Chapter Text
2020.
PEOPLE VS. THOOTA—FORMER PRESIDENT RAUL THOOTA IS SENTENCED TO FORTY FIVE YEARS BEHIND BARS FOR THREE COUNTS OF GRAFT AND CORRUPTION.
Caleb Park, Wallows Digital
Seventy-three-year-old former president Raul Thoota was found guilty Monday on all three counts of graft and corruption filed against him. The verdict marks the end of an eleven-month trial that the prosecution team, led by Prosecutor Heechul Kim, has hailed as a victory for the people.
“It’s what the people deserve,” Kim said as he exited the Supreme Court late Monday afternoon.
Kim’s team is the same group credited with securing convictions in last year’s high-profile healthcare scam. Dubbed by the media as “young and brave,” Kim dismisses the label with a laugh.
“The only young person in our team is Atty. Byun,” he said.
Atty. Byun, who topped the Bar in 2018, is the newest and perhaps most talked-about member of Kim’s team. At only twenty-eight, Byun has quickly become one of the country’s youngest and most sought-after lawyer-bachelors. Early in the trial, photos of him in court went viral, along with a ten-second clip of his opening argument that trended on social media.
Despite the attention, Byun remains focused. “We will continue to fight for what is right,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “We’ve been enduring the shit show this government has been staging for the last six years.”
Thoota’s legal team declined to speak to reporters after the verdict but announced a press conference scheduled for 8:00 p.m. tonight. Meanwhile, the prosecution says they plan to take the night off — at least for now.
“We’re going to rest for the night and hide Atty. Byun from his fangirls and fanboys,” Kim joked. “It’s been a year since we started this fight, and with today’s verdict, I don’t think there’s anything left to prove.”
CP
-
from: Caleb C. Park <[email protected]>
to: Benedict Baekhyun Byun <[email protected]>
date: Aug 24, 2020, 2:03 PM
subject: INQUIRY: Interview for Wallows Digital October 2020
Hi, Atty Byun!
I hope this finds you well.
I’m Caleb Park, the editor in chief for Wallows Digital.
In line with the recent events from last year, Wallows would be honored to have you in our cover for our October 2020 issue. We would like to inquire in your schedule’s availability and if we can arrange an interview then.
Congratulations on making history, Atty. Byun.
I hope to hear from you soon.
Thank you!
Regards,
Caleb
from: Benedict Baekhyun Byun <[email protected]>
to: Caleb C. Park <[email protected]>
date: Aug 24, 2020, 2:45 PM
subject: INQUIRY: Interview for Wallows Digital October 2020
Hi, Caleb.
Thanks for reaching out.
I’ll check my schedule and get back to you soon.
Thanks.
Ben
(*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ
The Wallows Digital Office hummed with a low thrum of murmurs and the staccato click-clack of keyboards. The air crackled with a frantic energy. The trial of the year had wrapped up, surprisingly early, at 11 AM—a full three to four hours ahead of the usual. Writers and content creators had practically stampeded back to their desks, a collective urgency driving them to be the fastest, the most comprehensive news outlet to break the story. Now, three and a half hours later, the office was still a maelstrom of activity—a blend of panic, exultation, and a headlong rush toward the unforgiving deadline.
They'd pulled off a coup: an exclusive interview outside the Supreme Court with the prosecution team. They'd been the first to publish an article about it, and their Instagram Live commentary had soared to eighty thousand views in just an hour. To say everyone was riding a wave of success felt like an understatement; they were practically surfing on it.
But the editor-in-chief, Caleb, still craved one more thing, the elusive cherry on top: the very first interview with the country's hottest bachelor, Atty. Benedict B. Byun. This, of course, hinged on whether the quiet, reserved, and notoriously tsundere lawyer would even deign to grant him an interview. For the past eleven months, while the public raved about him, Benedict had remained a fortress, granting interviews only to his own team and only when directly related to the case. The young lawyer didn't even have social media accounts for the public to gush over. He was a mystery, at times, almost too mysterious, and that enigma only fueled the public's insatiable desire to know more.
A soft ding from Caleb’s computer jolted him. An email. Atty. Benedict Byun had finally replied, nearly forty-five minutes after Caleb had sent his own. Caleb’s brow furrowed slightly at the nonchalant, almost dismissive tone of the response. With a decisive movement, he picked up his phone and dialed a familiar number. One ring, then two, then three, and then—
“What?” The voice on the other end was clipped, slightly gruff.
“Hi.” Caleb exhaled, a soft whoosh of air, and slumped back in his chair, leaning into the recline as he swayed gently from side to side. “Did you get Kyungsoo’s text? Dinner daw later.”
“I saw. Iniisip ko pa.” The words were drawn out, hinting at a deep-seated reluctance.
“Oh, come on.” Caleb’s voice held a playful coaxing. “It’s not like you’re busy.”
“I am.” The retort was immediate, sharp.
