#filipina reader

Translations:

Nanay or ‘nay = mother

Tatay or ‘tay = father

Ate or ‘te = older sister (can be used between family or friends)

Kasi = because

Anak or ‘nak = child

Uy = an informal interjection used to get someone's attention or express a mild protest, like “hey” or “yo”

Tsimis / tsimosa = gossip / a person who is a gossip

Tita / tito = aunt / uncle

Bhe = a popular term of endearment that is a shortened, localized version of the English word "baby"

✧

The atmosphere in the car is stifling. The ride itself is smooth—just about 30 minutes between Encino and your childhood home. But your chest feels tight, like you can’t inhale enough oxygen, the vehicle’s cabin closing in on the walls of your vision.

You pick at your fingers, focusing on your breathing as you glance outside past your sunglasses.

In, 1, 2. Out, 1, 2.

Warm fingers enclose on top of your own, stopping your picking. You glance down at them and then up at your boyfriend’s soft smile.

Michael looks the polar opposite of your inner turmoil—relaxed, body leaned back, legs spread wide. His knee touches your own as he begins to rub soothing circles on your palm.

“You okay, baby?”

You release a deep sigh and give your head a small shake. “M’fine.”

Michael leans forward slightly, peering at your face over the top of his shades, unconvinced.

“Sure. Why don’t you tell me what’s goin’ on in that pretty little head of yours?”

You sigh again, deflating, and nuzzle your head into his shoulders. You groan, pouting, and Michael just laughs, reaching over to smooth your hair back.

“I’m terrified. And stressed.”

Michael hums, still stroking your hair. “It’ll be fine, hon. You’re makin’ me nervous.”

You look up at his twinkling eyes. “I’m sorry, baby.”

Your pout grows deeper, eyebrows furrowing. Michael thumbs the crease on your forehead and cups your chin, doing the same at the corners of your mouth.

His smile grows wider, eyes flitting all over your face. “I’m kiddin’. I don’t like seein’ you stressed, but you’re jus’ so cute like this.”

You roll your eyes, though a smile tugs at your lips. “Not funny.”

Michael leans forward to press a soft kiss on your forehead. He leans back, keeping his face close. His eyes continue to shine with a teasing glint.

“It kinda is, seein’ you worked up like this.”

You swat his arm, fully smiling and letting out a small laugh.

“There’s that beautiful smile.” Michael looks at you, lovestruck, and you turn your head to hide a blush.

“Oh, shut up, Mikey.”

You side-eye him, smiling wider now, and he pulls you in close. You settle in a comfortable silence, listening to the car drone outside the windows and watching the rolling hills pass by. Michael speaks up again after a few minutes.

“I’m more excited than anything. Get to finally meet your family. They seem wonderful.”

Your head swings slowly to face him. You lean back, staring deadpan into his eyes, which twinkle with laughter.

“What?”

“Wonderful…” You think for a moment. “That’s… one way to describe them.”

Your mind drifts back to a conversation you had with your parents a few nights ago.

✧

You and Michael were spending a chill night at the house. You had basically moved in a few months ago, much to your family’s dismay. Quite frankly, you didn’t want to pay LA taxes, and you were going steady with your longtime boyfriend.

To you, it made sense.

To your mother (and Michael’s, though you’re sure Katherine loves you as a person and for her son), moving in with a man who isn’t your husband was sacrilege.

It took some time for her to warm up to your new reality. Several phone calls later and frequent check-ins to make sure you were still alive, she seemed mostly resigned to the fact that, indeed, your new roommate was your boyfriend.

That night, Michael was home early. He usually spends evenings late in the studio, even until the crack of dawn, holed up and working on his melodies. He said he was feeling uninspired and decided to call it a night—but Michael Jackson being uninspired? The sky might as well be yellow.

Judging by the way he now sprawls all over your lap, one hand tracing light circles on your knee while the other channel surfs the TV, his lack of motivation does not trump his need to be with you. Or on you; practically connected by the hip. On rare occasions, you manage to take him away from his work, which you always jokingly say is the second lady in his life.

You’re browsing a lifestyle magazine, eyes scanning for the perfect futon you’re in the market for, when the telephone on the opposite side of the room blares above the soft hum of the TV. You startle, legs twitching, which causes Michael to shift from his position. He starts to get up at the same time you do.

“I got it, baby.” He squeezes your knee and presses a light peck on your lips. He walks over to the phone, pulling it from the receiver and up to his ear.

“Hello?” Michael listens for a moment. Then glances at you. “Yes, she’s here.”

He looks away while you squint your eyes, suspicious. A small, bashful smile appears on his face when he continues listening to the voice on the other end.

“Yes, ma’am, that’s also me.”

You sit up straight, tilting your head, curiosity mixing in with that lingering suspicion over the mysterious voice he’s speaking to.

Michael continues listening, glancing now and then at your increasingly confused expression. He nods in silent response, then releases a short laugh, ducking his head. He hums before responding out loud again.

“I’ll get her. It’s nice to officially talk to you, ma’am.”

He pulls away from the phone and covers the mouthpiece. Michael gestures for you to come over with a shake of his head. You stand up and cross the room slowly. When you reach him and put your hand out for the phone, he whispers:

“It’s your mother.”

Your stomach drops along with your jaw. Michael puts the phone in your hand and stands closer, rubbing your back. He gestures again, willing your frozen state to start talking. He chuckles softly while mouthing “It’s okay.”

You gulp and bring the phone up to your ear. Michael slides his hands around your waist and pulls you against his chest, resting his chin on your head. He sways you both back and forth, and you wonder if he can hear your heart hammering in your chest.

“Nay?”

“Ate! I just spoke to Michael Jackson on the phone!”

Your mother’s slight accent weaves between her words, accompanying her shrill tone. While her familiar voice brings your anxiety down a notch, something suspicious and nagging still settles in your gut at her unexpected call.

“Yes, ‘nay, that was Michael.” You lean your head back against his chest. He shifts his head so his cheek now rests against your hair. His breathing is steady, strong, calming you further.

“Anyway, is everything okay? Why are you calling?”

“Kasi, anak, your father and I would like to invite you and Michael for dinner this weekend.”

You freeze. Then, you shift forward, away from Michael, who gently pulls you back towards him with firm fingers. You wriggle out of his grasp, but not completely. He keeps a hand on the small of your back as you stand straighter.

“Wait, what?”

“I was just thinking, we haven’t seen you in some time. And you haven’t called. We also have yet to meet your boyfriend, ‘te. You’ve been dating for how long now?”

You chew your lip, suppressing a groan. You rub a hand over your face before fully stepping away from Michael to pace back and forth. He leans against the wall, crossing his arms while watching you, amused as you move. You grab the phone cord with your free hand and begin twisting it.

“I’m sorry I haven’t called; work’s been busy. And…” You trail off, glancing at your boyfriend, who watches you with curious eyes. “Our anniversary passed some months ago.”

“See?” Your mother’s voice chimes. You can practically see her mirroring your movements, waving a hand dramatically over her head. “Don’t you think it’s time we meet him? Unless you don’t want us to.”

You sigh. “‘Nay, it’s not that.”

“And you’ve already met his family—what, how many times now? How come you never bring him over?”

