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Summary:

Wallow Digital's Editor-in-Chief Caleb Park is set to do a full feature on the youngest and hottest lawyer-bachelor in the country, Benedict Byun.

In where two friends (read: ex fuck buddies) re-visit their past and learn about the would've, could've, and should've of their relationship.

Notes:

Hi! I'm trying to write a full-length fic again. Please let me know what you think. Leave me a comment or a tweet @__jonginnie (yes, two underscores!)

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1: PROLOGUE

Chapter Text

  1.  

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.

Chapter 2: Habits

Summary:

Old habits are hard to break.

Notes:

I DID NOT PROOFREAD AS USUAL

PLS LEAVE A COMMENT OR SEND EM A TWEET OR DM @__jonginnie (yes two underscores)

WAAH ENJOY

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

  1.  

2020.

The thing about habits is they feel impossible to break. A regular practice so deeply ingrained in your life it would seem, and feel, crazy to remove or alter it. Often, a person has a habit and performs it continuously without even noticing. Take Benedict, for example: he cleans his laptop out of habit before starting work. His movements are precise, almost ritualistic. He pulls out a pack of wet wipes, carefully cleans the outside casing of the laptop, then opens it up, wiping down the screen and keyboard with the same meticulous care. He does it without conscious thought, a quiet ritual, a brief calm before the storm of his demanding day.

Some habits, though, come in the form of a six-foot-one editorial in chief from one of the country's largest news outlets. The familiar click-clack of the keypad by his door, then the soft thunk as the door opens. Caleb, ever the uninvited guest, types in the passcode to Benedict’s apartment and enters the condo without much fuss, as if he lives there. Benedict glances up from the couch, where he's hunched over his own laptop, fingers still flying across the keyboard, sending emails and re-reading draft pleadings. He simply offers a curt nod, a silent acknowledgment, before his eyes drift back to the screen. Caleb, undeterred, offers a wide, easy smile, holding up a plastic bag, the golden arches of McDonald’s peeking out. He moves quietly, almost deferentially, to the dining table, setting it with practiced ease. He pulls out two sets of pancakes – one for each of them – and then a cup of coffee for himself and a chocolate drink for Benedict. He then settles into the chair across from Benedict, patiently waiting, not pushing, just being.

In the last eleven months, ever since Benedict had joined Heechul’s legal team, the boys, including Caleb, had been strictly barred from visiting him at his home. No unannounced visits, not even announced ones. There were two main reasons: one, he was rarely ever home anyway, spending the vast majority of his waking hours immersed in his work; and two, his condo was his only sanctuary, his sole place to truly be alone. But his friends, deeply familiar with his habits, also knew how quickly he could spiral into a dark place when he spent too much time in his own head. He often masked his insomnia as being swamped with work, and his overwhelming workload became an excuse for not showering for days on end. So, they had struck a compromise: once a month, Benedict would join them for a group dinner, a mandatory wind-down session where, for an entire night, he wasn’t allowed to look at his phone or utter a single word about work. For eleven months, that fragile monthly ritual was how Benedict maintained his sanity.

With the trial now officially over, and a presumably less hectic schedule looming, Caleb was, predictably, worming his way back into Benedict’s personal space, back into his home. And like a habit he simply couldn't break, Benedict let him. He took one last, lingering look at his to-do list, a mental sigh escaping him, before finally pushing himself off the couch and making his way toward Caleb. With yet another unbreakable habit, ingrained deep within Caleb’s very being, Caleb’s arms reached out, pulling Benedict into a tight, almost suffocating hug.

“Ano baaaaaa,” Benedict groaned, his voice muffled against Caleb’s shoulder, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he nuzzled his head deeper into Caleb’s shoulder, then, playfully, gave it a light bite. “O, hila pa.” He laughed, a genuine, albeit short, burst of amusement, when Caleb shrieked dramatically. Benedict finally pulled away, his face still warm from the embrace, and sat across from Caleb at the table. He reached for the Styrofoam cup, his fingers brushing against the still-warm surface, and took a sip of the drink. In a split second, his face contorted into a grimace of distaste. “Why is this chocolate?” he demanded, his brows furrowing.

“Di ka naman umiinom ng kape.” Caleb said, as a matter-of-fact, a slight shrug in his shoulders. “Tsaka yan favourite mo?”

The sleek Nespresso machine on Benedict’s kitchen counter sat quietly, a silent testament to a recently acquired passion. Six months ago, in the relentless hustle and bustle of reading and rewriting legal arguments, Benedict’s colleagues had initiated him into the world of coffee. And like the knowledge-hungry maniac that he was, he had immersed himself, teaching himself the basics—the different kinds of beans, the myriad brewing methods. Before he knew it, he was accumulating all sorts of tools: a drip coffee machine, a French press, and the latest, most prized addition to his collection, the Nespresso machine. His taste buds had completely adapted to the bitter, robust taste of coffee, and soon, he found himself actively avoiding all kinds of chocolate or anything sweet for that matter. And to think, that transformation had occurred only six months ago. It was funny, he mused, how some habits were undeniably easier to break than others.

Benedict’s mouth opened, a faint urge to tell Caleb about his new coffee habit, to explain how things had subtly shifted on his end. But the words died on his tongue. Instead, he simply offered a tight-lipped smile and nodded. He’d already had his first cup of proper coffee fifteen minutes ago anyway, a strong, dark brew. He could simply wash away the sweetness of the chocolate with water later. Somehow, making these small adjustments for himself, within his own private world, felt infinitely easier than just telling Caleb.

Since when did Benedict start hiding things from his friends anyway? Hiding would imply it was something he actively didn't want them to discover, as if shying away a part of himself that had grown and evolved separately from their influence. But when he thought about it more deeply, it wasn't so much hiding these new habits, but more of a deliberate act of reserving these new parts of himself for the ones who truly deserved them, the ones who would notice without being told. One day, a long time ago, Benedict had shared his entire life and soul with one person, and that had not ended well at all. So perhaps, keeping things to himself, even things as mundane as his preference for coffee, was simply the better, safer option.

Like always, Caleb talked his ear off, his voice a steady stream of anecdotes from his office, of the latest, hilarious meme circulating in their group chat that Benedict still hadn't bothered to check. Benedict heard about some misstep his assistant had made that had really pissed Caleb off last week, and about the unexpected legion of fangirls Benedict had apparently garnered within the Wallows Digital office. Benedict replied with a hum, a small smile, and another hum, his contributions minimal. Once upon a time, not so long ago, Caleb and Benedict had been the loudest table wherever they went, their laughter and banter filling every space.

“Are you listening?” Caleb laughed, a playful glint in his eye, as he took a sip from Benedict’s chocolate drink.

Benedict hummed again, a low, noncommittal sound. He was listening, even if every fiber of his being yearned to simply doze off, to surrender to the comforting darkness behind his eyelids.

Habit, he thought. Just another habit.

JACKSON WANG
10:08AM
I finally have a lead on the Tuan case.
Wanna check?

BENEDICT BYUN
10:09AM
Saan mo nakuha?

JACKSON WANG
10:09AM
Connections.

BENEDICT BYUN
10:09AM
Bogus.

JACKSON WANG
10:10AM
Nasa labas na ko ng apartment mo. Hinatid
ako ni Kuya Heechul.

BENEDICT BYUN
10:10AM
Kuya Heechul, huh.

JACKSON WANG
10:12AM
We’re not at work so he’s just kuya. Haha.
He wants us to both look at it though.

BENEDICT BYUN
10:12AM
May Starbucks sa baba ng condo ko.
Meet me there in 10 mins. Bihis lang ako.

JACKSON WANG
10:13AM
8B di ba? Andito na ko though.
Pabukas. TY

 

.☘︎ ݁˖༘⋆✿

 

There’s an almost palpable air of awkwardness when two people from different parts of your life, distinct circles of friendship, unexpectedly meet. Old friends and new acquaintances don’t always click immediately, and maybe that's because of the different versions of yourself you were when you first encountered them.

Caleb watches, a silent observer from the dining table, as Benedict’s work friend, Jackson, casually props his feet up on Benedict’s pristine center table. Caleb’s mind immediately conjures a rapid-fire list of the million things Benedict would undoubtedly snap at him if he dared to do the same. He waits, a quiet anticipation building, for the reprimand, the sharp words. But nothing. The only thing Benedict does is tap Jackson’s leg lightly, a fleeting, almost imperceptible gesture, and then they both simply continue reading whatever document or screen has their attention. Caleb can’t help the slow furrow of his eyebrows. A familiar sting of injustice pricks at him. If it were him, he’d already be enduring a full-blown earful, a lecture on the sanctity of his living space.

He’s still perched on the dining chair, laptop open, pretending to be engrossed in work. His initial plan for the day had been much simpler: spend the rest of the day with Benedict, truly catch up, maybe binge-watch some Netflix, and then cook dinner together. Kind of like old times. He hadn’t truly realized how much he’d missed Benedict’s consistent presence until he was, essentially, gone for nearly a year, consumed by the vortex of the trial. Texting wasn’t even an option back then, as Benedict was constantly, almost obsessively, reading things related to the case.

Caleb isn’t stupid. He can sense the profound change in Benedict, a shift that had been brewing long before the biggest trial of the country had even begun. It was only a matter of time for it to finally surface and take root. This quiet, this reserved demeanor, is entirely unfamiliar to him. Even the dark, bruised-looking bags under Benedict’s eyes, and the rough callouses on his fingers – they are all new, stark indicators of a life lived differently. Caleb can remember, with vivid clarity, precisely when this slow, agonizing change began. It was sometime two years ago, when their arrangement had ended. Both of them had tried their best to keep things painstakingly normal, a fragile pretense so none of their friends would feel awkward. Caleb had seen the monumental effort Benedict was pouring into maintaining that façade in front of everyone, so he had doubled his own efforts, primarily driven by the gnawing guilt of having broken Benedict’s heart. But even as Caleb tried to push himself further into their shared circle, Benedict was slowly, almost imperceptibly, pulling away. Instead of being the lively talker, the passionate debater, he became the quiet listener. Caleb would eventually run out of things to say, out of stories to tell, and Benedict would still keep his mouth shut, only offering an opinion if explicitly asked. It frustrated Caleb for a number of reasons: one, his foundational friendship with Benedict had always revolved around lively banter and healthy debate; second, it was absolutely exhausting, like trying to take down one brick after another of a towering wall, only to be met with an even higher, more impenetrable one in the end; and third, the relentless, suffocating guilt was slowly eating him alive.

It had all played out perfectly, precisely as he’d envisioned, in his head when he had rejected Benedict’s heartfelt confession. He’d convinced himself that Benedict, with his boundless capacity for empathy, would simply understand, and things would seamlessly fall back into their comfortable place. Because that, Caleb believed, was Benedict’s most amazing, most defining trait: understanding. He was the most understanding human being Caleb had ever encountered. Even when Caleb’s chronic tardiness grated on his nerves, Benedict would always try to understand, then quickly forgive, and finally, completely forget. In the back of Caleb’s mind, he knew there were countless times he’d crossed the line, pushed boundaries. The number of chances Benedict had generously given him throughout the course of their friendship far exceeded the fingers and toes he possessed, whether for something as simple as his tardiness or something far more personal that he’d uttered while joking.

When he’d drunkenly offered the arrangement, to be "fuck buddies," he was intoxicated, yes, but not so drunk that he didn’t know, deep down, that it was a horrific decision. Yet, he did it anyway. He was twenty-five, fresh from a soul-crushing heartbreak over the first person he had ever truly loved. Her name was Nana. She had been in the same block as him and his friends in college, and God, how Caleb had loved her. He had spent all his college years falling deeply, hopelessly in love with her. And when graduation finally arrived, he had mustered every ounce of courage to ask her out. She had said yes, and the rest, as they say, was history. They had spent four years together, a vibrant, intertwined life, before Nana had simply... grown out of it. She had moved to the States, her departure swift and unyielding. There wasn’t much explanation, just a quiet admission that she wasn’t "feeling it anymore" and that she had found a job overseas. Before Caleb could even make a move to beg, to stop her, she was already eight thousand miles away from him, a world apart.

Heartbroken? Yes. Destroyed? Absolutely. His friends had sacrificed both their precious sleep and their livers during that particular, dark phase of his life. And one day, on Junmyeon’s birthday, fueled by a potent mix of alcohol and raw emotion, he had turned to his best friend in the whole world, Benedict, and slurred, “What do we have to lose? We’re best friends looking for relief.”

Admittedly now, in the sober light of hindsight, Caleb knew he should have stared harder, waited longer for a response. Because now, he was absolutely sure, he would have seen the hesitation, the profound unease, in Benedict’s eyes at his casual, reckless offer. He also would have seen the quiet heartbreak when he’d uttered the word "relief." To him, Benedict was relief. A sanctuary, a safe harbor he could sail into and out of whenever he craved peace, an escape from his own turmoil. Drunk Caleb, lost in his own pain, had never truly considered the devastating repercussions of his actions. Just five minutes after blurting out the offer, he had Benedict pinned beneath him, crying in what seemed, at the time, like pleasure.

What he would slowly, agonizingly learn two years later was that he was Benedict’s first. Effort, time, and that raw, brave confession aside, he was Benedict’s first everything. He knew how truly tough it was to navigate that first heartbreak, and he hated himself, a deep, self-loathing resentment, that he was the one who had inflicted that wound on his best friend. Their arrangement had lasted for almost two years, a strange, unspoken rhythm, until one evening, over dinner, Benedict had looked him in the eye and asked, “Do you even love me as more than a friend, or is it just my company that you’re after?” Caleb had never really paused to consider it before, but something in his head, a nagging voice, had told him that spending all his free time with his "fuck buddy slash best friend" wasn't normal. Hanging out during holidays, joining family events—these weren't things just "friends" did. But was he ready to define it, to label it, to step into something more? Not at all. He wasn't even sure if he was truly over Nana then. But what he was sure of, in that precise moment, was that he didn’t want to move, didn’t want to step beyond the comfortable confines of where his feet were currently planted. He could sense the deep uneasiness in Benedict, the subtle shift in his posture, so he had answered him with the most cliché, the most worn-out line in the entire history of fuck buddies: Masaya naman tayo di ba?

Nothing ever really made sense to Caleb, not truly, unless Benedict was there, patiently making it make sense for him, guiding him through the labyrinth of his own thoughts. He knew, he saw, he felt it when he was slowly losing Benedict, slipping away, brick by painful brick. And as much as he rushed himself to grow up, to mature, to finally be the person who could run after him, chase him, and perhaps, somehow, make things right—he didn’t make it.

 

(*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.゚

 

“Babe, may coffee ka pa?”

The AirPods perched in Benedict’s ears are clearly just a prop at this point. Caleb looks up from his laptop, a flash of involuntary glare aimed at Jackson. He expects a sharp retort, a disgusted look from Benedict, but instead, Benedict simply says, his voice flat, “It’s Atty. Byun to you.”

Jackson laughs, a booming sound that fills the room, and playfully throws a pillow at Benedict. They're still in the middle of dissecting the new Tuan case, papers spread out between them. Jackson pushes himself off the couch, standing, and then makes his way to the kitchen. It’s hard to believe this is his first time visiting, given how familiar he seems with every nook and cranny of Benedict’s space.

“Uy! You bought the Nespresso—what’s this called nga, Byun?” Jackson’s head pops out from the kitchen doorway, a wide, amazed smile stretching across his face. It’s annoying, Caleb thinks, how Jackson, despite being such an airhead, remains so inherently tolerable.