“Let me guess,” Caleb chuckled, a light, teasing sound, “nakahiga ka now at nagbabalak matulog?” He leaned forward slightly, a knowing grin spreading across his face. “Don’t even try drinking your sleeping pills because you’re joining us for dinner later. I’ll come get you. Does 5 sound good?”
A thick silence stretched across the line for what felt like an eternity, perhaps five full seconds, before Caleb heard a faint, weary sigh.
“Don’t you have anything better to do? Aren’t you supposed to be busy?” Benedict’s voice held a hint of exasperation.
“I am, but my only task today is to get you to say yes to two things—the dinner and my interview.” Caleb watched the frantic activity around him, a small, triumphant smirk playing on his lips.
“Edi lumabas din ang totoo. May kailangan ka sakin kaya ka ganyan.” Caleb couldn’t quite tell if Benedict’s ensuing chuckle was condescending or just a normal, slightly amused one, but he was certain he’d just earned himself an eye-roll from the other end. “It’s not even our monthly dinner so pass talaga. Gusto kong magpahinga.” The last words were almost a whine.
“But Bennie,” Caleb leaned into the microphone, his voice softening, laced with just the right amount of persuasive affection. He knew, with absolute certainty, that once the "Bennie" came out, Benedict Byun had no more resolve. “Me and the boys are so proud of you. We just want to celebrate.”
“And you want me to say yes to your interview.” Benedict’s voice was flat, devoid of emotion.
“That too.” Caleb admitted, his grin widening.
“Tangina mo ka.” The expletive was delivered without heat, almost a fond exasperation.
“Isusumbong kita sa mama ko.” Caleb shot back instantly, enjoying the playful banter.
“She’ll say the same thing. Napaka annoying mo.” There was a tired resignation in Benedict’s tone now.
“You love me though.” Caleb said, his voice brimming with unshakeable confidence.
“Caleb, I’d really love if I can take a nap before you pick me up later.” Benedict let out a soft, drawn-out yawn, a clear sign of his exhaustion. “Pick me up at 6. Wag 5. If you’re early, don’t you dare wake me up. Wait for me na lang.” The last part was delivered with a surprising firmness.
“Okay, got it, Atty.” Caleb’s fingers flew across his keyboard, pulling up his calendar. “Anything else? Coffee?”
“We can have your interview on Wednesday. I’ll rest lang tomorrow din. One day lang naman di ba?” The concession was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.
“Maybe mga two. Kasi profiling eh.” Caleb quickly revised his mental schedule, already anticipating the extra time.
“What do you even need to know? We’ve known each other nearly ten years.” Benedict’s voice held a hint of disbelief, a low grumble.
“Eh.” Caleb offered simply, a shrug in his voice.
“Wednesday and Thursday. I’ll block those off for you.” Benedict sighed again, a sound of weary resignation. “Friday, I need to go home and see mom. Okay na? Can I hang up na? I’m so sleepy and tired.” His voice was almost pleading now.
“Got it. Thank you, Bennie.” Caleb quickly scribbled a note for his assistant to adjust his schedule for the rest of the week, ensuring it aligned perfectly with Benedict’s availability. He hung up, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. “See you later!”
(*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ
from: Caleb C. Park <[email protected]>
to: Mark Minhyung Lee <[email protected]>
date: Aug 24, 2020, 3:10 PM
subject: WEDNESDAY AND THURSDAY FIELD: BENEDICT BYUN
Hi, Mark.
I got a schedule for an interview with Atty. Byun for this week. He’s available on Wednesday and Thursday so I’ll be on field then. Please reschedule the interviews with the Hope’s team for next week. I’m also filing Tuesday and Friday as VLs.
Only text me when you really, really, really need me. Kapag isang really lang, don’t even bother.
See you next week.
Caleb
(*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ
It’s 5:45 in the afternoon when Caleb finally extricates himself from the Wallows Digital Office in Mandaluyong. A quick glance at his watch sends a jolt of panic through him. He has a mere fifteen minutes to get to Benedict’s condo in Libis. Is he going to get there on time? No. The thought is a dull thud in his chest. Is he going to be in a lot of trouble? Yes. A knot forms in his stomach. It isn't entirely his fault, he rationalizes, trying to quell the rising anxiety. His assistant, Mark, had ambushed him with next week’s schedule and a stack of documents needing his immediate approval, given he'd be out for the rest of the week. Before he knew it, a text from Benedict had popped up, announcing he was about to get ready. Caleb had practically vaulted from his chair, a desperate sprint to the parking lot, ignoring the polite "Hi boss" and "Good evening po, sir" from the people he zipped past. Sure, some might call him suplado for his hurried departure, but nothing, absolutely nothing, was scarier than a Benedict Byun who’d been kept waiting. And by the looks of the snarled traffic on EDSA, Caleb was about to face his full, unbridled wrath.
His phone is already in his hand, fingers flying as he dials a friend for help, a desperate plea forming on his lips even before the connection is made.
“Papunta na kayo?” It’s Kyungsoo, their meticulously organized dinner planner for the week, his voice already carrying a hint of impatience.