“Nanay, it’s more complicated than that—”

“Actually, how come you are never over anymore? We live 30 minutes away, anak. Sure, it is somewhat far, but we are only a drive away, and…”

You close your eyes, counting slowly to ten as you listen to your mother rant, seemingly not taking a breath between her string of words. When you open your eyes, Michael’s still staring at you, his head now tilted inquisitively.

“Everything okay?” He mouths.

You roll your eyes and shrug. You take a deep breath before steeling yourself.

“Okay, okay, ‘nay, I hear you. Nanay,” You say firmly into the speaker. Your mother stops, and you hear her deep breaths at the end of the line.

You suppress another groan before saying through your teeth, “Can I just ask him first? He’s right here.”

A beat. Then, a longer stretch of silence before your mother clucks her tongue and hums.

“Okay. But don’t take too long.”

You envision her pointing an accusatory finger in your face and roll your eyes again. “Thank you. I’m putting you on hold now.”

You reach over to the phone keypad and press the hold button. Then you place the phone gingerly on top of the console before resting your head against your hands, leaning against the wall with closed eyes.

“What is it, baby?” Michael’s warmth engulfs your back as he shifts closer, rubbing soothing circles.

After a beat, you push yourself off the wall, only to lean the side of your head against it to look at your boyfriend. His patient, loving stare has you sighing all over again.

“My parents want to have us over for dinner.”

A beat. You see Michael process the information in real time: a split second of surprise flashes in his eyes, then a light bulb of excitement washes over his face.

“That’s a good thing, right?” His voice tilts up slightly at the end. He searches your face, deciphering the worried lines that have definitely appeared on your forehead.

“I guess… It’s just… Well, you know,” You wave your hands in the air, absentmindedly.

“My family can be a lot.” You mumble, tapering your words quietly at the end.

Another beat. Michael just stares at you, blank. Then a bright laugh exits his mouth, sharp and clear.

“Baby, you’ve met the Jacksons. Managing your folks will be a walk in the park.”

It’s your turn to stare at him, aghast and slightly amused at his confident remark. “Hon, you haven’t met immigrant parents who are meeting their only daughter’s first serious boyfriend for the first time.”

You pinch your nose, squinting your eyes closed. “This is either going to be a nightmare or, like you said, a walk in the park.”

Michael gently lifts your hands away from your face and kisses your knuckles. A flush rises in your cheeks as he gazes up at you, warm and mischievous as always.

“It’ll be fine, my love. Tell your mother we’ll be there. ‘Bout time I meet ‘em, right?”

You groan, rolling your eyes, a playful yet worried smile tugging at your lips. “Okay, okay, I’ll tell her.”

✧

And that was how you ended up parked outside your childhood home, staring at the pile of cars lined up in the driveway.

Suspicion crawls up your spine, a pool of dread beginning to stir in your belly.

“Everything okay?”

Michael’s voice pulls you back to reality, and you glance at him before squinting your eyes outside the window.

“There shouldn’t be this many cars here.”

Michael shrugs, patting your thigh. “Maybe your parents invited other people.”

You look at Michael fully, dumbfounded. “My mom did not say she was having anyone else over. Just us.”

He laughs at your shocked demeanor and slides a hand around your cheek. He rubs your face affectionately before pecking your lips softly.

“Maybe she wanted more people to come.”

Michael exits the car and holds his hand out for you. You take it, grumbling as you stand on the curb and adjust your dress.

“Or she wanted more people to meet you.”

You fiddle with Michael’s jacket, which already sits perfectly on his frame. Your fingers thread through his already flawless curls, sitting dark and pretty around his ears. You have to busy your hands to fight off the rising anxiety in your chest.

“It’s totally unfair to you. And me, obviously. She could’ve said something.”

You continue to grumble under your breath as Michael slides his hands into yours. He adjusts his aviators, smiling.

“It’s okay, baby, really. I don’t mind either way.”

You glare at him, and he just laughs.

“C’mon now, don’t wanna keep your mama waiting.”

Michael tugs you along, walking up to the front door. You straighten your back and practice a few small smiles. Every one feels tight on your lips.

Michael reaches forward to ring the doorbell. You hear incoherent yelling behind the door, then footsteps drawing nearer. You tighten your grip on Michael’s hand, and he squeezes back. His head turns over to you. He gives a reassuring smile, to which you can only grimace weakly back at him.

The door bursts open, and your mother’s charming smile is on the other end. Her arms are already wide open as she yells in excitement.

“Anak!”

She essentially grabs you and smushes you hard against her shorter frame in a hug. You grunt, wrapping your arms around her as a genuine smile grows wide on your face.

“Hi, nanay.”

“Let me look at you.” Your mother pulls away and anchors herself on your shoulders. She rests one hand on your chin and turns it left, then right.

“You’ve gained some weight, haven’t you?”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes and just smile wider to the point of hurting.

“It’s good to see you, too.”

You glance behind you, still clutching onto your mother’s arms. You see Michael standing further back, arms crossed behind him politely. He takes off his sunglasses and bows in his usual humble way.

“Hello.”

He flashes a dazzling smile at your mother, and you essentially feel her waver at the effect your boyfriend has on everyone around him. She recovers just as quickly, peeling herself off you to approach Michael with open arms.

“Michael!” Your mother reaches up to wrap her arms around his neck. He has to bend down to meet her frame, hugging her back. He laughs, looking at you, eyes shining.

“Hi, ma’am, it’s lovely to meet you.”

Your mother pulls away to swat him on the arm. “Call me Sherry. Here, let me take your things.”

Michael closes the door behind him as your mother gathers your jackets. She fusses over them as you attempt to help her, waving you away as she beckons you both further into the house.

As soon as you enter, the familiar scent and warmth of home envelop your senses. Something savory is cooking in the kitchen, melding pleasantly with the lemon candle your mother always turns on when she’s cooking. Laundry and your family’s various colognes and perfumes also mix in the atmosphere. Despite your nerves coming home, the familiarity of it all settles in your bones, calming you a bit more.

That is, until you glance down at the copious amount of shoes littered in the foyer.

You glance up at your mother, who’s already retreating into the kitchen. You tug your shoes off as you call after her.

“‘Nay, why are there so many shoes here?”

She waves behind her, not taking a second glance at you. She disappears around the corner as her voice projects clearly back to where you’re standing.

“There’s some slippers by the staircase for you, ‘nak. I guessed Michael’s size, hope they fit!”

You roll your eyes at her answer of omission. Your feet pad over to the staircase and slip them comfortably over your toes. Michael follows behind you, and you slide his slippers over to him.

“Thank you.” He says softly. When he slips his feet inside, he whistles.

“These are so comfy. Can we bring ‘em home?”

You snort, crossing your arms. “Those might be someone’s, but we can ask.”

Michael hums, satisfied. You’re about to go into the kitchen when you hear a commotion from upstairs.

“Ate, is that you?”

You slowly lift your head in disbelief. There, standing on the landing, are a few of your younger cousins, crowding around each other. The girl in the front, Crystal, was the voice you immediately recognized without even seeing her.

She looks between you and Michael, then squeals. The rest of your cousins follow, barrelling down the stairs in an excited clamor and crowding around you two. You’re essentially pushed to the side as they all chatter around your boyfriend.

He smiles and greets them, eyes twinkling as he addresses each cousin. He glances up at you, sheepish, and you just glare back. You cross your arms and attempt to shout over the din.