“Pixie Titan Ultimate Weekend.” Benedict doesn’t even bother to look up from the dense legal papers he’s poring over. “The capsules are above the fridge. Make me one din. Yung hazelnut.” His voice is a low murmur, completely devoid of the usual irritation Caleb would expect.

The easy, friendly exchange between Benedict and Jackson, the casual familiarity, makes Caleb deeply uncomfortable. A knot tightens in his stomach. Is this how their barkada feels around them now, a mirror of how things were before? When things were still normal?

“Bro, gusto mo?” Jackson’s voice carries from the kitchen. “Nagcocoffee ka ba?” He's still smiling, and it's annoying as hell how genuinely confident and at ease he seems.

“I’m good.” Caleb replies, his voice clipped, a little sharper than intended.

Jackson simply nods and disappears back into the kitchen. Shortly after, the distinctive hum and whir of the coffee machine doing its work fills the quiet space. In just five minutes, Jackson is back, triumphantly carrying two steaming mugs of coffee – one for himself, one for Benedict. Benedict mutters a quick, almost inaudible "thank you" into his papers, but Jackson, ever the showman, demands he look him in the eye and say "thank you properly." The sheer cockiness dripping in Jackson's tone, in his very voice, makes Caleb’s fingers twitch. He wants to grab the bunch of bananas sitting innocently on the center table and hurl them. But everything feels perfectly, annoyingly okay with Benedict, so reacting, showing any outward sign of his internal turmoil, feels utterly useless.

“Has anyone ever told you na napaka ingay mo?” Benedict asks, a teasing lilt in his voice, a hint of a smile playing on his lips as he finally looks up at Jackson.

“All the time. My mom’s favorite thing to tell me.” Jackson shrugs, completely unbothered.

“You still live with your mom?” Benedict’s eyebrows raise slightly, a flicker of surprise.

“I live next to my mom.” Jackson grins, a wide, infectious smile.

That elicits a soft, genuine laugh from Benedict, a sound that rarely escapes him these days. He shakes his head, a small, amused gesture, and then, just as quickly, his gaze drops back to his papers, immersing himself in work once more. From where Caleb is sitting, perched at the dining table, he feels like he’s watching a show on a screen, where the audience and the actors exist in completely different, disconnected places. He ignores the sharp pang in his chest, a dull throb of exclusion, until—

“Caleb, I have cold brew in the fridge. May vanilla na ‘yun. Drink it. It’s in a mason jar.” Benedict looks up again, his eyes meeting Caleb’s, a slight motion of his head toward the kitchen. A stubborn, prideful part of Caleb wants to refuse, just to sulk for the sheer hell of it. Another part of him, a softer, more teasing part, wants to needle Benedict for remembering his exact favorite type of coffee, the specific flavor profile. But before he can even open his mouth, before he can say anything more, Benedict is already back to work, his attention fully consumed by the documents in front of him. The moment is gone, leaving Caleb to sit with the lingering ache of unsaid words.

 

.☘︎ ݁˖༘⋆✿

 

Caleb tries to take a nap an hour later. He's sprawled on the couch, laptop precariously balanced on his chest, but sleep feels miles away. He can hear the low murmur of voices from the living area, Benedict and Jackson still dissecting their case.

“Yan ba yung ex mo?” Jackson’s version of a whisper is still loud enough to carry across the room, sounding like somebody else’s regular talking voice. “Pangit naman eh.”

Caleb stiffens. He expects a sharp rebuke from Benedict, maybe a disgusted face. But instead, Benedict just mumbles, his voice barely audible, “Hindi ko ex yan. At hindi siya pangit.” A tiny, almost imperceptible tremor goes through Caleb's chest at Benedict's defense.

Jackson chuckles, a loud, jarring sound, and reaches over to ruffle Benedict’s hair. Benedict reacts instantly, a swift, precise kick to Jackson’s ankle.

“Alam mo, it’s nice to see you relaxed for the first time.” Jackson’s voice softens, a hint of genuine observation. “It’s been months since we started working together pero lagi ka na lang tensed but here you are, in the presence of your ex—okay, friend lang—and you look more chill than ever.”

“That’s because we’re in my house.” Benedict sighs, a deep, weary sound. His shoulders slump slightly. This isn’t a conversation he wants to have, and unlike some of their other friends, Jackson doesn’t bother to baby his feelings, or anyone’s for that matter. “Wang, ayoko na ‘to pagusapan.” His voice is laced with an unmistakable plea.

“But he’s the one who picked you up when you got drunk before remember? Siya and si Sehun, di ba?” Jackson presses, pushing that sensitive button, his tone innocent.

“Wang—” Benedict warns, his voice growing dangerously low.

“Wow, so this guy must’ve really hurt you na ayaw mo makipag away sakin and you really wanna brush it under the rug, huh?” A flicker of something, perhaps a hint of fear, crosses Jackson’s face, though he'd never admit it. He scoots his chair back, a small movement that puts a bit more distance between them. “I like talking to you because you argue well and your reasons are very logical and you make me think but somehow, ito, ayaw—”

“Wang, isa.” Benedict’s voice is sharp, a clear, final warning. His gaze is fixed on Jackson, eyes narrowed.

“Fine.” For a brief moment, Benedict actually thinks he’s won, a small victory, but then— “Kung di mo siya ex-boyfriend, ano siya? Ex-fubu, ex-something, ex— oh my god, nagka fubu ka na, Byun? Di halata!” Jackson’s voice rises in genuine, incredulous surprise, a delighted gasp escaping him.

Benedict’s hand shoots out, slamming his highlighter down on the table with a sharp crack that makes Caleb flinch from the couch. Benedict glares at Jackson, a simmering fury in his eyes.

“Putang ina, isa pa, Wang, ha. Kapag sinabi ko ba sayo titigil ka na at hindi na natin to paguusapan ulit, ever?” His voice is tight, strained with a raw frustration that Caleb hasn't heard from him in a long time.

Jackson hums, pretending to think deeply about it, his head tilted. Then, slowly, he nods. At that, a strange calm settles over Benedict. He pushes himself up from his chair, walks to one of his bookshelves, and pulls out a small, leather-bound bible. He then returns to the table, taking a seat directly in front of Jackson, and gestures toward Jackson’s right hand, a silent command.

“Do you swear to not ask me or talk about it if I tell you?” Benedict’s voice is solemn, completely serious.

And like a true public servant, playing along with the unexpected gravity of the moment, Jackson places his right hand flat on the table, then raises his left. “I promise.”

Just as Benedict is about to reach for the bible to put it back on the shelf, Jackson quickly pulls the book towards himself and mutters, “Your turn.” He holds it out, an expectant look on his face.

“Do you swear to tell the truth, nothing but the truth, and only the truth?” Jackson asks, his voice mimicking a judge’s.

Benedict rolls his eyes, a familiar, exasperated gesture, but then raises his right hand to promise as well. “Yes.”

And in chorus, their voices blending in the quiet apartment, they both say, “So help me God.”

So help them God, indeed. 

.☘︎ ݁˖༘⋆✿

“Fuck buddy.” Benedict states, the words falling flat in the air, devoid of emotion. “Tapos na-fall ako, hindi ako sinalo. Bobo ko kasi nun, I wanted to make him fall in love with me tapos nung hindi nangyari, ako yung nagalit sa kanya at sa sarili ko.” He closes his eyes briefly, a flicker of pain crossing his face, then opens them, his gaze sharp, fixed on Jackson. “Okay na, ha? Tapos na. Back to work para makauwi ka na.” His voice is clipped, the finality stinging.

Jackson stays perfectly still, his usual restless energy completely absent. He glances at the sleeping man in the dining room—Caleb, oblivious—then back to his friend. Benedict braces himself, expecting the usual teasing, maybe something along the lines of “corny” or “ang tanga naman.” But Jackson, as if choosing each word with uncharacteristic care, says,

“Well—”

“Isang sentence lang Wang ha? Tapos ayoko na talaga.” Benedict warns, his voice tight, a clear boundary being drawn.

“Got it.” Jackson replies, his voice unusually soft. He takes a few more seconds, his gaze flicking back and forth between Benedict and Caleb, a silent debate playing out on his face. Then, he speaks, his words deliberate, almost gentle. “Pero hindi naman niya kasalanan na hindi ka niya mahal. Bakit ka nagagalit?”

As lawyers, bound by their solemn promises, they both fall silent. They don't speak about it after that. The air in the room, however, feels heavier, charged with the unspoken truths.

 

.☘︎ ݁˖༘⋆✿

When Caleb woke up, the first thing that registered was the untouched spinach chicken breast sitting on the table in front of him, its green and white a stark contrast against the dark wood. Next, the soft, murmuring drone of the television filled his senses. He slowly lifted his head, looking towards the living room, and saw Benedict sprawled on the couch, watching TV. The messy papers that had littered the center table were gone, neatly put away. Jackson, no doubt, had gone home. There was an empty plate on the center table, looking exactly like the one in front of him.

“Kumain ka na tas lagay mo na lang sa dishwasher ‘yan.” Benedict’s voice, a low rumble, cut through the quiet. “Alam ko gising ka na kasi wala nang humihilik.” A small, almost imperceptible smirk played on Benedict’s lips.

In his still-dazed state, Caleb found himself automatically doing as he was told. He picked up his fork, slowly eating the chicken, each bite a deliberate effort. Once finished, he carried the plate and silverware to the kitchen, placing the dirty dishes meticulously into the dishwasher. He noticed his laptop wasn't on the table where he'd left it, but saw it blinking faintly on the floor, charging, its screen displaying 8:45 PM. He'd been asleep for more than four hours. No wonder his back screamed in protest. He stood there, caught between the living room and the dining room, his mind sluggishly trying to reorient itself after that surprisingly deep, heavy nap. As if sensing the fog in Caleb’s thoughts, Benedict called out, without even looking away from the TV.

“May Salonpas ako sa kwarto, yung malaking square. Kunin mo na.”

Caleb shuffled to the bedroom. The Salonpas patch was indeed sprawled on Benedict’s bedside table, almost as if Benedict had anticipated Caleb’s impending backache and had it ready for him. He picked it up, then walked back out, holding the patch in his hand.

“Ben, can—” Caleb started, his voice still thick with sleep.

Benedict was now sitting up, his eyes still glued to the TV screen. Some documentary about dogs, or maybe something equally mundane. Caleb situated himself between Benedict’s legs, a comfortable, familiar closeness that sent a quiet hum through him. He lifted his shirt, exposing his lower back, and handed Benedict the patch. Without a single word, without even asking where it hurt, Benedict’s fingers, surprisingly gentle, pressed the patch strategically onto his skin where he knew the ache resided (and he was precisely right). Benedict then pulled Caleb’s shirt back down, smoothing it with his hand, before nudging him away with a light push of his knee. Caleb plopped down onto the couch next to him, the cushions sinking with his weight.

“Can I sleep here? We have to do the interview tomorrow anyway.” The words were out before he could truly think them through, a spontaneous plea for continued proximity.

A low hum was Benedict’s only reply. Gone was the Benedict who engaged in long, flowing sentences when Jackson was present. He was back to his usual self with Caleb: short sentences, noncommittal hums, and subtle head movements.

“We should drink tomorrow sa gabi para mas masaya. Don’t you think?” Caleb ventured, trying to bridge the gap, to coax a longer response.

Benedict shook his head slowly, his gaze still fixed on the screen. “Treat me like a client, Park.” His voice was firm, a subtle barrier erected between them.

“You’re right. Sorry.” Caleb mumbled, a familiar sigh escaping him.

An uncomfortable quiet settled between them, a blend of awkwardness and a deeper, more profound silence. Caleb felt himself starting to doze off again, the lingering drowsiness clinging to him, when he felt the soft weight of a blanket being gently draped over his lap.

“Wear this. Bubuksan ko yung centralized mamaya.” Benedict’s voice was soft, almost a murmur.

Before Caleb could even manage a "thank you," Benedict had already reached for the remote, clicked off the TV, plunging the living room into near darkness, and was walking away, leaving Caleb alone in the quiet.

 

.☘︎ ݁˖༘⋆✿

 

CALEB PARK
11:27PM
You turned off the aircon?
Paano ka diyan?

BENEDICT BYUN
11:27PM
Electric fan.

CALEB PARK
11:28PM
Thank you. Palagay ka na kasi separate
aircon sa kwarto. Hahaha.

BENEDICT BYUN
11:28PM
Ok.

CALEB PARK
11:30PM
Thank you for washing my duvet also.
Buti nandito pa to. Hehe.

BENEDICT BYUN
11:30PM
No worries.

CALEB PARK
11:32PM
Good night.

BENEDICT BYUN
11:33PM
There’s tea in the kitchen.
To help you sleep.

CALEB PARK
11:33PM
You’re the best.

BENEDICT BYUN
11:36PM
Ok.

 

.☘︎ ݁˖༘⋆✿

The rich, inviting smell of brewing coffee slowly pulls Benedict from the depths of sleep. His eyelids flutter open, a soft groan escaping him as he pushes himself up. He feels a dull ache in his lower back. Limping slightly, a lingering stiffness from his awkward nap on the couch, he makes his way out of his room.

He finds the dining table laden with a proper breakfast – fluffy scrambled eggs, crisp strips of ham, and a generous mound of fried rice. Two cups of coffee steam gently beside the plates. Caleb is leaning against the kitchen door frame, his head bowed, engrossed in his phone, completely oblivious to Benedict’s momentarily startled state. He doesn't witness the slight widening of Benedict’s eyes, the fleeting surprise. By the time Caleb looks up, Benedict has already gathered himself, his face composed, as he makes his way to his usual side of the table.

“Coffee.” Caleb pushes one of the mugs closer to Benedict, a faint smile playing on his lips. “I didn’t know you drink coffee now. Ang dami mo palang kape sa kitchen.” His eyes sparkle with a hint of amusement.

“Work.” Benedict answers simply, picking up the mug. He takes a cautious sip of the coffee, the warmth spreading through him. It feels like a hug in a cup, literally, comforting in its familiarity. “Di mo naman kailangan magluto. May Starbucks sa baba.” He gestures vaguely towards the window.

“Okay lang.” Caleb waves off the comment, then reaches for the plate of eggs, placing a generous serving onto Benedict’s plate without asking. “Eat. We’re meeting up Kyungsoo and Jongin for lunch. May sasabihin daw sila.”

“Two meetups in a month?” Benedict groans, a genuine sound of protest escaping him. He rubs his temples. “Seryoso kayo?”

Next, Caleb reaches for the plate with fried rice, scooping a large portion onto Benedict’s plate, then adds a slice of ham. His movements are automatic, a practiced choreography.

“Ewan ko dun.” Caleb shrugs, completely unbothered by Benedict’s complaints.

“You don’t need to—” Benedict slaps Caleb’s hand lightly, a quick, almost reflexive movement, pushing it away from his plate. “I have hands.” His tone is slightly exasperated.

“Sorry,” Caleb smiles, a genuine, easy smile that reaches his eyes. “Habit.”

At this point, Benedict knows, with a deep, weary certainty, that the worst habits are quite literally impossible to change, to stop, or even to just alter a little bit. Because five minutes later, despite his earlier protestations, he finds himself reaching for a pair of yellow rubber gloves, handing them to Caleb. Caleb, having insisted that he'll be the one to clean the dishes, takes them without question.

