Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“…the government could really use help instead of criticism,” the guy, whose name Sionne had already forgotten, droned on. His tone grated on her nerves. She wanted to scoff, but instead bit her tongue, making a mental note to lecture Jane later: why did Jane know someone who formed opinions with their ass? And why did she think setting him up with Sionne was a good idea?

He had no idea what he was talking about. Worse, he had no idea who he was talking to. He spoke about politics as if he knew it like the back of his hand, but everything he said rang hollow to Sionne, who could already guess which vloggers and paid influencers had fed him with misinformation. He didn’t even know that the woman across from him was one of the most respected journalists of her generation.

Sionne twirled her fork, nudging the pasta around her plate instead of eating. The date was so painfully bad that she was considering blocking him the moment she got home, and maybe blocking Jane, too, for committing this matchmaking crime. Jane meant well, of course; she always did. But she could never grasp that some people were single by choice, not because they were secretly pining for an ex.

Her companion was still talking, oblivious to her wandering attention. Sionne, meanwhile, half-prayed for divine intervention — any excuse to escape, even an emergency call from work would do. When her phone lit up on the table, she muttered a silent thank-you to whatever higher power had answered her plea.

Her relief dimmed as she saw the message from an unknown number. The text made her frown.

From: Unknown Number

mitchhgh plsss pick me uppp 😭😭 im 2 drunk no drife no graaabb no peopel noone herrr

Sionne clicked her tongue. Did Mitch seriously give her number out to drunk strangers? Her ex still managed to get under her skin years later. She was about to lock her screen when another text came in.

From: Unknown Number

miych pls pls i csn feel sum guys eye me

That made Sionne pause. Unease prickled at the back of her neck. A drunk woman, alone, surrounded by men. Even if she was a stranger, the image unsettled her.

To: Unknown Number

Sorry, who are you?

From: Unknown Number

u delwted my numbrr?

just coz i saif urw fckinh stupif fpr cheating and sionnr deservw better?

well urw also useleas as a frisnd, mituh

Her brows shot up. The annoyance she’d felt toward Mitch shifted into something else — an odd flicker of gratitude. At least not all of her ex’s friends had tolerated her behavior. Some of them thought Sionne deserved better. She almost laughed at the insults directed at Mitch.

Then came the kicker.

From: Unknown Number

and this ia allie u idipt🖕🏻

Allie. Mitch’s childhood best friend.

Sionne remembered Mitch borrowing her phone once to call Allie when she was in Manila. That would explain the mix-up of their numbers.

She had only met Allie once, years ago, back when she and Mitch were still together. Allie lived in Cebu, and Mitch always told stories about her hopeless luck with men, her stubbornness, and her relentless kindness. Probably the only decent friend Mitch ever had.

Now, reading those drunken texts, unease spread through Sionne’s chest. This wasn’t just some stranger — it was Allie. And Allie was in trouble.

Sionne typed quickly, her pulse speeding up.

To: Unknown Number

Where are you?

From: Unknown Number

if u thonk yhis chsnges thw way ill see u, nbm helping me

Sionne exhaled sharply, pressing her free hand against her temple. Even drunk, Allie was stubborn. Admirably so, perhaps — but each passing minute meant greater risk for the other woman.

To: Unknown Number

You can continue to hate me all you want and to think whatever. Just tell me where you are, please.

Sionne tried to negotiate. Allie can hate Mitch for the rest of her life and it won't affect Sionne. If anything, this would make Sionne feel better.

From: Unknown Number

im at XXXXX bar

and i still hatr u

A giggle slipped from Sionne’s throat.

To: Unknown Number

Okay. Wait for me. Don’t accept drinks or go with anyone.

Sionne didn’t wait for a reply. She shoved her wallet and bag into her arms, stood, and slid her chair back with purpose.

“Wait... where are you going?” her date asked, confused, as if noticing her presence for the first time.

“I have an emergency,” Sionne said flatly, her voice clipped and cool. No explanations. No apologies. She walked out without sparing the guy another glance.

Allie swayed against the side of her car, clutching her keys in trembling hands. Her vision blurred, her head felt heavy on her neck. She hadn’t wanted to message Mitch — hadn’t wanted to message anyone, really — but fear clawed at her chest until desperation took over.

She cursed her own recklessness. They hadn't been in contact for a long while after what Mitch had done to Sionne. Yet when she’d looked up from her drink and realized no one she knew was around, panic made the choice for her.

A group of men approached her, their footsteps uncomfortably loud against the gravel.

“Hey, miss, lasing ka na ata para mag-drive,” one of them said. The tone wasn’t laced with concern — it was mockery.

“Sama ka na sa amin? Kami na maghatid sa ’yo,” another added with a grin. They closed in, step by step.

Allie’s stomach clenched. She forced herself to speak, her voice shaky but firm. “No thanks. I… I have a friend coming to pick me up.”

“The more the merrier, then.” The first man’s laugh was harsh. He brushed her elbow as if steadying her, though his touch made her skin crawl.

Allie’s throat tightened, tears prickling at the edges of her eyes. She tried to step back, but the world tilted dangerously. Just as one man leaned closer, a voice cut through them.

“Leave her alone.”

The men turned. Allie squinted through the haze in her vision, her tears blurring everything. It wasn’t Mitch. She knew that immediately. The figure was tall, poised, and unmistakably feminine.

“Oh, sexy rin pala ’tong kaibigan mo,” one of them jeered, earning laughter from his friends.

“Get your hands off her,” the woman said coldly, “or the next thing they’ll be holding are prison bars.”

The man sneered, puffing out his chest. “Kilala mo ba ako, miss?”

Sionne stepped into the light then, her glare sharp enough to cut steel. “I know you, James Alfredo. Love child of Mayor Alfredo and his mistress, Ms. Escudero. Do you want to find out what else I know about your family?”

The smirk slid right off James’s face. His bravado faltered. “Who are you? Bakit mo ako kilala?”

“Sionne Sevilleja,” she said smoothly. “Not sure if you’ve heard of me. But I know your father has.”

The name landed like a strike. James paled. His friends exchanged nervous looks, their drunken courage wavering.

Meanwhile, Sionne slipped a steady hand around Allie’s back, guiding her upright with surprising gentleness. The touch jolted Allie’s fogged brain. That voice. That name.

Sionne. Mitch’s ex. What on earth was she doing here?

But the questions spun too fast in her head, the alcohol dragging her consciousness down.

Sionne’s eyes didn’t leave the men as she led Allie away. “James,” she warned, her tone was calm but deadly, “believe me when I say your dad would kill you first before he thinks of crossing me. Walk away and tonight will be forgotten.”

And that was all it took. James muttered a curse under his breath, but he and his friends backed off quickly, scattering like roaches under light.

Sionne opened her car door and settled Allie inside, her movements brisk but careful. “Are you okay?” she asked.

Allie tried to form words, but they tumbled out broken. “I—you—Mitch…”

“Later,” Sionne said firmly. “Where are you staying?”

But Allie’s only answer was a soft snore, her head lolling against the seat.

Relief melted over Sionne, loosening the tension in her shoulders. At least she was safe. She couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips as she started the engine.

The next morning, Allie swore to herself, with the solemnity of the hungover, that she would never drink again. Her skull throbbed as though someone were hammering nails into it, and every beat of her heart made her wince. She cracked her eyes open, squinting at the unfamiliar ceiling above her.

Her first thought: This isn’t my room.

Her second: At least I still have my clothes on.

She sat up slowly, tugging the blanket away. Relief washed over her as she saw that she was intact, unbothered.

“Okay, that’s… good,” she muttered aloud, voice scratchy.

But the relief faded quickly, replaced by confusion. Where was she? The last clear memory she had was slurring angry texts to Mitch. This definitely wasn’t Mitch’s place because the room was bathed in soft pinks, very feminine, and neat in a way Mitch’s apartment never had been.

Her gaze drifted to the bedside table. There, neatly arranged, sat a glass of water, two tablets of pain reliever, her phone plugged in and charging, and a folded note.

Allie reached first for the water and pills, downing them gratefully. The cool liquid soothed her parched throat. Only then did she pick up the note, written in neat, slanted cursive.