“Uy, let him breathe!” You nudge past some of your girl cousins to stand by Michael. They look at you, offended, and you just stick your tongue out at them.

“Gee, it’s great seeing you guys too.” You look at each of them, amused at them continuing to buzz in muted excitement in place. “Why the hell are you all here?”

One of your boy cousins, Eddie, shrugs. “Tita called Dad, said you were finally coming over with your boyfriend.”

One of your other girl cousins, Alyssa, shoves Eddie. “Yeah, she called Mom too. But she didn’t say that you’re dating Michael Jackson!”

Michael laughs at that, and you can only roll your eyes. You feel a headache coming on from how many times you’ve done that already.”

“I’m surprised nanay didn’t say that already,” You mutter.

You glance at Michael, apologetic, before looking back at your cousins, who are still ogling over the sight of the two of you standing close together.

“So all your parents are here, too?”

Everyone nods, and you can only groan.

“Delightful.”

Michael laughs, glancing mischievously at everyone. They seem to hang onto his every word as he speaks.

“Hey, the more, the merrier!”

The cousins cheer as you facepalm your forehead. They continue to crowd around Michael, asking question after question at such a dizzying speed that you wonder how he can keep up. He seems to bask in the attention, taking every word by stride, before you interrupt the conversation by tugging him away.

“Okay, guys, can you please just leave us alone for a sec? Go see if nanay or your parents need help setting up; we’ll be right there.”

A few protests and whines later, you successfully shoo them away. You grab Michael’s hand and pull him to the living room. You plop down onto the couch and take a deep breath.

Michael sinks into the cushion next to you. He spreads his legs wide and leans back, putting an arm around your back as you hang your head in your hands. You shake your head, rubbing the sides as you mutter incoherent curses.

“This is officially a nightmare.”

Michael laughs, bells ringing, and rests his hand against your back. He continues his soothing rubbing from earlier.

“It’s not that bad, baby.”

“Oh really?” You turn to look at him. “My mother invited our extended family without my knowledge, and now everyone knows that I’m dating the biggest pop star in the world. Not to mention, Filipinos are the most tsimosa people alive, so everyone and their mother in their vicinity will definitely find out too.”

You lean forward to bury your head in Michael’s neck. He chuckles as you groan again, this time deep enough to feel it in your gut.

“I just feel bad. I know we were trying to be lowkey.”

You feel Michael shake his head. “I promise, everything’s okay.”

You raise your head to look at him, your face feeling hot with embarrassment.

“Are you sure?”

Michael smiles and kisses your forehead. He pulls back, face aglow.

“100%. I’m just glad I can meet more of the people who love you.”

Your face burns hotter, and you swat Michael’s chest. “Oh, shut up. They get on my nerves sometimes.”

He laughs. “Well, what’s family for?”

After a few more minutes psyching yourself up on the couch, you get up and take a deep breath. You walk into the kitchen just as your mother yells for you.

“‘Nak, dinner’s ready!”

You wince, her shrill voice ringing in your eardrums. “I’m here, ‘nay.”

“Ay, you startled me. Come here, sit down.”

Your mother practically pulls Michael into the dining room and positions him close to the head of the table. You follow behind, sinking into your chair next to him. Though your nervousness is piqued, you glance hungrily over the spread on the table. Pancit, calderetta, menudo, and various rice and small platters adorn the large surface—your mother prepared a whole feast. You haven’t realized how hungry you are until your stomach grumbles.

Soon, everyone files into the dining room. Your titas and titos greet you with just as much enthusiasm as your cousins. You finally see your father and kiss him on the cheek.

“Hi, tatay,” You smile up at him as he pulls away. He greets you with an equally warm smile.

“Welcome home, anak.” Your father says as he heads to the opposite end of the table.

Your brother soon comes stalking in, brooding in his own late teen manner.

“Hi, Ate.” He says shortly, lightly pushing your shoulder as he saunters towards his chair at the end of the table. He reaches over to shake Michael’s hand, skirting over your own reach for his hoodie.

Your brother had met him once before, and despite his quiet nature, he opened up to your boyfriend rather quickly, to your surprise. You’re grateful that he still feels comfortable around him.

“Hey, bro.” You smirk at him as he rolls his eyes, shrugging you away.

As he settles down into his chair, he glances between you and Michael.

“So, he’s your boyfriend?”

A hush falls over the dinner table. You glare at your brother, who glances at you wickedly before turning his face back to a neutral expression. He knows exactly what he’s doing, pressing on your nerves like this.

Everyone else had been glancing at Michael, murmuring and pointing over with their lips and heads but not daring to address him directly. Michael, as usual, just looks at everyone and nods in his polite way.

Now, all heads turn towards the two of you. Your brother just stares, face blank and matter-of-fact, observing the two of you with a curious look.

You gulp and open your mouth to speak, but any stuttering words quickly die in your throat as your mother claps her hands. She sits down next to Michael and waves at everyone to come closer.

“First, we say grace. Save the questions for when we eat, boy.”

The affectionate nickname for your brother rolls off your mother’s tongue, and he just shrugs. You silently thank your mother for unknowingly stalling the inevitable dinner conversation.

Your family members grab each other’s hands and bow their heads. Michael follows suit, glancing at you as you nod at him. He holds your mother’s hand, and she smiles brightly at him before bowing her head.

Your father leads the prayer, and you keep your eyes closed. After he finishes, everyone quickly signs thank you before diving in. Bowls and napkins are passed around, silverware clinking on the plates as people start to eat.

The dining room fills with lively chatter and boisterous laughter. Wine and various drinks are also passed around. You and Michael opt for nonalcoholic options, and you keep an eye out for the family members who drink the wine and are getting louder by the minute.

You mostly keep quiet, mind wandering as you focus on chewing your food. Now and then, the tita who sits next to you leans over conspiratorially, asking in a grave, serious tone questions that seem frivolous but are quite important to her at the moment. You answer her, equally as serious, before she turns away to the family member on her right to ask the same question.

You shake your head, amused, and glance around the table as you continue eating. Happy, smiling faces, cousins messing around, and even your brother is roped into the controlled chaos, at ease as he fires lighthearted jokes back. You take the time to really observe everyone’s face, everyone engrossed in the conversation at hand or the food and drink in front of them.

Eventually, your eyes land on your mother, who has not even acknowledged the tito sitting on her left, as she is fully focused on the conversation she’s having with your boyfriend. You look at Michael, who listens to your mother’s replies attentively, eyes bright and trained on her. He’s relaxed, leaning forward to take a bite of food or a sip of orange juice. You feel his leg brush yours and stay rested there, comfortable and sure.

Your brother’s voice chimes over the noise at the table, instantly snapping you back to attention.

“You haven’t answered my question yet, ‘te.”

Your head whips towards his direction, and you send him another glare. Your brother’s eyes twinkle with a wicked look, peering over his glass of water as he takes a long sip.

You soften your expression as you glance around the table sheepishly. You reach for some water, chugging the glass down before clearing your throat and wiping your mouth.

“Um, well, yes. Hi everyone.” A nervous chuckle leaves your mouth, and you feel Michael’s palm rest on your thigh, warm and firm. He gives you a reassuring smile as you glance at him. You smile back and rest your hand on top of his.

