Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jhoanna knew it the moment Aiah walked into the council room — iced coffee in one hand, laptop in the other, and that familiar grin that always meant: “𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘢 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘸𝘢𝘺.”

“Wag mo akong tingnan nang ganyan,” Jhoanna said without looking up.

“Short film,” Aiah said, sliding into the chair across from her like this was the most casual thing in the world.

“Hard pass.”

“It’s for Pride Month.”

Jhoanna sighed, pen pausing mid-sentence. “Aiah…”

“Wala na tayong oras. Posters? Done. Event lineup? Final na. All that’s left is our main output.”

“And that’s…?”

“A short film,” Aiah repeated, eyes shining. “About queer intimacy. Simple lang. Walang lines, just visuals. Music, intimacy, taguan ng feeling. Parang—”

“So parang soft gay film,” Jhoanna deadpanned.

Aiah smirked. “Exactly. Artsy. Honest. Totoo.”

“And who exactly is starring in this 'totoong' film?”

Aiah took a long sip of her drink. “Tayo.”

Silence.

Jhoanna blinked. “Tayo?”

“Why not?” Aiah shrugged. “We’re queer, we’re friends, and we already have chemistry.”

Jhoanna’s mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. “Hindi ba dapat may auditions muna man lang?”

“Authenticity over everything,” Aiah said. “This isn’t for grades. This is for representation, Jho.”

“Right,” Jhoanna muttered. “So the bisexual girl and the chaotic lesbian are your casting choices?”

“Exactly,” Aiah said with a grin. “Trust me. We can pull this off.”

And the worst part?

Jhoanna did trust her.

-------------

They worked on the script later that night in Aiah’s condo, floor cluttered with fries, crumpled sticky notes, and a shared blanket pulled over their legs. The document glowed between them:

Scene 4. Morning. One character stretches, camera lingers on the mark on her neck.

“Alam mong obvious ‘yan, ‘di ba?” Jhoanna murmured.

“That’s the point.”

“And you want me to have that?”

Aiah didn’t blink. “Ikaw ‘yung character na hindi pa kayang mag out. So the other one claims her, quietly. With care.”

Jhoanna stared at the scene breakdown. “So... makeup?”

“Meh. Pwede pero parang fake eh.”

“So?” she asked, half-joking, half-daring. “Ikaw gagawa?”

Aiah turned to her, “Kung papayag ka.”

The room went still.

Then Jhoanna burst out laughing. “Nakakainis. Kilabutan ka nga!”

“What? It's part of the scene. Sybolism yan noh.”

“Chancing ka lang ata e.”

Aiah threw a fry over her face, “Ang kapal nito. Maswerte ka na nga, ang daming nangangarap nito.” Aiah pouted her lips.

“Exempt me, Oh God. I've seen what those lips have done and I do not wish to take part.”

“Whatever you say blablaba, you'd still be lucky to experience this.”

Jhoanna faked a gasp, suddenly standing from her seat, “Ang laki ng ulo mo, abot ko na dito.”

Aiah reached for her waist and tickled her, tackling her down the floor. Jhoanna shrieked between giggles, squirming beneath her.

“Hoy! Tigilan mo—Aiah!” she gasped, half-laughing, half-protesting as Aiah pinned her down.

“Sabihin mo muna,” Aiah grinned, hovering just above her, eyes dancing with mischief, “na gusto mong halikan kita.”

“Sa panaginip mo lang!”

“Oh?” Aiah leaned in closer, their faces just inches apart. “Eh bakit di ka makatingin?”

“Nakakatawa kasi mukha mo! Para kang engot.”

“Really? What if i-test na natin ngayon to?” Aiah bit her lip slightly.

Jhoanna held her breath for a second. “Nope, I'm reserving mine for the better good.”

“What? This is the best that you could get.”

Jhoanna raised a brow, scoffing as she leaned back on her elbows, pretending to look unimpressed. “Yabang mo talaga. Feeling mo ikaw na ang peak.”

Aiah chuckled, tilting her head. “I am the peak. Halika nga dito, para malaman mo.”

“Ugh,” Jhoanna groaned dramatically, covering her face with her hands. “Lord, deliver me from delulu.”

Aiah laughed again, nudging her side. “Kahit ilang taon na tayong magkaibigan, hindi mo pa rin kinaya ‘tong charm ko.”

“Charm?” Jhoanna peeked between her fingers. “More like chaos. I’ve survived you since high school, Aiah. I deserve an award.”

Aiah lunged for her waist again. Jhoanna yelped, still laughing as Aiah tickled her mercilessly. “Aiah—Aiah! Tangina, tama na—” she cried in between wheezes, trying to wiggle out.

“Seryoso! gigil ka sa physical contact ‘no?”

“Excuse me,” Aiah replied, still not moving off her. “You’re just mad kasi I always win.”

“Neknek mo. Kailangan lang talagang mapa-rehistro na yang ego mo sa MMDA.”

Aiah finally rolled off, collapsing beside her on the floor, both of them staring at the ceiling like teenagers again.

After a few moments of silence and catching her breath, Jhoanna swung a leg over and curled up beside Aiah. “Napagod na ako. Tulog na tayo.”

Aiah chuckled, her voice lazy with fatigue. “Wow, naghanap ka lang talaga ng excuse.”

“Mhm. You smell good,” Jhoanna mumbled, her face buried against Aiah’s shoulder. “Bakit parang iba amoy mo ngayon?”

“My usual body wash ran out. Yan lang nabili ko,” Aiah replied, yawning as she adjusted, slipping an arm under Jhoanna’s head to make her more comfortable.

“Sleep na talaga tayo.”

“M’kay. Lipat na tayo sa bed”

“Buhatin mo me,” Jhoanna whispered with a pout, eyes looking up at her.

Aiah groaned. “Ang arte-arte mo. Magpapalambing ka rin pala.”

“So... no?”

“Syempre yes. Matitiis ba kita?”

Aiah stood and scooped Jhoanna up in her arms with a grunt, wobbling slightly but steady. “Ano ka, baby?”

Jhoanna wrapped her arms lazily around Aiah’s neck, grinning. “Baby mo.”