“Wear this. Allergic ka sa sabon na ‘yan.” Benedict’s voice is soft, almost a mumble, as he pushes the gloves into Caleb’s hand.

And even when he consciously holds himself back, even when he tries to resist, some habits, stubbornly, still make him crack. He feels that familiar, unwelcome warmth spread through him again.

Notes:

I DID NOT PROOFREAD AS USUAL

PLS LEAVE A COMMENT OR SEND EM A TWEET OR DM @__jonginnie (yes two underscores)

WAAH ENJOY

Chapter 3: Cardigan

Summary:

Benedict knew that he'd curse Caleb for the longest time.

Notes:

NOT PROOFREAD AS USUAL

send me your feels through the comments or tweets or DMs (@__jonginnie ((yes 2 underscores))

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

03.

2020.

KYUNGSOO ANDREW

12:07PM

Thank you for coming on short notice, Bennie.

See you at the end of the month? Love you!

BENEDICT BYUN

12:09PM

Malakas ka sakin eh. Haha. Congratulations again

to you and Jongin. Promise to free up my November

and December so I can help with whatever you need.

KYUNGSOO ANDREW

12:10PM

Maghanap ka na nga ng aasawahin din!

Balikan mo na si attorney. Joke. Haha.

BENEDICT BYUN

12:11PM

Haha.

°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:・

 

“Because you’re my first love.”

Benedict says it, his voice completely flat, his eyes a blank stare devoid of any emotion. It makes it incredibly difficult for Caleb to believe him, or to even feel the slightest bit flattered by the statement. Benedict’s hand instinctively reaches for his phone on the table, his fingers brushing the cool metal as he checks the time. He then crosses his arms over his chest, settling back into his chair, a silent, unreadable posture.

The Starbucks beneath Benedict’s apartment building is unusually quiet for a Wednesday afternoon. They’d just come from a quick lunch with Kyungsoo and Jongin, where their friends had announced their engagement, and then headed straight back to Benedict’s condo to begin the interview. Interviews, Benedict was learning, were far more professional than he had ever imagined. Caleb sits across from him, clad in a navy blue hoodie, his MacBook open, a small voice recorder placed meticulously between them. This is Caleb’s third cup of coffee since they sat down, the steaming mug clutched in his hand. It isn't often that Benedict sees Caleb truly in his element, focused and intense. With his eyebrows furrowed in concentration and his lips pressed into a thin, serious line, it’s not hard to believe that this Caleb is an entirely different person from his ex-friend, ex-fuck buddy, and ex-almost. Clad in a comfortable, oversized beige jacket over a simple black shirt, Benedict consciously relaxes deeper into his seat as Caleb types away, sending a few more emails and subtly realigning his guide questions.

“If matapos ba natin ‘to lahat today, uuwi ka na kaagad kina tita?” Caleb asks, his fingers still dancing across the keyboard.

Benedict shakes his head, even though Caleb doesn’t see the movement, still absorbed in his screen. “Hindi. Friday pa rin.”

He’s met with a soft hum from Caleb, the noncommittal sound so characteristic of him. Benedict takes his phone out of his pocket, checking his own emails, a quick, professional scan, before placing it back down on the table in front of him. He’d told Caleb to treat him like a client, so it was only fair that Benedict, in turn, treated Caleb like a professional as well.

“For the brief profile, super basic lang.” Caleb says, his tone shifting, becoming more formal. He presses a button on the small recorder between them. “Start na tayo ha. Everything will be recorded for transcription purposes. Should there be anything off the record, please tell me so we can turn it off.”

“Got it.” Benedict confirms, his voice crisp.

Caleb twists his neck left and right, a quick stretch, before sitting up straighter, his posture suddenly more rigid. “Full name?”

Benedict rolls his eyes, a small, internal gesture of exasperation. He understood what a brief profile entailed, but he hadn’t expected it to be this brief, this procedural.

“Benedict Baekhyun Byun.”

“Birthday?”

“May 6th, 1992.”

“Undergrad?”

“Mass Comm.”

“Where did you finish your law degree?”

“Ateneo.”

“How long have you been a lawyer?”

“A year and a half.”

Caleb pauses, his fingers typing away rapidly on his computer, transcribing Benedict’s answers. Benedict waits, anticipating a joke, a sarcastic remark, anything to break the serious facade. But Caleb doesn’t crack. He thinks, with a surprising clarity, that perhaps he could actually be friends with “Work Caleb,” a version of him far removed from the Caleb he’d known and tangled with in college.

“Why did you become a lawyer?” Caleb asks, his gaze finally lifting from the screen, meeting Benedict’s.

“Do you want the short answer or the real answer?” Benedict chuckles, a dry, self-deprecating sound. He’s had countless versions of answers for this question, each tailored differently depending on whether he was speaking to his mother’s friends, his cousins, his college juniors, or his colleagues at work. “Short answer, I wasn’t ready to work yet. I tried for like a year and then I realized that I didn’t want to be bossed around.”

“Real answer?” Caleb prompts, leaning forward slightly, an intrigued glint in his eyes.

“I wasn’t good at anything but studying.” The words are out before Benedict can stop them, a raw honesty. He remembers his very first job, right after college, at Wallows, working alongside Caleb. He’d been placed in the graphics team, because the writing team was already full. Despite being a mass communications graduate, he’d found himself thrust into the digital design world, where he was, frankly, absolutely useless when it came to Photoshop and editing software. He was only ever truly useful during brainstorming sessions and when it came to creating polished pitch decks. He hadn’t enjoyed the late nights, constantly riding on the coattails of his boss or his other workmates who actually knew what they were doing, unlike Caleb, who had effortlessly swept everyone off their feet in the writing team. “So when I started to work, I was a junior graphic designer but I wasn’t an art graduate so I had to learn and I had to teach myself how to, alam mo ‘yon? Photo shop tsaka kung anu-ano pa. Kasi noon, paint lang alam ko. I learned kasi nga I pick up things fast and I really studied it but my heart wasn’t there because no matter how hard I tried, ayaw mag cooperate ng self ko kasi wala akong talent. I felt like shit so I decided to go back to school kasi alam kong sa pag-aaral ako magaling. Hindi na importante kung ano yung pinagaaralan.” He finishes, a deep, resonant sigh escaping him.

“You said you wanted to be a human rights lawyer though.” Caleb remarks, a hint of confusion in his voice.

“I never said that.” Benedict smiles, a rare, genuine smile, for the first time in a while. He looks directly at Caleb. “I told you, as a client nga ako. Hindi mo friend.”

Caleb rolls his eyes, a familiar, playful gesture, and raises both hands in mock surrender. “So, you studied so hard you became the top notcher last 2018. What was that like?”

“Actually, I was asleep when the results came out.” Benedict chuckles, a fond memory surfacing. “My best friend, his name is Yixing, he barged into my room as in umiiyak siya tas hagulgol tas biglang pumasok yung mama ko and umiiyak din and what we knew lang was that I passed but 10 minutes later, si Yixing umiiyak nanaman kasi top 1 daw ako.” He can clearly remember the way Yixing had cried, shaking Benedict awake from his sleep, and how, just ten minutes after that, he was crying again, utterly overwhelmed with pride. Yixing had called their entire barkada, still weeping, to bear the news. All Benedict had ever wanted was to simply pass the bar, so being the number one scorer was just an unexpected, overwhelming bonus. If anything, what he really remembered from that chaotic, joyous day was being babied, pampered, and feeling so profoundly loved by everyone around him.

Caleb bites his tongue, hard, to prevent his usual little side notes and commentaries from slipping out. Benedict had made him promise to treat him like a client if he wanted any decent answers, and had even sworn that the moment Caleb broke out of his character as the EIC for Wallows, Benedict would stop explaining things and just give bare answers. He wants to make a joke, a sarcastic jab, about how it seems Benedict much prefers his editor-in-chief side rather than the actual Caleb, the college friend, the ex-fubu.

“How did your being a top notcher define your career path for you?” Caleb asks, smoothly transitioning to the next question, his voice returning to its professional cadence.

“I actually wanted to study again for a PhD.” Benedict rubs the back of his head, a sheepish gesture as he remembers telling his mom about wanting to continue his studies. “I had my papers ready na kaya lang somebody offered me a job in HCK Firm tapos sabi niya kahit part-time lang kasi naka maternity leave yung isang lawyer. So ako naman, sige kasi good pay tsaka…” He trails off, a slight hesitation in his voice.

“Tsaka…?” Caleb prompts, leaning forward, intrigued. He senses there's more to the story.

“Ex ko kasi ‘yung nag offer.”

Caleb’s eyebrows shoot up, a genuine flicker of surprise and intrigue. An ex? He’s never heard of an ex. He didn’t even know that Benedict had dated in law school, or before that, or even after their own complicated arrangement. None of his friends had ever told him either. All he knew, after Benedict had confessed his feelings to him, was that Benedict had grown quieter, more reserved, because he was hurt—because of him. No one had ever mentioned Benedict seeing anyone.

“An ex? Do you want to include that in this story or is that off the record?” Caleb asks, carefully, trying to gauge Benedict’s comfort level.

“Oh, its okay.” Benedict waves him off dismissively. “He’s cool. We’re friends now. He already talked about it, for sure, sa ibang news outlet kasi nagpaalam siya sakin the other day.”

Oh. Caleb feels a strange mix of emotions. Still, he needs to know more, a burning curiosity simmering within him, but he doesn’t know how to ask without sounding desperate, or worse, tsismoso. It might be too personal, and Benedict might opt out of answering honestly, shutting down completely. As Caleb, the friend, he wants to pry, to demand answers. He feels a little bit betrayed that he was kept in the dark about something so significant. But he also knows, deep down, why things were that way. But still, he’s been trying, trying so hard for the past two years. Was he truly not worth knowing such a "secret"? Was it even a secret in the first place, or did everyone deliberately hide it from him? But why? Did Benedict tell everyone to hide it from him? Was he really that angry, building even more walls than the ones Caleb was already facing?

“So, this ex, you said you took the job and then later on, you became a part of the team for the Thoota case.” Caleb tries to sound neutral, his voice carefully even, but Benedict can already sense the subtle shift in the atmosphere. He sees the way Caleb’s hand is gripping his mouse, the white-knuckled tension, and the way he’s looking away, avoiding Benedict’s gaze.

“Yes. Actually, so we have two seniors si Atty. Heechul Kim and Atty. Eric Nam. Then we have the junior counsels which are Atty. Jackson Wang, Atty. Joohyuk Nam, and me. It was Atty. Kim who wanted me in the team and so I think Eric’s offer for me to join HCK Firm was a good decision.” Benedict explains, his voice clear and concise.

“So si Atty. Eric Nam yung ex mo?” Caleb’s voice is barely a whisper, a strained question.

Benedict nods, a small, almost imperceptible movement. “Please write this part tastefully baka asarin nila ako sa office if we have a good chunk of section for Eric.” A hint of a plea enters his voice, a brief crack in his professional facade.

“Don’t worry about it.” Caleb replies, gritting his teeth, a forced smile on his face. “Can I just ask one question as Caleb and not as Wallows?” The question hangs in the air, desperate.

Benedict shakes his head, firmly. “No.”

“But—” Caleb starts to protest, his voice edged with frustration.

“I like your work ethic so I’m enjoying being a professional here. If you want to ask as Caleb, pwede naman ‘yan mamaya.” Benedict’s voice is unwavering.

“Pero may Eric.” Caleb pushes, unable to stop himself.

“We dated for a year. During my senior year in law school.” Benedict volunteers the information, his voice flat, his gaze steady.

A year? Caleb’s mind races, doing the math. If he was doing it right, his and Benedict’s arrangement had ended during Benedict’s third year in law school. That was two years ago. Two years and ten months, to be exact. It’s been two years since he was completely shut off from significant parts of Benedict’s life. Two years since he’s been trying to break through, brick by painful brick. He’s been squeezing himself back into Benedict’s life almost every day of those two years, before the huge trial started, before Benedict became a national figure. So why the hell did he not know about Eric?

“Wala naman na dapat pang ikwento about it. We broke up in good terms because he had to take the bar because he’s a batch older than me. So we were like, if we’re both lawyers na, maybe we can date again, ganon.” Benedict tries to be as clear as possible, his voice even, without really giving anything emotionally away. It’s not that he had actively kept Eric a secret. There were just too many overwhelming things happening in his life all at once – graduation, the daunting bar exams, trying to find a new school or a definitive career path – all while also dealing with a Caleb Park who habitually showed up unannounced in his family home, laughing boisterously, running around the kitchen in an apron over his white shirt while "helping" Benedict’s own mother prepare dinner.

He swears he didn’t do it on purpose. Eric was the first official boyfriend, the first man who actually treated him right, the first man he had genuinely introduced to his friends, and the first man his family and friends had truly, unequivocally loved. It just so happened that Caleb was always perpetually late to gatherings, and Eric, by contrast, was always early to arrive and early to leave.

But also because, maybe, just maybe, Benedict wasn't completely ready to let go of the tall, chaotic man in their family kitchen, no matter how much he didn’t admit it, not even to himself.

The look on Caleb’s face betrays all the carefully constructed toughness Benedict is trying to project. The unspoken questions, the raw sadness behind Caleb’s eyes, is evident, starkly visible to Benedict. He doesn’t really know if he should count this as a point in his favor, a small victory in his emotional war.

“Next question?” Benedict clears his throat, the sound a little strained, and stretches, a deliberate movement to break the intensity.

Caleb looks away, his gaze darting to the side, probably trying desperately to figure out a way to hide the profound disappointment that has settled onto his face.

“What was it like being a part of the most historical trial of the year? The decade, even? You’ve gotten yourself a handful of fans along the way too.” Caleb asks, his voice surprisingly steady, back to his professional tone.

“It was a lot of studying.” Benedict answers, a distant look in his eyes. He has never really taken the time out of his hectic days to truly reflect on the last eleven months of his life and the immense change it had brought to him. “And a lot of growing. I’d like to believe that I grew a lot being surrounded by the team and constantly being challenged by the public. The media, even.”

“Speaking of media, bakit hindi ka nagpapa-interview before? Wallows is the first one to get you and we’re really thankful but was that a team decision?”

At 4 in the afternoon, the sun, which had been a harsh glare earlier, was slowly hiding behind the clouds. Benedict can now freely look outside the window without having to shield his face. They’ve been at it for an hour and a half at this point, the interview proceeding with a relentless, professional efficiency. Caleb only asks the questions he genuinely needs to ask, staying strictly within the bounds of the interview. Benedict is thankful for this professionalism, for getting exactly what he wanted. But he can’t help but notice that Caleb hasn’t looked up from his laptop for quite a while now. He would ask, hum, nod, and diligently write down whatever Benedict was saying. The easy rapport, the familiar back-and-forth, is completely gone. Even Caleb’s usual annoying, vibrant aura is at an all-time low. The customers in Starbucks are slowly growing in number as time passes by, the white noise of their conversations becoming more evident, a low hum in the background. If Benedict wasn’t a complete professional, if he didn’t have such a rigid control over his impulses, he would have asked to cut the interview short, to simply leave and take a much-needed nap. He can feel the insidious onset of an upcoming migraine, a dull throb behind his head, and he wishes for nothing more than to escape this now awkward situation and find true rest.

“I think I’m good.” Caleb mutters to himself, his voice almost inaudible, as he scrolls through his notes. “Basahin ko muna and then if you still have time tomorrow, message na lang kita.”