“I know not everyone has had the chance to meet Michael, so here he is.”

You gesture at him, and he nods to everyone at the table.

“Hello. It’s nice to meet you all.”

Everyone leans in, drinking in his words, seeming to glow brighter in his presence. You begin to introduce everyone by name.

“Michael, this is my Tita Luz…”

One by one, Michael says hello and repeats their name back with a warm smile. Your titas all preen from his attention, much to your amusement. Your titos are a little more wary, but they genuinely watch him in admiration. Your father greets him firmly, and your cousins are no better than they were earlier. You resist the urge to roll your eyes at their antics.

You reach the end of the table, and the attention turns to your mother. She’s been watching the interactions with an indiscernible look in her eyes. It makes you nervous, and your leg begins to bounce. Michael squeezes your thigh, stilling the movement slightly, but you continue to shake it a little.

“So anak, how have you two enjoyed living together?”

You steel yourself and swallow dryly. “We like it a lot. We’re both busy with work, so we have our own routines. But it’s nice to come home at the end of the day and see each other.”

Michael smiles at you before looking at your mother. “Yes, she’s helped turn the house into a real home. Picked out the decorations and everythin’. It’s beautiful, and she runs the place like a tight ship—think she gets it from her mama.”

Michael winks at her, and you see her turn her face away, blushing. She waves the napkin in her hand to hit his arm gently, teasing. Her expression softens after that, which is a miracle.

“Oh, bhe, stop it.”

Suddenly, all the questions from around the table burst open like a river dam cracking.

“Is it true you have giraffes in the backyard?”

“When can we visit?”

“Michael, can you show us all your animals, pleeaase?”

“‘Te, how big is your room? How big is your closet? Do you have multiple closets?!”

“Can you fit all of us? I mean, the whole family? What about Michael’s family?”

You and Michael look at each other, taking turns answering everyone. It feels like an interrogation, which makes you sweat a little. You keep your hand firmly on top of Michael’s and glance every so often at him. His face is still relaxed, still smiling and calm amidst the chaos, and you feel a fondness spread warm in your chest as he takes it all in stride.

Your mother gasps, slamming her hands on the table and standing up. You jump slightly and dread the look on her face. It’s like a lightbulb appeared above her head, an “aha!” moment of which you have no idea what to expect.

She begins clearing the table, and everyone else stands to help out. As she disappears into the kitchen with a pile of plates, she yells over her shoulder,

“‘Te, set up the Magic Mic!”

You freeze, hand halfway to picking up another plate. Your family members chatter loudly with excitement, moving around your rooted stance as your jaw drops in disbelief. Your brother howls at your expression, and you unfreeze to glare at him again.

“Shut up! Wait no, nanay, we’re not doing Magic Mic right now—”

You call after her, hurrying into the kitchen, but your mom’s voice booms louder, tittering.

“No, no, it’s perfect! Michael will love it! I mean, it’s sort of named after him after all.”

You groan at the pun, placing the dishes in the sink. You hover nearby, stalling. You hand her dishes to rinse before she places them in the dishwasher.

“What’s Magic Mic?” Michael’s voice chimes next to you, joining the assembly line as the pile of dirty dishes amasses. He waits patiently as the dishes are rinsed off.

“Ay, why are you here and not setting up?” Your mother ignores him for a second before she calls for your brother. “Boy, set the machine up!”

Then she glances at Michael, mirth oozing from her eyes.

“Magic Mic is the Filipino version of karaoke.”

Michael’s eyebrows shoot up, looking at you in amusement. “Karaoke, huh?”

“Filipinos love karaoke!” She simpers, and you groan loudly.

“‘Nay, please do not subject Michael to karaoke. We’re going to be here forever.”

“Well, more reason for you to stay.” She humphs, moving around you to grab the dishwasher cleaner.

You roll your eyes out of her sight. “Nanay, it’s not that we don’t want to be here. You’re really going to make Michael listen to everyone sing all night?”

“Yes.” She loads the dishwasher, starts it, and straightens. She crosses her arms, a stubborn look in her eyes. She glances at Michael and smiles sweetly.

“You want to stay, don’t you, bhe? You can even sing a song or two, if you like. But no promises; her Tito Ricky especially is a hogger.”

You glance at Michael and tug on his arm, giving him a desperate look. Michael glances between your mother’s encouraging face and your begging eyes. He bites his lip, thoroughly amused, and you want to smack him for how handsome he is while obviously giving in to your mother’s antics.

“We can stay for a little while, can’t we, honey?”

His voice drips with charm, big doe eyes round and pleading, and you just hang your head against his shoulder, defeated.

Your mother squeals. “Yay! Come into the dining room, bhe, get comfy.”

Your family is already crowded in the living room, watching the grainy TV screen light up with the Magic Mic welcome screen. Scenes of the Philippines fade in from one another, the lighthearted music pairing melodically with them. Your cousins fight over the heavy song binder, yanking it from one another and nearly tearing the pages out from the rings as they flip from one end to the other.

You and Michael squeeze into the loveseat in the corner. He watches your cousins with amusement, eyes flitting from the TV curiously and peering at the tiny letters in the binder.

“How many songs are in there?” He leans over to whisper in your ear over the noise.

You lean back. “I dunno, definitely hundreds.”

“Wow.” Comically, Michael’s eyes are like saucers, ogling the binder with a newfound fascination. “You gonna sing somethin’, baby?”

You shake your head vigorously. “Oh no. I mean, maybe I could be convinced by the cousins. But no solos for me tonight.”

Michael just hums, glancing at you with a smile. You reach over to adjust his jacket collar, which had gone askew.

“Will you sing something, Mikey? You don’t have to… God, I’m sorry that we’re even subjecting you to this.”

Your cheeks burn in embarrassment, and Michael laughs, deep and low. He smooths out the loose hair strands framing your face and gives your cheek a soft peck.

“Don’t apologize, baby. This is wonderful. Your family’s so energetic, I love it.”

You roll your eyes, fighting back a smile. “Yeah, they drive me crazy.”

Michael laughs again. “Well, I love crazy.”

You laugh with him, catching his genuine gaze, and turn your attention back to the group in front of you. Somehow, your Tito Ricky has already taken the mic with the only remote control and is plugging in the numbers for his song. Your cousins whine at him for stealing the first turn, and he shushes them.

Once he enters the numbers, the screen flashes with the song title, and the robotic karaoke instrumental kicks in: Total Eclipse of the Heart.

You cover your mouth immediately, shoulders shaking with laughter, and grip onto Michael’s leg to steel yourself. Everyone else howls with cheers and laughter as Tito Ricky falls completely into the song.

(Turn around)

Every now and then, I get a little bit lonely

And you're never coming 'round

Your entire family jumps in to sing the backing call phrases, and you can’t help yourself but sing along. Michael glances around, a bit taken aback by how good your voices blend.

(Turn around)

Every now and then, I get a little bit tired

Of listening to the sound of my tears

(Turn around)

Tito Ricky struts dramatically around the coffee table, bringing the mic up to each family’s mouth to sing a line. Everyone sways back and forth to the beat, immersing themselves in the performance. When he gets to you and Michael, he holds the mic between you two and you both belt the lyrics:

Turn around, bright eyes

Every now and then I fall apart

Turn around, bright eyes

Every now and then I fall apart

Then the most surprising thing happens: Tito Ricky points at everyone to sing the bridge and ending stanzas together. The decibels in the room rise to a fever pitch, and Michael continues to groove, looking around in amazement at the choir around him.