“Papunta pa lang ako kay Ben.” Caleb grips the steering wheel tighter, a sheen of sweat forming on his palms.
Kyungsoo’s voice rises, a sharp, exasperated burst. “Gago ka, nagtext na sakin ng See you. Tapos late ka nanaman.” The accusation hangs in the air. Late ka nanaman. Since the dawn of time, Caleb Park was, and had always been, late. It was an immutable law of the universe. No matter how meticulously he tried to prepare, something, always something, would inevitably crop up, delaying him. Eventually, he’d just… given up, resigned to his fate, embracing a more leisurely pace. His college barkada could attest to it, living witnesses to his chronic tardiness—late to inumans, late to class, late to lunches, and even, famously, late to their own graduation. Over time, they’d simply adapted, incorporated it into their lives. Often, they would resort to the white lie, giving him an earlier time than the actual meeting, just to ensure his timely arrival. Everyone, that is, except for Benedict. Benedict could never, ever get used to Caleb’s tardiness. He’d even gone as far as to demand, "How can you run a team with this work ethic?" a question that had led to a frigid two-week silent treatment between them.
Caleb sighs, the sound more a defeated groan, and hangs up on Kyungsoo just as an incoming call from Sehun flashes across his screen. He answers immediately.
“Bro.” Sehun’s voice is calm, unhurried, a stark contrast to Caleb’s internal turmoil.
“Oh?” Caleb manages, his voice tight.
“Nagpapasundo na sakin si Ben so dumiretso ka na sa Alba.” Sehun’s words are a punch to the gut, a heavy weight settling in Caleb’s chest. He lets out a deep, shuddering sigh, gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles whiten. He uses his free hand to rub his temples, a desperate attempt to ward off the building headache of exasperation. He hears Sehun’s easy, knowing laugh through the phone, followed by the distinct rumble of an engine starting up.
“You were doing so well, bro.” Sehun’s voice is light, teasing. “Parang 3 dinners ka na di late. Tapos ngayon?”
“I got caught up at work,” Caleb mutters, his voice edged with defensive frustration.
“Yeah, well tell the lawyer that.” Sehun’s tone is laced with amusement, a gentle jab.
Usually, an angry Benedict meant a lengthy, impassioned lecture—a full thirty minutes, at least—on the sanctity of time and why his, specifically, should not be taken for granted. The group would often endure a solid fifteen minutes of awkward silence before one of their friends, usually Kyungsoo or Minseok, would break the tension with a well-timed joke or a funny antic. All would be well again, eventually. Caleb would order Benedict’s favorite dessert, sometimes even paying for his entire meal as an unspoken apology. Benedict, of course, would still sulk, grumbling that he could pay for his own, but he wouldn’t push it much further. The evening would typically end with Caleb driving Benedict home, with yet another earnest, and ultimately fleeting, promise to never, ever be late again.
They’d known each other since college. Both Caleb and Benedict had been in the same block, freshmen Communication students, and had immediately bonded over a shared, ardent love for books and radio. Their bond had flourished in the quiet hum of the library, and soon enough, within the vibrant chaos of their university radio center. Their circle had expanded to include seven more men from the same block: Kyungsoo Andrew, Sehun Robert, Junmyeon Arden, Alexander Jongin, Leon Jongdae, Yixing Jacob, and Minseok James. The nine of them had practically dominated Katipunan for all four years, their network spreading wide with friends from every neighboring college and university. They were regulars at every fast-food chain lining Katipunan Avenue, their laughter and boisterous conversations a familiar soundtrack. Some nights, they’d crawl home, pleasantly drunk and disheveled; other nights, they were simply the loudest, most uninhibited group on the side of the road.
The nine men had grown up together. They had witnessed each other outgrow old habits, embrace new passions. They'd navigated the tumultuous waters of dating, seen relationships blossom and then wither. They had watched each other evolve, shedding youthful skins, acquiring new characteristics, becoming the adults they were now. For the most part, everyone had matured well. It was just Caleb’s persistent tardiness that everyone else had had to adapt to, to simply get used to. But not Benedict. Never Benedict.
At first, it had been genuinely amusing, almost a spectator sport, to see Benedict fuming mad in the middle of a McDonald’s, his face a thundercloud, because Caleb was three hours late. Caleb would arrive in shorts and a sando, hair a rumpled mess from just having woken up, clearly oblivious to the storm brewing. He’d often be an hour or two late for group meetings, for thesis activities. The other boys had long resorted to lying about the actual time, but Benedict, with his unyielding adherence to truth and order, simply wasn’t one of them. He always talked loud anyway, his voice resonating with an almost theatrical flair. He never, ever stopped talking, laughing, or reacting to things. It must be why, after just a year of working, he had decided to return to school and become a lawyer. Arguing, after all, was one of the things he was undeniably best at.