“Don’t push it,” Aiah muttered, carrying her to the bedroom with exaggerated effort.

She gently laid Jhoanna down on the bed and pulled the blanket over her.

Aiah said, brushing a few strands of hair from Jhoanna’s forehead. “There. Matulog ka na. Magliligpit lang ako saglit.”

Jhoanna blinked up at her, her voice already drowsy. “Balik ka agad ha?”

Aiah laughed and nodded, brushing a few strands of hair from her face before slipping out of the room.

It was always like this.

They had routines—shared habits that never needed to be talked about. Jhoanna sleeping over after a late night, Aiah curling up beside her mid-conversation, both of them raiding each other’s kitchens without asking. Toothbrushes left in drawers, half-finished snacks no one remembered buying, blankets they tugged over each other without thinking.

It was ordinary, at least for them.

But not for everyone else.

Aiah had gone through more relationships than she could count. Most never lasted longer than a few months. People called her noncommittal, like she couldn’t sit still in something serious. But it wasn’t that. It was just that they didn’t get this.

They didn’t get how she could drop plans just because Jho texted, “𝗬𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘆𝗮𝗻𝗴 𝗸𝗼, 𝗻𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝘁𝗮𝘆𝗼 𝗺𝗼𝘃𝗶𝗲 𝗽𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲 :(”

Or how she always knew what side of the bed Jhoanna liked. Or how, no matter where she was or who she was with, her first instinct was still to tell Jhoanna first when something happened.

To her, it wasn’t complicated. It was just friendship. Her constant.

But to the girls she dated, it always felt like too much.

Jhoanna, on the other hand, was steady. The type to stay in long-term relationships. She wasn’t the kind of person who got attached easily, but when she did, she stayed.Quietly, intentionally. And when those relationships ended, she didn’t rebound—she just went home.

And more often than not, home was with Aiah.

Now in their third year of college, things should’ve felt more separate.

Jhoanna was buried in newsroom deadlines and campus press releases, her Journalism classes stacked with field assignments and editorial panels. Aiah, on the other hand, lived off sleepless nights and design plates—her Architecture degree pulling her into drafting rooms that smelled like coffee, ink, and stress.

But somehow, they still saw each other almost every day.

Maybe it was because they were both in the student council.

Jhoanna, being the president. Aiah, her ever-reliable vice.

Meetings, events, planning sessions that ran too long—there was always something. And where one was present, the other usually wasn’t far behind. Not out of obligation. Just instinct.

Some people joked that the two of them ran the council like a marriage. Aiah would roll her eyes. Jhoanna would mutter something sarcastic. But neither of them really denied it.

After all, this was their rhythm.

Even with different majors, different circles, different demands—somehow, they managed to find time. Lunch in between overlapping breaks. Late-night walks after a council event. Familiar footsteps echoing beside each other in hallways they no longer needed to navigate.

They’d grown up a little. College had a way of doing that.
More pressure. More deadlines. More faces that came and went.

But this—this part of their lives—remained steady.

So when Jhoanna stirred awake and felt the space beside her empty, she didn’t panic. It wasn’t the first time she woke up to Aiah already gone.

What caught her attention was the note on the fridge.

“𝗢𝘂𝘁. 𝗕𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗸𝗳𝗮𝘀𝘁 𝗱𝗮𝘁𝗲. 𝗧𝗲𝘅𝘁 𝗺𝗲 𝗼𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂'𝗿𝗲 𝘂𝗽 – 𝗔”

It wasn’t unusual.

Aiah always left notes. Always said “text me.”
She’d come and go like second nature, like someone who knew the lock on your door better than her own.

But for some reason, that morning, the silence felt… heavier.

Maybe it was how the blanket on Aiah’s side had already gone cold.

Maybe it was the way the pen ink pressed darker than usual, like Aiah had hesitated before writing it down.

Maybe it was just the word date—so plainly written. No doodle, no smiley face, no joke.

Or how she couldn’t remember when Aiah started leaving right before sunrise instead of staying for breakfast like she used to.

She took the note down slowly, pressing a thumb over the ink. Folded it once. Then again.

She set it on the counter but didn’t move away right away.

There wasn’t anything wrong. There wasn’t, right?

Still… she stood there for a while, unmoving, as the morning light crept through the curtains.

She didn’t feel like texting her.

Not yet.

Chapter Text

Jhoanna had always been good at being alone. Growing up an only child meant she knew how to fill silence with little things — writing on napkins, people-watching, getting lost in random documentaries she didn’t even finish.

It wasn’t some tragic thing — just the way it was. She had systems. Patterns. And it made sense.

But ever since Aiah entered her life — maybe slipped into it — silence wasn’t the same anymore.

They spent so much time together these past few years that it felt unnatural now to walk across campus without someone falling into step beside her, or to go through her planner without Aiah’s familiar chicken-scratch handwriting on the corner margins reminding her of some meeting, or event, or a stupid inside joke. She got used to it. Too used to it, maybe.

Now she found herself in the student council office, her tapsilog left untouched. For some reason, she missed the way Aiah would always end up stealing her egg without asking. She used to roll her eyes at it. Now she stared at the untouched yolk like it was mocking her.

She leaned back in her chair and stared up at the ceiling — that same off-white, fluorescent-lit void. Her thoughts were spiraling again. She hated this part of herself, the one that picked at moments until they lost meaning.

She remembered Aiah fanning her the other day, one afternoon without being asked. “Mainit,” she said, pressing a cold bottle of water into her hand like it was muscle memory.

Jhoanna didn’t even say thank you. She just nodded.

She once joked that whoever ends up with Aiah would be both lucky and unfortunate. That she’s sweet but intense. Overbearing in the way that makes your chest feel full and a little heavy.

She used to say it with a laugh. Like it was nothing.

But now when she thought about it, really thought about it — her stomach turned a little.

Was it jealousy?

No. No, no. Of what? Of who?

It’s not like she—
She didn’t want—

She wasn’t—

Jhoanna let out a breath and covered her face with her hands for a second. Maybe she was just tired. Maybe she was overthinking again. Maybe she just missed having someone sit across from her, picking at her food, rolling their eyes at her stubbornness.