And I need you now tonight

And I need you more than ever

And if you only hold me tight

We'll be holding on forever…

The song eventually ends in a flourish, and everyone claps, hooting and hollering as Tito Ricky takes a dramatic bow. Your mother jumps up to grab the mic from him before he can choose another song.

“Okay, next person or group! Ricky, we need everyone to have a turn tonight,” She says into the mic, playfully slapping his arm.

One by one, your family members take the living room stage. You smile and cry tears of laughter at the funny performances, heartfelt performances, and everything in between. You’re dragged in the center at one point by your girl cousins, who insist on doing a very off-pitch, crazed version of Material Girl.

You’re shy at first, bouncing along to the beat, but you eventually warm up, jumping and dancing to your heart’s content. You feel sweat gather on your back, but you couldn’t be more elated. You laugh loudly, grabbing onto your cousins’ arms and backs. Every time you glance at Michael, you see him laser-focused on you, grinning from ear to ear and having the time of his life.

When you collapse onto the couch, Michael wraps his arm around your shoulders, squeezing you tight.

“That was amazing, baby! Y’all seriously sound lovely.”

Michael turns to address the room. He’s still speaking softly, but somehow his voice carries over the noise, and everyone looks at him. He laughs and adds, “I should recruit y’all for backing vocals on my next record…”

The room freezes for a moment, then bursts into louder noise after he says those words. He continues to laugh, trying to address everyone’s excited chattering as you wave them away.

“Uy, calm down! He’s just joking… right?”

You glance at Michael, a tad unsure, and he just shrugs, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“We’ll see.” You stare at him, flabbergasted, and he just pinches your cheek, chuckling.

The energy in the room is still palpable, but shifts into slower songs and calm ballads. Eventually, everyone in the room has taken a turn besides your brother, who would be caught dead before singing in front of people. Your mother pads over to you two and hands the mic out to Michael.

“Now I don’t want to force you to sing, bhe… but our family would love hearing you, if you’re up for it.”

He looks up at her, smiling shyly, before looking at you. You just nod, suddenly feeling nervous, but rub his arm encouragingly.

“Whatever you wanna do, baby.”

Michael thinks for a moment, then grabs the mic from your mother. He stands up and thanks her, stooping down to kiss her cheek. Your mother looks at you cheekily, grinning so wide her face might fall off, and you just roll your eyes, laughing.

Michael stands in the middle of the room, squatting down to file through the binder. The room falls into a hush, watching him search. He glances up and laughs into the mic.

“Sorry, I’m just tryna find the song… Y’all put me on the spot, so this might be rough.”

Michael’s tone is faux serious, and everyone laughs, assuring him he’ll be fine. Which, of course, he will be. Once his eyes land on the song he’s searching for, he reads the numbers quickly and turns to input them into the TV. The song that pops up genuinely surprises you: I’ll Be There.

Cheers erupt in the room. One of your cousins yells, “I love this song!” while flailing her arms. Michael laughs shyly, rubbing his neck. He narrates into the mic as the introduction plays.

“I couldn’t really think of a song… and this might be basic, but it’s really how I’m feelin’ now. I’m just very grateful to y’all for welcoming me into your home, and for allowing me to love your daughter.”

He looks at you and winks. Your jaw drops, dumbfounded, as heat creeps up your neck. The cousins sitting on the floor near you reach up to jostle you, jeering playfully. You swat them away, keeping your eyes on Michael, a small smile creeping on your face.

“So, this one’s for you, honey.”

Michael clears his throat and begins his song.

You and I must make a pact

We must bring salvation back

Where there is love

I'll be there

I'll reach out my hand to you

I'll have faith in all you do

Just call my name

And I'll be there

He walks over to you and holds out his hand, beckoning you to stand. Your family members cheer you on as you look around, timid, and grab onto Michael, holding tight.

He leads you to the middle of the room and wraps a hand around your waist. He pulls you close, and you look down in shock as you naturally link your arms above his neck. You glance up at him, blinking rapidly, a shy smile on your face as your family’s cheers grow louder.

Michael continues to sing, staring deep into your eyes. Though feeling eyes on you, the nervousness disappears as you stare back, relaxing into his gaze and angelic voice.

Let me fill your heart with joy and laughter

Togetherness well, it's all I'm after

Whenever you need me

I'll be there

I'll be there to protect you

With an unselfish love that respects you

Just call my name

And I'll be there

The room seems to shrink down to just the two of you. Your family fades into the background, and it’s just you, Michael, and the music, wrapping around you like a warm blanket. You’ve heard this song thousands of times before, but never like this.

Never with Michael staring into your soul, earnest and passionate and full of love. You’ve never heard these words before like you do now. They sink beneath your skin, etch themselves into your bones. A promise that Michael lays out to bare, a confession in front of your loved ones, the ones closest to you, and him the closest to your heart.

Your chest floods with that love, threatening to burst like the smile on your face. Michael grins into the mic, leaning close to you, before fanning out and yelling to the small crowd,

“Now, everybody sing! Let’s hear those amazing voices!”

No one hesitates to join in, filling the room with a melody you’ll dedicate to memory forever.

Ooh, I'll be there

I'll be there

Whenever you need me

I'll be there

Don't you know baby, yeah yeah

I'll be there

I'll be there

Just call my name…

“I’ll be there,” Michael whispers into the mic, ending with a flourish, and lowers it to kiss you softly on the forehead.

The room erupts with screams, and you bury your face into Michael’s chest as he hugs you. You hear and feel his laughter, warm and deep, the rumbling washing over you like sunshine. You glance outward at everyone looking at you two, hearts in their eyes, and you can only laugh, leaning against him as you wave everyone off.

You catch the eye of your parents, standing next to each other. Your mother has her hands clasped, eyes shining with unshed tears. A look of resigned understanding, yet deep genuine love, is in your father’s expression. You almost burst into tears on the spot, seeing their unsaid words clear in their faces. You blow them a kiss, gratitude pouring from every cell.

The night afterwards slowly comes to an end. Michael chats with various family members as you help put away the Magic Mic equipment and clear the rest of the common areas. Your parents and brother disappear into the kitchen before reappearing with stacks of Tupperware. They shove them into everyone’s hands, imploring them to take food home.

Michael immediately grabs a few and hands them to the security guard posted outside the door. They take them into the car, and you just watch the whole exchange, amused.

“What?” He says, shrugging. “Your mama’s food is amazing. We have to learn the recipes.”

You laugh. “I’ll ask her for them right now.”

As you greet each of your family goodbye as they head out the door, you glance at Michael now and then to check in.

He’s always engaged with someone, talking and listening intently to what they say. He seems to have gotten closer to your younger cousins, who continue to crowd around him, but he’s laughing and joking with them as if he’s known them forever.

You’re standing by the staircase a few feet away, just watching him, when your mother comes to stand by you. She wraps an arm around you and leans her head in your shoulder.

“He’s a good one, ‘nak, isn’t he?”

You sigh and smile, looking down at her. “Yes, he is, ‘nay.”