 

°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:・

Sometimes Benedict surprises himself. He’d like to believe he’s a decisive, secure adult. But sometimes, he acts without thinking, and then he ends up questioning himself, even the way he lives his entire life. When he deviates from his original plan, he has to take three steps back, a frustrated mental rewind, to figure out why. He absolutely hates breaking rules—even the rules he makes for himself.

So, when he asks Caleb out for dinner after their interview, the words just tumbling out, he spends the next fifteen minutes in the washroom, rigidly rationalizing his decision. The only undeniable reason he can land on is that he simply can’t think straight when Caleb has that look on his face, the raw, wounded expression that never suited him. Benedict remembers countless times he would drop everything as soon as even the shadow of that hurt flickered across Caleb’s features. Before it even fully materialized, Benedict was already there, pacifying the situation. How is this different now than it was two years ago, during their messy arrangement? How is it different from when they supposedly went back to being friends, and he couldn’t study in a café because Caleb would send a pouting photo of himself with his own mother, clearly guilting Benedict into joining them? How?

Because he’s still your friend. Anger, hurt, and pride aside, Benedict still saw him as a friend, even when he told himself no, because friends shouldn’t have done the things they did. Caleb and he always had, and always will have, some inexplicable attachment that Benedict will never have an explanation for.

Because you don’t want to hurt anyone. He never wants anybody else to feel the way he did—discarded and useless by the person he loved most. So, he’s taken extra steps, small, deliberate actions, to make the people around him feel loved. In his own odd ways, of course. Through random food deliveries for his friends or surprise dinners when he decides to cook. He was always trying to do things to make people feel important, because that’s what he felt was missing with Caleb—with the person he treated as his best friend. He had his ways. He knew they weren’t sweet ways, but they were ways, nonetheless.

Because he’s Caleb. That’s it. The simplest, most irrefutable reason.

“Sure ka, hindi ka iinom?” Caleb asks, his eyes twinkling with a familiar mischievous glint. They’ve found themselves somewhere in Katipunan, surrounded by the buzzing energy of college students on a Wednesday night. It transports them back eight years, to a time when they were trying to make do with whatever change was in their pockets in overpriced, expensive restaurants near their university. They always ended up in a bar, though. Actual dinner be damned.

So, that’s where they are now. Caleb drove them to the dingy Katipunan bar called Walrus, directly in front of their alma mater. They’re munching on greasy cheese nachos, a towering pitcher of gin and tonic between them. Benedict watches as groups of students stumble in and out of the bar, everyone laughing loudly, clinging onto each other as if it’s dear life. Oh, to live in a time where everything was easy.

“Easy ka lang. Magmamaneho ka pa.” He reminds Caleb, a hint of concern in his voice. Before deciding to get a tower, Caleb had already finished two bottles of Red Horse. “Like old times,” Caleb had said. Benedict only gets a low chuckle in response, and Caleb continues to gulp down the flavored gin, treating it like juice. “Do you want to discuss yung love life sa interview? Covered na kasi natin lahat pero yung love life, nakita ko sa Twitter, yung most asked about you.” Benedict shifts, feeling a slight unease.

“Shouldn’t that be your call? Ikaw magsusulat di ba?” Caleb challenges, his gaze unwavering.

Caleb scrunches his nose, a familiar habit. Another deep swig. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“We can try. Review na lang tapos if hindi okay, we can revise.” Benedict checks the time on his phone: 6:08 PM. It’s too early to be this drunk, especially for two almost-thirty-year-olds. But it seems useless to remind Caleb over and over when he’s treating the gin like juice. “Agahan mo ha. Kasi gusto ni mama doon ako mag dinner sa bahay.”

“You really act like nasa probinsya sila eh bungad lang ng Bulacan ‘yun.” Caleb teases, a wide grin on his face.

“I’m gonna commute kasi. Nasa talyer pa rin si Wanda.” Wanda, his Volkswagen Beetle 2000, a hand-me-down from his older brother, has been with him for years. The name was given to it by Caleb, back when it was painted a bright fuchsia pink, resembling Wanda, the fairy from The Fairly OddParents. Wanda’s painted black now, and he very rarely drives it because of its notoriously moody engine.

“O, ano nangyari?” Caleb asks, leaning in.

“Nag-overheat nanaman.” Benedict refills his glass, the clink of ice loud, and takes a slow sip. “As usual. Pero si Eric kasi yung nagdala nun tapos—” He stops abruptly, his voice catching, when he hears Caleb chuckle bitterly, looking down into his bowl of nuts, his eyes suddenly shadowed. “Isang linggo pa daw sabi ng talyer.”

“Di ka ba ihahatid nung Eric? Para naman makilala siya nila tita.” Caleb’s voice is low, almost too casual.

“Ihahatid.” Benedict answers simply, his eyes scanning Caleb’s face, trying to decipher his expression.

He can’t quite read Caleb’s face. All he knows is that this entire situation feels all too familiar—Caleb getting upset over something or someone, not really telling him what exactly it is, and Benedict feeling that familiar urge to cave in, to soothe Caleb’s furrowed eyebrows, to fix whatever is wrong. Benedict’s hands are balled into tight fists under the table, a desperate attempt to avoid doing anything stupid. He hums, a low, noncommittal sound, and deliberately turns his attention back to people-watching. At the next table, there’s a couple, clearly intoxicated, eating each other’s faces while their friends cheer loudly, shoving their cellphones at them to record the spectacle.

“Wasn’t it just six months ago when you got drunk tas nagpasundo ka samin nila Jongin?” Caleb asks, his tone suddenly sharp, his voice brave, cutting through the background noise of the bar. “Bakit sakin ka nagpasundo and hindi kay Eric?”

Benedict remembers it with vivid clarity. Jackson and Joohyuk had brought him to a wine bar for dinner, a cheer-up outing for the three of them after running into one too many problems with their case. Benedict and Eric had been broken up for about four months then, and their interactions were never awkward. Neither of them ever brought up their dating history, nor did they make it difficult for their friends. It wasn’t like they were forcing it either. It’s just that with Eric, everything was simply easy. Before dating, during dating, and even after. But he remembers, distinctly, fighting with Eric over a piece of notepad. The entire team had been running on caffeine, with no sleep, for four days straight at that point. Benedict, exhausted and irritable, had wanted a pink notepad, but Eric had handed him a yellow one instead. In his dramatic and utterly sleepless state, Benedict had yelled—Bakit ba hindi ko na makuha yung mga gusto ko? Ang dali dali lang eh. Aabutin mo lang yung pink.

Eric, who has always been the calmer, more composed version of him, had stood up, looked at him with an inscrutable expression, before shoving a handful of pink notepads into his hands. He’d said, Hanggang kailan mo ako gagawing sponge ng galit mo? Before calmly walking out. To say that Benedict was exhausted was a gross understatement. The entire team had overheard their little squabble, so they had wisely opted to separate the two for the rest of the night. Benedict ended up at Barcino with Joohyuk and Jackson. Three bottles of wine later, he was angrily ranting about how impossibly difficult it was to just be himself, and how everyone, absolutely everyone, had a comment on everything he did. People had picked up on who he was, his quirks and frustrations, and they began talking about him on social media. A lot of the comments were good, but there were always the bad ones, and Benedict, unfortunately, tended to fixate on those.

“I want to be the perfect guy for him but his standards are so high, wala nang makakaabot don. Tatanda na siyang binata.” He had told his friends, his voice thick with wine and frustration. “I keep trying and trying and the standard keeps on going higher and higher. Alam nyo? Kung pinili sana ako nung Caleb na yon, wala ako dito. Dito ko na poproblemahin si Eric. Masaya siguro ako.”

Of course, Benedict was spewing out absolute shit. He wouldn’t have been happy if he had stuck around and waited for Caleb. His rational self knew that, even then. He had continued to talk, rambling on about Caleb and how he understood Caleb better because he didn’t expect anything from him, a lie he repeated until it felt like truth. So, in the end, Jackson and Joohyuk had ended up calling Caleb on his phone to get him picked up. Without much fuss, save for a few muttered curses here and there, two men—Caleb and Jongin—had arrived to pick him up from dinner, the sight of Caleb’s concerned face a strange comfort.

“Kasi nag-away kami dahil sa notepad. Kaya pinaglayo kami so nag-dinner kami nila Atty. Wang.” Benedict explains, the words coming out in a rush, a half-truth.

“Kayo pa nun?” Caleb asks, his voice tight, eyes narrowed.

Benedict shakes his head, a decisive movement. “Tagal na namin wala. We’re good friends though and he’s just, you know,” He can’t quite find the words to explain that Eric promised him he’d wait, and how a tiny, persistent part of him is still holding on to that promise. “Always there.”

“Can I ask why,” Caleb pauses, then gulps down the entirety of his glass, the movement sharp and desperate. He refills from the tower and downs that in one go too, the liquor burning a trail. Benedict has to literally cover the faucet with his hand, forcing Caleb to take a break. “Just why you didn’t tell me.”

Benedict shrugs, a slight lift of his shoulders. “Di ko rin alam. I guess, you never really asked.”

“Do the boys know?” Caleb presses, his gaze fixed on Benedict.

“They’ve hung out.” Benedict says simply.

“So,” Caleb traces the mouth of his glass with his finger, a slow, repetitive motion. He feels his chest sink little by little, a growing emptiness. “Ako lang talaga.”

“It’s not like anything would change.” Benedict says, his voice flat, trying to dismiss the gravity of the moment. “Plus you were always working tsaka di rin naman tayo lagi magkatext and—”

“Ang sabihin mo, ayaw mo lang talagang malaman ko.” Caleb’s voice cuts through Benedict’s explanation, sharp and accusing.

Benedict’s mouth forms a surprised “o”, his eyebrows raising at the unexpected sharpness of Caleb’s tone. He expects Caleb to back down when he sends him a warning look, but Caleb is already dazed and tipsy, and he only stares back, his eyes glazed. In fact, if Benedict were to truly look, Caleb is staring at him just as angrily.

“I just thought na hindi mo naman deserve malaman ‘yon.”

“I guess.” Caleb nods slowly, a bitter taste in his mouth. “Akala ko lang friends tayo. Best friend kasi kita eh.”

“Best friend.” Benedict repeats the words, a faint echo. He bites on his tongue, hard, trying to filter out the rush of words forming behind his lips. The number of people in Walrus has doubled, the music is now bouncing off the sticky floor, vibrating through his feet. “I stopped thinking of you that way after we became, you know. Alam mo naman ‘yun. I confessed di ba?”

“And then we agreed to stay friends.” Caleb retorts, his jaw tightening.

“We didn’t.” Benedict fills up his own glass, the ice clinking loudly, and takes a few huge gulps, the gin burning as it goes down, a desperate attempt for some bravery. “An agreement is between two people. You decided that for yourself. Kahit kailan, hindi naman ako pumayag. Pero katulad ng lagi kong ginagawa, tinanggap ko na lang. What’s the use of fighting with you, anyway? Ipipilit mo pa rin naman yung gusto mo.” His voice is raw, laced with years of suppressed frustration.

“You know that’s the longest sentence you’ve said to me in a while.” Caleb signals for another tower from the waiter, his hand raised. “I asked you if we could still be friends. You said yes.”

“No—” Benedict begins, shaking his head.

“Yes—” Caleb insists, leaning forward.

“No. You kissed me before I could even answer.” Benedict snaps back, his voice rising slightly above the din.

Like a b-roll from one of his favorite movies, the image of a crying and begging Benedict enters Caleb’s head—how Benedict cried so hard when Caleb told him they should just remain friends because they worked best at that. He remembers kissing Benedict’s tears away, kissing him, and then having sex again, a desperate, flawed attempt to soothe and keep.

“Okay fine.” Caleb rolls his eyes, a familiar, exasperated gesture. The new tower arrives, and he fills his glass again, taking a long swig. “That’s almost two years ago, Ben. Hindi ka pa rin ba over? Hindi mo pa rin ba ako napapatawad don? Ilang beses ko na sinubukan bumawi, wala lang ba lahat ‘yon sayo?” His voice is laced with desperation, a raw plea.

“I’m not obligated to forgive you.” Benedict tells him, his voice flat, devoid of warmth. He runs a hand through his hair in frustration, pushing the dark strands back from his forehead. “It’s not like you apologized anyway.”

“Hindi ka naman siguro manhid para di mo makita ‘yung effort na ginagawa ko para lang makabawi di ba? Alam ko namang nasaktan kita kaya nga double effort eh. Pero hanggang kailan, Benedict? Hanggang kailan ako susubok at hanggang kailan ka lalayo? Ganoon mo ba kaayaw sakin?” Caleb finishes his glass again, slamming it down on the table, and looks away, his gaze fixed on a distant point in the smoky bar. There are tears forming in Caleb’s eyes, a hot sting, and he’s desperately trying to convince himself that a noisy, dingy, college bar is absolutely not the best place to have this agonizing conversation.

Benedict is looking at him in defeat, a quiet surrender in his eyes. It’s been two years since their arrangement ended. Four years since he fell in love with him. Eight years since he had that first, innocent crush on him. He feels the bass of the music vibrate through his feet, and multiple drunk people keep bumping on the back of his chair, jostling him. Somehow, despite the chaos around him, he can only see Caleb. His eyes are focused solely on Caleb and the way he’s trying to control his breathing, a visible struggle to avoid crying. Benedict has seen Caleb cry countless times before, but never, never because of him. Caleb was, and has always been, an emotional drunk, his feelings spilling out with the alcohol. And instead of feeling victorious, instead of putting a point on himself for getting back at Caleb, Benedict feels his heart drop to his stomach, a heavy, leaden weight.

“Because you’re my first love.”

“Bakit parang nagulat ka pa, eh di ba alam mo naman?” Benedict asks, his eyebrow raised, a cynical arch. He finishes his glass, the ice rattling, and pushes it to the center of the table with a firm hand. “I’m just wondering if you’re doing those efforts for me or kung para ba sa sarili mo because you feel guilty.” The words land like small, sharp stones.

“Wow—do you really think that—” Caleb starts, his voice incredulous, a mixture of hurt and disbelief.

“Or was it because the boys told you na bumawi ka naman para di tayo magkawatak-watak?” Benedict cuts him off, his voice gaining a hard edge. “Because alam mo na you did wrong and the boys know that too and that they’d choose me in a heartbeat over you.” His gaze is unwavering, pinning Caleb in place.

Caleb can almost feel the urge to throw a fist at his friends. Even at Benedict. He knows he isn’t the best friend, and he’s made up of hundreds of flaws that they’ve all been putting up with for nearly a decade. And yes, he has poor communication skills despite being an Editor-in-Chief, despite being a writer. To some extent, he knows how much his friends have done to adjust to his ways and habits, and he’s taken advantage of that. But what’s so bad about that? His friends aren’t perfect. They have their own flaws too. He’s adjusted to them too. They’ve hurt him too, but they’ve never held it over their heads, never used it as a weapon.

Why is he still being crucified over that one mistake with Benedict?

Growing up alone in a broken home with a sister over ten years older than him, Caleb didn’t have anyone until he met the boys in college. He was the nerd as a child—always drawing, writing, even joining Math quiz bees to keep himself busy. He never really knew what it meant to have a unit, a solid core of his own, until he had his own block who eventually became his chosen family.

Is it wrong to be scared to lose them?