And as young men do, the boys continued to grow, but Benedict, faster and more profoundly than the others. His once loud, expressive mouth became tight-lipped, his reactions minimal, only surfacing when directly asked or undeniably provoked. His once shallow, easy humor now only flickered to life when he was thoroughly drunk, and his bright, open smile was replaced by the constant furrow of his eyebrows and deep, world-weary sighs. “Is this what law school does to a person?” the boys would often joke amongst themselves, though never, ever in front of Benedict, because he never found it amusing. Even after he passed the bar exam, a top-notcher, no longer burdened by relentless studying, he remained the quiet, reserved figure—Atty. Benedict B. Byun.
When Caleb finally rolls into Alba, a full thirty-five minutes late, he's greeted not with anger, but with a sarcastic, synchronized round of applause from his friends.
“Thirty-five minutes.” Kyungsoo announces, holding up his phone, a timer clearly visible on the screen. “A new record. Hindi na namin ‘to ika-count as late.” There's a mischievous glint in his eye.
“Traffic was bad,” Caleb offers weakly, his shoulders slumping.
“As always.” Minseok laughs, a low, easy sound, and taps the empty chair next to him. Next to the empty chair is Benedict, engrossed in something on Sehun’s phone, a fork poised in his mouth, slowly, deliberately chewing on something while trying to understand whatever Sehun is explaining. Caleb slides into the chair, a little rushed, the movement awkward, and then gently pokes Benedict’s shoulder to get his attention.
“Wait.” Benedict mumbles, not looking up. He processes the information, then a small nod. “Oh, I get it. Wag mo na lang sa shopee bilhin. We can find you a supplier for that.” He tells Sehun, who is nodding enthusiastically in agreement. Then, slowly, Benedict turns his head, his gaze finally landing on Caleb. Caleb feels his internal color draining, bracing himself, every fiber of his being tensing for the familiar lecture. But instead, Benedict simply gives him a single, almost imperceptible nod, then looks away, returning his focus to the half-eaten brownies on the table—the very dessert Caleb is supposed to be getting him as a peace offering.
“Huy, sorry na,” Caleb whispers, a genuine apology laced with confusion.
“Okay lang.” Benedict’s voice is flat, devoid of any real emotion.
“Sorry na nga.” Caleb presses, a faint tremor in his voice, the unfamiliar reaction unsettling him.
Benedict shrugs, a dismissive flick of his shoulder, and then points to the remaining food on the table. “Eat na. Hindi naman ako galit.” His words are soft, almost too casual.
“Galit ka kasi. Sorry na nga.” Caleb insists, a desperate plea in his tone.
“Hindi nga.” Benedict chuckles, a light, almost airy sound that doesn't quite reach his eyes. He glances around at their friends, a quick, almost imperceptible assessment of their reactions. “Sanay naman na ‘ko.”
The words hit Caleb like a physical blow, a sharp, unexpected pang in his chest—sanay naman na ‘ko. When Benedict is truly, deeply upset, he doesn't explode. He turns quiet, he dismisses things, sweeps them under an invisible rug of resignation. Sanay naman na ‘ko carries a hidden sting, implying that Caleb is such a horrible person that everyone, especially Benedict, constantly has to adjust to his flaws. But Caleb swears, he swears he’s trying, and he’s trying the absolute hardest around Benedict, because Benedict is his best friend, the closest among all eight of them. There's an invisible, crushing pressure that comes with Benedict, because he is this incredible, steadfast person who has stuck by Caleb through the good, the bad, and the truly ugly.
“Bennie naman.” Caleb’s voice is a soft plea, tinged with a desperate hope for a different reaction.
“Kain na, Caleb.” Benedict scoots away from him, the small movement a subtle rejection, reaching across the table to snag a piece of Yixing’s dessert. This time, it's cheesecake. “Oh, Yixing. Can you drop me off later?” The question is casual, almost an afterthought.
“But I can—” Caleb starts, his words cut short.
“Yixing can do it.” Benedict’s voice is firm, leaving no room for argument.
(*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ
from: Benedict Baekhyun Byun <[email protected]>
to: Caleb C. Park <[email protected]>
date: Aug 24, 2020, 10:03 PM
subject: INQUIRY: Interview for Wallows Digital October 2020
Hi, Caleb.
Relative to the interview on Wednesday, kindly send me some guide questions for review.
Thanks.
Ben
(*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ
“Are you guys really talking over email?” Yixing asks, a light chuckle bubbling up as he glances at his friend. Benedict, seated beside him, is typing aggressively on his phone, fingers flying across the screen before he jabs send. “Hayaan mo na ‘yun. Alam mo naman na character trait niya ang ma-late.” Yixing’s tone is dismissive, a shrug in his voice.
Benedict lets out a heavy sigh, the sound thick with exasperation. “Hindi naman sa hinihingi kong magbago siya di ba? Ang akin lang naman mag grow up ka na hindi lahat ng tao iintayin ka.” His words are clipped, a tightness around his mouth.
“But he knows, iintayin natin siya.” Yixing counters gently, his gaze fixed on the road.