You turn to face her and squeeze her hands.

“Thank you for having us over. I’m sorry I haven’t visited more often. I’ll try to come by more, promise.”

“That’s okay, bhe.” Your mother rubs your arm affectionately. “Come over again any time. Or… we could come over too.”

She smiles wickedly, and you just laugh.

“We’ll definitely host soon.”

“Maybe for Christmas! And his family can come too!”

Your eyes widen, and you nod, albeit hesitantly. “Um, yeah sure! We’ll talk and see.”

You talk for a little longer until it’s just you and Michael left. Your brother is hunched over on the staircase, looking exhausted, and you walk over to ruffle his hair.

“Hey, squirt. Don’t miss me too much, okay?”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, whatever.”

You push his head lightly, and he pushes you back, harder. You laugh as he grumbles, and you walk back towards Michael, who’s standing by the open door and shaking your father’s hand.

“Thank you for having us over, sir. You really have a lovely home and family.”

Your father clears his throat awkwardly, but flashes a small, genuine smile.

“You’re welcome, anytime. Get home safe, ‘nak, okay?”

“Okay tatay,” You reply, reaching up to hug your father tight. “I’ll ring once we’re back.”

He nods, and you hug your mother next. “Bye, nanay.”

“Goodnight, anak.” She pulls away and points to you both sternly. “Don’t be strangers. We expect an invitation next month.”

You laugh nervously and wrap your arms around Michael’s. “We’ll try our best, nanay; you know Michael’s very busy.”

Michael shakes his head, smiling. “Sounds like a plan. We’ll find time.”

“You better,” Your mother says firmly. Michael laughs, mumbling a soft “yes, ma’am” in reply.

Your mother suddenly grabs both of your hands, staring deeply at both of you. Her eyes shine with unshed tears, looking grateful and overwhelmed all at once.

“Take care of each other, ha?”

You blink once and nod. “Of course, nanay.”

“I promise with my life,” Michael says immediately, firm and determined.

Your mother nods and releases you, sniffing and shooing you out. “Okay, now go, it’s late! Sleep well! Call us, ‘nak!”

You and Michael walk towards your car, the back door already open. Before you slide in, you glance back at your parents’ door.

Your mother’s waving while wiping her face, and your father just watches you, stoic and calm. You smile and wave back, getting into the car. Michael follows and closes the door, and the car peels away out of your neighborhood.

You release a loud sigh and lean back into the seat. Michael follows suit, and you look at each other before bursting into laughter.

“Damn, I’m spent,” You say.

“Me, too.” Michael reaches over to wrap his hand over yours. “But I had so much fun. I haven’t done karaoke in… ever, I think.”

“Really?” You shift to lean on your right, still holding Michael’s hand but facing him fully. “Well, I’m glad you had fun. That wasn’t all too much?

Michael shakes his head vigorously. “Oh no, not at all. Honestly, your family’s awesome. I’m so happy I met them.”

You smile, ducking your head down at your joined hands. You rub his thumb for a moment before speaking again.

“I’m happy you met them, too.” You whisper. You look up at Michael with watery eyes. “Thank you.”

Michael tilts his head, reaching up with his opposite hand to caress your face. He thumbs over the apple of your cheek. “For what, baby?”

“For being you. For being so wonderful. My family loves you, obviously. And for that performance… You basically gave us a free concert.”

You laugh, and he joins you. “It was my pleasure, baby. I’d do anything for you, and for them.”

You sniffle, forcing yourself not to cry at his sweet words. “You just met them, honey.”

He smiles softly. “I know. But they’re an extension of you. And I love you with everything in me. So, I love them too.”

You pout, moving forward to attack him in a fierce hug. Michael grunts, taken aback for a moment, before he engulfs you in strong arms. His scent overwhelms you, the warmth from his body spreading over yours like wildfire.

“I love you so much, Mikey, you know that, right?” You whisper into his ear.

Michael threads a hand through your hair, humming. You watch the city lights passing you by through the window, thanking God for your life and for bringing this man into it.

“Like I know the sun will rise tomorrow, my love.”

A tiny twitch of the rear, a fraction too much curb, and your car lost balance.

Metal kissed metal, sparks sprayed, and your steering wheel shook violently in your hands.

Your radio crackled alive just as your instincts switched you out of English completely.

“Piste- yawa gid ni, indi nako! Gago ka gid, sa tanan nga iguon mo ako pa, tani ma tipalo ka karon pag gwa mo sa salakyan” (Translation: Damn- you’re such a devil, I’m done! You’re such an idiot, out of everyone you could hit, it just had to be me. You better watch out when you get out of the car.”)

You spat the words like venom, every syllable in Hiligaynon sharp and guttural, the kind of cursing that would make your lola smack you with a tsinelas if she ever heard.

The engineers went silent.

The pit wall couldn’t even log what you said.

All that came through to the world feed was a frantic blur of syllables nobody outside of your hometown could decipher.

Your car skidded helplessly into the gravel, engine coughing before dying completely.

The marshals waved double yellows as you turned the car into neutral and walked with curses under your breath as you walked back to the pit with your team.

Your racing engineer stifled a laugh as you slump down at the bench in porsche hospitality as he comforts you by patting your head.

“Let’s hope you don’t get penalties from your radio earlier.” Tristan said.

“They can’t even understand me, They have translations for tagalog but not hiligaynon lmao, I don’t think they're gonna put that much effort to find the translation to my radio” you laugh as the tense atmosphere dispels.

Later

You stood in front of the media pen, cap pulled low and your suit still dusted with gravel.

The cameras and microphones pressed forward, the reporters eager after the replay of your clash with Liam had looped a dozen times already.

The first journalist spoke up.

“What happened at Turn 11? From where we were watching, it looked like you and Liam refused to give an inch.”

You shifted your weight, forcing yourself to stay calm.

“I kept my line, he kept his. Two cars into that corner is always a gamble, and I lost that gamble today. Nothing more to it.”

Another journalist raised his mic, already smirking.

“Your team radio caught a lot of… very colorful language. Can you translate for us what you said?”

You smiled faintly, shaking your head.

“No. That was pure Hiligaynon. If you know, you know. If you don’t, then it’s better for everyone.”

The crowd laughed, but one reporter tried again.

“So were you swearing?”

You tilted your head.

“Let’s call it passionate commentary. The good thing is, nobody can penalize me if they don’t understand it.”

Even a few of the cameramen chuckled at that, and you could almost hear the clips already being lined up for social media.

Another journalist leaned forward.

“Would you like to clear things up with Liam, or maybe apologize for what you said?”

You looked toward where Liam was giving his own interviews a few meters away, then back to the reporters.

“I’ll apologize if he can tell me exactly what I said. Until then, it’s just noise to him.”

Laughter rippled again through the pen, flashes went off, and you knew this moment would travel far faster than your race pace today ever did.

You woke up with Art’s arm draped lazily over you, your legs tangled together under the massive, silk sheets of your bedroom. The morning sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows, lighting up the huge room. You glanced at the clock and groaned.

“Oh no…” Christmas. Hosting the family at your mansion wasn’t small, there were multiple floors to decorate and rooms to prepare, and the kitchen alone was massive. And the dishes weren’t even started yet: lumpia, pancit, Filipino spaghetti, roasted turkey, pork siomai, Cajun seafood boil, fried chicken, baked sushi platter, rice cakes, rice, and drinks.