Maybe she just missed her best friend.

Jhoanna looked at her phone. The tagged photo on Mikha’s story. A blurred pic of coffee cups. Aiah’s familiar hoodie sleeve. A caption saying: “today’s view :)”

Cute.

Jhoanna had stared at the post a second too long before swiping past it like it didn’t matter. Aiah could date. She should date.

So why couldn’t Jhoanna bring herself to send a message today?

Maybe it was to give her space. Maybe because it was Mikha, and Jhoanna never really liked the way she spoke to the council staff — too fake, too polished. Or maybe she was just overwhelmed. That must be it.

Right?

She didn’t know what she was feeling, exactly. Not anger. Not jealousy, either. That felt too dramatic. She wasn’t some possessive type.

Maybe tomorrow she’d text her.

Or maybe later.

Maybe when it stopped feeling like this.

Whatever this was.

She fixed her things, tucking the still-untouched tapsilog — sealed neatly in its container — into her bag before standing from the table and slinging it over her shoulder. The campus was quieting down as the sun dipped low, that late afternoon haze casting everything in this sort of golden fatigue.

She made her way to the parking lot, thinking maybe she’d just walk around or sit in the shade of the trees by the edge. The ones Aiah used to drag her to during breaks.

God. She needed to stop thinking about her.

As she neared the lot, she spotted a familiar figure by the lamppost, one leg propped against the low curb, phone in hand.

Colet.

Jhoanna almost turned around. Almost. But it was too late — Colet looked up, caught her eye, and gave a small smile.

“Hey,” Colet said, slipping her phone into her jacket pocket. “Galing ka pa sa council?”

“Sort of,” Jhoanna replied, slowing her steps until she was standing beside her. “Just needed to step out.”

Colet turned slightly, one shoulder leaning against the lamppost. “You tired? I was actually waiting for you.”

Jhoanna blinked, caught off guard. “Huh? Why? Did you need something?”

Colet let out a quiet laugh — soft, almost shy. “Wala naman… I just—missed you, eh.”

Jhoanna looked at her, unsure of what to do with that. She offered a half-smile. “You saw me, like, two days ago.”

“Exactly, felt like a year ago already. Kumain ka na ba?”

Jhoanna shook her head. “I was going to, kaso wala akong gana. I had Skyflakes kanina though.”

“Very nutritious,” Colet said dryly. “Kain tayo, Jho.”

Jhoanna squinted at her, pretending to think. “Our usual?”

“Of course.”

Fifteen minutes later, they were seated at their usual table in the back of Aling Lucy’s small carinderia-turned-quiet-resto. It wasn’t fancy — tile floors, a blinking Coke sign, and walls lined with family photos that had probably never been dusted.

“Dalawang liempo, dalawang garlic rice, itlog na maalat, saka calamansi juice po,” Colet ordered without looking at the menu.

Jhoanna exhaled, sinking into her seat. The fan above them creaked, as usual.

She leaned her head against the wall for a moment and closed her eyes. “I think this place makes my brain slow down.

“That's why I brought you here,” Colet said. “Your brain’s always in fourth gear.”

Jhoanna cracked an eye open. “Not true. I’m in neutral right now.”

“Even worse,” Colet laughed. “That’s when you overthink the most.”

Colet reached down beside her chair, unzipped a side pocket of her bag, and pulled out a small white bottle.

She placed it gently on the table, slid it toward Jhoanna.

Jhoanna blinked. “What’s this?”

“Vitamins,” Colet said simply, leaning her chin back on her hand. “You haven’t been taking them, right?”

Jhoanna stared at the bottle, then at her.

“You carry this around?”

“I knew we’d end up eating together sometime this week. And I knew you wouldn’t take them on your own.”

Jhoanna gave a low laugh, almost disbelieving. “You’re seriously unreal.”

“At least healthy ka pa rin, ‘di ba?”

“Thank you, Coy.”

Colet’s face instantly soured. She groaned, dragging her palm down her face. “Jho, please. You’re still calling me that?”

Jhoanna grinned, eyes gleaming. “It suits you!”

“I’m not a fish.”

They both laughed. It was an old joke, one that started back in sophomore year when Jhoanna first called her Coy during a late-night meeting. Colet had jokingly protested, ranting that “Coy” sounded like something you feed in a pond. Ever since then, Jhoanna only used it when she wanted to annoy her.

“You secretly love it, aminin mo na.”

“I secretly tolerate you,” Colet muttered, but she was smiling again.

Before they could talk more, the food arrived — steaming, oily, perfect.

Without a word, Colet grabbed a napkin and gently wiped Jhoanna’s utensils clean before sliding them across the table toward her. She poured her water next, careful not to spill. She did it all so naturally that Jhoanna barely noticed at first — the way Colet sliced the egg in half and placed the bigger piece on her plate, or how she wiped the condensation from Jhoanna’s glass before it could soak into the table.

They ate quietly at first, it was comfortable. The food was familiar, salty, heavy in the way that warmed you from the inside out.

“Grabe, I missed this,” Jhoanna said between mouthfuls, her voice softer now. “I didn’t realize how long it’s been.”

“Masyado ka kasing seryoso sa org e,” Colet teased, taking a slow bite of rice.

“Alam mo naman,” Jhoanna replied with a shrug. “Someone has to make sure it doesn’t burn down.”

Colet chuckled. “And that someone has to be you?”

“Apparently,” Jhoanna sighed dramatically, then leaned back slightly in her chair. “How ‘bout some beer? God, I deserve a few drinks.”

Colet leaned in slightly, a playful glint in her eyes. “I know a better spot. Chill lang, good music, not too crowded. The night’s still young, di ba?”

Jhoanna blinked at her, caught off guard. “You’re inviting me out?”

“I’m inviting you to breathe,” Colet said, finishing the last of her garlic rice. “Lalim mo eh.”

“Hmm. What kind of place?”

“Just trust me,” Colet said, standing to get her wallet. “Pero uwi muna tayo. We can change — unless you want to show up in your council shirt na amoy liempo.”

“You’re serious?”