Hey, Allie!

Just in case you wake up and I’m not yet home from errands, here’s a list of things that might help you:

• pain reliever and water on the bedside table (for your inevitable headache)
• your phone’s charged and connected to Wi-Fi
• fresh towel, clothes, and new underwear at the foot of the bed
• new toothbrush in the bathroom cabinet
• food waiting at the counter—reheat if you want
• coffee maker’s ready, though I wasn’t sure how you take your coffee

Text me if you need anything I missed.

Best,

Sionne

Allie blinked. Sionne.

That explained the pink bedroom. That explained the note. Yet… it raised a hundred other questions.

Her heart gave a nervous flutter. Was Allie caught in the middle of something messy again? Ibigsabihin ba nito na nagkabalikan na si Mitch at Sionne?

She fumbled for her phone, unlocking it quickly. Her notifications exploded — dozens of messages from her manager — but she ignored them, scrolling instead to check Mitch’s profile. It was still flooded with pictures of Mitch and her new girlfriend. Definitely not back with Sionne.

That left the hardest question: Then why am I here?

Allie sighed, pressing a palm against her forehead. Answers could wait. What she needed now was to scrub the smell of alcohol off her skin. She spotted the folded towel and fresh clothes at the edge of the bed, exactly where the note had promised.

Thoughtful. Overly thoughtful. It made her chest ache with something she didn’t want to name.

Exactly why Mitch was a fool for cheating, she thought grimly.

By the time Allie padded into the kitchen, damp hair loose around her shoulders, she felt a little more human. A plate of food waited on the counter, just as Sionne had mentioned. Allie was digging in, grateful, when the door opened.

Sionne stepped inside with grocery bags slung over her arms, her hair tied up in a loose bun. She looked effortlessly put together, even in jeans and a plain white shirt.

“Oh, you’re up already,” Sionne said casually, setting the bags on the counter. “How’s your head?”

Allie flushed, suddenly aware of how disheveled she must look in borrowed clothes. Gratitude and embarrassment tangled in her chest. She ducked her head. “I—uhm… thank you.”

“Really?” Sionne’s lips curved, her eyes sparkled with amusement. “That’s all you’ve got?”

Allie fidgeted, stabbing a piece of bacon with her fork. “You… picked me up last night?”

“Yes.” Sionne nodded, leaning against the counter. “I tried asking where you were staying, but you passed out. So I brought you here.”

“But Mitch—”

“You weren’t texting Mitch,” Sionne interrupted, smirking. “You were texting me. Probably mistook my number for hers.”

Allie blinked, fumbling for her phone again. Only then she remembered — she’d deleted Mitch’s number years ago after their fallout. When she typed “Mitch” into her contacts last night, it must’ve pulled up Sionne instead.

Her cheeks warmed with mortification. “Oh my God…”

Sionne chuckled softly. “Don’t worry. Honestly? I don’t mind. At least I know you never tolerated what she did to me.”

Allie blurted before she could stop herself: “Well, of course not. You were kind. Smart. Beautiful. If anything, you deserved better than Mitch.”

Sionne froze, then she bursted into laughter. “Allie, I didn’t know you were this funny.”

Allie glared, indignant. Sionne thought she was joking. “It’s not a joke. It’s the truth.”

The air between them shifted, the light banter brushing against something more serious, more vulnerable. For a moment, Allie’s pulse stumbled. But Sionne broke it with a smile, sliding the moment back into something more casual. “Why were you drinking so much, anyway?”

Allie poked at her food, suddenly feeling sheepish. “It was… an after-party. A modeling gig wrapped up, and the people I went with celebrated a little too hard. They, uh, forgot I existed and went back to the hotel without me.”

Sionne raised a brow. “The Charlotte Folk event?”

“You know about that?”

“I covered it the morning before.” A faint grin tugged at her lips.

Right. Allie had almost forgotten. To the public, Sionne wasn’t just another reporter — she was the Sionne Sevilleja. Her face, her voice, her byline were everywhere. Still, sitting here now, she seemed…normal. Playful, even.

“You’re popular,” Allie muttered mindlessly, as if amazed.

Sionne tilted her head. “No. You’re popular.”

“I’m not the one whose face flashes on TV every single day.”

“And I’m not the one plastered across billboards around the world,” Sionne shot back without missing a beat.

Allie rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth curved upward despite herself. Her phone buzzed again — her manager, no doubt — but she ignored it.

“You should probably let them know their prized model is still alive and kicking,” Sionne teased.

“I’m not their prized anything. And stop snooping, Ms. Reporter,” Allie retorted. But then, more hesitantly: “Did I… do anything last night? Something that could get me in trouble?”

Sionne smirked, sticking her tongue out like a mischievous kid. “Secret.”

Allie nearly choked on her coffee, surprised at the childish act. “You’re annoying.”

“And the door’s right there,” Sionne replied coolly, pointing with her lips toward the exit. Her challenge was clear to Allie.

Allie narrowed her eyes. “But very kind,” she reluctantly added, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I thought so,” Sionne said, stealing a strip of bacon straight from Allie’s plate.

“Hey!”

“Ang damot mo naman.”

“Don’t you have work?” Allie demanded, watching her finish the stolen piece.

“Pinapalayas mo ba ako sa bahay ko?”

“And here I thought you’d be less irritating than most reporters.”

“No smoke without fire, Allie,” Sionne quipped, standing to take Allie's empty plate to the sink. “By the way, may utang ka sa akin. For last night and this morning.”

Allie gasped theatrically. “The great Sionne Sevilleja, blackmailing me? What would the people say?”

“Ever heard of reimbursement?” Sionne shot back with mock seriousness.

“Mayaman ka naman na.”

“Not true,” Sionne countered. “Reporter’s base pay is barely above minimum wage. I only earn more because of years of grinding. Pero in ratio? What I make in a month, you probably make in one gig.”

Allie blinked, surprised. “Seryoso ba?”

“Mhmm.” Sionne shrugged, casual but honest. “I had to work twice as hard just to establish myself. It was brutal starting out.”

The mood was replaced by something softer. “That must’ve been hard.”

Sionne gave a small smile. “It was. But don’t pity me, Allie. Bayaran mo 'yung utang mo.”

Allie laughed then leaned forward, “Sige. Magkano ba?”

Sionne tapped her chin as if in deep thought. “You can’t pay me with money.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s unethical for a reporter to take gifts or cash from someone established. Especially someone as high-profile as you.”

“So paano kita babayaran?”

Sionne’s lips curled into a grin. “Well… time is money. And time leaves no paper trail.”

Allie arched a brow. “Go ahead. I’m listening.”

“You’ll play Overcooked with me, because I have no one else to play with.”

Allie paused, then cackled. The sound surprised even her. “That’s it? That’s your grand demand?”

“Non-negotiable,” Sionne declared.

Allie tilted her head, studying her. Bits and pieces of last night coming back to her memory. And it's quite unbelievable that this woman, who had swooped in like some sharp-tongued knight in the parking lot, wanted nothing more than a co-op video game partner. The thought warmed something deep inside Allie's chest.

“Okay. Deal,” Allie said softly. “But tell me the terms.”

So they sat there, still teasing each other, while sketching out a ridiculous “contract” of playing hours and penalties for rage-quitting. The easy banter wrapped around them like sunlight, softening the edges of the night before.

By the time Allie had to leave for her flight back to LA, the agreement was scribbled down on the back of a grocery receipt. Neither of them admitted it aloud, but both held on to it like something far more important than a game.

Overcooked Contract

Between:

Allie Arceta

Sionne Sevilleja

Ms. Arceta has to fulfill and play 40 hours of Overcooked with Ms. Sevilleja as required to pay her debt. The contract ends effectively after the hours are fulfilled.

Signed this: September 23, 2025

Allie Arceta          Sionne Sevilleja

Chapter Text

Allie sat near the gate, waiting for her flight back to LA. Her sunglasses shielded her eyes from the glaring lights and, more importantly, from the flashes of phones and cameras. People stopped to stare at her, of course — some braver ones asked for pictures, while others settled for waves and nodding of heads instead of invading her personal space.