You gently shook Art. “Babe… I have to cook. Now.”He groaned and buried his face in the pillow. “Five more minutes…”“Nope,” you said firmly. “Christmas waits for no one.”

You rolled out of bed and headed to the grand kitchen, where shiny marble countertops gleamed and the huge ovens were already prepped. First came chopping vegetables for lumpia and pancit, while the turkey was rubbed with spices and slid into the oven. The fried chicken went into the deep fryer, the pork siomai was wrapped and set aside for steaming, Cajun seafood boil ingredients were laid out on the large island, the Filo spaghetti sauce simmered, baked sushi platters were prepped, and rice cakes sat in rows ready to steam. Drinks were set to chill in the wine fridge.

A moment later, you felt warm arms slide around your waist from behind. “Why are you up already?” Art’s sleepy voice rumbled against your shoulder.

“I need to get all this done for the party tonight,” you said, glancing at him. “Turkey, lumpia, pancit, pork siomai, Filo spaghetti, Cajun seafood boil, fried chicken, baked sushi, rice cakes, rice, and drinks. None of it’s going to cook itself.

”He chuckled softly, pressing a sleepy kiss to your shoulder. “Alright… fine. I’ll let you handle it,” he murmured, retreating to the huge leather couch in the lounge to curl up for a nap.

You shook your head, smiling, and got back to work. The mansion quickly filled with festive aromas: garlic sizzling from lumpia, spicy steam from the Cajun boil, bubbling spaghetti sauce, roasting turkey, frying chicken, and the sweet scent of rice cakes.

---

After finishing most of the cooking, you and Art took a quick bath together in your luxurious bathroom, laughing as he tried to steal the bath soap and you retaliated with splashes. By the time you were dressed, the mansion was alive with the glow of Christmas lights, a giant tree sparkling in the foyer, and the smell of your banquet filling every room.

Your family arrived, carrying extra dishes and gifts, wandering from the foyer into the huge living room. Laughter and chatter bounced off the high ceilings.

As your sister walked in, you glanced around and asked, “Asan na siya?” (“Where is he?”)

She smiled and held up a tiny bundle, a chubby four-month-old baby with bright eyes and tiny fists waving in the air. “Eto oh!” (“Here he is!”) she said proudly.

“Oh my gosh!” you exclaimed, rushing over and carefully taking the baby. He cooed happily.

Art, who had been resting in the lounge, sat up straight, eyes wide. “Wait… what?!”

Your sister smirked. “Go on, show him some love. He wants to see Uncle Art.”

You walked over to Art, holding the baby out to him. He gently took the little one, bouncing him on his knee and making silly faces. “Hey there, little guy,” he murmured.

---

As Art played with the baby, your parents, titas, and titos gathered around, grinning.

“Ay nako! Look at you two, finally acting like parents,” your mom teased, wagging a finger. “You’re so cute together!”

“Careful,” your dad added, smirking. “One day, you’ll be carrying your own little one around just like that.

”Your tita nudged Art. “Uy, Tito Art! I didn’t know you had it in you! Look at those strong arms, perfect for diaper duty!

”Your tito laughed, leaning against the staircase railing. “I hope you two are ready! This is just the start. Soon, you’ll be complaining why the baby is crying at two in the morning.

”Art looked a little embarrassed but grinned sheepishly. “I… uh… I think I’m ready,” he said quietly, glancing at you.

Your mom shook her head dramatically. “See? I told you. Finally, you’re settling down!

”You laughed, feeling your cheeks heat up as Art held the baby a little tighter, making funny faces to keep him entertained. “They’re just teasing,” you whispered to him.

Art whispered back, smiling. “Yeah… but I don’t mind.”

---

After everyone left, you both started cleaning the mansion’s enormous kitchen together. You were washing dishes when Art wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, resting his head on your shoulder.

“You know… seeing you handle all this food and the baby…” he murmured. “It’s making me think.

”You turned slightly in his arms. “Think about what?”

“I think… maybe I want one. With you,” he admitted softly.

Your heart skipped a beat. “Are you serious?

”He nodded. “Completely. But only when we’re ready… I just can’t stop imagining our little family.”

You laughed, tears pricking your eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he whispered, spinning you around to face him. Then, with a playful grin, he added, “Honestly… I think a baby from you would be the perfect Christmas gift this year.

”You rolled your eyes, laughing, but your heart swelled. “You’re impossible,” you said, hugging him tightly.He kissed your cheek and whispered,

“But you love it.”

Lyla prefers the leche flan over the flan mexicano, stating “sorry bestie, but the Asian girlies gotta stick together on this one.”

“This is literally top 10 anime betrayals of all time,” Sean says sardonically.

You pump your fists up in victory

Daniel says the two are literally the same dish and that this argument is stupid

(He’s high key right)

You and Sean gasp overdramatically

“Enano, that is blasphemy. You have become too uncultured. Dad and I have failed you.”

“They were both sweet flan dishes! It is the same dish with a different name! Made in a different place.”

You pull the leche flan away. “You are banned from leche flan privileges”

Daniel leaps for it. “Hey! That’s not fair—just because they’re the same doesn’t make them not delicious.”

You fold, because you’re not cruel, but Sean is like “no, he must lose flan privileges”

“Sean Diaz!”

And now you two are playfully arguing over being nice to Sean’s little brother.

Daniel takes the opportunity to devour both of the flans with Lyla while you both bicker.

-Your Filipino culture club is hosting an event where different dances are being performed, and you’re in the group doing the tinikling performance.

(this is loosely based off my college experience in a pinoy student association)

You bring Sean along to practice one day when it’s more lowkey, convincing him to try

“Are my feet gonna get slammed?”

“Only if you’re not hopping fast enough,” you tease.

He glares at you playfully.

You roll your eyes. “It’s not hard. Here, take my hands, we’ll practice without the sticks hitting together first”

You two do just that, him copying the three beat pattern as you guide him through the sticks.

When he’s comfortable enough, you guide him as your group mates slam the bamboo sticks on a slow beat. He has a lot of fun, but does NOT want to try it faster.

He watches your group practice your performance in awe

When you two walk back to your car, he says, “It genuinely looks really cool… I’d be too scared of my toes getting crushed between the bamboo by accident."

You snort. “I sprained my ankle once because I tripped on them during practice once—it wasn’t too bad.”

He looks at you incredulously. “I think I'm way too uncoordinated for it.”

“You weren’t doing so bad earlier—you could do it.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah.”

✧・ﾟ

"Compliance? For safety? How is that even a good thing, Papa? These Japanese are... massacring the country, our city! The best we can do is fight back!" You reasoned out, your voice raising in frustration. Of all people in the world, you would never expect your father to bend the knee to the colonizers. Sure, his allegiance is to the Americans, who also colonized your country after the Spanish did the same, but he held hope that they would be saved by them. For now, he has to think of the best way for his family to be safe, especially with the news going around about the abuses against women. He couldn't bear to live the rest of his life thinking that the women in his family would be facing the same fate as everyone, so compliance with the Japanese was the best option.