“Hindi ako! Kayo lang!” Benedict’s voice rises, a sharp, indignant protest.
“Please,” Yixing continues to drive, the car gliding forward as the traffic light finally turns green. “Pinapatawad mo rin naman kaagad kaya okay lang. Tsaka Bennie, alam mo naman na ang tanda na natin. Hindi yan magbabago. Not for me. And not—”
“Especially not for me, right?” Benedict’s laugh is a dry, bitter sound, devoid of humor. He drops his phone onto his lap with a soft thud, a stark finality to the gesture. He tugs on his seatbelt, the click loud in the quiet of the car, and then slouches deeper into his seat, his body language screaming defeat. “Nung fuck buddies nga kami, di ko nabago kahit binigay ko na lahat, ito pa kayang pagiging late niya.” The words hang in the air, raw and exposed.
Yixing’s lips press into a thin line. He doesn't answer. This topic is a high-risk one, a landmine in their friendship. It's never opened unless Benedict himself initiates it, and even then, silence is often the wisest response. From past experience, the results of engaging were rarely favorable. Sometimes Benedict would simply vanish from their lives for months, resurfacing only when he felt he was truly "over it," or perhaps, no longer ashamed.
“Napipikon lang kasi ako.” Benedict shifts, fidgeting with the buckle of his seatbelt. “Alam mo kung kalian lang siya on time? Kapag may kailangan siya. Sobrang aga niya tumawag kanina to ask for an interview so his stupid website can get the first interview from me. Tapos simpleng, susunduin ka, hindi magawa or not even call that he’s going to be late. Ang akala niya yata ay mahilig ako sa surprise.” The words tumble out, a torrent of grievances.
Still, Yixing doesn’t respond, his silence a careful invitation for Benedict to continue, to fully unburden himself.
“He asks like we’re friends but we haven’t been friends in two years when we ended our fuck buddy relationship. Friends don’t sleep with each other so technically, hindi kami friends talaga.” Benedict’s voice is unfiltered, unabashed, as it always is around his closest friends, but never, ever around Caleb. “He pisses me off okay? You know what I’ll do? I’ll say yes to another news outlet tomorrow. Let’s see kung saan pupulutin ‘yang putang inang wallows digital na ‘yan.” A flash of vindictive anger hardens his features.
“Hey,” Yixing calls out, his voice quiet, tentative, still gauging if it’s the right moment to intervene. “Wag idamay ang work.”
“Kasi naman eh!” Benedict bursts out, throwing his hands up in a frustrated gesture.
At that, Yixing reaches out, his hand gently patting Benedict’s head. It’s a familiar gesture, one that usually has an instant calming effect on the young lawyer, like stroking a ruffled cat.
“What’s making you so mad? I doubt si Caleb lang ang dahilan niyan.” Yixing’s voice is soft, probing.
Benedict huffs, a sharp expulsion of air. Then, images from a certain Facebook post from their old college blockmate flash vividly in his mind—a gleaming ring, a lengthy caption announcing an engagement.
“Did you know that Nana’s getting married?” He asks, his voice barely above a whisper, the question almost an accusation. Yixing shakes his head slowly, genuinely surprised. “She is. I saw her post tapos nag email bigla si Caleb about a work favor. I just can’t help but think ginagamit nanaman ako for his own benefit. Baka nagseselos nanaman siya o nagagalit nanaman siya sa ex niya tapos ako nanaman yung pampalipas oras niya—” A tremor enters his voice.
“You know that’s not tr—” Yixing begins, his brows furrowing.
“Don’t smother me, Xing. You know it’s true. We only started fucking because he was so angry that Nana got herself a new boyfriend. He’s so in love with that girl, hindi naman maganda.” The last part is spat out with a sharp, almost childish petulance.
“Well—” Yixing starts again, a hesitant sound.
“Umayos ka!” Benedict warns him, a flash of fire in his eyes. “I know she’s pretty but let me have my moment. So ayun. This time for his work. Naalala ko lang kasi ‘yon. Naalala ko kung gaano ako ka-bobo para pumayag sa ganoong set-up tapos naalala ako na ni-reject niya ‘ko nung umamin ako tas iyak ako ng iyak tapos kinabukasan parang walang nangyari. Friends na lang kami ulit. Friend niya ako ulit kasi ako hindi talaga.” The words are a torrent, spilling out, laced with years of unacknowledged pain and resentment. His fingers clench into tight fists on his lap.
After a few more frustrated huffs from Benedict, a quiet, almost melancholic, embrace settles over both Yixing and Benedict, each lost in their own swirling thoughts. Yixing remembers with crystal clarity the phone call in the middle of the night, Benedict’s voice choked with sobs, confessing his rejected feelings for Caleb. He remembers Benedict crying even louder, the sheer anguish of it. He remembers seeing them both at Kyungsoo’s birthday brunch the very next week, an unsettling charade, pretending that nothing, absolutely nothing, had happened. Caleb had clung to Benedict with a casual familiarity, as if the earth hadn't shifted, and Yixing had distinctly seen the pure, raw discomfort in Benedict’s eyes, a discomfort that had almost always seemed on the verge of erupting into tears. He remembers a later night, Caleb, drunk and remorseful, confessing to him and Jongin what he had done to Benedict, how deeply sorry he was for breaking his heart.