It broke him to break Benedict’s heart, and he admits that it was a while before he truly felt the agonizing aftermath of that. He’s putting in the time and effort to make it up to him. To make it up to his friends.

When is he going to stop pushing himself over the edge over one mistake?

Isn’t it punishment enough to fall in love with someone who absolutely hates you? The thought screams inside his head, raw and desperate.

“Because it’s you.” His voice is tiny now, barely audible, swallowed by the thumping bass and clamor of Walrus. “Because I don’t want you to keep on hating me. Because I want to show you that I’ve grown from the person who couldn’t think straight and broke my heart. Kaya ako ganito.” His words are a desperate, raw confession.

“Don’t you think it’s time to stop?” Benedict asks, his voice softening, a surprising earnestness entering it. He leans forward slightly, his eyes searching Caleb’s. “Stop while you don’t hate me for all the pushing away I’m doing to you.”

“But you’re still angry.” Caleb counters, his voice thick with unshed tears, a tremor running through him.

“That’s my default, Caleb.” Benedict replies, his voice flat again, the words a stark, painful truth. He looks away, into the flickering lights of the bar, the conversation hanging heavy in the air between them.

 

°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:・

ERIC NAM
7:30PM
Dinner?

BENEDICT BYUN
7:30PM
Drinking with Caleb. 

ERIC NAM
7:32PM
Oh.
How’s that going?

BENEDICT BYUN
7:32PM
Told him to avoid me.

ERIC NAM
7:33PM
We discussed na you’ll face the problem.
Not push it further.
Forgiving, di ba?

BENEDICT BYUN
7:33PM
Mahirap pala. 

ERIC NAM
7:34PM
But you can do it. :-)

BENEDICT BYUN
7:35PM
I can’t do dinner but midnight snack?

ERIC NAM
7:36PM
Depends if you do well tonight.
Make sure you talk to him.
Be honest.
Stop getting upset if he doesn’t get it the first time.
What time should we leave tomorrow?

BENEDICT BYUN
7:37PM
Around 2pm? Mama wants us to have dinner there.
Nag luto daw siyang kalderetang baka for you. Haha.
Ikaw ata yung anak?

ERIC NAM
7:38PM
Manugang kamo.
If her son ever decides.
Haha, joke.

BENEDICT BYUN
7:39PM
Choppy ka.
Tawag na lang ako mamaya.

 

°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:・

 

It’s 3 in the morning. The last handful of students are slowly dispersing from Walrus, their laughter echoing faintly as they spill out onto the street. Two twenty-something-year-old men, however, remain in the exact same spot they’ve occupied for hours. Three empty gin towers, eight empty beer bottles, and a forgotten bowl of peanuts later, they sit quietly, staring at the empty plates and glasses in front of them, the remnants of a raw, drunken conversation.

“I guess I asked for too much, huh?” Caleb’s voice is a low murmur, barely audible over the distant rumble of traffic.

Drunk and stripped of his usual composure, Benedict finds himself flooded with memories of the man in front of him—memories of how he wasn’t always angry, wasn’t always this distant. Once upon a time, his entire world revolved around Caleb. Boy, did that kid make him happy. All his little quirks, his quick wit, his humor, his lankiness, his smile, the subtle dimples that appeared on his cheeks, his eyes—God, those eyes did things to him. Benedict remembers failing recitations and crying so hard he could barely breathe, but he also remembers strong arms wrapped around him, shushing him softly, swaying him back and forth in the middle of the school field, a silent comfort. He remembers Saturdays spent with Mama Park and the aroma of homemade breakfasts filling their kitchen, and Sundays with Papa Park, the smoky scent of barbecue nights clinging to the air. He loved the pamper days spent with Yoora, her infectious laughter filling the house, and the quiet weeknights spent with her kids, reading them bedtime stories. Oh, how Benedict loved swimming at night in their backyard, the cool water a balm against his skin.

He remembers random, spontaneous kisses during study times, lips brushing against his cheek or neck, and hot, urgent sexy times in broad daylight, the sun streaming through Caleb’s apartment window. He remembers the ache of missing him on holidays, a hollow feeling in his chest, and the sheer joy of spending birthdays with him, always celebrating together. There’s still a faint chip on the edge of his family’s center table, a tiny scar from when they drunkenly slow-danced in their living room, Caleb losing his balance and hitting his chin with a muffled thud. He remembers bawling in the emergency room, tears streaming down his face, convinced Caleb was seriously hurt, but Caleb just laughed, a bright, unconcerned sound, and kissed his hand to calm him down. Benedict will never admit that the faded, worn sweater he left at Caleb’s during that New Year’s Eve is still in his closet, carefully tucked, perfectly folded, and unwashed, or that Caleb’s only bright, unapologetically yellow shirt, the one he liked wearing specifically on Benedict’s birthday, still hangs at the back of his cabinet—untouched, smelling exactly like that one birthday when Caleb surprised him with a huge bouquet of flowers and they got gloriously drunk on Hennessy.

His heart was sure and secure then, so it only took a little courage, a tiny push, for him to finally ask Caleb out, to define what they were. No one knew it was going to end the way it did. No one knew he was going to be crying, utterly heartbroken, inside an LRT 1 train in his pajamas at 5:30 in the morning, amidst the rush of sales workers and students on their way to school, their faces blurry through his tears. He never told anyone that he went back to Caleb’s apartment after that, and sat outside his unit door for two agonizing hours, just crying, the cold tile pressing against his skin. He didn’t have any more courage to knock, to demand answers, so he just sat there, under one fluctuating, buzzing light in Caleb’s high-end condominium, the silence amplifying his despair.

Multiple people had told him that first loves always ended up this way—unforgettably painful, a wound that never quite healed. But he wanted to tell them that he and Caleb were different. They understood each other, truly understood each other, and they loved each other in ways that even Benedict himself couldn’t fully explain. Every time somebody tells him that he’ll find someone new, that he’ll move on, he wants to lash out, to scream that no one is ever going to measure up, ever going to be on par with Caleb. He loved Caleb. He loved him so wholly and dearly that it consumed him, leaving him hollow.

He loved him so much that it emptied him. So much so that when Caleb didn’t want to walk the same path as him, when Caleb chose a different direction, Benedict was left utterly lost, with nowhere to go, no direction, no anchor.

In movies, first loves are always those cute, innocent relationships that end after a year, but the couple eventually finds their way back to each other. If it doesn’t, it simply becomes a good story to tell, a bittersweet memory.

But Benedict’s first love didn’t just end. It beat him up, over and over again, until he felt completely gone, a shadow of his former self.

He had begged his friends not to do anything about it, not to confront Caleb, and would even defend Caleb fiercely after that, a strange, misplaced loyalty. Hindi ‘yan gagawin ni Caleb kung hindi niya alam na ‘yun yung best for us. For me, he’d tell them, his voice firm, unwavering even as his heart ached.

First loves aren’t supposed to destroy you.

When he remembers all of those agonizing memories, the good and the bad, he’s immediately flooded with anxiety, a cold dread, and a profound sadness of not being enough, of his love not being enough. So he forces himself to hold it together, to push the pain down, and deliberately turns away to get angry—you’re not supposed to break your friend’s hearts—and he clings to that anger, unhealthily, perhaps, but it’s the most bearable emotion, far easier than holding onto his raw questions and endless what-ifs.

Without waiting for Caleb’s answer, Benedict fumbles in his wallet, pulls out two thousand-peso bills, and places them neatly on the table. He nods curtly at Caleb, a stiff, final gesture, before turning and jogging down the stairs to leave, the bass of the music still thumping against his eardrums, a painful reminder of the chaotic night.

-

BENEDICT BYUN
3:45AM
Home na.

ERIC NAM
3:47AM
Everything okay?

BENEDICT BYUN
3:47AM
I don’t know how to forgive.

ERIC NAM
3:49AM
Take more time.
Healing take time.

BENEDICT BYUN
3:50AM
Weh

ERIC NAM
3:50AM
Take it from the man who got left
at the altar and yet decided to love
a very angry but very cute lawyer shorty
after.

BENEDICT BYUN
3:51AM
Bakit ako?
You see how annoying I am.
You see how I can’t move on from things.

ERIC NAM
3:52AM
Bakit hindi?
You as you are is more than enough for me.

BENEDICT BYUN
3:53AM
I find that very hard to believe.

ERIC NAM
3:53AM
That’s okay. I have a lot of time to show you.

BENEDICT BYUN
3:54AM
What if I never become ready?
Kaya nga sinasabi ko sayo, wag mo akong intayin.

ERIC NAM
3:55AM
We’ll cross the bridge when we get there.

BENEDICT BYUN
3:56AM
What if nga andito na tayo sa bridge?
Di na talaga ako maka move on?
Stuck forever?

ERIC NAM
3:57AM
Ben, sleep na.

BENEDICT BYUN
3:58AM
Sagot muna.

ERIC NAM
3:59AM
Then I don’t really have a choice, no?
Because life goes on.
Whether you love me fully or not.
For now, sabi ko sayo mamahalin ko ikaw na
para saating dalawa di ba?
We may not be together again but I’ve made
my intentions clear. But if in the end, hindi
talaga. I won’t force you. I love you too much
to make you do things that you don’t want to do.
I know and I see how much you love/d Caleb. I
understand I won’t ever get on his level.
Pero hindi lang naman isang klase ang pagmamahal
sa mundo. At mas lalong hindi naman ako nag
mamadali. So let me just chill here and wait. Let
me love you while I can and then we’ll cross the bridge
when we get there.

 

°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:・

Benedict wakes up from a call from the security guard on his condo. There’s food left for him, he said. He asks if they can bring it over.

The spicy laksa soup—his hangover soup—is still hot when it arrives in his unit. Wrapped carefully in a round pyrex, he takes out the lid and smells the very familiar fragrance from Mama Park’s household. In the same paper bag, a small note says:

Tutoy told me you drank with him yesterday.
I cooked some laksa for you and him for hangover.
If only soup can heal wounds and open hearts, no?
I apologize for not teaching him how to show the right way to love people.
He loves you.
We love you.
- Mama P

Notes:

NOT PROOFREAD AS USUAL

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Chapter 4: All Too Well

Summary:

'Cause there we are again, when I loved you so.

Notes:

DIDNT PROOFREAD THIS! PLS READ WITH AN OPEN MIND???

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TWITTER: @__jonginnie (yes, two underscores)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

2012.


“I mean si Benedict for sure.” Caleb says, taking a slow sip from his Red Bull can, the metallic tang sharp on his tongue. He's slouched in his seat in his M102 class, letting his classmates openly leech off his homework, a casual offer he always extended. Someone had just asked who among his barkada he thought was the cutest. “Bakit? May type ka ba do’n? Ilalakad kita. Wag lang si Ben. Baby pa ‘yun eh.” A small, knowing smirk plays on his lips.

Caleb Chanyeol Park was Block 1’s representative for numerous reasons—he was charming, effortlessly a people-person, but most of all, a genuinely great salesman. Take, for example, the sheer number of times he’d casually ‘sold’ his college barkada to his classmates in any of his Gen Ed subjects.

Not only was he smart enough that people flocked to him for group projects, but he was also incredibly skilled at presenting his friends as potential boyfriends and girlfriends, a natural matchmaker. I should be a writer, he thinks to himself, a fleeting, almost prophetic thought.

“Si Jongin na lang,” his classmates chime in, a chorus of agreement. “Or si Sehun.”

“Si Sehun na lang.” Caleb reaches into his bag, his fingers rummaging until they find the crinkly bag of Nova chips. He pulls it open with a soft tear, the scent of corn and cheese wafting out. “Lagot tayo kay Kyungsoo eh.” He chuckles, already picturing Kyungsoo’s formidable glare.

 

°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:・

  1.  

Caleb is sprawled out, completely relaxed, his head resting on Benedict’s lap when Kyungsoo spots them across the crowded food court. They were supposed to be brainstorming ideas for a short film, but Caleb was two hours late, so their friends had decided to eat lunch elsewhere, leaving Benedict and Caleb alone.

“Anong petsa na, Caleb Park.” Kyungsoo strides over, a slight frown on his face. He flicks Caleb’s forehead with a sharp, practiced motion that makes Caleb wince, before pulling out a chair and sitting down across from them. “Buti na lang may baon ‘tong si Ben. Kumain ka na ba?”

“Kinain yung baon ko, syempre.” Benedict chuckles, a soft, warm sound escaping him. His fingers are already running, almost unconsciously, through Caleb’s soft hair, a comforting rhythm. “Patay ka kay Jun. Kanina pa napipikon ‘yon kakaintay sayo. Bakit ka ba late?”

“Na-stranded kasi si Nana sa UST. Sinundo ko pa.” Caleb mumbles, his eyes still closed, clearly not wanting to move.

Benedict’s fingers, which had been gently combing through Caleb’s hair, stop. Caleb groans, a low, unhappy sound, and reaches up. He takes Benedict’s hand, guiding it firmly back to the top of his head.

“Kamot.” He demands, his voice muffled against Benedict’s thigh, a small, childlike plea.

Caleb ends up falling back asleep, a deep, contented sigh escaping him. He wakes later to an earful from Junmyeon, but it’s not about him being late. It’s for eating Benedict’s packed lunch.

 

°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:・

 

2014.

“Ilang beses ko bang sasabihin sa’yo na kumain ka on time?” Caleb is already thirty minutes deep into his lecture—or "homily," as Sehun always called it—delivered to a thoroughly confined Benedict. His voice is firm, unwavering. “Tsaka ‘di ba sinabi ko naman sa’yo, if mag-OT ka sa OJT mo, pwede ka tumawag sa’kin? Same lang tayo ng stree—”

“Caleb, tama n—” Benedict tries to interject, a low groan escaping him.

“Hindi pa ako tapos.” Caleb cuts him off, his voice uncharacteristically serious. A very serious Caleb comes once in a blue moon. Even their oldest friend, Minseok, knows better than to cross him then. Especially not when the baby of the barkada, also known as his best friend, has just fainted from dehydration in a very public place like the LRT. “Hindi ka ba kumakain? ‘Pag tinanong ko si Manang Annie tapos ‘di ka na kumakain, nako ka talaga.” His eyes narrow, a genuine concern etched onto his face.

“Kumain na tayo. Tama na—” Junmyeon tries to butt in, stepping forward, but he stops abruptly when Caleb sends a sharp, unyielding glare his way. Junmyeon visibly shrinks back. “Okay, go.”

“Kayo naman, bakit hindi kayo tumawag kaagad?” Caleb turns his heated gaze to the rest of the friends crammed into the small hospital room. “Kay tita ko pa malalaman na puntahan si Benedict dito.” His voice is thick with frustration.

“Ako nga kasi nagsabi na ‘wag na.” Benedict groans, a sound of pure exasperation, as he slouches further down on his hospital bed, pulling the blanket up to his chin. Honestly, Caleb’s incessant lecturing was making his headache worse, a dull throb behind his eyes intensifying with every word. “Didn’t you say na anniversary niyo ni—”

“Tanginang ‘yan.” Caleb groans, a deep sound of frustration, raking a hand through his hair, messing up the neat strands. “Walang kahit anong excuse. ‘Pag hindi ka okay, alam mo naman na isang tawag mo lang, pupuntahan kita eh. Alam mo namang pipiliin ka naming lahat dito tapos—” His voice cracks slightly, betraying the depth of his worry.

“Eh kasi, alam ko naman na importante—” Benedict tries to explain, a faint blush creeping up his neck.