Her manager, Maze, sat across from her, thumbs tapping over her phone. “We land, we unpack, and then you’ve got two fittings before the shoot,” Maze muttered, barely looking up. “Dior wants a reshoot for the campaign. Then there’s the magazine cover, and oh, and don’t forget, the stylist needs measurements updated by—”

“I know, Maze,” Allie cut in, voice flatter than she intended. She leaned her head against the chair, wishing the world would slow down and allow her to breathe.

When the noise of the terminal finally settled, she pulled her phone from her pocket, aimlessly scrolling until her thumb hovered over the search tab. She paused. What was she even about to look for?

Her lips moved before she thought better of it. “What’s the most popular news channel here again?” The question slipped.

Maze’s head popped up, eyes sharp. “Why?”

Allie forced a shrug. “Nothing. Just curious.”

“Curious,” Maze echoed, suspicious. “O baka may ginawa ka kagabi na maglalagay sa ’yo sa balita?”

Allie shot Maze a glare over her glasses. “I did not do anything. It just so happened that a friend picked me up because my manager forgot I was with her.”

Maze chuckled, guilty. “Fine. Siguraduhin mo lang kasi ikaw na lang natitirang talent ng management na walang issue. Do not end up on headlines.”

Allie wanted to laugh at the irony. She wanted to tell Maze that she could have been on the headlines as early as last night if she really did anything foolish, because the person who rescued her last night was the one who was writing them. But she bit back the words, tucking the thought away like a secret she wasn’t ready to unpack. She tried to look casual as she scrolled, but the truth sank in. She wasn’t looking for a what but a who — she was looking for her.

Sionne Sevilleja. Feline eyes. Quick-witted tongue. Voice demanding attention.

They’d been Instagram mutuals since college, which should’ve made her curiosity harmless. Still, Allie found herself justifying it the way a teenager might justify lurking on their crush’s profile.

She’s very popular. People care about her opinion. I am just checking what she has to say about an event I worked on. That’s it.

Her thumb hovered over the search bar, heart tripping, when a notification popped up on her screen.

From Unknown Number:

Remember to save my number and don’t ever message me addressing me as my ex or else…

Allie’s lips curved before she could stop them. Typical Sionne. Direct, but always have that dramatic flare. She decided to push back.

To Unknown Number:

Sorry, who are you?

The reply came so fast she almost laughed.

From Unknown Number:

Depends.

At worst… I can be your nightmare.

To Unknown Number:

At best?

From Unknown Number:

Your dream, of course.

To Unknown Number:

Does it mean you’ll be visiting me in my sleep?

Kinda clingy.

From Unknown Number:

Girl, you know what? Never mind.

I am blocking you.

Allie grinned, smug. Winning against Sionne Sevilleja felt like winning a war.

To Unknown Number:

Sure.

Ibigsabihin ba nito wala na ‘yung utang ko? 😊

Or so Allie thought. Sionne always had something under her sleeves.

From Unknown Number:

Of course not. But once I block you, best believe you will be eaten by your guilt and conscience.

Hope you have a nice life ahead after forgetting someone who drove to pick your drunk ass at a bar, took you home safely, and made you brunch 😘

To Unknown Number:

Nanunumbat ka ba? Kasi kulang.

You forgot to mention that you saved me from drooling men.

From Unknown Number:

Oh, I left that out intentionally.

Apparently, I still would’ve saved you even if you find it hard to save my number.

Allie exhaled sharply through her nose, running her fingers against her hair. Of course, she would come up with that. Reporters always had this uncanny way of reframing things, leaving people cornered by their own logic. It was maddening — yet terrifyingly impressive.

To Unknown Number:

That is a scary way to control people, Ms. Sevilleja.

From Unknown Number:

Glad to know you remember me now, Ms. Arceta.

And no, I’m not into controlling people. I just happen to offer sound arguments that are hard to refuse.

To Unknown Number:

Emotional blackmailing, you mean?

From Unknown Number:

That’s subjective.

Allie bit her lip, then finally gave in, saving the number under a name that made her smirk.

To Paparazzi:

Whatever. Already saved your number.

From Paparazzi:

Good.

To Paparazzi:

I am onboarding.

Bye.

From Paparazzi:

Updating terms already? 🫣

Allie clicked her tongue. Maze’s gaze slid toward her, curious. “You looked annoyed and amused at the same time,” Maze commented, too perceptive for her own good.

“I am both,” Allie replied dryly, though she’d never admit that out loud to Sionne. Not when she knew the other woman would savor it.

To Paparazzi:

You’re annoying.

From Paparazzi:

That’s how I make money.

Safe skies, Allie.

Her throat tightened unexpectedly. Safe skies. Such a simple phrase, but it landed harder than it should.

To Paparazzi:

Are we back to the part where you care for me so you can bind me with weird contracts?

From Paparazzi:

Seriously? What’s so hard about typing “Thanks”?

And just for the record, it’s called concern.

To Paparazzi:

???

From Paparazzi:

For myself.

Ayoko ng dagdag na trabaho sa Lunes, parang awa mo na.

So try not to end up as one of the headlines, okay?

To Paparazzi:

🖕🏻

From Paparazzi:

Wow. Take a look at that.

Not just pretty but eloquent too.

Allie clicked her phone shut, a smile betraying her even as she rolled her eyes. She could already picture Sionne’s smug little grin, and she hated — hated — how much she wanted to see it. Just so she can wipe it off, of course. No other reason.

By the time her plane landed in LA, her phone buzzed again.

From Paparazzi:

You’re not on the morning headlines, but just to be sure, safe naman kayo nagland ’no?

Allie laughed quietly to herself. There it was again — care disguised as banter, a concern smartly masked as a joke. It wasn’t suffocating, and it wasn't too close, but it was enough. Enough for Allie to feel.

To Paparazzi:

Stop spamming me.

To Paparazzi:

So OA, Allie. It was one text.

But I will take that as a yes.

And though she’d never admit it out loud, Allie found herself holding onto the chaotic mess that Sionne brought.

The newsroom buzzed with restless energy. Cameras were being adjusted, anchors rehearsed their spiels, and the countdown to the evening broadcast ticked closer.

Jane perched at one of the desks, headset askew, flipping through a stack of scripts. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Sionne hunched behind the teleprompter monitor, half-hidden, her eyes scanning headlines and scripts.

“You,” Jane barked, striding over while no one was watching. “You owe me an explanation.”

Sionne looked up, clearly annoyed from being interrupted. “For what?”

“For bailing on your blind date,” Jane said, arms crossed.

Sionne groaned. “The guy sucked. Ano gagawin ko ro’n kung ang main source niya ng balita si Thinking Pinoy?”

Jane raised her brows. “Excuse me? Hindi ba sabi mo, gusto mo ng lalaking ‘di mai-intimidate kasi reporter ka?”

“Yeah, I did,” Sionne admitted, rolling her eyes. “Pero hindi ko naman sinabing gusto ko ng lalaking walang alam sa news.”

“At bakit? Sa tingin mo ba may manonood ng balita na hindi mai-intimidate sa ’yo, e kilala ka na ng buong bansa?” Jane shot her a pointed look. “And don’t change the subject. Anong ‘emergency’ ang dahilan kung bakit ka umalis? Wala namang sudden news coverage kagabi.”

“I had other plans,” Sionne said coolly.

Jane leaned in, suspicious. “With who? You don’t have any friends. You only have me and your reporter’s notebook.”

Sionne smirked. “I do have another friend. Definitely cooler than you.”

“Oh, talaga ba?”

“Really.”

Jane tapped her foot. “Sige nga, ano pangalan?”

Sionne hesitated for a bit. Her pride warred with her instinct for privacy. Yet in the end, pride won. So she said, “Allie Arceta.”

Jane’s jaw dropped before she burst into a laugh that turned heads from across the set. “Wait—please. The Allie Arceta? International model? Ikaw na allergic sa showbiz? Napilitan ka pa nga ibalita ‘yung fashion event last weekend kasi absent si Grace.”

“We’re friends,” Sionne shot back. “Saka ang OA mo naman sa allergic ako sa showbiz. It’s just not my cup of tea.”