He remembers the shock of finding out about their "setup" himself, walking in on them, naked and tangled under the sheets in Benedict’s condo, their clothes scattered haphazardly on the floor. Caleb had just emerged from a painful three-year relationship with Nana, heartbroken and adrift. Benedict, always the empathetic one, had been there, and had let him in. Yixing remembers the subtle, yet profound, shift in the way Benedict looked at Caleb after that, and then, slowly, the almost imperceptible change in the way Caleb looked at Benedict. Although, Benedict, perpetually looking away, had never seemed to notice. So, when the two of them eventually ended their arrangement, it had been a genuine surprise, not just to Yixing, but to the entire group. How could two imperfect people, who seemed so perfect for each other, mess things up so spectacularly?
“Say it. I know may iniisip ka.” Benedict’s voice breaks the comfortable silence, low and insistent. “Come on. I won’t get mad.” He nudges Yixing gently with his elbow.
“Pero igho-ghost mo kami.” Yixing responds with a wry smile, a hint of playful caution in his tone.
“Well.” Benedict’s eyes twinkle with a mischievous glint.
“Edi wag na.” Yixing feigns defeat.
“Joke lang.” Benedict gives him a lopsided grin, a genuine, albeit brief, flash of his old self. “Go.”
“Alam mo naman na sinusubukan ni Caleb bumawi sayo kaya ganyan ka kulit ‘yan eh.” Yixing treads carefully, choosing his words with precision. “He knows what he did hurt you and alam naman natin na verbal words are not his strongest suit kaya nga siya writer eh and I want you to know na sobrang valid ng nafefeel mo. You can get mad every now and then but I think it’s unfair na you’re asking him to change when ikaw hindi mo mabago yung galit mo sakanya.”
“I’m not mad—” Benedict begins, a defensive edge to his voice.
“You’re fuming, Benedict.” Yixing rolls his eyes, cutting him off. The use of "Benedict," rather than his usual "Bennie," is a deliberate tactic, a way to make his friend truly listen. “And we see it, you know? We let you be because you went through shit and your life isn’t easy but to be able to see Caleb in a different light na as our kabarkada, you have to forgive him and yourself. Ilang taon pa ba ang kailangan para completely mo siya mapatawad?”
“Hindi ko siya kailangan patawarin kasi hindi naman ako ga—” Benedict’s voice trails off, his argument faltering.
“Isa pang pagsisinungaling mo, ibababa kita dito. Magpasundo ka kay Sehun.” Yixing’s voice is firm, leaving no room for negotiation.
Benedict groans, a sound of utter defeat, and lets his head thud against the cool surface of the car window to his right. He mumbles, his voice muffled, “If I’m not angry at him then I’ll feel sad and I can’t be sad. I can’t be heartbroken. I’m angry that he treated me like a shirt as in bitawan na lang agad but I’m sadder that he didn’t choose me.” He pauses, a heavy silence punctuated only by the hum of the car. “I’m sad na hindi niya ako mahal. Pero di ba sobrang tanginang reason non to be sad? So I just choose to be angry.” His eyes are closed, his face etched with a profound weariness.
“Hindi ba mabigat?” Yixing asks, his voice soft, filled with empathy.
“Mabigat.” Benedict affirms, his voice barely a whisper. “Pero kaya. Yung lungkot? Hindi ko sigurado.”
(*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ
from: Caleb C. Park <[email protected]>
to: Benedict Baekhyun Byun [email protected]
date: Aug 24, 2020, 10:57 PM
subject: INQUIRY: Interview for Wallows Digital October 2020
Hi, Atty. Byun.
Will send a formalized guide questions tomorrow but it’s basically about everything—how you were as a child, did you always know you were going to be a lawyer, funny moments, sad incidents, stories, and experiences.
Thank you.
Regards,
Caleb
(*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ
Benedict’s phone rings, a sudden jolt, right after he steps out of the shower. He’s had a long, brutal day, the kind that leaves his muscles aching and his mind buzzing with legal jargon. He’d honestly appreciate if all calls and texts could just wait until tomorrow, but with a weary sigh, he reaches for his phone, swipes to answer.
“He—” he starts, his voice still a little thick from sleep and the warmth of the shower.
“Sorry.” The single word, heavy with guilt, cuts him off.
He stops drying his hair with the towel draped over his head, the terry cloth still damp. He lets it fall onto the bed, then plops down himself, a sigh escaping his lips. The voice on the other end, Caleb’s voice, is steeped in that familiar remorse, the same tone he always uses when he’s messed up. At this point, a cynical thought flickers through Benedict’s mind: Is Caleb genuinely sorry, or has he just mastered this specific, apologetic cadence when talking to him?