“Assume ka nang assume. Sa susunod, magtanong ka.” Caleb’s voice is sharp, almost accusatory, his index finger briefly pointing at Benedict.

Caleb pulls the small side table closer to Benedict’s bed. He carefully places a bowl of steaming hot soup and a fresh bottle of water directly in front of him. Benedict wants to protest, just for the sheer stubbornness of it, to argue for argument’s sake. But then he catches sight of Caleb’s eyes—red-rimmed, glistening with unshed tears, a raw vulnerability that hits Benedict right in the gut. The defiance drains out of him. He slowly, reluctantly, gets up, adjusting himself into a more upright position, and picks up the spoon, beginning to eat his soup, the warm broth a comforting sensation. All of his friends end up sleeping in his small hospital room, some on chairs pulled together, others on the floor. Except for Caleb.

Caleb was up and about, a restless presence, constantly moving, ready for whatever Benedict might need at a moment’s notice.

“Sorry for worrying you.” Benedict finally says, his voice a low mumble, his back turned towards Caleb. He's peeing at 3 in the morning, the faint, sterile scent of antiseptic in the small hospital washroom. His IV pole, with the clear bag of dextrose, stands silently next to him, a constant reminder of his earlier collapse. Caleb is leaning against the washroom’s door frame, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on Benedict’s back. When he finishes, Benedict washes his hands thoroughly under the lukewarm water and then heads out of the washroom, avoiding Caleb’s eyes.

Caleb pushes off the door frame, his body uncoiling. He closes the distance in two quick strides, putting his arm around Benedict’s shoulders, a warm, comforting weight. He pulls Benedict gently closer, then leans down and kisses the top of his head, a soft, lingering touch.

“Don’t do that again, okay?” Caleb’s voice is quiet, a desperate plea, his chin resting lightly on Benedict’s hair.

 

°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:・

 

  1.  

 

“I didn’t forget about your birthday.” That’s the first thing Caleb says, his voice a little hoarse, as he finally steps into Benedict’s condo, three agonizing hours late to their small, intimate party. He runs a hand through his already disheveled hair, avoiding Benedict’s gaze. “Nag-away lang kami and shit. Sorry.”

Benedict doesn’t say anything. He just points, a silent, almost stiff gesture, towards a plate laden with some leftover pasta and chicken, still waiting on the counter. His expression is unreadable, a carefully constructed mask.

Later that night, long after the last of the other guests had trickled out, Caleb finds himself joining Jongin, who is methodically cleaning the plates, a self-appointed birthday gift to Benedict. The clinking of ceramic and the gentle splash of water fill the comfortable silence of the kitchen.

“We know you’re in love with Nana and all.” Jongin starts, his voice low and even, as he hands Caleb a newly rinsed plate, still glistening with water. “But it’s Bennie’s birthday. The last one na magkakasama siguro tayo. Next year, who knows where we’ll all be?” Jongin’s eyes meet Caleb’s, a soft earnestness in their depths.

“Kasi—” Caleb begins, his jaw tightening, ready with an explanation, a defense.

“Save it, Caleb.” Jongin cuts him off gently, a small, knowing chuckle escaping him. He reaches out and squeezes Caleb’s arm briefly. “It’s just a reminder. Last year na natin ‘to as students and as free people na puwede uminom anytime of the day. Puwede mo namang isama si Nana eh. But stop breaking our hearts, will you? Lalo na ni Bennie.” He gives Caleb a pointed look, his meaning clear.

 

°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:・

 

  1.  

 

Caleb wakes abruptly, startled by someone aggressively banging on his apartment door. He squeezes his eyes shut, praying for the noise to stop, to just fade away, but it doesn’t. It only gets louder, more insistent, rattling the doorframe. Just then, he hears the unmistakable sound of his door swinging open, followed by furious, heavy footsteps storming into his apartment. He tries his best to sit up quickly in his bed, his heart hammering against his ribs, just in case the guy has a gun to his head.

“Totoo ba yung nakita ni Jongdae sa CCTV?” It’s Yixing, standing tall in his full work outfit—a crisp, complete suit and an expensive, adult-looking suitcase clutched in his hand—fuming, glaring angrily at a very sleepy and utterly hungover Caleb. His face is already turning a dangerous shade of red. “Tanginang ‘yan. ‘Di ba kinausap ka na ni Jun?”

“Ano bang sinasabi mo?” Caleb mutters, his voice raspy with sleep and gin, trying to rub the exhaustion from his eyes. He can feel his heart begin to beat fast, a frantic drum in his chest, and the adrenaline, unwelcome and sharp, is already reaching his head, clearing away the last vestiges of sleep. Yixing was one of the few people in his life whom he had genuinely never seen angry, never truly enraged. But by the looks of the man literally turning crimson in front of him, Caleb thinks that it’s true—there’s a first time for everything. “Did you ask Benedict? Hinatid ko lang naman siya kahapon.” He tries to sound calm, innocent.

“Putang-inang ‘yan. ‘Wag mo ‘kong gagawing tanga, Caleb. Sinasabi ko sa’yo.” Yixing warns, his voice low and dangerous, a vein throbbing in his neck. He takes a step closer, his eyes narrowed to slits. “Alam ko sabi ko sa’yo last week na maghanap ka ng iba to get over Nana but tangina, ‘wag naman si Benedict. Alam mo naman fragile ‘yung batang—” He gestures vaguely with his free hand, frustration bubbling over.

“Eh hindi naman na bata si Ben.” Caleb retorts, pushing himself up to a full sitting position, pulling the covers higher around his waist. He feels a surprising burst of defensiveness. “Kung tutuusin mas matanda pa siya kina Jongin at Sehun.”

“But he’s our ba—” Yixing starts, ready to argue, his voice rising.

“But he’s a grown man, Xing.” Caleb sighs, running a hand over his face. The words feel heavy, true. “And I’m not using him. We both agreed to no strings attached. What’s so wrong with it?” He looks at Yixing, genuinely confused, genuinely wanting to understand the depth of his friend’s fury.

Yixing, unsure of how to react to this sudden, unexpected information, simply bends down. He picks up a crumpled shirt from the floor, his movements sharp with controlled anger, and throws it directly at Caleb’s face.

“Everything.” The single word hangs in the air, heavy and final, before Yixing turns on his heel and storms out of the room, leaving the door to swing open behind him.

 

°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:・

 

  1.  

 

“Are you guys dating?” Jongdae asks, his voice soft, almost casual, as he places a Starbucks cup on the table in front of Caleb. The familiar scent of coffee fills the air. Both of them are waiting for Benedict to finish his class, tucked away in a quiet corner of the campus café. “You’ve been at it for a year. Honestly, akala namin, tapos na kayo ng six months. But you even went to Palawan with his family. So?” Jongdae leans back in his chair, his eyes fixed on Caleb, expectant.

“I went to Hong Kong with your family,” Caleb counters immediately, his voice flat, a slight defensive edge to it. He picks up his cup, the warmth seeping into his fingers. “’Wag mong lagyan ng malisya.”

“All of you went to Hong Kong with my family.” Jongdae corrects him, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips.

“Same thing.” Caleb shrugs, a dismissive gesture, though his shoulders are tight. He takes a long sip of his coffee. “We’re friends.”

“But you like him.” Jongdae’s voice is firm, a statement rather than a question.

Caleb is silent for a moment, the bustling sounds of the café filling the space between them. He thinks, truly thinks, about it. Then, he shrugs again, a tiny, almost imperceptible movement. “Maybe.”

“Are you gonna officially ask him out?” Jongdae presses, his eyebrows raised.

“Do I have to? Nafe-feel ko naman na nasa same page kami.” Caleb’s gaze drifts towards the door, as if he can somehow see Benedict through the wall. “Plus, with law school, he needs all the time that he needs. ‘Di ko naman siya minamadali and I could use some more time to get used to seeing Benedict in a new light.” He runs a hand through his hair, a nervous habit.

“Excuses.” Jongdae’s voice is dry, laced with disbelief.

“Dae, ‘wag kang mag-alala.” Caleb finally looks at Jongdae, a wry smile forming. “Hindi kami katulad niyo ni Sehun na duwag.” He eyes his friend playfully, a challenge in his gaze.

 

°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:・

2018


“Do you even love me as more than a friend or is it just my company that you’re after?” Benedict asks, his voice small, barely a whisper, as he picks listlessly at the steak on his plate. Today had been an exceptionally bad day for him. He couldn’t answer two of his recitations, the words jumbling in his head, and he had a ton of required readings, a mountain of books, that he absolutely had to get through tonight. He’d called Caleb, tears already streaming down his face, and Caleb had immediately picked him up from his internship, driving them directly to Caleb’s condo for some impromptu dinner.

Benedict’s eyes are swollen, red-rimmed, and his bottom lip can’t help but jut out slightly, trembling. He looks like he’s about to burst into tears at any moment, the fragile edge of his composure about to break. Caleb doesn’t really know what to do, his usual easy confidence faltering. All he can offer is Benedict’s favorite comfort foods, laid out carefully on the table. From time to time, Benedict would come home to him like this—sad, stressed, and bordering on depressed. Law school sometimes took a brutal toll on his body and mind, whether he admitted it or not.

“Masaya naman tayo, ‘di ba?” Caleb answers, his voice soft, as he carefully slices a piece of his own steak and places it onto Benedict’s plate. His movements are slow, deliberate. “I like having you around. But babe, you shouldn’t think about this for now. May finals ka ‘di ba? Tas iiyak nanaman ang baby kapag napuyat.” He tries to lighten the mood, a forced cheerfulness in his tone.

Caleb manages a small, strained laugh.

Benedict doesn’t. 

 

°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:・

  1.  


“Not everything is based on face value.” Caleb’s dad says, his voice low and gravelly. He pours his only son a generous amount of amber liquid into a glass before pouring some for himself, the clink of glass against bottle echoing in the quiet study. “’Wag kang gumaya sa’kin. I never read between the lines. I just did what your mom told me to.” He takes a slow sip of his whisky, his gaze distant.

Why? The question hangs unsaid in Caleb’s mind, a silent echo.

“Because I wanted her to be happy.” His dad replies, as if reading his thoughts, his voice a little softer.

And doing what she told you to didn’t make her happy? The unspoken question floats between them, heavy with years of unspoken history.

“A relationship is also about hearing things that the other person isn’t saying.” His dad takes another sip from his glass, then points to the ice bucket by Caleb’s side with a knowing look. “We can’t always take things by face value kasi lahat naman tayo napapagod. Kaya lang, late ko na na-realize ‘yon. Your mom needed a partner but what she had was an adult son in the form of me.” His voice is tinged with a familiar regret.

It’s been years. Do you and mom talk about it? Caleb wonders, his eyes fixed on the condensation on his own glass.

“I apologized to her siguro shortly after I met your Tita Kylie.” His dad’s gaze is steady now, direct. “I told her that I finally learned how to listen. Not just to hear things but to listen.” He emphasizes the last word, a quiet weight behind it.

I’m sure she found it funny. Caleb thinks, a small, wry smile touching his lips.

“She did but she also apologized for always trying to look for the things I couldn’t give.” Caleb’s dad looks exactly like an older version of him. Big, expressive eyes, the same precise placement of the dimple on his left cheek, the same casually side-swept hair. They even hold the same stance as they drink their whisky—legs casually crossed, arms resting to the side, and a strikingly similar longing etched on their faces as they stare into their glasses.

The only difference was that his dad, now, knew exactly what Benedict was looking for. But Caleb, for all his writing prowess, still didn't.

“He said he needed some time to grow, huh?” His dad chuckles softly, a dry sound that holds no real humor. He leans back in his armchair, studying Caleb. “And what do you think about that?”

“Na wrong timing kami.” Caleb responds immediately, the words automatic, a truth he’d repeated to himself countless times.

“Really?” His dad raises an eyebrow, a clear challenge in his tone.

“I wanted him to be happy.” Caleb sighs, running a hand over his face. “In my head, I just did what I think would be best for him—he needed space, I gave him space. I just didn’t think he would go so far where I couldn’t reach him.” His voice trails off, a quiet sadness settling over him.

“Or baka naman kasi gusto niyang ma-affirm?” His dad suggests, his voice gentle but firm, cutting through Caleb’s self-pity.

“Ayaw ni Benedict ng cheesy stuff, dad.” Caleb protests, shaking his head. He vividly remembers Benedict’s visible discomfort with overly saccharine gestures.

“Then why would he even ask kung ano kayo kung ayaw niyang marinig na mahal mo siya?” His dad presses, his voice unyielding, pinpointing the core of the issue.

“Well, he’s pretty straightforward.” Caleb explains, trying desperately to rationalize the version of Benedict he holds in his head, the one that fits his narrative. “If he needs something, sasabihin niya. Kaya nga nag-abogado ‘yun. Gusto nun isang tanong at isang sagot. Alam niyang mahal ko siya kasi kung hindi, he would’ve asked.” He gestures vaguely with his hand, trying to articulate his logic.

“Anak, you thought that asking ano ba tayo was just as is.” His dad’s voice is soft, but filled with a profound weariness.

“We weren’t ever official, dad. So, I have a hunch.” Caleb defends, though the conviction in his voice wavers.

There’s a thick, questionable silence that wraps both the senior and junior Parks. The former can’t believe that out of all the traits his son could inherit from him, it had to be his infuriating inability to read between the lines; to look further; to look within—which was incredibly ironic, considering Caleb had turned out to be a great writer. He wonders, truly wonders, how someone so imaginative, so adept at crafting stories, could end up taking his actual, real-life relationships at such face value.

“And maybe I didn’t make him feel like I loved him enough.” Caleb cracks the suffocating silence, his thoughts spilling out, desperate to pinpoint where he could have possibly gone wrong. He ticks off a mental list: picking him up from law school, taking him out on dates, making sure he’s eating and sleeping properly, taking him to Sunday mass, bringing him to family dinners, and every other seemingly thoughtful thing he’d tried to do that he hadn’t in his past relationships—where, in all that effort, could he have possibly gone wrong?

“I told my ex I love her every day and look where it got me.” He adds, bitterness creeping into his voice. “Did I miss anything by showing him instead of saying it all the fucking time? Wouldn’t it lose its value if I said it 24/7?” He gestures wildly with his hands, exasperated.

“Pero paano kung ‘yun ‘yung gustong marinig ni Benedict?” His dad counters, his voice calm, cutting through Caleb’s frustration.

Caleb shakes his head, a firm, immediate denial. His Benedict wasn’t someone who beat around the bush. That, he knew for sure, with absolute certainty.

There’s a specific version of Benedict that exists solely in Caleb’s head, one that fits his entire ideal. He was someone who Caleb didn’t have to explain things to because he just knew, instinctively. And Caleb had always liked to think that it went both ways, that Benedict understood him just as deeply. He showed his love through acts of service, through quiet gestures.

His dad thinks, sometimes, that Caleb completely forgets the entire world isn’t exactly like him.

 

°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:・

2020.


“Just back off, Benedict, man.” Yixing laughs, taking a hearty bite of his mashed potatoes, a smear of butter on his lip. The group is gathered at a casual dinner, the clatter of forks against plates filling the air. “Ang awkward niyo nung nag-break—”

“He ghosted me.” Caleb cuts in sharply, his voice flat, a sudden edge to it that makes the conversation halt.

“He didn’t ghost you.” Yixing counters immediately, pointing his fork directly at Caleb, a small dollop of potato still clinging to the tines.

