Chapter Text
"Do you remember the first time you talked to me?" Placido asks him.
He peels both his eyes open and shrugs. His arms are folded over his chest. "I was probably asking you what the professor was talking about—"
(Except Juanito knows that's not true.)
"I wish my life ended ten minutes—"
"I remember, Placido. I remember." When Juanito swallows, the lump in his throat stays afloat. He need not be reminded.
"I was sure then, that I was aromantic, or whatever. Being sure is just a tiny bit horrifying."
(When I put that violin in your hands, he thinks, did you know you were holding the very fabric of my being?)
Placido expels a breath. "Thank you. I don't think I would have been okay, had I been left alone."
Juanito smiles, just like he had that day. Genuine, friendly— He can breathe easy.
(These are the things that matter.)
"Psst... Placido... Gising ka pa ba?" ("Matulog ka na, Pelaez.")
The dark is illuminated by his ceiling-stars and the dim moonlight.
There's a burnt-out street lamp outside his window that used to color his room orange at night. No one has noticed but him. He's the only soul that bothers to be up at this time. A bird flies over it. It circles around three times before swooping down to land. It looks both ways and buries its beak into its feathers. When it flies off, he's almost sad to see it go.
He breathes in and out, and in and out, and in and out.
The shadow of a tree casts itself onto his room. For a while, he lets the sway of its leaves hypnotize him.
The ringing in his ears is steady.
He keeps his eyes open, sees no need to fall victim to sleep. Thoughts swim around in his head, but they come and go like clockwork. He finds comfort in the darkness, the shadows that turn themselves into nightmares. Nightmares can't hurt you, not when you're awake. Not even when it's three, going on four in the morning.
Shadows.
He blinks, closes his eyes for two seconds more than usual.
These days, only the shadows reach out to him.
The moon seems to swell, and the tree's shadow branches out closer to his bed. (An avocado falls down, he watches the silhouette crash like a shooting star. He imagines it to be yet another victim of gravity, but still he makes a wish. It's a bit anti-climactic, but he thinks it as sign that the night has ripened.)
He's a city-kid through and through. This is why he does not dream often.
He wonders what the skies look like in the outskirts of the Metro, in the provinces. There are no stars in the city, not really. The neon signs and ambient lighting make sure of this. Sometimes there's one or two, but most nights he finds himself dreaming with only plastic stars to look over him. (He tries not to make a big deal out of it. He's heard stars are usually well-over dead by the time we see them, anyway.)
He blinks. He doesn't recall the last time he did, but relief pools from his tear ducts.
There's another bird that accidentally flies into the window. He considers for a moment deliberation in the action, but fears he's humanizing the bird too much by giving it the capability to hurt itself. It's dark; there's a lot of hazards out there. It probably doesn't know any better and neither does he. (It shakes its head and takes back off, leaving only a feather in its wake.)
They say that the universe knows what it's doing. But still, he refuses to sign his fate over to it.
He skims through the thoughts in his head, but finds they're just as lost in the cosmos as he is.
A motorcycle engine buzzes from the outside, and rubber scrapes at the asphalt streets. He finds himself wondering who's out there, leaving in the middle of the night. He can only speculate: A teenager finding an escape in the lacklustre sky. A husband caught in an act of infidelity, leaving as he swears to come back in the morning when he and his wife have both calmed down, not knowing the morning's never going to come. A construction worker waking up early to keep his family under a roof. A thief, heading back to his house before he can even begin his heist, remembering he's forgotten to tuck his daughter in for the night. He only dwells until the sound fades away.
Only a quarter of the moon has revealed itself for the night.
Only a quarter of the moon is needed.
He doesn't need that much light anyway.
There's a gate that clink-clanks around. And then the roar of a car.
He assumes the businessman from across the street is running late for being early for his six-in-the-morning flight.
There's a light that glints outside his window. He can't be sure if it's a star or an airplane or a trick of light.
He breathes in and out, and in and out, and in an out. He counts through it, reaches thirty-two when his gaze flicks over to the boy on his bed. (But he remembers to blink this time around.) "Oi, Penitente," he whispers into the dark. He shakes the other boy, enough to stir him awake.
Juanito pauses when a hand grabs at his, and incoherent grumbles tell him to stop.
Placido stills for a while before he opens his eyes, moving to sit upright. His shirt is all wrinkled from being slept in, and his hair is no better. His eyes have yet to focus when he feels the sleep crawling back into his system, begging him not to leave. He sighs inwardly, pushes it aside and tells it to wait. "Ano?" he says sharply, cracking the bones in his neck.
(Juanito takes everything about Pluto back. Yes. Yes, he does feel small.)
The air feels different, and it doesn't matter.
"I like you."
Placido blinks three times. "Kung gigisingin mo 'ko nang ganito kaaga, sana naman yung sasabihin mo yung bagay na 'di ko pa alam."
Juanito blinks back.
Placido cracks him a tired smile. "Sorry."
His throat dries. "It's okay," he musters out, "We're friends."
"Pwede na ba 'ko matulog?"
He rolls his eyes, lets a yawn slip out of his mouth. "Oo na, matulog ka na. Lagi ka na lang nagpupuyat."
Placido considers. "Eh, ikaw?"
"Maya-maya..." he says thoughtfully, staring out the window. "May pag-iisipan lang ako."
When he turns to say good night, the sleep had already taken over Placido. He smiles wistfully.
(These are the things that matter.)
(Sunrise is going to come; all you have to do is wake up.) I saw the future, I did, and in it I was alive.