Colet shot her a look as she prepared to pay. “Of course I am. I haven’t seen you relax in weeks. I’m taking advantage of this moment.”

Jhoanna considered it for a beat. She had no real excuse to say no. Her limbs felt light from the food, her mind quieter than it had been in days. And the idea of being out somewhere with just Colet — away from everything — didn’t sound bad at all.

”You’re thinking too hard,” Colet added when she got back, “Let’s stop by home first, yeah? You can change, fix your hair, whatever. No rush.”

Jhoanna raised an eyebrow. “You’re telling me not to rush?”

“Mm-hmm,” Colet said, nodding. “You deserve to feel like yourself before anything else. Take your time, Jho. I’ll come pick you up.”

“You sure?” she asked.

“I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t,” Colet replied simply. “You don’t have to decide now, either. Text me when you’re ready.”

“Okay,” she said finally, standing to stretch her arms again. “But if I show up in slippers and a bun, don’t complain.”

Colet smirked as she grabbed her keys. “You could show up in a sando and I’d still buy you a drink.”

Jhoanna rolled her eyes. “Ang landi mo.”

“Ako pa talaga,” Colet grinned. “See you in a bit?”

Jhoanna nodded.

--------------------

Colet was waiting at the parking lot when Jhoanna stepped out like she hadn’t overthought her outfit (even if she had). A powder-blue button-down worn loose over a cropped top, a taupe skort, and sky-blue sneakers. Casual, but put together. She opened the door and slid in.

Colet, already behind the wheel flashed her a light smile.

“Naks. Pinterest is shaking.”

Jhoanna shot her a look. “You’re one to talk.”

Colet laughed under her breath, pulling away from the curb.

She was in an oversized green football jersey — the kind that hit mid-thigh and made her look like she walked straight out of a campus crush fantasy — paired with a black skort and white Adidas sneakers. Comfortable, confident.

“Baka kung saan mo ko dalhin ah?” Jhoanna teased as they drove.

“Sa simbahan siguro.”

“Corny mo.”

--------------------

The place Colet brought her to wasn’t loud. It wasn’t packed. It was tucked behind a corner bar she liked — a private room with warm lights, soft music, and two cold bottles already waiting on the table.

After settling in — and a bit of half-serious arguing over what to order —

Jhoanna raised her bottle, a crooked smile on her lips. “Para sa mga bayaning hindi bayad.”

Colet clinked hers gently against it. “Siraulo.”

The bottles kept coming, slow and steady — no pressure, just Jhoanna saying “last na talaga” with a laugh, then reaching for another anyway. And so it went.

Colet was careful with her pace, as always. She nursed her drinks, ordered pulutan between rounds, and made sure Jhoanna’s glass was never too full or too empty.

Jhoanna, on the other hand, wasn’t keeping track.

Maybe it was the way the music felt like background to Colet’s laughter. Maybe because she hadn’t felt this unguarded in weeks — no council to lead, no image to hold, no overthinking.

Just her and Colet. This must be it.

Right?

She laughed louder than usual. Leaned forward more. Her cheeks were flushed, hair coming loose from where she’d tucked it behind her ear earlier. She pulled her legs up into the chair at one point, cross-legged like she’d forgotten where she was.

“Wait—what time is it?” Jhoanna blinked, grabbing for her phone and squinting. “Shit. It’s almost one?”

Colet just shrugged, half-smiling as she picked at the last of the fries. “Akala ko hindi mo na mapapansin e.”

“You didn’t say anything!”

“You looked happy,” Colet said simply, not quite meeting her eyes. “Didn’t want to ruin it.”

Jhoanna stared at her for a second — too long, probably — before placing her phone face-down on the table.

“Well… I am,” she said, a little breathless.

“Bagay mo, Jho.”

“Huh? Ang alin naman?”

“Ngumiti. Maging masaya. Huwag ka na masyadong nag iisip isip. You know I'm here for you, right?”

Jhoanna scrunched her nose, smirking. “Jologs ka. Bakit parang ang senti na natin bigla?”

Colet chuckled, shaking her head. “I’m just saying.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jhoanna said, rolling her eyes but not quite brushing it off. “Always so good to me.”

“It’s what you deserve.”

Jhoanna looked away, suddenly aware of how warm her face felt. Her fingers toyed with the label of her bottle.

Jhoanna reached for her phone again, this time out of habit. The screen lit up with a soft glow.

3 messages from Aiah
All sent over a few hours ago.

She didn’t open them.

Didn’t even read the previews. Just stared for a second longer than she should have, then dropping it face-down again on the table.

“Ayos ka pa?” Colet asked, sipping from her glass.

Jhoanna blinked out of it. “Yeah. Just—time’s moving too fast.

Jhoanna was starting to sway.

Not dramatically — just enough that her words had begun to tangle, her laugh coming slower, deeper in her chest. She blinked more often, her head leaning to one side like gravity was pulling harder than usual.

“Okay, last mo na talaga yan,” Colet said, already fishing her phone out of her bag.

Jhoanna made a noise in protest but didn’t argue.

“Don’t even try,” Colet muttered as she typed something out. “Natext ko na si Kuya Joel. Hahatid niya tayo.”

They waited a few more minutes in the private room, lights dim, the buzz still clinging to the air. Colet kept one eye on her, gently nudging her to drink water, handing her a mint from her bag without a word.

By the time they got to Jhoanna’s condo, she was quiet again — too quiet. Her limbs were loose, but her shoulders were tense.

“I’ll walk you up,” Colet said, steadying her when she almost tripped on the curb.

“I’m fine,” Jhoanna said, but she leaned into her anyway.

Inside the unit, the familiar scent of her own space grounded her — lavender and paper and old perfume.

She kicked off her shoes lazily by the door and plopped down onto the couch, exhaling sharply.

Colet stood by the doorway, uncertain for the first time that night.

“You good?” she asked, voice gentle.

Jhoanna looked at her — really looked.

Something soft flickered behind her eyes. Tired, yes. But also open in a way she rarely let herself be.

“You take care of me too much,” she said quietly.

Colet blinked. “Is that a complaint?”

“No.”