“Friends? Right. And I had coffee with Beyoncé yesterday. Tingin nga ng proof?”

That stung. Sionne opened her mouth, closed it again. All she had were texts: petty arguments, ridiculous, hardly proof of friendship. Jane smirked, already turning back to return to her desk.

Sionne’s jaw tightened as she pulled out her phone. If there was one thing she hated, it was being doubted.

To Allie Arceta:

Can you believe Jane?

I told her we are friends. Akala niya niloloko ko siya!

Like… Mag-iimbento na lang ako ng kwento edi sana si Lisa Manoban na binanggit ko.

Sionne wasn’t expecting a reply. After all, it was 3 AM in LA. Yet, her phone buzzed seconds later.

From Allie Arceta:

Hello to you, too, Sionne.

I don’t think you can blame her for not trusting, you know?

Ako na ‘to e 😎

Sionne nearly threw her phone.

To Allie Arceta:

Ang tibay naman ng apog mo.

Buti nga sinabi ko pang kaibigan kita e.

Anong klaseng kaibigan ba ang hindi makabawas sa utang niya, ‘di ba?

From Allie Arceta:

Right... 🙄

But you know what?

I will help you prove it to her.

Before Sionne could type back, her phone lit up. Incoming FaceTime. Her heart jumped. She scrambled for a quiet corner before answering. “Allie?”

On-screen, Allie appeared in a messy bun, lit by the warm glow of a bedside lamp. Groggy, but still stunning. “Where’s Jane?”

“What?”

“Jane. Sabi mo ‘di siya naniniwala. So, let’s fix that.”

Sionne grinned, realization dawning. Perfect. “Wait here.” She bolted to Jane’s desk. “Jane, look at this!”

Jane barely glanced up, confused, then froze. “Wha—ALLIE ARCETA?!”

“Allie Arceta,” Sionne declared, triumphant. She angled the phone so both of them fit in the frame. Allie smirked and winked.

Jane narrowed her eyes. “Nah. That’s AI. Realistic na kaya AI ngayon.”

Allie blinked. “Excuse me?”

“This is unethical, Sionne,” Jane deadpanned to her friend, ignoring Allie.

Sionne groaned. “She’s real, idiot.”

“Weh? Sige nga.” Jane looked at Allie. “Allie, humawak ka ng kutsara.”

Allie stared, incredulous. “A spoon?”

Jane only arched a brow. With a sigh, Allie shuffled off-screen and came back into view waving a spoon.

Jane smirked. “How about a glass of water?”

“Allie, don’t—” Sionne started, but Allie was already away from the screen; only to appear holding a glass of water.

Jane grinned wider. “Shampoo. Dikit mo sa mukha mo.”

“Absurd,” Allie muttered, though she reluctantly walked to get a bottle and pressed it to her cheek. “Do you realize how much brands pay me to put things next to my face?”

Jane finally cracked up, satisfied. “Knew you were real the first time. Just testing if you’re really friends. Mukhang totoo naman kasi sumunod ka rin.”

Sionne could only blink. Allie looked like she wanted to kill someone through the screen. While Jane just shrugged and went back to work.

“What the hell was that?” Sionne asked, trying yet failing not to laugh.

Allie glared. “Don’t you dare laugh. I did that to help you.”

“I know. And thank you. But…” Sionne snorted. “Seeing a known model posing with a spoon? Dapat pala ni-record ko ’yung call para may kopya ako.”

“I wasn’t posing. I was just holding it,” Allie groaned, but her lips twitched.

“Right…” Sionne said in mock agreement.

Then it hit both of them. They were still on a video call with no distractions left. Just the two of them face to face.

“Uh,” Sionne swallowed. “You’re up early,” she added, trying to sound casual.

“Yeah,” Allie replied, looking away from the screen. “I’m flying to Paris later.”

Sionne raised a brow. “Vacation? I don’t remember seeing any news clips about fashion week.”

That made Allie smirk. “Wow. Keeping tabs on me?”

“I like to think I’m just good at my job,” Sionne said smugly. That earned her an eye roll, but the corner of Allie’s mouth curved. 

“It’s for a reshoot. New brand campaign,” Allie provided context.

“Congrats, then.” Sionne’s smile softened, and it wasn’t the polite reporter kind. “Another notch on your belt.”

“Thanks.” Allie toyed with the edge of her blanket, then glanced back at the screen. “What about you? Anything in politics I should know before my flight?”

That caught Sionne off guard. “You… actually want to know?”

Allie scoffed. “Don’t look so shocked. Registered voter ako. And, hello, laki ng tax ko sa Pilipinas.”

Sionne chuckled. “Fair point. I keep on forgetting not everyone with your status is out of touch.”

Allie tilted her head. “Which is why I’m asking. What’s worth paying close attention to?”

Sionne thought for a beat, her tone slipping into the sharp clarity she saved for the camera. “The hearings about flood control cases. Everything else — ICC trial headlines, senate banters, and scandals — are just noise. Designed to distract. But the hearings… that’s where the truth should come out.”

Allie’s eyes looked thoughtful. “You think it will?”

“My reporter’s instinct says it’s unlikely. The system rarely punishes its own. But…” Sionne hesitated, then let the words fall unguarded, “…as a Filipino, I have to believe there’s still a chance. Otherwise, what’s the point of doing this every single day, right?”

“I believe that you can help achieve it,” Allie added quietly. And somehow for Sionne, that weighed deeper than any awards or ratings ever could. It was one thing for people to trust your words; a whole different thing to have someone trust in you.

Her throat tightened. “Thank you,” she said, almost shyly.

They lingered in the silence, highly aware of the strange intimacy of a call bridging Manila and LA.

“Shouldn’t you be packing?” Sionne asked eventually, breaking the silence.

“All done last night.” Allie stretched, the motion casual but disarming. “You?”

“Segment after the first break. Plenty of time.”

“Then… good luck, Ms. Reporter.”

Sionne smirked. “Good luck to them, you mean? Nga pala, text me when you land, okay?”

Allie arched her brow. “You know at this point, just admit that you care about me, Sevilleja.”

“Hardly. I just want to make sure you live long enough to pay your debt, Arceta.” Sionne argued.

Allie rolled her eyes, but gave in. “Fine. I’ll text. Baka mamaya mag-spam ka na naman e.”

“You make it sound like I’m some obsessed fan.”

“Well, aren’t you?”

“Worse. I’m a loan shark. You don’t know what I’m capable of. Kaya kung ako sa’yo, magbayad ka agad ng utang mo pag-umuwi ka ng Pilipinas.”

Allie grinned. “Masyado ka nang clingy. Gusto mo lang ako makita, e.”

Sionne smiled sarcastically. “Medyo nakakairita ka na.”

“Ikaw nag-umpisa.”

“Whatever.” Sionne tried to sound indifferent, but the warmth in her voice betrayed her. “Take care. I should get ready.”

“Good luck. Bye.” Allie gave a small wave, then the screen went black.

For a beat, Sionne just stared at her reflection in the dark glass. Then she realized — she was smiling. Wide. Foolish. Her chest felt lighter than it had in months.

Allie sat cross-legged on the carpet, back in her LA apartment, surrounded by half-folded clothes and two open suitcases. Manila was less than twenty-four hours away, and she hadn’t packed a thing. Her phone buzzed on the floor.

From Paparazzi:

Bukas dating mo, ‘di ba?

Allie smirked, thumb tapping fast.

To Paparazzi:

Yup. Manila better be ready for me.

From Paparazzi:

Do me a favor. 'Wag kang magpapakalasing pagkatapos ng event kasi hindi kita masusundo. Awa na lang sa sarili.

To Paparazzi:

Excuse me?

Anong tingin mo sa akin?

From Paparazzi:

You’ve done it already.

To Paparazzi:

Medyo nakaka-offend ka.

From Paparazzi:

I’m actually serious this time, Allie.

Puno ang schedule ko on the day of your event, baka hindi ko makita kapag nag-text ka.

I don’t want anything bad to happen to you, and I wouldn’t be there to help.