“Is that what he said?” Caleb asks, his voice low, his eyes fixed on Yixing, searching for something.

Yixing purses his lips, a tight line, and shrugs. There’s a lot his friends don’t talk about around him, especially anything concerning Benedict. At first, Caleb felt a deep, raw sense of betrayal knowing, truly feeling, that his entire friendship circle's thoughts about him were nothing short of negative. No one had really asked him to explain his side.

No one had really asked him. Period.

“Bahala kayo.” Caleb brushes it off, a dismissive flick of his wrist, though a knot of resentment tightens in his stomach. He changes the subject abruptly. “So, kilala mo yung Eric?”

Yixing stops slicing his chicken mid-way, his fork hovering over his plate. He pauses, his gaze distant, as if calculating his next moves and words with precision.

“What about him?” Yixing asks, his voice carefully neutral.

“Na ex siya ni Benedict?” Caleb presses, his eyes narrowing slightly, trying to read Yixing's expression.

Another pause. The clinking of cutlery from other tables seems louder now.

“Yeah.” Yixing finally replies, his voice quiet, almost an exhale.

“Okay.” Caleb says, the single word hanging in the air, heavy and unmoving. He picks up his own fork, stirring his food around his plate without much interest.

 

°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:・

 

from: Mark Minhyung Lee <[email protected]>

to:  Caleb C. Park <[email protected]>

date: Sept. 7, 2020, 10:11AM

subject: PHOTO SHOOT DATE: OCTOBER BENEDICT BYUN

 

Hi, Sir Cal.

 

I checked in with Atty. Byun early today to ask when he’s available for a photo shoot. He gave the following dates for your perusal:

 

  • September 9, 2020, 9AM
  • September 12, 2020, 3PM
  • September 17, 2020, 9AM

 

He also clarified that he’d probably only have two hours from the starting times he suggested. Please let me know so I can get back to him within the day. 

Thank you.

 

Regards,
Mark

 

°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:・

 

from: Caleb C. Park <[email protected]>

to:  Mark Minhyung Lee <[email protected]>

date: Sept. 7, 2020, 12:30PM

subject: PHOTO SHOOT DATE: OCTOBER BENEDICT BYUN

 

I’m available on all 3 dates. Have Jinyoung do the shoot. Keep me posted.

 

Thanks

Caleb

 

°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:・

from: Mark Minhyung Lee <[email protected]>

to:  Caleb C. Park <[email protected]>
cc:  Jinyoung Park <[email protected]>

date: Sept. 7, 2020, 1:05PM

subject: PHOTO SHOOT DATE: OCTOBER BENEDICT BYUN

 

Hi, Sir Caleb.

 

Sir Jinyoung is suggesting we have them on September 9. However, he’s available only after 12. I checked in with Atty. Byun and he said he’s unavailable in the afternoon. Sir Jinyoung will also be out of town in the other two dates.

 

Please advise.

 

Thank you.

 

Regards,
Mark

 

°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:・

from: Caleb C. Park <[email protected]>

to:  Mark Minhyung Lee <[email protected]>
cc:  Jinyoung Park <[email protected]>

date: Sept. 7, 2020, 1:15PM

subject: PHOTO SHOOT DATE: OCTOBER BENEDICT BYUN

 

Jinyoung,

 

Free up your 9AM.

 

Mark,

 

Schedule September 9, 2020 at 9AM with Atty. Byun. Also confirm if he needs a car, food restrictions, etc. Loop me in all Atty. Byun-related emails.

 

Thanks,

Caleb

 

°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:・

from: Jinyoung Park <[email protected]>

to:  Mark Minhyung Lee [email protected]; Caleb C. Park <[email protected]>

date: Sept. 7, 2020, 1:35PM

subject: PHOTO SHOOT DATE: OCTOBER BENEDICT BYUN

 

I have another shoot in the morning.

 

Jinyoung

 

°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:・

from: Caleb C. Park <[email protected]>

to:  Mark Minhyung Lee <[email protected]>
cc:  Jinyoung Park <[email protected]>

date: Sept. 7, 2020, 1:35PM

subject: PHOTO SHOOT DATE: OCTOBER BENEDICT BYUN

 

Jinyoung,

 

Remember Anilao circa 2018?

 

Caleb

 

°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:・

from: Jinyoung Park <[email protected]>

to:  Mark Minhyung Lee [email protected]; Caleb C. Park <[email protected]>

date: Sept. 7, 2020, 1:48PM

subject: PHOTO SHOOT DATE: OCTOBER BENEDICT BYUN

 

See you on September 9, 2020. 9AM.

 

Jinyoung

 

°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:・

from: Mark Minhyung Lee <[email protected]>

to:  Benedict Baekhyun Byun <[email protected]>
cc:  Jinyoung Park [email protected]; Caleb C. Park <[email protected]>

date: Sept. 7, 2020, 3:00PM

subject: FINAL SHOOT DATE: BB_BYUN

 

Good day, Atty. Byun!             

 

As discussed on the phone a while ago, we’re excited to have you in the office on the 9th of September 2020, 9:00AM for your photo shoot with Wallows.

 

I looped in our EIC, Mr. Caleb Park, and our head photographer, Mr. Jinyoung Park.

 

I’d also like to ask if I can get in touch with your assistant for updates, etc. for September 9th?

 

Thanks, again!

 

Regards,
Mark

 

°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:・

from: Benedict Baekhyun Byun <[email protected]

to: Mark Minhyung Lee <[email protected]>

cc:  Jinyoung Park [email protected]; Caleb C. Park <[email protected]>

date: Sept. 7, 2020, 3:10PM

subject: FINAL SHOOT DATE: BB_BYUN

 

Hi, Mark.

 

It was nice speaking on the phone with you. Noted on everything. I also don’t have an assistant… haha. Let me know if there’s anything I need to bring or anything I else I need help with (EVEN WORK-RELATED. IF YOUR BOSS IS HORRIBLE.)

 

You can get in touch with Caleb if you need to know anything urgent. I’ll be out of town today and I might be a little hard to reach due to the signal.

 

Thanks as well!

 

Caleb,

 

Take it easy on Mark. Let me know if you need anything.

 

Best,

Benedict

 

 

°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:・

Every story has a beginning, a middle, and an end. For a lot of people, it happens in order. For Caleb, it happened in reverse. Everything ended before he even went back to the middle part—friends. The beginning? He doesn’t even know where the hell to start.

So he finds himself, on a humid Saturday afternoon, outside Benedict’s childhood home. He’s holding a bottle of Emperador Brandy, the familiar label gleaming, meant for his Tito, and a fresh bouquet of flowers, vibrant and fragrant, for his Tita. He remembers the countless times he’d barged into this very house unannounced, as a boisterous college student, and even as Benedict’s friend, before Benedict became this hot-shot lawyer. He remembers stolen, meaningful looks shared across crowded rooms, and secret kisses pressed quickly behind closed doors. He also remembers the suffocating awkward silences and the weird, forced facades they'd put on in front of Benedict’s parents, trying to appear "just friends."

It seems that this house, with its faded paint and overgrown garden, witnessed the end and the middle of their complicated story—all the good parts, all the bad parts. And now he’s here again, standing on the familiar porch, somehow re-opening chapters, trying to force his way back to the very first page. He can almost perfectly predict how this chapter will unfold: he’ll surprise them, and his Tito will jump up from his chair, a booming laugh escaping him, to eagerly receive his gift. He’ll open it immediately and, without a second thought, hand Caleb a glass for himself. His Tita will smother him with kisses all over his face, a warm, soft embrace, and then she’ll hurriedly run to the kitchen, fussing over arranging the flowers in a vase. If Benedict’s older brother is here, he’ll ruffle Caleb’s hair, a familiar, playful gesture, and ask him, kailan tayo mag-bowling? And then, shortly after, his two kids—Benedict’s energetic nephew and sweet niece—will cling to Caleb’s legs, their small hands gripping his pants, begging him to play with them.

He checks himself out one last time in the rearview mirror of his car, adjusting his shirt, before taking a deep breath and heading in.

It was as if the entire universe had meticulously adjusted itself, conspiring against him. Because, in true Caleb fashion—late, quietly painful, and utterly unpredictable—he sees a happy Byun family already gathered, their laughter echoing through the house, with a new visitor comfortably taking his usual spot at the dining table. It’s Eric, sitting squarely to Benedict’s North East, right next to him.

“Nasa area lang po ako.” He explains, the lie tasting like ash in his mouth, as if a city boy like him has any real business in this rural side of the world, away from the concrete jungle. His voice feels strangely tight in his throat. “Aalis na rin po ako. Medyo masama po kasi yung pakiramdam ko. Napadaan lang po talaga. Ito po, gift. Sige po. Una na po ako, tito, tita, kuya, Ben, and—” His gaze flickers to Eric, then quickly away.

But before he can make his swift escape, he finds himself, impossibly, squeezing between Eric and Benedict at the humble dining table, a plate being filled generously with tonight’s dinner, piled high with food. Everything feels intensely familiar—the scent of his Tita’s cooking, the hum of conversation, the warmth of the room—but he’s quite sure that everything, down to the very air he breathes, is subtly, painfully different.

He can see it. He can see it in the way that Benedict’s energetic nephew is now comfortably sitting on top of Eric’s lap, excitedly talking about some random toy he saw in a video online, his small hands gesturing wildly. In the way that Benedict’s mom, with an easy, practiced movement, took out the special visitor’s silverware, the ornate set, specifically for Eric, not for him. In the way Benedict is pouring water for himself, then effortlessly, instinctively, for his ‘friend’ Eric, before finally, almost as an afterthought, handing the pitcher to Caleb. In the way that Benedict’s dad, with a flourish, opens the fancy bottle of wine, a special vintage from his “paboritong abogado bukod kay Ben”—meaning Eric—before even touching the Emperador Light, the one Caleb brought for him.

But Caleb was still there, physically present, in the exact same chair he’d always occupied at this table, just in a slightly different location, a few inches shifted. He’s watching Benedict’s new life, vibrant and seemingly complete, pass by his very own eyes, a silent, helpless observer.

“See you on the 9th pala.” Benedict casually tells him later, his voice even, as they both load the plates into the sink, the rhythmic scraping of ceramic against metal filling the small kitchen. The helper’s just taking a washroom break, and both of Benedict’s parents are out on the porch with their grandkids, older son, and Eric, their laughter drifting in. “Also, naalala ko naglinis kasi akong kwarto kanina and I saw your jersey and some other shirts. You wanna check them out?”

Check out the last pieces of things that hold them together as the old Caleb and Benedict? The tangible remnants of what they used to be? He fakes a small, strained chuckle, the sound brittle, and shakes his head, a decisive, almost violent movement.

“Sayo na ‘yun. Memories.” He forces the words out, trying to make them sound breezy, detached.

Benedict half nods, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. He had been hoping Caleb would take them. After all, he’d actually wanted to send back all the things Caleb had left, all the items he’d claimed were his years ago. Plus, honestly, they were just additional clutter in his already overflowing room. Just then, Benedict remembers something. He smoothly slides a small, rectangular photo, a polaroid, from the back pocket of his jeans, where he’d slipped it before dinner. He had wanted to bring it to his photo shoot later in the week, intending to give it back to Caleb then.

“Oh, ito na lang. Saw this in my corkboard. Ayaw na nga pakawalan eh.” He fishes the Polaroid from his back pocket and hands it to Caleb, his fingers brushing briefly.

There’s a messy scribble—read: very ugly handwriting—underneath the polaroid, dating back to 2012, when they were just a year into being a barkada. The Instax camera was a brand-new thing then, a trendy gadget. Junmyeon had brought it to college week, bragging about it the entire time. To prove to a very unamused Caleb that it was indeed the greatest camera of all time, he had snapped this photo: a very busy Benedict and a grinning Caleb—in the middle of the crowded hallway of Arts and Sciences, both clad in simple white shirts, all while sporting playful peace signs. Benedict, looking at the photo now, doesn’t look like he has aged one bit.

The huge, lens-less Ray-Ban glasses Caleb was wearing in the photo were Benedict’s, and Caleb still has them, tucked away in the bottom drawer of his office. The jacket though, the one Benedict is wearing, a light denim, he wonders if Benedict kept that.

“Nasa box din ‘yung jacket na ‘yan. Last offer before we go out, ayaw mo talaga?” Benedict says, his voice softer now, almost coaxing. He gestures towards the hall leading to his room.

Caleb’s eyes are still fixed on the Polaroid, tracing the messy scribble. Man, the things he wanted to tell 2012-Caleb, to warn him, to prepare him. He feels a slight pang in his chest, a sharp, familiar ache at the flood of memories the photo brings, and at the sight of the man in front of him, still waiting patiently for an answer.

“We were happy, weren’t we?” He asks, more to himself than to Benedict, his voice almost at a whisper, thick with unspoken longing. “Sabi ko mag-autograph ako in case sumikat ako but look where we are now. You’re the hottest bachelor in the country.” He forces a small, bitter smile.

The faded handwriting on the bottom of the polaroid reads: Thanks for always waiting, Bennie! Merry Christmas! Love you! – Caleb.

“Naalala mo pa ‘yun?” Benedict chuckles, a soft, melancholic sound.

“Yeah.” Caleb replies, the single word heavy with shared history.

They spend a few more seconds in silence, the faint sounds of laughter from the porch drifting into the kitchen. Then, Caleb feels a warm, familiar hand gently settle on top of his head, a light ruffle of his hair. He looks down to see Benedict looking at him—he knows, of course he does—with the same nostalgic smile and the same sad, understanding eyes.

“Mauna na ‘ko ha? Sunod ka na lang. Bring a pitcher.” Benedict says, his hand lingering for a moment before he turns and walks out of the kitchen, back towards the lively porch.

Caleb slips the small photo into his polo shirt’s front pocket, the corner of the cardstock rough against his skin. He then heads to the fridge to take out a pitcher, his fingers fumbling with the cold handle, but he drops it, the plastic clattering loudly on the tiled floor as he bends to the level of the fridge. Just then, the helper, Ate Beng, comes into the kitchen, having finished her washroom break. She quickly bends down and picks up the pitcher for him.

“Bata pa kayo dito ah!” She gushes, her eyes twinkling as she spots the polaroid half-peeking from his pocket. She pulls it out gently. “Alam mo ‘nak, akala ko talaga kayo ni Bunsoy. Pero bigla na lang nagpakilala nung si Eric. Naku, sayang. Tingnan mo oh, bagay na bagay kayo ni bunsoy. O, itago mo.” She slips it into the front pocket of his jeans this time, pushing it deep. “Ingatan mo. Mga alaala na lang ang hindi nagbabago para parati ka rin may babalik-balikan.” Her voice is gentle, laced with a wistful wisdom.

“Salamat, Ate Beng.” He smiles, a genuine, albeit pained, smile, patting his pocket over the photo as he stands up straight. He’s about to walk out, a familiar urge to escape, but he pauses, a question bubbling up. “Ate, matagal ba niyang naging boyfriend si Eric?”

“Mga isang taon yata.” She muses, a thoughtful hum. “Tapos nanliligaw yata ulit ngayon pero pakipot kasi ‘yang si bunsoy. Baka puwede mo pa unahan.” She laughs, a hearty sound, winking even, a playful nudge.

“Ate Beng naman.” Caleb shakes his head, a soft sigh escaping him. “Dun tayo sa kung saan masaya si Bennie.”