She said it like it hurt a little. Like she was admitting something she hadn’t meant to say aloud. Her fingers curled into the edge of the blanket draped over her lap, then released it slowly.

She stood — carefully, like she was testing how steady her legs really were.

Colet was now sitting on the other end of the couch, one hand resting on the armrest. She looked up at Jhoanna, her fist tightening just slightly.

Jhoanna stepped closer.

Then knelt down in front of her, slow and steady — like she wasn’t sure if she should be doing this, but couldn’t stop herself either.

Jhoanna reached up, resting her hand lightly on Colet’s knee — grounding herself, or asking permission, she wasn’t sure.

She kissed her — slowly. Hesitantly at first. The kind of kiss that holds its breath. Her hand found Colet’s shoulder for balance.

Colet froze. Not in rejection, but in shock. Her eyes fluttered shut a beat too late. Her free hand rose, instinctive, ghosting over Jhoanna’s waist but not pulling her in — not yet.

Jhoanna pulled back just slightly — enough to breathe, enough to look at her.

Then she kissed her again.

This time deeper. With more weight. Like she was falling forward without thinking, or maybe because she’d been thinking too much.

Colet’s lips parted against hers, and her hands finally moved — slow, unsure, but real. One resting on her hip, the other lightly at her back, not pulling her in, just… there. Holding her. Steadying her.

Jhoanna’s fingers had found their way to the back of Colet’s neck, thumb brushing softly at her nape. Her breath hitched as she pressed closer.

Colet exhaled shakily into the kiss.

Then, without thinking, she reached for Jhoanna’s waist, and gently pulled her forward.

Jhoanna let out a quiet sound — not surprise, but something softer — as Colet guided her down onto her lap. She settled there easily, knees on either side of her thighs, her arms wrapping loosely around Colet’s shoulders.

Jhoanna kissed her like the night owed her something.

Hands gripping the hem of Colet’s jersey, breath shaky against her mouth, like this was the only way she knew how to shut out her thoughts. And Colet — despite everything she tried to tell herself — kissed her back.

Because how could she not?

She’d wanted this. Imagined it in every quiet space Jhoanna left behind. And here it was — Jhoanna, warm, real, pulling her closer like she didn't want the moment to end.

But then Colet felt it.

The slight unsteadiness in her touch. The way her weight shifted just a little too heavy. The faint smell of liquor at the edge of her breath.

And suddenly it wasn’t a dream anymore.

Colet broke the kiss, pulling back with a breath that felt like it scraped her chest.

“Jho, not tonight,” she whispered, voice rough. “Please… not like this.”

Jhoanna blinked down at her, confused, lips still parted.

“But—”

“I want this,” Colet said, steady. “You know I do.”

She brushed her thumb along Jhoanna’s cheek.

“But I want you sober when you look at me like that.”

“I want it to be clear,” Colet added. “Not just something you forget in the morning.”

Jhoanna looked down, jaw tightening. “You think I’d forget?”

“I think,” Colet said, swallowing, “you’ve had five drinks, maybe more. I think you’re tired. And I think…”

She hesitated. Her voice cracked, just slightly.

“I think I want to be chosen when you’re sure.”

Jhoanna didn’t respond. Not right away.

Then — barely above a whisper: “Sorry.”

“No,” Colet said gently, brushing her thumb over Jhoanna’s wrist. “Huwag.”

They stayed like that for a second — too close, too far.

Then, Jhoanna shifted. Slipped off Colet’s lap.

She sat beside her instead, suddenly feeling cold in her own skin. The loss of warmth, of closeness, hit her harder than the alcohol ever could.

Colet didn’t reach for her again.

She just stood slowly, hand lingering for a second on Jhoanna’s shoulder before falling away.

“Pahinga ka na, ha?” she said softly. Then she leaned in, pressing a light kiss to the top of Jhoanna’s head.

“I’ll lock the door.”

The door clicked shut behind Colet.

Jhoanna stayed on the couch, unmoving. Her knees drawn up, arms folded around herself like she could still hold onto some of the warmth she’d lost.

She didn’t know how long she sat there, staring at the floor.

Maybe minutes. Maybe longer.

Then—

A faint sound. Bare footsteps against the floor.

She looked up.

“Yang?” she blinked, sitting up.

Aiah stepped out from the bedroom, already halfway into the living room. Hair tied up loosely, Jhoanna’s oversized shirt draped over her lean frame. She looked like she’d been awake, maybe the whole time.

“You were here?” Jhoanna asked, trying to laugh, to ease the tension she didn’t quite understand yet. “I thought you were out. You saw—?”

She expected a grin. A smirk. A jab at her drunken impulsiveness.

But Aiah just looked at her.

Jhoanna opened her mouth. Closed it. Tried again.

“I didn’t know you were—”

“I know.”

Aiah stepped forward. Slowly. Her expression unreadable, but her hands had started to tremble — almost unnoticeable.

“I wasn’t trying to hide anything,” Jhoanna said, too fast, too defensive.

“Never said you were.”

Jhoanna took a small step closer, suddenly more aware than ever of how she looked — flushed, disheveled, lip still tingling from someone else’s kiss.

“But—”

“You know you don’t have to explain, right?” Aiah let out a soft laugh, but there was nothing amusing about it.

“I—okay.” Jhoanna exhaled, running a hand through her hair. “Bakit pala nandito ka?”

Aiah shrugged, like it was no big deal. Like it didn’t cost her anything to still be standing there.

“You weren’t replying, e. Thought you were drowning yourself in schoolwork.” She smiled, but her voice was too even. “Didn’t know you had plans on drowning elsewhere.”

That one hit lower.

Jhoanna opened her mouth to respond, but the words stalled there — stuck somewhere between guilt and confusion, between wanting to explain and not knowing what the hell she was even trying to justify.

“Kumain ka na ba?”

The question caught her off guard. It wasn’t what she expected. Not after that.

“What?” she blinked.

“Dinner,” Aiah said, a little gentler this time. “Have you eaten?”

Jhoanna swallowed. “Yeah. Earlier. Colet—uh… she brought me out.”

Aiah nodded once. Twice. Still no reaction.