Allie’s smirk slipped away. She was used to Sionne hiding her concern behind sarcasm or dry jokes, never saying it outright. But now, with Sionne so upfront, so plain in her care, it caught Allie off guard. The honesty startled her; and yet, somewhere under the surprise, she felt that flutter in her chest, that dangerous little thrill she tried not to name.

Allie did what she knew best. She avoided lingering to it.

To Paparazzi:

Why? What’s up with work?

From Paparazzi:

Bukas may interview ako sa ilang contractors na kasama sa flood control projects. They’d been good at dodging and lying pero alam kong madudulas din sila.

To Paparazzi:

You mean, you’ll make them slip up?

From Paparazzi:

Ewan. Siguro. Subukan ko.

The hesitation didn’t sit right with Allie. Sionne was sharp, capable, unshakable even. Hearing that uncertainty felt wrong, almost jarring, like the world had tilted off balance.

To Paparazzi:

You don’t just try, Sionne.

You do things. Okay?

From Paparazzi:

Yeah.

That wasn’t enough push.

To Paparazzi:

You are the Sionne Sevilleja.

If there’s anyone who can push them to tell the truth, it’s going to be you. 

Don’t hold back on them.

From Paparazzi:

I never do.

I will make them talk.

To Paparazzi:

That’s the reporter we know.

I promise not to get drunk again.

So don’t worry about me.

From Paparazzi:

That’s good.

I want to see you in one piece, Arceta.

No!

That was phrased weirdly.

Do not purposely misinterpret me.

I swear to God, Allie!

I will block you.

Allie’s phone vibrated nonstop as Sionne scrambled to backpedal, sending threat after another. Allie could not help but laugh at that. Sionne, the usually composed journalist, sounded almost desperate. Softness never lingered too long between them. They always found their way back into banters.

To Paparazzi:

I’m not saying anything.

From Paparazzi:

You weren’t replying pero alam kong tumatawa ka.

‘Wag ka na mag-deny.

To Paparazzi:

E what do you mean ba?

From Paparazzi:

Ang ibig kong sabihin kasi…

Umuwi ka sanang buo at ligtas!

‘Yun ‘yon!

To Paparazzi:

Ahhh

Okay. 🥰

From Paparazzi:

Siraulo.

Mag-impake ka na.

Allie grinned despite herself as she set the phone down, finally finding the motivation to fold her clothes. For someone so sharp, Sionne was ridiculously easy to bait — almost as easy for Sionne to bait others.

The ballroom at the Shangri-La was all glass chandeliers and polished marble, the kind of place where everything smelled faintly of perfume and money. A giant LED screen glowed at the front with the logo of the Filipino skincare brand making its big Manila relaunch.

Allie stood center stage in a tailored ivory suit, microphone in hand, smiling as flashbulbs snapped and cameras panned across the press row. She was radiant, that was part of the job, but half her mind wasn’t even in the room.

“…our partnership represents not just beauty but wellness and authenticity,” she said smoothly, voice carrying across the hall. “It’s about embracing yourself fully, flaws and all.”

The audience clapped. A few reporters angled their mics closer, hungry for a soundbite. But while Allie answered questions about routines and glowing skin, her fingers twitched around the mic. Because in the back of her head, she was wondering:

Had Sionne cracked anything today?

Was the contractor already sweating on camera?

Had she left politicians scrambling with her breakthrough?

Allie imagined Sionne leaning forward under the studio lights, eyes sharp, voice calm but relentless. How lips curled slightly knowing she had the upper hand. Allie wanted — needed — to see it for herself. But she knew Maze would kill her if she was caught scrolling on Twitter in front of the press.

By the time the event wrapped, Allie’s cheeks ached from smiling. Maze was already swarmed by organizers, fielding questions about schedules, brand launches, and global campaigns. It was the perfect distraction for Allie to leave, so she did.

She tugged off her heels the moment she reached her dressing room, padding barefoot across the cold tile until she found a couch. She collapsed onto it, tossing the heels beside her, and pulled out her phone like she’d been holding her breath all night.

To Paparazzi:

I’m done. Finally.

How about you?

It didn’t take long.

From Paparazzi:

Still working.

May nadagdag na interview.

Allie blinked.

To Paparazzi:

Another? Hindi ka pa tapos?

From Paparazzi:

One of the contractors slipped.

May nabanggit na senator.

Now the senator’s office called, demanding an interview to “clear his name.”

Allie whistled softly to herself. As expected of Sionne. She would always find ways for people to talk if it came with the truth.

To Paparazzi:

You sound smug.

From Paparazzi:

I mean... Masisisi mo ba ako? 😏

Allie chuckled to herself.

To Paparazzi:

Of course not. You’re the best. 😍

From Paparazzi:

You sound sarcastic.

To Paparazzi:

I am not. 😌

From Paparazzi:

Che.

To Paparazzi:

Anong oras next interview?

Kumain ka na ba?

Allie caught herself worrying. Sionne was always doing too much, stretching herself thin, and it bothered her more than she wanted to admit — especially when she wasn’t even sure if Sionne was eating properly.

From Paparazzi:

Why do you sound concerned?

Crush mo ba ako?

To Paparazzi:

Kapag ba concerned, crush agad?

So ikaw crush mo ‘ko?

From Paparazzi:

Oo. 🥰

Allie knew Sionne was baiting her — it was obviously the kind of sarcasm Sionne wielded like second nature. And yet, no matter how clearly she recognized it, her stupid heart still betrayed her, thundering faster with the reply.

To Paparazzi:

Napaka-gago mo.

Pwede bang sumagot ka na lang?

From Paparazzi:

Pikon.

Pero oo, kumain ako tinapay bago ka mag-text.

To Paparazzi:

Bread lang?

Your studio cannot provide their best reporter a feast for giving them the scope of the year?

Kinda lame.

From Paparazzi:

Sensitive topic.

Natanggalan kami ng prangkisa, remember?

Allie grimaced as the realization hit. It was Sionne’s network that was shut down. Heat crept up her neck, and in that instant, she wished the ground would just open up and swallow her whole.

To Paparazzi:

Right. I’m sorry.

How about I pick you up and I order takeout?

From Paparazzi:

Sinusuhulan mo ba ako?

To Paparazzi:

Please?

From Paparazzi:

Fine.

Pero para lang malinaw ‘di ‘yan counted na bayad sa utang mo, ah?

To Paparazzi:

Malamang.

Pero kung gusto mo, we can play after we eat so I can pay partially?

From Paparazzi:

Hmmm 🤔 

You’re getting good with negotiation, aren’t you?

To Paparazzi:

WDYM negotiations?

I am just literally following whatever you say.

From Paparazzi:

Nagrereklamo ka ba, Allie?

To Paparazzi:

It’s a freaking statement.

Now, go and finish that senator for us.

I’ll clean up and change before leaving.

Allie locked her screen then changed to more comfortable clothes. Maze’s voice echoed faintly down the hall, still deep in negotiations. By the time her manager would notice, Allie would already be halfway to where Sionne was.

The newsroom was a hive in motion. Studio lights glared, cameras whirred, interns ran across the floor clutching papers like lifelines. The evening segment was about to go live again, and in the middle of it was Sionne, hair neatly pulled back, eyes sharp despite the exhaustion written in the curve of her shoulders.

She’d been at the studio since morning. She was supposed to be done an hour ago. But then senator demanded airtime after being mentioned in a corruption scheme tied to the massive flood control projects.

“Two minutes,” the floor director called.

Sionne barely nodded. Her mind replayed the contractor’s earlier stumble: funds funneled in cash, materials downgraded, infrastructure underdesigned. It wasn’t a solid proof — not yet — but it was enough to draw blood.

And the senator was now in call to stop the bleeding. The red tally light on the camera flicked on. Sionne straightened, voice cool and controlled.

“Magandang gabi. Kasama natin ngayon si Senator Chris,” Sionne began, her voice smooth but edged with control. “Nandito siya para linawin ang koneksyon niya sa national flood management initiative.”

The senator’s face filled the split screen — confident, rehearsed, the kind of smile that was trained to survive controversy. But even through the camera, the tightness in his collar betrayed him.

“Salamat, Sionne,” he said, his tone polished. “Let me clarify right away, ano? Lahat ng pondo ng gobyerno ay accounted for sa mga proyektong naging parte ako. So itong mga accusations na ito ay baseless.”