“It’s fine.” Benedict says, his voice flat, trying to convey a dismissal he doesn't quite feel.
“Hindi fine kasi galit ka.” Caleb insists, his voice laced with an almost childish stubbornness.
“And my galit will pass if you let me sleep.” Benedict pushes the words out, a hint of irritation creeping in. “Alam mo naman na mabilis mawala galit ko so matulog na tayo.” He just wants to close his eyes and disappear into the oblivion of sleep.
“Pero ayoko nga kasi matulog ka ng galit.” Caleb’s voice holds firm, an unyielding quality to it.
“Caleb,” Benedict switches the phone to his other hand, a slight shift of weight. With his free hand, he reaches for the small knob on his bedside lamp, twisting it until a soft, warm glow fills the room. He pulls the duvet up to his chin, tucking himself deeper into the bed, seeking comfort in the soft sheets. “If you’re worried that I’m mad na hindi ko na gagawin yung interview mo, wag kang magalala. I’ll still do it.” He tries to reassure, to cut to the chase, even as a part of him feels a familiar sting.
“Hindi naman ‘to about work. About you kasi.” Caleb’s voice is earnest, a raw honesty seeping through. “I’m sorry kasi nag leave ako for the whole week na din so naghabol yung mga employees for approval and nag realign ng schedule. Nag alarm naman ako kaya lang sa calculator ko pala na-type. Hindi ko talaga sinasadya. Tapos na-ticket-an pa ako sa EDSA kasi nag over speed ako kaya lalo akong nagtagal.” The excuses, a rapid-fire succession of them, pour out, painting a picture of genuine chaos.
Benedict hears Caleb’s explanation, the frantic rush of words, and Yixing’s earlier words echo in his mind, "He’s trying, Bennie." But a stubborn, bruised part of him refuses to believe it. He squeezes his eyes shut for a brief moment. Believing that Caleb is truly capable of trying to change would, ironically, only make Benedict angrier at the idealized version of Caleb he so desperately wants him to be. It's a complicated, painful truth.
“I really wanted to be on time to get you and I’m sorry.” Caleb’s voice is softer now, tinged with a genuine regret that is almost disarming.
The sincerity in Caleb’s voice is undeniably convincing now, a slow warmth blooming in Benedict’s chest, thawing some of the icy anger he’d clung to. “It’s okay.” Before Caleb can interject, Benedict hurries to add, “Promise.” He feels a subtle shift within himself, a tiny crack in his emotional armor.
“Wag ka na magalit sakin, o.” Caleb’s voice is almost a whisper, pleading.
“Hindi na nga.” Benedict sighs, the last vestiges of his earlier fury dissipating like smoke.
“Kay Xing ka pa sumabay pauwi.” Caleb sounds almost pouty, a childish complaint.
“Ganun talaga baka late ka pa matapos eh antok na ko eh.” Benedict defends, a slight tremor in his voice, the weariness settling back in.
“Bennie, thank you ha. For agreeing sa Wallows. Alam kong you hate interviews and anything media but thank you for letting us have you.” The gratitude in Caleb’s voice is palpable, laced with a relief that makes Benedict’s heart clench.
In the end, the truth, as it always does, comes out, even if unintentionally. It circles back down to what Benedict always suspected, what he convinced himself Caleb needed from him—work. The very thing he resents, yet provides.
“But if you’re uncomfortable, just tell me, okay? Hindi kita pipilitin. You first, over the magazine.” Caleb’s voice is earnest, his words a balm, yet Benedict feels a familiar bitterness coating his tongue.
And even when a part of him, a deeply buried, logical part, knows there's more to Caleb’s actions, that he’s wrong to paint Caleb as entirely horrible, he deliberately closes his eyes and ears. He refuses to believe it, because that’s easier. It’s easier than facing the cold, harsh truth that he wasn’t the only one who got hurt in their complicated dance.
“Okay.” The word is a soft exhalation.
“I’m sorry again, Bennie. Sleep ka na?” Caleb asks, his voice gentler now, laced with concern.
“Yes. Ikaw din.” Benedict closes his eyes, trying to summon sleep.
“I’ll write down the guide questions—” Caleb begins, already sounding like he’s shifting into work mode.
“You don’t need to. Wing it na lang on Wednesday baka tulog lang ako maghapon bukas eh. Di ko rin mababasa.” Benedict cuts him off, his voice already drifting, weighted by sleepiness.
“Okay. So—” Caleb tries again, a last attempt to extend the conversation.
“Tama na. Okay na.” Benedict murmurs, a finality in his tone. He just wants to be left alone with his thoughts, or rather, without them.
“Just want to say it one last time, sorry.” For everything that isn’t about being late. Benedict knows. He always knows. The unspoken apology hangs in the air, a heavy, unaddressed weight between them.
“Good night, Caleb.” Benedict says, his voice a quiet release.
“Night, night.” Caleb replies, the line clicking dead.