“Okay. Good.”

“Uminom ka na ng tubig?”

“I will,” Jhoanna murmured.

“Do it before you sleep,” Aiah said, already glancing toward the hallway. “Your head’s gonna be a mess tomorrow.”

Jhoanna managed a small nod. Her throat felt tight.

“Uh Jho, I was actually about to leave,” Aiah continued,
“Dropped by lang to check on a few things also sa council files—kaso nagtagal yata ako.”

It sounded like an excuse.

Or… did it?

Was Jhoanna just being dramatic?

Aiah is busy — that, she can’t deny. Always has been. Meetings. Plates. People who needed her.

So maybe she really did need to go.

But still — Jhoanna wanted her to stay.

She didn’t say it, though.

She didn’t know how.

So Jhoanna bit her tongue.

Watched Aiah pick up her hoodie. Watched her pause, ever so slightly, like she might say something else.

And then — with all the courage she didn’t know she still had — Jhoanna reached out.

Just a pinch of fabric. Two fingers curling gently around Aiah’s sleeve by the wrist.

Like a kid too proud to ask out loud, too tired to pretend she didn’t want company.

Her voice came out smaller than she expected, “Can’t you stay the night?”

Aiah looked down at the fingers holding her, then at Jhoanna’s face — the alcohol softening her eyes, making her look a little more lost than usual.

Or maybe just more honest.

For a second, Aiah didn’t say anything.

Then she moved, one hand sliding into the pocket of her hoodie — and when it came back out, she was holding her keys.

A hair tie clung to the keyring.

It wasn’t hers.

Maroon. Slightly stretched out. Still looped neatly like someone had just pulled it from their wrist.

Something about it made Jhoanna’s stomach twist.

Aiah caught her staring. Didn’t explain.

Didn’t need to.

“I can’t,” Aiah said softly. “I have somewhere else to be.”

And that was it.

Her hand slipped from Aiah’s sleeve.

“Right,” Jhoanna said, voice thin. “Of course.”

Aiah didn’t say anything.

She just nodded again and shifted her grip on her keys. The soft clink of metal against metal filled the silence.

She adjusted her hoodie. Reached for the door.

Paused.

Like she might turn around.

But she didn’t.

“Lock the door after me, ha.”

Jhoanna nodded without looking. “Okay.”

--------------------

Jhoanna stayed curled on the couch long after Aiah left, eyes unfocused.

The door had been closed for a while now, but it still felt like Aiah was halfway in the room. Or maybe just in her head.

A faint trace of Aiah’s perfume stayed. Something floral— familiar in a way Jhoanna couldn’t explain.

Her glass of water sat untouched on the table. Condensation gathering at the base.

Then her phone buzzed.

She reached for it without thinking.

Aiah: Jhoanna, I forgot to mention. Shoot na tayo bukas para mas mabilis matapos.

She stared at the message.

No follow-up.

Just her name. The plan.

Her thumb hovered over the keyboard, then she typed.

Jhoanna: Right. Okay. I'll send the details later. Thanks.

They were fine.

Of course they were.

Or at least, that's what she'd like to believe.

Chapter Text

The whole day passed in a blur. They filmed three scenes.

The first at UP Sunken Garden, with the soft picnic blanket and tangled limbs on sun-warmed grass. The second in Katipunan, hands brushing as they walked past closed bookstores and glowing café signs. The third in Binondo, where late afternoon light spilled through narrow alleys and painted their shadows closer.

Gwen was behind the camera for all of it — steady, observant, saying nothing. Maybe she noticed that something was off. Maybe she didn’t. Or maybe she saw the way Jhoanna kept fidgeting with the hem of her shirt between takes. The way Aiah’s smile never quite reached her eyes. The space between them that never made it into frame.

They played the part. That was the job. A no-dialogue film for Pride Month. A love story between two girls who couldn't say it out loud. In the scenes, they were subtle, sweet, restrained.

They held hands. Jhoanna rested her head on Aiah’s shoulder in the park, their fingers laced loosely like second nature. Aiah reached out to tuck Jhoanna’s hair behind her ear in Katipunan, and Jhoanna laughed, too loud, too suddenly — not from the touch, but from the effort of staying normal.

Because between takes, Aiah was on her phone. Thumb moving fast. Always smiling at her phone. And Jhoanna caught the name Mikha once — maybe twice — reflected in the screen before Aiah turned it slightly away.

It wasn’t a secret, of course.

Jhoanna didn’t ask.

She just opened a water bottle she wasn’t thirsty for. Fixed the picnic blanket that wasn’t even wrinkled. Ate a bite of food she couldn’t taste.

She kept forgetting what she was supposed to say after “cut,” even though there were no lines.

There were other things too. How Aiah didn’t take her usual spot beside Jhoanna during lunch. How she thanked Gwen more than she smiled at her.

How she didn’t call her Tintin, not even once.

Jhoanna didn’t ask. Because they were still best friends.

Because Aiah was still there, wasn’t she?

By late afternoon, they were packing up. Gwen had already left with her camera gear, bidding goodbye without really waiting for a reply. The sun was low now, casting long shadows on the pavement.

Jhoanna lingered by her car, pretending to check props even though everything was already accounted for.

Aiah was already walking away like she didn’t want to give Jhoanna time to stop her.

But Jhoanna did.

She reached out, light fingers curling gently around Aiah’s elbow.

Aiah turned, Jhoanna adjusted her glasses.

Jhoanna cleared her throat.

“See you in thirty? Sa unit ko. Last scene for today.”

Aiah nodded. Her hand lifted — just a little — toward the collar of Jhoanna’s shirt or maybe her hair. Like she was going to fix something, like she used to. But she stopped herself. Let it fall.

“Mhm,” she murmured instead. “Tie your hair when you drive. Baka ma-bother ka.”

It was such a small thing. But it clung to Jhoanna more than it should’ve.

“Uh, yes,” she said, forcing a smile that came out crooked.

It should’ve felt natural. But it didn’t.

And she hated that. Hated how stiff she suddenly felt. Hated how her hands twitched like she didn’t know where to put them. Hated how she wanted to slap herself for making things weird — when they weren’t supposed to be weird.