Sionne tilted her head, the faintest hint of skepticism flickering in her eyes. “Pero, Senator, base sa records na nakuha online galing sa government website, kahit bilyon-bilyon ang inilaan, maraming key sites ang hindi pa rin natatapos. Some structures were even washed away by the last storm. Paano po nangyari ‘yon sa mga proyektong dapat ay nagpoprotekta sa mga tao?”

The senator’s smile faltered, just barely. “Well, alam mo naman kung paano ang sistema natin… red tape, delays, natural disasters—”

“Pero,” Sionne interjected, precise, unrelenting, “ayon sa parehong mga dokumento, pinapakita na may mga bayad nang nailabas. Kahit sa mga proyekto na nasa blueprint stage pa lang.”

The senator blinked, clearly rattled. He hadn’t expected Sionne to have the receipts, much less to air them live. “That’s… part of the process. Advance funding is necessary.”

“Necessary,” Sionne echoed softly, voice deceptively calm but with steel underneath. “Kahit na ‘yung mga ‘advance’ na ‘yan ay nadala sa mga bahay na konektado sa staff n’yo?”

The senator’s lips trembled before he forced words out. “Dinadala lang ‘yun do’n habang ‘di pa tapos ang project.”

Sionne frowned, no longer hiding her irritation. “So Senator, inaamin n’yo bang milyon—bilyon—ang nakatambak sa mga bahay na ‘yon habang hindi pa tapos ang mga proyekto? Ano pong dahilan? Kasama ba ‘to sa proseso ng gobyerno? Kung pupuntahan ba namin ang mga bahay, masisiguro ninyo bang nandoon pa rin ang pera para sa mga proyek—”

She didn’t get to finish. The senator abruptly ended the call, his feed vanishing into static. A hollow silence filled the studio. The failed reconnection tone echoed like a countdown, each attempt sharper than the last.

The director cut to commercial, the red light blinked off. The studio erupted. Sionne pulled off her earpiece, every bone in her body aching with fatigue. She was drained, but a current of satisfaction hummed in her chest. That slip, that tiny fallout, was enough to open a door.

“Grabe ka, Sionne,” one of the anchors whispered as he passed. “I wish I had that in me.” Sionne offered a small smile.

Jane went over, a little breathless. “Okay, I have to say it, ang galing mo. Pero uh…” She glanced at her watch, grimacing. “I can’t drop you home. Late na ako sa dinner namin ng girlfriend ko dahil nag-extend tayo. She’ll kill me if I ditch again. ‘Wag ka mag-alala. I will have someone fill in for the morning news.”

Sionne waved her off. “Go lang. May ibang susundo na sa akin.”

Jane narrowed her eyes. “May ibang susundo sa ‘yo? Don’t tell me you are dati—” Her expression shifted into disbelief. “Oh, right... Umuwi nga pala sa Manila ‘yung tropa mong model.”

Sionne smirked smugly. Jane groaned, rolling her eyes so hard it hurt. “Whatever. Enjoy your celebrity driver.”

As soon as Jane left, Sionne dug into her bag and pulled out her phone, thumb typing over the screen to shoot Allie a quick message.

To Allie Arceta:

I’m heading out.

From Allie Arceta:

Okay.

B2 parking, row C5.

Sionne slung her bag over her shoulder and headed for the elevators. The newsroom noise faded behind her, replaced by the sterile hum of the parking levels below. When she reached Row C5, she stopped short.

Parked neatly under the harsh fluorescent glow was a sleek, black car. Its surface gleamed like a mirror, reflecting Sionne’s own worn-out figure back at her: messy bun, creased blouse, shadows under her eyes.

For a moment, Sionne just stood there, frozen with hesitation clawing at her chest. Expensive cars like this usually meant politicians or businessmen she grilled on live television. People who smiled in public, stole in private, and hated her guts for saying so.

Her phone buzzed.

From Allie Arceta:

Gusto mo bang pagbuksan pa kita?

To Allie Arceta:

Sa‘yo ‘tong itim na sasakyan?

From Allie Arceta:

Bakit? May problema ba?

To Allie Arceta:

Just making sure I’m not about to get kidnapped.

From Allie Arceta:

Please.

You’re the one holding me with a contract.

‘Wag ka na mag-overthink at pumasok ka na.

A sigh escaped her before she could stop it, pushing off the uneasy feeling she had. She tugged the handle and slid into the passenger seat.

Her eyes immediately swept over the leather interior. “Binili mo ba ‘to kasi may kasamang payong?” She joked.

Allie arched a brow, not missing a beat as she started the engine. “No. But it does come with an eject button para sa mga annoying na kagaya mo.”

Sionne smirked, finally leaning back into the seat. “Sungit naman. Curious lang e.”

The car hummed to life, moving forward with a quiet smoothness that swallowed the chaos of Manila traffic outside. And Allie didn’t pepper Sionne with questions, didn’t fill the silence with small talk. She just drove, calm, and unhurried. The steady rhythm of the road, the soft glow of dashboard lights, and Allie’s profile in the driver’s seat gave Sionne something she hadn’t realized she’d been craving all day: space to breathe.

When Allie finally eased the car to a stop outside her apartment, Sionne stirred awake. “We’re here?”

“Yep,” Allie said, cutting the engine. “Tumulo nga laway mo e.”

Sionne shot her a flat look. “Hindi ako naglalaway kapag tulog.”

Allie smirked but didn’t argue. Instead, she reached for a paper bag from the backseat, balancing it carefully. The scent of soy and broth spilled into the air, filling the small space with warmth.

“Hala? Nag-takeout ka talaga?” Sionne asked, her tone half-suspicious.

“Oo, sabi ko naman sa‘yo.” Allie slipped out of the car, nudging her chin toward the entrance. “Dalian mo na at buksan mo na pinto. Nangangalay na ako.”

Sionne rolled her eyes but followed her. Inside, her apartment was quiet, tidy, practical, and just a little too still for someone who rarely rested. Allie walked in like she had before, her sneakers squeaking once before she neatly set them aside. She placed the bag on the counter and began rummaging for plates as if it were routine.

“Go wash up,” Allie said, waving toward the hallway. “Ako na bahala mag-ayos ng pagkain.”

“Kung umasta ka parang bahay mo na,” Sionne muttered, unbuttoning her blazer.

“I’m just quick to adjust given any situation,” Allie said with a grin.

Sionne lingered at the doorway for a moment, quietly watching her. The way Allie moved — familiar, easy, comfortable in her space — made something small shift inside her chest. Oddly domestic. And it was both comforting and dangerous. Sionne shook it off and retreated into the bathroom.

When she came back, her face freshly washed and hair damp around her shoulders, the table looked transformed. Bowls of steaming ramen, gyoza lined in even rows, chopsticks already split and waiting.

Her eyes widened. “Ramen? Dumplings?” she gasped, almost giddy. “Why did you get these?”

Allie, sitting on a stool with a knowing grin, shrugged. “I was craving them.”

Sionne plopped beside her, chopsticks already snapping apart. “These are my favorites.”

“Are they?” Allie asked, feigning innocence.

“You knew that though,” Sionne accused, narrowing her eyes.

“Hindi ah,” Allie said, slurping noodles like she hadn’t heard her.

“You definitely did. You stalked me online. I remember mentioning it just once — nung bago pa lang ako, kaya pati sa mga food segments sumasama ako.”

“Ang kapal mo. Weird lang algorithm kaya lumabas sa feed ko,” Allie tried to argue.

“That was years ago, pinagsasasabi mong algorithm,” Sionne pointed her chopsticks at Allie.

“Kumain ka na lang o babawiin ko ‘yan,” Allie threatened, changing the topic.

Sionne immediately pulled her bowl closer, protective. Allie just shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. They ate quietly after that, the kind of silence that didn’t need filling. The sound of chopsticks against bowls, the occasional sigh of satisfaction, it all blended into a calm that felt almost like peace.

Allie caught herself watching the quiet shift in Sionne’s face as she ate, the tiredness slipping off little by little. Under the dim light, Sionne seemed to glow — brighter than the flashes Allie had lived with, and warmer than any spotlight could ever be.