"My dearest, please. I don't want you to be..." he sniffled and lowered his head, then he cried in anguish. "I don't want to endanger all of you. The situation is hard, I understand that, but the best way for us to be safe is to side with them. Despite the crimes they're committing to our country and the people, we need to be safe. Think of yourself, Y/n. Think of your mother and your sisters. They're still so young." He walked towards you and pulled you into a hug, the tightest he had given you. "I love our country. You know that out of everyone. But right now, my love for my family overcomes that."

Two weeks later, a Japanese General, accompanied by his Lieutenant General, entered your home and had a written agreement with them, officially making your family untouchable from the atrocities of the war. You listened to their conversation from your room, peeking through the crack of your door. It was a surprise that the General had some English skills, which you then figured that maybe they had to learn for the invasion. From what you have gathered in their conversation, they have laid out some privileges for the family: you'll sustain your way of life and be exempted from the abuses, forced labor, and serve as entertainment for the soldiers.

That was good enough, you thought.

You then heard a cry from the other room. Your youngest sister's voice can be heard through the walls, and unfortunately, throughout the house. You saw the General and Lieutenant General perk up as soon as her cries spilled out. Your parents' bedroom door flew open, and out went your sister, crying for your father. "Maria!" You exclaimed, bursting out of your room to grab her before she could even reach the living room. You carried her in your arms despite her protests, but your eyes landed on the guests, specifically the Lieutenant General. He was about your age, a little stern at first glance. His blue eyes met yours, full of curiosity and a tinge of annoyance from the disturbance. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," you said as you walked away, carrying your crying sister back to your parents' room, closing the door behind you.

A few moments have passed, and you heard the bedroom door open, revealing your father, looking more distraught than he should be. He looked at you with apologetic eyes, and your stomach flipped at the sight. "What did you do, Papa?" you asked, your voice anxious and breaking.

"I'm sorry, my dearest. It had to be done."

Lieutenant General Karasu Tabito became a frequent visitor to your home. The reason? He became interested in you despite your short presence that day, thanks to your good-for-nothing sister. You're forced to face him every day with soft fake smiles that never reached your eyes. You try your best to be kind, at least just for the facade, so your family would be safer. You try your best to entertain his stories, all interesting and questionable. You try to respond accordingly, just as how your mother trained you all these years when the time comes for suitors to arrive at your doorstep.

Karasu was nothing but patient and kind, though sometimes, his eyes gave it away. He would sometimes look like he was analyzing you, the way you move, the way you speak, the way you laugh. Then one day, he said, "You're faking." That caught you a little off-guard. You cleared your throat and shifted in your seat, pulling your skirt down your knees. "I beg your pardon?" you replied.

"I don't like the way you're faking your interactions with me."

Like any other person in this time of war, hearing that would feel like a death sentence, especially with the situation your family was in. You, acting like their sacrificial lamb to this Japanese soldier, and him, a wolf. You smiled at him and shook your head. "I don't think I understand."

"Y/n, I know you feel forced to talk to me almost every day. But I want to let you know that I'm not like anyone out there. I don't agree with what they're doing, and I would..."

"You would?"

"If there wasn't a war, things like taking an interest in knowing you better wouldn't be that hard. Because I want to know you more and take you as my wife," he continued, his eyes full of honesty.

It took a year before you agreed to marry him, which your father was more than enthusiastic about. For him, it meant that your alliance and complacency with the Japanese colonizers were now set in stone and that your family would be forever safe from the horrors you read from underground newspapers that often arrive on your doorstep. You made sure Karasu never found any of it every time he visited your home before the marriage.

Life with him was peaceful, or it seemed to be. You were away from all the noise, and Karasu ensured you would live as a married couple peacefully. Every morning, there was a routine of you two drinking coffee at the dining table, him reading the newspaper, Japanese issued ones, and you humming a tune. It was lovely. Sometimes, he'd hold your hand as he drinks his coffee, and you'd smile at him.

Mornings also included helping him into his uniform every time he's being called to the office, ironing it to perfection. You'd help him button up his shirt, then hand him his hat, sometimes dusting it off before you do. "I'll be back soon," Karasu would say with a smile, and you'd respond, "Take care."

Your afternoons are spent tending the garden and listening to the vinyl records your father gave you as a wedding gift. They were pretty old, and you played them anyway. You'd sway alone in the living room until you grew tired. Then it was time to prepare dinner for you and your husband.

He'd consistently arrive home at 6:00 PM, leaving his boots by the doorway before he walked to you as you worked in the kitchen. He'd give you a chaste kiss on your temple, whispering, "I'm home." You're always glad whenever he comes home because it means things haven't gotten worse yet.

One night after dinner, while you were washing the dishes, humming a tune you heard from one of your records, you heard Karasu rummage through the same shelf of records in your living room. You weren't concerned, no. It's just he never once had an interest in your collection, yet here he was. Then you heard him put on one of the records to the record player you had in your home.

"Y/n," he called out, his feet padded on the wooded floor of your shared home, "dance with me." You looked at him over your shoulder, giving him a kind smile. "Just after this, Karasu."

He sighed as walked nearer to the sink where you were and turned off the faucet. You faced him with a slight disappointment on your features and he just smiled at you. He took a towel hanging from the drawer handles, and then wrapped your hands with it, drying them for you. "The dishes can wait. Please, dance with me." You could only nod and walk back with him to the living room as the scratchy music filled the living room. Karasu placed his hands on your hips as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, beginning to sway with him. "We never danced before," he stated in which you hummed in reply. "I think the war hasn't let us, Karasu."

He shushed you softly as he shook his head. "No mentions of war in this home, Y/n. I told you that before, remember?"

"Sorry."

"It's okay. No need to. I want us to live away from it, even if we have to pretend. Keep your mind away from it."

Karasu sighed shakily as he pulled you closer to him, embracing you. You can feel the tension radiating from him, so you rest your hand over his chest, feeling his heartbeat. "Karasu, what's wrong?"

"You've been calling me Karasu for the longest time. Maybe it's time for you to call me Tabito," he said, his voice low, ignoring your question. You nodded and spoke his name. It felt new on your tongue, but it sounds much better now that you won't be calling his, and your, last name. Tabito rested his forehead against yours as you two were engulfed by the silence of the night and the hum of your record player.

It wasn't long until that peace slowly faded as Tabito would spend more time away from your home.

He came home with news of a possible battle, one that was inevitable. He told you in great detail what Japan would do to defend the Philippines from the Americans, and it would be bloody. You listened to him intently, holding his shaking hands. Tabito warned you of two outcomes: either they will lose and leave the country, or Japan will continue their reign over the islands. If you were asked right now, you don't know what to feel. If you were still 2 years younger, you'd feel overjoyed about the liberation of your country. However, now that you've come to know Tabito, and eventually, loved him more than you imagined, Japan losing would mean him leaving you behind.

The news of Japan's surrender broke you.

The sight of Tabito running to you and apologizing broke you.

"I know I never told you this in our whole marriage but remember that I love you. I loved every moment with you, and I would trade everything to be with you," he cried as he cupped your wet cheeks. "I love you, I love you, Y/n."

He left the next day along with the other Japanese troops, leaving you in your once-shared home.

It's such a shame, others would say, that your Japanese husband left you without a child. That you were left alone with hopes of him returning to get you. That after 3 years, you ended up lying on your deathbed.

That your last words before you closed your eyes were his name.