(*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ
When the morning came, a relentless alarm pulled Benedict from his sleep, only to be immediately summoned to a conference call with his legal team. The agenda: media interviews and the realignment of their schedules for the upcoming week. He cradled his coffee mug, taking slow, deliberate sips, his gaze fixed on the screen as he quietly absorbed his colleagues’ chatter. He wondered, with a detached curiosity, how anyone could possibly possess such an abundance of cheer at precisely 8 in the morning.
“Byun, ikaw? Dami na nagtatanong sakin ng number mo, di ka ba papa-interview?” It was Joo Hyuk Nam, one of their lawyers, a year Benedict’s senior, who always seemed alarmingly, almost aggressively, comfortable around him.
“I might do one interview with Wallows.” Benedict stated, his voice even.
“Wallows Digital? Maganda write up nila satin kahapon. Good choice. Anyone else?” His senior, Heechul, asked, his voice crisp and efficient.
“None, really. Alam nyo naman po na hindi ako fan ng mga ganyan but I’m doing Wallows kasi kaibigan ko yung EIC.” Benedict felt a slight twist in his gut as he said the last part, the word "kaibigan" tasting like ash.
“Caleb Park ‘yun di ba? Medyo sikat din sa Instagram ‘yun eh. Metro is also asking for you, did you get their email?” Joo Hyuk pressed, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “Also Seventeen din. They’re coursing through me kasi suplado ka raw.”
Benedict’s nose wrinkled in a subtle grimace. He shook his head, a dismissive gesture. “I’m already having a hard time with Wallows kasi full feature daw. Sa iba pa kaya.” The thought alone made him weary.
Just then, another sleepy lawyer, Jackson Wang, popped up on the screen, his image blurring slightly as he seemingly adjusted his webcam. He was late, as always. If anything, Jackson was a startling mirror of Caleb, except Jackson possessed absolutely no remorse whatsoever. He never apologized for his tardiness, his unshakeable mantra being, “I still deliver,” a truth no one could argue with, much to Benedict’s annoyance.
“Di ba ‘yan yung ex mo, Byun?” Jackson’s voice, a casual boom, sliced through the professional decorum of the call.
Benedict almost choked, a mouthful of coffee threatening to spray across his screen. His eyes widened, a flicker of genuine shock, then a wave of indignant heat rushed to his face. The other lawyers on the call, until now focused on their own screens, snapped their heads up, surprised, their gazes fixed on Benedict, silently demanding an answer.
“Hi—hindi ah! Kabarkada ko nung college.” Benedict stammered, his cheeks flushing a deeper red.
“Ulul, nung nalasing ka di ba yan sumundo sayo tapos sinapak mo sabi mo bat di ka pinili?” Jackson, utterly unfazed, continued his verbal assault, a smirk playing on his lips.
Benedict felt a vein throb in his temple. He glared at Jackson, a silent, furious challenge, willing his anger to somehow penetrate the screen, to physically reach Jackson wherever he was. He consciously straightened his posture, pulling his shoulders back, and shot Joo Hyuk a sharp, warning look.
“Atty. Wang, it’s too early to discuss my personal life,” Benedict began, his voice dangerously calm, each word precise and enunciated. “And frankly, wala ka naman paki alam sa kung sinong ex ko o hindi. So, please?” His tone was laced with an icy politeness that usually shut down any further discussion.
What fueled Benedict’s anger even further was the infuriatingly unfazed look Jackson returned. Jackson simply blinked, his expression neutral, almost bored.
“It’s just funny because you don’t like the press pero you’re saying yes to your ex.” Jackson’s mouth formed a dramatic ‘o’ shape, seemingly pleased with his rhyme. “But good for you. Anyway, Atty. Kim, I have 3 this week—Metro, Patrol, and ANC.” Jackson then smoothly shifted the conversation, directing his attention to another colleague.
Benedict felt a fresh wave of irritation, followed by a profound slump in his seat, the earlier fire in his eyes dimming to a dull ache. No, Caleb was not an ex. An ex implied a past relationship, something they both cherished and loved, something shared. That was not the case. Caleb was not an ex. He wasn’t even truly a friend, not anymore. A blockmate, maybe. A distant acquaintance. But not an ex. No. No, that would imply there was something there, something tangible to end. He stayed quiet, stewing in his discomfort, until the meeting finally concluded. He lingered, letting the others log off, taking some extra time to slowly finish his coffee, the bitter taste a reflection of his mood.
Then, his phone beeped. A notification.
CALEB
9:09AM
Breakfast?
Hindi na ako late. I’m in the parking lot na.
Benedict stared at the message, the words blurring slightly. A faint, almost imperceptible scoff escaped his lips.
A buddy.
Breakfast buddy.
Chauffeur.
Yeah, that’s all Caleb is. He repeated the words to himself, a mantra, trying to solidify the detachment, trying to convince himself. But even as he thought it, a tiny, unwelcome flicker of something else, something softer, stirred in his chest.