When the bowls were empty, Allie reached for the dishes. “I’ll wash—”

“Hindi.” Sionne stood quickly, blocking her path with a hand. “Ako na maghuhugas. Linisin mo ‘yung lamesa para mabilis.”

“Excited to kick me out?” Allie teased.

“Excited na magbayad ka sa utang.”

Allie paused, brows lifting. “Hindi ka ba need bukas ng umaga sa trabaho?”

“May ibang papalit sa akin kasi na-extend ako kanina,” Sionne explained, already stacking bowls. “Ikaw nagsabing magbabayad ka kaya ‘wag kang tumakas.”

Allie leaned on the counter, studying her. “l’m not trying to run away. It’s just you had a long day.”

Sionne shot her a look over her shoulder. “Feigning concern won’t help your case, Arceta. Isa pa, hindi ko alam kailan ka uli nandito, so I’m making sure you pay up while I can.”

Allie laughed, shaking her head. “I’m staying for three weeks with some work in between. But I do have the time to pay.”

“Really? Mabuti naman.” Sionne’s voice carried a satisfied lilt. “Bilisan mo para maumpisahan na.”

“Can’t win, can I?” Allie mumbled as she wiped the table clean.

“Exactly. Mananalo ka lang kung kakampi mo ako,” Sionne said as she dried her hands.

After cleaning up, they sank into Sionne’s couch with controllers in hand. The TV screen flickered to life, flooding the living room with Overcooked’s bright colors and cheerful, deceptive music — the kind that masked chaos with a happy beat.

“Allie, may idea ka naman paano ‘to laruin, ‘di ba?” Sionne asked, glancing sideways, suspicion already lacing her tone.

“How hard can it be? Hiwa, luto, at serve,” Allie said confidently, clicking through the menu like someone who’d never touched a co-op game in her life.

Sionne pinched the bridge of her nose. “Ayan din sinabi ni Jane. After thirty seconds, nasunog ‘yung buong kusina.”

Allie smirked. “I’m not Jane.”

“Siguraduhin mo lang.”

The first level loaded, a simple kitchen, the kind of level meant to ease players in. Within seconds, however, Allie’s character was stuck running into a counter while Sionne, now visibly tense, chopped onions like her life depended on it.

“Allie! Ano bang ginagawa mo? Tumulong ka naman!”

“What do you mean tumulong ako?! Kanina pa ako nagcha-chop!” Allie defended herself.

“Anong chop? Ayan ‘yung character mo, nakasiksik sa lababo!” Sionne pointed at the little chef who hadn’t moved in thirty seconds.

“That’s me?!”

Sionne groaned and scooted closer, her hand covering Allie’s on the joystick. “See?! Ikaw ‘yan.”

Allie bursted out laughing. “Okay, okay, sorry! Let’s redo this.”

“Second try,” Sionne muttered as she restarted the level. “Chop ka lang ng onions na ibibigay ko, ‘yun lang gagawin mo, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Allie said, exaggeratedly saluting.

They restarted. For a while, it actually went well, Sionne handing over ingredients, Allie chopping in rhythm. But chaos returned the moment soup was ready to serve.

“Allie, wag kang humarang sa daan ko! Jusko naman!”

“I’m not!”

“You are!”

“I’m chopping onions!”

“Get out of the way!”

“Fine!” Allie dramatically pushed her character to the corner, sulking. “There, happy?”

Sionne side-eyed her, exasperated but amused. “Bakit andyan ka lang sa sulok?”

“E sabi mo get out,” Allie said with a pout that looked too natural for her own good.

For a second, the frustration in Sionne’s face softened. She sighed and paused the game. 

“Ayaw mo na?” Allie looked up, disappointment flickering across her face.

“Of course not.” Sionne stood up, determination flaring in her tone. “But if you’ll pay me, dapat sulit ‘yung bayad.”

Allie blinked. “Ha?”

Moments later, Sionne came back holding a whiteboard and a marker.

Allie nearly choked laughing. “Ano ka? Coach?”

“If we want to win, we need a plan.” Sionne drew the kitchen layout with precision, dividing tasks like a general prepping for battle.

She handed Allie her tasks: chopping onions, delivering soup, returning plates; Meanwhile, Sionne handled the upper counters, cooking and washing dishes.

“Lahat ng exchange sa island ilalagay. Got it?”

“Got it,” Allie said, suppressing a smile.

The plan worked. They breezed through levels with growing teamwork, their movements oddly in sync. Sionne’s focus anchored the game; Allie’s laughter lightened it.

By the fifth level, though, everything devolved again into chaos. Their cartoon kitchen was in flames, smoke everywhere, timer running out before they reach their goal.

“Allie! I told you not to cross here!”

“But you were zoning out! Luto na nga!”

“I wasn’t zoning!”

“Ano ‘yan? Nagdadasal?” Allie teased, standing up to mimic Sionne’s character frozen mid-screen.

“I wasn’t—”

“Yes, you were!” Allie jabbed her finger toward the screen. “The pot was burning and you were just there!”

“You’re so annoying!” Sionne threw a pillow at her.

Allie dodged easily, laughing hard that her stomach hurt. “And yet, you still wanted to play with me.”

That silenced Sionne for a beat, long enough for Allie to notice the faint blush on her face. The journalist, always composed, now sat pouting, glasses slipping down her nose.

“We’re done,” Sionne muttered, dropping the controller. “My patience is thinning.”

“Your patience was always thin,” Allie said teasingly.

“Excuse me?” Sionne turned sharply. “Do you know how much patience I spent taking care of your drunk ass that night?”

Allie snorted. “Ayan na naman. You’ll never let that go, huh?”

“Never. You still owe me hours.”

“Well,” Allie drawled, stretching, “I plan on paying at least one-third while I’m here.”

“As you should,” Sionne said, arms crossed but clearly fighting a smile.

The game looped back to the menu, cheerful music mocking their defeat. Allie glanced at the clock and blinked, it was late.

“Do you have work tomorrow?” Sionne noticed, guilt creeping in. “Sorry, ‘di kita natanong.”

“May dinner lang with higher ups,” Allie replied. “Free ako sa morning. Though… I plan to jog. Sama ka?”

Sionne looked at her as if she’d spoken in tongues. “Ako? Tatakbo? Over my dead body.”

Allie laughed. “Ang OA mo. Pero seryoso, hindi ka talaga nag-e-exercise?”

“Do I look like I do?”

Allie’s gaze flicked down instinctively, assessing.

“Don’t even,” Sionne warned, tossing another pillow at her face.

“What? You asked!” Allie countered. “And stop aiming at my face. Alam mo bang mahal ‘tong mukha ko?!”

“Then act like your face,” Sionne shot back. “Stop looking at me like a creepy man.”

“Comparing me to a man? Ouch,” Allie mock gasped. “That’s the worst insult I’ve had this year.”

“Then stop eyeing me, weirdo.”

“Hindi kasi ako naniniwala,” Allie pushed. “Kung ganyan katawan mo, at least pilates siguro?”

Sionne’s voice flattened. “Maybe you haven’t tried stress and skipping meals as your daily workout.”

Allie frowned. “That’s not healthy.”

“Some people have it worse,” Sionne muttered, tidying up the consoles and pillows.

Allie’s tone softened. “For someone so smart, you say the dumbest things sometimes.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said your words are, not you.” Allie met her eyes, steady. “Hindi dahil may mas grabe ang situation, you lose the right to complain. It’s not a competition, Sionne.”

Sionne froze, not used to being called out so gently. She sighed, shoulders slumping a little. “I’ll… try to eat more.”

“Good,” Allie said with quiet firmness. “Can’t have you running on pure caffeine and spite.”

Sionne glared. “Get out.”

“I was joking!” Allie raised her hands in surrender, laughing.

“Out!”

Allie chuckled and headed to the door — until she stopped, patting her pockets. Her brows furrowed. “Wait.”

Sionne tilted her head, instantly suspicious. “Don’t try to get smart on me.”

“I’m not.” Allie’s tone was genuine this time, her hand now digging through her pockets again. “My phone. It’s not here.”

