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It was a regular Saturday afternoon, and Isagani Florentino was losing his mind.
On his bed, Crispin — his best friend for six years now — was sat, amused at his expense. The writer was usually so calm and composed, so it was quite the sight to watch him rake his hands through his hair with the most panicked expression Crispin had ever seen him wear. “Gani,” he said, vaguely attempting to stifle his laughter. “Come on, I can guarantee you that my brother will love you no matter what you wear.”
“But he’s going to look perfect, and I’m going to act like such a mess, and—”
“You always think he looks perfect,” Crispin pointed out, rolling his eyes. “And you’re always a mess—”
“Not helping!” Isagani cried out.
He huffed, standing up and approaching his friend’s closet. Crispin pulled out a blue, plaid polo and some jeans. He shoved them toward Isagani, uttering the words, “Look, you see that outfit? You wore it once, and I had to stand there and watch my brother fuck you with his eyes while you stood there gaping at him being shirtless. It’s perfect. And he’s wearing blue tonight, you’ll match.”
Isagani narrowed his eyes, taking the clothes anyway. “Your brother is much nicer than you are,” he scoffed, running another hand through his hair and tugging slightly. His fingertips were buzzing with nerves and anticipation, and he didn’t know how he was going to make it through the night without spontaneously combusting. He stalked off to go to the bathroom and change, leaving the door open behind him.
“Of course you’d say that,” Crispin snorted. “You’re in love with him.”
“Am not!” he called out, defending himself as he pulled his shirt over his head.
He stared at his reflection, a mantra of fuck, fuck, fuck playing through his mind. He drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, repeating this several times until his panic simmered down. “Okay, Isagani,” he told himself, a shaky sigh escaping his mouth. “It’s just Basilio. You like him, and he likes you, and— and that’s enough for now. You’re twenty-years-old for crying out loud. You can do this.”
He quickly put on the clothes that Crispin had given him, a blush spreading on his cheeks as the image of Basilio’s bare torso flashed in his mind. After doing up the buttons on his shirt, he went over to the sink to splash some water on his face. “You’ve only liked him for forever,” he laughed unconvincingly to his reflection. “It’s not that big of a deal.”
When he stepped out, Crispin was on his stomach in the middle of his bed, scrolling half-heartedly through Twitter. He cleared his throat, getting his friend’s attention. Crispin stared for a good twenty-three seconds before the corner of his mouth quirked up. “Listen, I’m not saying that you’re going to get laid tonight, but remember that practicing safe sex is important.”
Isagani spluttered before fixing his gaze into a glare. “I miss the days you were innocent.”
“Everybody does,” Crispin laughed. “But can I say something really quick?”
“If you’re going to make threats on behalf of your brother—”
Crispin shook his head, causing Isagani’s words to die in his throat. “You’re my best friend, Isagani,” he started. “And I don’t want things to change between us. But I have a feeling that they will. But whatever happens with you two— He’s my brother, and you’re my best friend, okay?”
Isagani blinked. “Please tell me that’s it because I don’t want to cry before I have to go and see your brother.”
“Part Two comes when you start calling Kuya your boyfriend,” Crispin smiled. “But if you end up marrying my brother, would that make you my brother?”
His face flushed, heat beginning to crawl up his neck. “I— I guess?”
“Awesome.”