This was Aiah. Her best friend. Her person.

Jhoanna didn’t know what it was. 

Maybe it was guilt. Maybe shame.

Maybe because she’d seen the unread messages Aiah sent the night before — messages that were still waiting for her when she finally dragged herself out of bed that morning, head pounding, throat dry from too many drinks and too little care.

Aiah: Jho, saan ka?
Aiah: dito ako sa unit mo, may sasabihin ako sayo
Aiah: wait kita hereee

Sent around nine. Just half an hour after she went out with Colet. 

She didn’t read them when she saw the notifications that night. Chose not to.

Not until it was too late.

Jhoanna told herself it was an accident. That she just missed them. That she was tired.

But maybe, she just didn’t want to listen to Aiah's stories about her date.

Especially not if it was with Mikha.

Maybe that was it.
Or at least, that’s what her ego tells her.

-------------------

Jhoanna was now sitting on the couch, suddenly too aware of what was going to happen once Aiah arrived. The camera was already set up—tripod steady, lighting soft, the frame carefully composed. Everything was in place. Everything except her nerves.

She scrolled aimlessly through her phone, the glow of the screen doing nothing to calm the pit in her stomach.

Then the door opened.

Aiah stepped inside quietly, her keys held loosely in one hand. She gave Jhoanna a brief glance, then shut the door behind her.

“I’ll change muna.”

Jhoanna just nodded.

Aiah disappeared into the bedroom, the door clicking softly shut behind her.

Jhoanna set her phone down, staring into space. She could hear faint rustling through the wall—zippers, hangers, a drawer sliding open. She imagined her slipping out of her jeans, pulling on something softer, looser.

And suddenly, it was warm.

Too warm.

She rubbed her palms against her thighs. Looked anywhere but the closed door.

What was she even thinking?

A few minutes later, Aiah stepped out, barefoot. Wearing a worn tank top and plaid sleep shorts. Her bun was loose, a few strands falling around her face. She had one hand still adjusting the hem of her shirt, tugging it down absently. Her phone was nowhere in sight for once.

Her eyes scanned the room slowly, like she was checking if something had changed while she was gone. Then her gaze landed on the couch.

And stayed there.

She didn’t move toward it right away.

She just stood there, lips parted like she might say something—but didn’t. Her fingers twitched at her side. Her eyes lingered on the sofa like it could burn it down.

“Ready ka na?”

“Sure ka bang di pwedeng make-up na lang?”

Aiah turned slowly, her brow twitched. “Wala namang malisya, ah? Mas madali ‘to.”

She said it like it was obvious.

Like it was nothing.

Then she laughed—short, dry, humorless.

“Bakit? May magseselos ba? Namarkahan ka na ng iba?”

Jhoanna blinked, caught off guard, “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Aiah just shrugged. 

“Worry about yourself,” Jhoanna muttered, turning back toward the camera, adjusting the focus even though it was already fine.

“Arte,” Aiah said under her breath. 

“Ano?”

Aiah didn’t flinch. Crossed her arms. “Kung ayaw mo, just say it. Huwag ka nang pa-safe. Paligoy-ligoy ka pa.”

Jhoanna stepped toward her, “What is wrong with you?”

“With me?” Aiah barked out a bitter laugh. “You mean what’s wrong with you, Jho.”

“Bakit biglang nagkakaganyan ka?”

Aiah’s eyes snapped toward her. “Bigla? Bigla? So you had amnesia?”

Jhoanna’s brows furrowed. “What the hell are you on about?”

Aiah stood up, voice rising. “Kahapon lang, wala kang pake. Wala. Ni hindi ka nag-reply. Tapos ngayon, ikaw pa ‘tong may ganang magtanong kung bakit ako ganito ngayon?”

“I was busy—”

“Lame,” Aiah cut her off. “Don’t use that. Luma na ‘yang excuse mo.”

Jhoanna’s jaw clenched. “So what? Kasalanan ko ngayon na hindi ako available sa’yo twenty-four seven?”

Aiah remained silent, her back towards Jhoanna.

“I’m allowed to live, Aiah. It's my life. Let me live for once.”

Aiah turned a little too fast—like she was stunned.

“Wow,” she said, voice flat. “So now I’m the clingy best friend?”

Jhoanna shook her head, frustrated. “You’re twisting everything.”

“No, no. You said it yourself. ‘Let me live for once.’ As if I’m the one stopping you.”

“You kinda are!” Jhoanna snapped. “You make me feel guilty for doing anything that doesn’t include you!”

Aiah’s mouth parted—hurt flashing across her face.

“Oh wow,” she said, voice shaking. “So that’s how it felt for you all along?”

Jhoanna didn’t answer.

Aiah let out a hollow laugh, one hand on her hip now, the other clenching at her side. “Parang ang bigat ko, no? Parang ako ‘yung pumipigil sa’yo. Ako ‘yung sagabal.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“But that’s what you meant.”

“You’re twisting it again.”

“No, I’m hearing you for the first time.”

Jhoanna stepped forward, “Aiah—”

“Don’t. Don’t say my name like you didn’t just tell me na ako ‘yung nagpapabigat sa’yo.”

“I didn’t—!”

“You did,” Aiah cut in. “And you know what? Fine. Okay. At least now I know where I stand.”

Jhoanna stared at her, chest heaving.

Aiah’s eyes were glassy now, but she wasn’t crying. Not yet.

She just looked tired. Like she was done fighting. Like she didn’t expect anything else from Jhoanna anymore.

Jhoanna wanted to say sorry. Wanted to explain. Wanted to slam her head on the nearest wall for letting the wrong words win.

But she didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Because the silence between them had already shifted  into something else. Something heavier.

“Let’s just finish the scene.”

“What?”

Aiah didn’t look at her. She walked past the camera—didn’t touch it yet. The red light was still off.

“We need the mark first,” she said, voice flat. “Before we roll.”

“Pero—”

“No lines, ‘di ba?” She turned to face her. “Let's just do it.”

Jhoanna hesitated. “You don’t have to—”

Aiah ran a hand through her hair, “Sit down, Jho.”

