   noval,   the   street   alive   with   vendors   selling   everything   she   craves.

happy anniversary to forevermore!

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