Sionne’s lips twitched upward, teasing already. “Wow. Top model loses her phone in someone’s apartment. Sounds like a headline.”

Allie shot her a look, the kind that carried half amusement, half panic. “You’re not allowed to write that.”

“Oh, I would.” Sionne leaned on the wall, arms crossed, smug as always. “But I’d do something spicier. I’ll have it unlocked and upload your dumbest note online.”

“I don’t have a note,” Allie denied, but her defensive tone betrayed her instantly.

Sionne’s grin widened. “Oh, you definitely do. What’s it about? A cliché poem about heartbreak? Ranting about another model?”

“God, you’re insufferable.” Allie sighed, dropping to her knees to peek under the coffee table. “Can you help me?”

“Not unless you say the magic word.”

Allie froze, then rolled her eyes dramatically. “Please?”

That earned her a satisfied hum. “Good girl.”

The two of them began searching, a ridiculous sight really. Allie crawled across the rug, hair falling into her face, muttering curses every time her knee bumped into furniture. Sionne, meanwhile, moved with deliberate slowness, as if enjoying the spectacle more than actually helping. Cushions were tossed, pillow cases unzipped, the kitchen counter checked twice.

Sionne leaned against the wall again, arms folded, watching the chaos unfold. There was a certain fondness in her gaze, the kind she’d deny later if Allie caught her staring. “Sigurado ka bang nadala mo rito?” she asked eventually.

“Yes!” Allie shot back, exasperated. “I used it to check the time earlier. I’m not an idiot.”

“Only an idiot would lose their phone.”

Allie narrowed her eyes. “Call it. Baka nahulog lang sa kung saan.”

Sionne shrugged and pulled her own phone out, fingers deftly scrolling through her contacts. The sound of the dial tone filled the quiet room, and then faintly, a muffled tune began to play.

Their heads turned in unison toward the couch.

“Of course,” Sionne muttered, exasperation dripping from her voice. She crouched down, reaching under the couch cushion. After a few seconds of fumbling, she dragged the phone out by its corner. “Found your precious phone.”

Allie exhaled in relief, straightening up. “Thank God. Can I—”

But Sionne didn’t hand it over. Her eyes had caught on the glowing caller ID. She blinked once, then twice. Her expression changed slowly, from confusion, to disbelief, to sheer offense.

Allie noticed the shift and stilled. “What?”

Sionne straightened, holding the phone just out of reach. Her voice was dangerously calm. “Paparazzi is calling…?”

Allie’s stomach dropped. Oh, fuck. That stupid inside joke she forgot to change. “Oh, come on—”

She lunged forward, but Sionne yanked the phone out of reach, glaring as if Allie had personally insulted her family.

“You saved me as Paparazzi?” Sionne demanded, voice climbing. “Me. A respected journalist. Reduced to a tabloid stalker.

Allie clapped a hand over her mouth, laughing again. “You’re overreacting—”

“This is slander!” Sionne’s voice rose, half indignant, half dramatic. “Dapat malaman ng mga taong bayan kung ano ang tingin mo sa‘kin!”

“Stop being dramatic,” Allie wheezed, tears in her eyes. “I’ll change it. Give it to me.”

But Sionne tossed her phone onto the couch instead, crossing her arms. “Don’t bother.”

Allie’s laughter died down, replaced by a small, uneasy silence. She hesitated. “You’re really mad?”

“Not mad,” Sionne corrected, eyes sharp but glinting. “I don’t get mad, Allie. I get even.”

Allie tilted her head. “What’s that supposed to—”

Before she could finish, Sionne was already typing furiously on her own phone, lips pursed in mischief. The sound of quick clicks filled the air, followed by the faintest smirk curling on her face.

Then she turned her screen toward Allie, triumphant. Allie’s contact now read: Showbiz Insider.

“You didn’t.”

“Oh, I did.” Sionne leaned back, savoring the moment. “It’s fair. Ayaw mo no’n? Duo tayo? One writing petty scandals, another making dumb gossip. O-M-G, power couple!”

Allie’s jaw dropped. “That’s stupid.”

“No, this is destiny.”

Allie rolled her eyes, trying to hide her smile. “You’re acting like a child.”

“You started it.” Sionne stuck her tongue out, because of course she can.

Allie groaned, dragging a hand down her face, but there was laughter hiding in her exhale. “Unbelievable.”

The tension melted as quickly as it had formed, replaced by the familiar rhythm of their banter, that strange, fragile intimacy they always found in teasing.

For a moment, silence lingered, a soft kind, the one that hums between two people too used to talking just to fill the space. Allie adjusted her jacket, suddenly aware of how quiet the apartment had become. The faint whirr of the fridge, the low hum of the TV still idling at the Overcooked menu, the muted buzz of Manila’s night traffic outside, made the air feel thicker somehow.

She glanced at Sionne, who was absently straightening the couch pillows she had ruined earlier. There was something endearingly meticulous about the way she did it, the little flick of her wrist, the slight furrow between her brows when one refused to sit right.

“Hey,” Allie said softly, almost without thinking. “Thanks for tonight.”

Sionne looked up. “Shouldn’t I be thanking you? For picking me up from work and taking out food.”

Allie smiled faintly. “Right.”

That earned her a quiet laugh, the real kind. “Am I watching Stockholm syndrome in play?”

Allie rolled her eyes. “Are you admitting that you have me as hostage? You’re weird.”

“And yet, you willingly picked me up,” Sionne countered.

“Regretting it now,” Allie muttered, but her tone lacked any real bite.

They walked together toward the door, still tossing words like tiny sparks between them. By the time they stepped into the cool night air, the city felt different, not quieter exactly, but softer. The buzz of streetlights and the hum of distant traffic were suddenly background to something more private, something steady and slow.

At the gate, Sionne raised her hand in a casual wave, but her eyes lingered longer than the gesture warranted. “Take care,” she said, voice light but carrying a warmth that slipped past her usual restraint.

Allie grinned, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t stay up too late and look for more scope, Paparazzi.”

Sionne gasped, clutching her chest in mock offense. “Don’t worry, Ms. Allie. I am only obsessed with your life. I am devoted to you.” She then sent flying kisses to Allie.

Allie played along, pretending to catch the invisible heart Sionne threw at her. “As you should be. I’ll make sure you’re always ahead with the industry gossip.”

“That’s right.” Sionne tilted her chin up proudly, continuing the act. “Please drive safely. You cannot be in an accident while I sleep. I have to be the first to post to get the most clicks, okay?”

“Of course. You should be the first one to know.”

Sionne extended her arm again, waving dramatically like some 1940s actress bidding farewell at a harbor. “Farewell, my love.”

Allie snorted but played along. “Until I see you again, my love.”

It was ridiculous, theatrical, overdone, but when Allie slid into her car, she found herself smiling wider than she meant to. Sionne stood at the curb, her silhouette framed by the pale glow of the streetlight, her arms crossed loosely, her hair shifting slightly with the wind.

The engine purred to life, headlights cutting through the quiet. Allie rolled down her window and called out, “Sleep early, or I’ll make a scene to make you run the morning segment.”

“Try it,” Sionne challenged, grinning. “You’ll regret it.”

“I won’t take my chances.”

“Drive safe, Allie.” The journalist’s voice softened, the kind of softness that doesn’t show in her articles or interviews, but in small hours like this, when no one’s watching.

Allie gave a small nod before pulling away, the car slowly merging into the night. She could still see Sionne in her mirror, standing there, arms crossed, watching her taillights fade like she wasn’t quite ready to turn away yet.

Inside the apartment, the air felt still again. Sionne leaned against the closed door, exhaling quietly. The faint smell of ramen still lingered, along with the warmth from Allie’s laughter echoing faintly in her head. She shook her head, smiling to herself, annoyed, flustered, and weirdly at home.

Meanwhile, in her car, Allie’s grin hadn’t faded. She kept replaying bits of the night, Sionne’s laughter, the way her brows creased when she focused, the mock outrage over “Paparazzi.” She realized Manila didn’t feel as heavy tonight. For once, it didn’t feel like work but something worth coming home to.

Overcooked Contract

Time Spent: 3 hours

Time Remaining: 37 hours