It came out more like a command than anything else, and what Jhoanna hated most wasn’t the tone.

It was the fact that she followed.

No hesitation. No resistance.

Her body moved before her pride could catch up, knees brushing the couch as she sat down, hands stiff in her lap like she was waiting for judgment.

Aiah stepped forward, eyes locked on her like she wasn’t even seeing the room anymore. Just Jhoanna.

Then she climbed onto the cushion beside Jhoanna, one knee between the other girl’s legs, close—too close.

She didn’t ask.

She just reached up, brushed Jhoanna’s hair roughly over her shoulder.

“Stay still.”

Jhoanna barely nodded, throat dry.

Aiah leaned in.

And then her mouth was on Jhoanna’s neck—hot, maddening. It wasn't a kiss. Not even close.

She bit, then sucked hard, anchoring her in place with a palm pressed to her shoulder.

And Jhoanna—

She let out a soft, unguarded moan.

She didn’t mean to.

She couldn’t help it.

It was barely a sound, but it was enough. Enough for Aiah’s grip to tighten.

Jhoanna’s eyes fluttered shut, her breathing ragged. Her fingers clenched around the couch cushions. She didn’t say a word—but everything in her body said more.

And maybe Aiah heard it.

Because her hand moved—trailing up from Jhoanna’s thigh, fingertips skimming the curve of her waist, slow, uncertain. Testing.

Jhoanna didn’t pull away.

She tilted her head instead—offering more skin. Barely a whisper of consent.

And Aiah?

Aiah let out a shaky breath against her neck—like she’d been holding it in all day.

Then she bit again.

Slower this time.

Deeper.

Possessive.

Jhoanna whimpered, the sound slipping out before she could catch it. Her back arched, mouth parting as her eyes fluttered shut.

And then—her hands moved.
Like they had a mind of their own.

She reached for Aiah’s waist. Fingertips grazing the soft cotton of her tank top, her palms landing low on her hips like she needed something to hold onto or she’d fall apart.

Aiah stilled. Her mouth hovered just above the fresh mark she’d left. Hot breath fanning over damp skin.

But she didn’t pull away.

Not yet.

Instead, her hands came down—not gently. Aiah grabbed Jhoanna’s wrists and pushed them up, pinning them against the wall above the couch, just over her head. The force wasn’t painful, but it was firm.

Jhoanna gasped softly, back pressing into the couch, eyes wide.

Aiah hovered above her now, breath shallow, eyes dark—almost angry.

Like she was punishing her for something she couldn’t say out loud. Like her hands were the only language she trusted not to betray her.

Jhoanna’s heart pounded in her chest, blood rushing loud in her ears.

She didn’t move. Didn’t fight it. Didn't know why.

Aiah leaned in, lips ghosting over her skin—not kissing this time. 

“You wanted more,” she whispered, voice low and tight. “Right?”

Jhoanna didn’t answer.

She couldn’t.

But her body did. The way her breath hitched when Aiah sat on her lap. The way her legs shifted under her. The way her lips parted like she wanted to say yes—but couldn’t admit it.

Aiah’s grip on her wrists tightened just slightly, grounding her there.

“You don’t get to act innocent,” she muttered, eyes never leaving hers. “Not after that.”

Her eyes were dark. Dilated. Unforgiving.

Jhoanna couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t blink.

Then Aiah spoke—low, rough, wrecked. “Kiss me like you mean it, Jho.”

It wasn’t a request. It was a demand.

One Jhoanna didn’t know how to survive.

“Aiah..” That was all she could manage.

But somehow, the sound of her name—soft, trembling—only made Aiah lose whatever restraint she had left.

So Aiah leaned closer. Pressed their foreheads together. Let her voice drop even lower. “You want this, right? Then prove it.”

Aiah crushed their mouths together.

It was wild. Rough. Like she wanted Jhoanna to remember only her.

Teeth. Tongue. Frustration and desperation crashing into each other all at once.

Jhoanna kissed her back like her life depended on it.

Aiah’s mouth moved lower, tracing the line of Jhoanna’s jaw, down to the side of her throat—lips hot, open, biting, sucking. Another hickey bloomed on skin already claimed.

Aiah let go of her wrists only to thread her hands into her hair, tugging, tilting her head just right. Jhoanna’s hands flew to her waist, nails dragging down the curve of her back, anchoring her close, pulling her in.

The kiss was chaos.

Aiah groaned low against her mouth. “That’s it,” she hissed, lips brushing Jhoanna’s again, not giving her time to breathe. “Don’t stop. Don’t fucking stop.”

And Jhoanna didn’t.

She melted under her—mouth open, body trembling. Their bodies tangled tight, heat building fast, hands everywhere like they were both trying to memorize the other too fast, too late.

The room was too warm. Their minds too far gone.

There was nothing soft about it—just friction, hunger, frustration.

How could they stop this?

Then—

A sudden buzz. Loud. Repetitive.
Jhoanna’s phone.

It rang again, vibrating where it had fallen on the couch cushion beside them. The screen lit up—Colet.

Aiah froze.

Everything in her posture stiffened at once. Her hand stopped mid-movement. Her lips hovered over Jhoanna’s skin, suddenly unsure.

Jhoanna’s eyes opened slowly, breath ragged. She turned her head just enough to see the name glowing on the screen.

Aiah pulled back.

Jhoanna didn’t stop her.

She just sat there—neck flushed, lips swollen, hands still curled uselessly in the fabric of Aiah’s shirt—suddenly aware of the space that returned between them, like someone had just splashed cold water over them both.

Neither of them said a word.

Because there was nothing left to say.

Jhoanna finally looked at her.

Aiah wasn’t looking back.

Her jaw was clenched. Her breathing uneven.
Her hands had dropped to her sides—but they were still shaking.

Like she was holding herself together by a thread.

Jhoanna opened her mouth to speak.

Closed it again.

She didn’t know what she was supposed to say.

Sorry?

Stay?

Please?

A second passed. Then another.

Still, Aiah didn’t move.

And Jhoanna didn’t know if she was waiting…
Or deciding whether to walk away.