“Masaya.” She repeats the word slowly, her hands expertly tying the apron around her waist. “Tagal ko nang ‘di nakikitang tumatawa ‘yan si bunsoy simula nung naka-graduate ‘yan sa pag-aabogasya. Minsan parang mas okay na lang nung bata-bata pa kayo tapos lasing lang kayo umuuwi tas mag-e-exam pa.” Her eyes soften with distant memories.

Oo nga, Ate Beng. Sana nga. Kaso hindi swak eh. Nagkamali po kami. Nagkamali po ako. The silent thoughts echo in Caleb’s mind, a painful admission.

“Oo nga po eh. Tanda ko po ‘yun. Siyam kami dito sa sala na nakahiga at nagsusuka.” He says instead, a wry, shared memory.

Ate Beng outright cackles, a loud, uninhibited sound that fills the kitchen.

“Bigla akong nagka-siyam na anak.” She shakes her head, still chuckling, remembering even the tiniest, grossest details of each boy puking in the Byun living room. “Minsan naandito din ‘yung mga ‘yun kahit wala si Bunsoy. Nakikilunch lang.”

Caleb nods, a tight knot forming in his throat. He has so many things he wants to ask, so many questions swirling, but he doesn’t find the voice to help him. He offers a quiet goodbye, turning to leave, but Ate Beng calls him back, her voice now serious, devoid of humor.

“Leb.” She wipes her hands on the side of her apron, her gaze suddenly piercing. “Mahal ka nun ni bunsoy. Hindi ko lang alam kung anong nangyari sa inyo at nagbago pero sigurado ako, mahal ka nun.” Her voice is gentle, but firm, unwavering.

“Kaya lang ate—” Caleb starts, his voice catching, a desperate need to explain.

“Oo naman, alam ko naman.” She smiles, a small, sad curve of her lips. “May mga bagay talagang hindi para sa atin. Huwag kang mag-alala, inaalagaan siyang maigi nung si Eric. Mabait na bata. Maalaga.” There’s a quiet certainty in her tone.

“Mabuti naman po.” Caleb manages, the words feeling hollow.

“Kaya lang hindi siya si Caleb.” There’s a sad smile that mirrors his own, appearing on Ate Beng’s face. “Pero siguro ganu’n nga talaga. May mga taong pinagtatagpo lang para magsilbing aral lang. ‘Leb, ‘wag mo mamasamain ha? Love mo naman si Ate Beng. Matagal na kitang bunso rin.” Her hand reaches out, a soft, comforting pat on his arm.

“Oo naman, ate.” Caleb replies, his voice thick with emotion.

“Be happy na rin, utoy.” She says, her voice soft, almost a blessing. The pang in his chest from a while ago now engulfs his entire abdomen, a deep, aching void. He feels a strange warmth, mixed with a profound sadness and utter heartbreak. There’s no pity in Ate Beng’s eyes, just an unexplainable loneliness, a shared understanding for him. “Puwede ka na mag-move on. May mag-aalaga na kay Bunsoy.”

It’s the first time in years that somebody has told Caleb anything about Benedict, straight up, without hesitation. A lot of anything Benedict-related was always beaten around the bush, always hidden in between lines, always in words that meant one thing to him and an entirely different thing to someone else. On one hand, he thinks people are doing it to not hurt him (or so he thinks), to shield him. But sometimes he knows, with a crushing certainty, that the entire world has moved on from whoever he was in Benedict’s life, and they weren’t going to come back, no matter how long and hard he pretends that everything is, and will always be, the same.

“Okay, Ate Beng.” He says, the single word an exhale. “Okay.”

Notes:

DIDNT PROOFREAD THIS! PLS READ WITH AN OPEN MIND???

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Chapter 5: Out Of The Woods

Summary:

Benedict wondered when they could get out of the woods. He didn't know it would be in their college tambayan, on a weekday, way past their bed-time.

Notes:

This made a lot of sense to me. I hope it's the same for you as well.

Slightly proofread. SLIGHTLY.

Let me know what you think through comments and/or DMs and/or tweets (@__jonginnie, yes TWO underscores)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Chapter 5: Out of the Woods


from:     Caleb C. Park [email protected]
to: Mark Minhyung Lee <[email protected]>; Jinyoung Park <[email protected]>
date: Sept. 9, 2020, 3:45AM
subject: URGENT

Mark,

I’ll be taking the week off. Take the lead in Atty. Byun’s photo-shoot. Oversee the shoot and give him everything he needs.

If you can get sitners worth at least 4 plugs for promos, that would be great. If he allows a short on-cam spiel, even better. However, don’t force it. Just get clips behind the scenes.

Text me if you need anything (If you REALLY need anything).

Jinyoung,

Ikaw na bahala. Call me if anything comes up.

 

Thanks,
Caleb

 

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・

 

from:     Mark Minhyung Lee [email protected]
to: Caleb C. Park <[email protected]>; Jinyoung Park [email protected]
date: Sept. 9, 2020, 6:30AM
subject: URGENT

Hi, Sir Caleb.

I’ll keep you posted.

Noted on the week-long leave. Will update HR.

Thank you.

 

Regards,
Mark

 

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・

 

The glaring lights and the constant flash of the camera are a little too overbearing for Benedict. Even the heavy, brown wool trench coat the wardrobe team made him wear feels increasingly uncomfortable, weighing him down. But, in true Benedict fashion, he keeps his mouth tightly shut and carries on, his expression stoic.

He attempts to run a hand through his hair, a nervous habit, but then remembers the absurd amount of hairspray generously plastered on him this morning. He quickly pulls his hand back down, a faint shudder going through him. Instead, he slips his hands into his pockets, attempting another version of "fierce" for the lens. He leans back against the large block-slash-chair prop set for him, tilting his head slightly to the side. Behind the photographer, he can see a small group of people watching him, almost like he's a circus animal on display. Some are gushing, whispering excitedly, some are taking quick photos on their phones, and others are just gawking, their mouths slightly agape. If Benedict was going to be honest with himself, this was the absolute last place he wanted to be. Show business, for him, has always been, and will always be, a world steeped in vanity. The constant swarm of people around him—a makeup artist for a quick retouch, a stylist for a change of coat—only serves to prove his point. How could anyone find genuine joy in being a public mannequin, a sculpted figure for display?

But he smiles, a polite, practiced curve of his lips, and offers them a sincere "thank you." He even asks them about their day, a small, genuine gesture of consideration, and if this is the last thing they'll do today. He apologizes for being a "rookie," his voice a little self-deprecating, and expresses a quiet hope that at least one photo turns out well. They all "coo" at him, their voices soft and reassuring, and playfully hit him on the arm, light taps of encouragement. A chorus of "ang gwapo mo kaya, Attorney" and "naku, Attorney, sobrang cute" echoes in his ears. The compliments, instead of easing his nerves, make him even more anxious, a tightening in his chest. His eyes scan the bustling studio, desperately searching for a familiar presence, anyone who could keep him sane amidst the chaos.

Mark waves at him from the sidelines, a cup of coffee clutched in his hand. From the very beginning of the shoot up to this moment, the Editor-in-Chief’s Executive Assistant has been attentively catering to his every need and anticipating his every move. Perhaps Mark could sense the apprehension and the quiet anxiety bubbling beneath Benedict’s calm exterior. He would ramble on and on, a stream of nervous chatter, trying to make Benedict feel at ease. By the end of their initial briefing, Benedict had learned that Mark was a fresh graduate, barely a year into his job at Wallows, only twenty-two years old. Benedict remembers what he was doing at twenty-two: Caleb and Law School. They talked a lot about the latter—how Mark also wanted to try entering law school once he reached a year at work, his eyes bright with ambition. But he doesn’t mention the former. In fact, no one has mentioned Caleb since Benedict came in. He was beginning to wonder if the boss doesn’t actually join photo shoots, if that was a job relegated to the lower ranks rather than him. But even so, is Benedict not an exception, a special case that would warrant Caleb’s presence?

“Attorney, wala na pong latte sa Starbucks so I got you one from Tim Hortons.” Mark approaches, a slight worried frown on his face as he hands Benedict a paper cup. He immediately puts his hand under Benedict’s chin, a surprising, gentle touch. “Baka po matapunan yung damit. Should I get you a straw?”

“A straw for a hot beverage?” Benedict chuckles, the sound a little strained. This boy and his wonderfully weird ideas. He was beginning to feel distinctly old in a way since he started talking to Mark, a gulf of experience between them. “Ganyan ka ba sa boss mo? Sabihin mo ‘wag siyang maarte.”

“Iced po ‘yun lagi eh.” There’s an undeniable innocence in Mark’s reply, a genuine lack of understanding. Perhaps because he doesn’t really know that Benedict was subtly insinuating for him to talk about Caleb—how he is, and where the fuck he is. “May need pa po ba kayo? Sabihan ko po si Sir Jinyoung na hanggang 12 lang po kayo.” Mark gestures towards the photographer, already preparing to rush off.

“Uy, ‘wag na.” Benedict reaches out, grabbing Mark’s arm gently before he can rush away. “From what I’ve heard may 2 layouts pa daw na dami. Okay lang. I can adjust.” He offers a reassuring smile.

“Naku, Attorney. Hindi. We’ll follow your schedule. Kasalanan naman namin bakit na-late.” Mark insists, his brow furrowed with concern.

Benedict shakes his head, adamant. He would much rather be the one adjusting to things and people than the other way around, his ingrained habit of accommodating others resurfacing. When he scans the room, he can see everyone putting in the extra effort for him, the crew bustling, the stylist hovering. He can’t just dismiss that, not just because he needs to go. He can definitely adjust the client meeting to 4 PM.

“It’s okay.” He assures Mark, his voice firm, but he still sees the distress etched on the younger man’s face. “I have nothing naman after lunch. Basta siguro tapos na tayo ng 2 kasi may meeting ako ng 4.”

“Buti na lang wala si Sir Caleb.” Mark sighs, a genuine exhalation of relief. “He would kill us if we went beyond schedule with a client.”

So, nasaan na nga ba ‘yang si Caleb? He wants to ask, the question burning on his tongue. But instead, he asks, his voice deceptively casual, “Bakit naman? What if something inevitable happens? Like the light breaks, parang kanina?” He gestures to the large studio light that had flickered earlier.

Mark shrugs, a simple, easy movement. “His thing is all about respecting the client’s time. Which is sobrang ironic because more often than not, laging late ‘yun but even if he is, he doesn’t force us to wait for him. He tells us to carry on. I think it’s about respecting the time of the client kahit gaano pa ka-late, you have to respect their next schedule and their decision to give you a portion of their time so ‘wag na mag-ask for more.” Mark explains, his words clear, articulate.

“Sounds like a good boss.” Benedict murmurs, a strange, unfamiliar feeling stirring within him.

Time. It was the most consistent thing he had always hated about Caleb. And it’s not like the entire world doesn’t know this about him—Caleb’s notorious tardiness is literally a character trait at this point. But Benedict has never, not once, looked at it from a perspective like Mark’s. Caleb has never extended his time or forced him to stay longer whenever he was late. Even on days where Caleb would only be ten minutes late, he still wouldn’t extend their planned time. Instead, he would meticulously follow Benedict’s original schedule, even reminding him, “Hey, don’t you have this and that in an hour?”

Caleb knew Benedict’s deep-seated hatred for repeated apologies and lengthy explanations. Benedict always demanded short and straight-to-the-point reasons. But Caleb was a writer, a wordsmith who would often lose track of what he was really saying, rambling on and on. So instead, Caleb just... doesn’t say anything.

Benedict realizes now, with a quiet, startling clarity, that maybe that was Caleb’s way of apologizing—making sure that he was still following Benedict’s own schedule, respecting his time, because that was what made Benedict happy, what gave him a sense of control. In retrospect, Caleb, in his own strange, often frustrating way, had truly tried to make him happy.

He shakes his head, a small, internal jolt. No. It’s not really the time to think about Caleb’s redeeming qualities, not now.

“He is.” Mark agrees, unaware of Benedict’s internal turmoil. “But he’s like a sad, old man.”

“A sad—” Benedict starts, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. He wanted to ask how the preppy, trendy Caleb he knew could possibly be described as "sad" and "old." He didn’t think those two words were accurate, or even remotely applicable, to describe his friend. But then the photographer’s voice booms, calling him to stand in his mark again, and before Benedict knew it, the small group of people around him had dispersed, and he was alone on the stark layout again, bathed in the harsh, unforgiving lights.

 

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・

 

YIXING (PERSONAL)
2:07PM
We have to celebrate because it’s your first shoot!

BENEDICT BYUN
2:08AM
Talagang ikaw nagtext kasi alam nila na if it’s
the others, I’ll say no. Haha.

YIXING (PERSONAL)
2:08PM
8PM at Yakitori Bar?

BENEDICT BYUN
2:09PM
Sure. I just finished the shoot. Lunch lang ako
Then I have to head to BGC.

YIXING (PERSONAL)
2:09PM
Just now?

BENEDICT BYUN
2:10PM
Yup. Lol. Hopefully, my car flies from
QC to BGC in 30 mins.

YIXING (PERSONAL)
2:10PM
Seryoso? Caleb told me you’ll finish at 12 max.
He told your crew daw. Nako.
Drive safe. Call ko Caleb.

BENEDICT BYUN
2:11PM
Wag baka paginitan pa staff niya. Ako nagsabi
na okay lang to exceed.

BENEDICT BYUN
2:15PM
How did you know na may cut-off

YIXING (PERSONAL)
2:18PM
I was talking to him kanina.
Naka-leave daw siya eh kasi
may lalakarin.

BENEDICT BYUN
2:19PM
Yeah haha I thought he was gonna drop by.
I was a little scared.

YIXING (PERSONAL)
2:20PM
You would have complained if
he dropped by hahaha

BENEDICT BYUN
2:20PM
Maybe lol

YIXING (PERSONAL)
2:20PM
He still feels bad for barging into your
house 2 days ago. Awayin mo na lang
mamaya.

BENEDICT BYUN
2:23PM
I have to do a case study pa so I’m
going home na at 10 ha.

YIXING (PERSONAL)
2:24PM
Got it. Eat and drive safe.

 

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・

 

Benedict doesn’t know how Wallows Digital did it, but even he thinks that his photos turned out well. The glaring studio lights, the heavy coats—all worth it. To show his appreciation, he invited the entire team to have lunch at the Subway across their office. One of the editors, a young woman with intense focus, is already sorting through the raw materials on her laptop while she eats. Benedict, curious and a little embarrassed by the compliments, takes a sneak peek at the screen. It’s a large team, easily twenty people—a team of five stylists, two makeup artists, one hair stylist, a team of five from the photographer’s end, a writer, a videographer, executive assistants, production assistants—and Benedict still can’t quite wrap his head around the fact that almost all of them report directly back to Caleb.

It’s a totally new person—the Caleb they’re describing. In fact, only Mark consistently calls him "Sir Caleb." The rest refer to him through his initials—CCP—which seems like the most professional nickname. In Benedict’s own head, Caleb was, and always would be, the messy blockmate who was late to everything and who almost always didn’t study, yet somehow consistently landed on the dean’s list. He was a man who seemed to rely solely on luck, who didn’t appear to work hard because everything seemed to fall perfectly into his lap.

To him, Caleb was the most irresponsible, most annoying, most self-centered, conceited motherfucker who had thoroughly broken his heart.

“So, friends po pala kayo ni Sir Caleb.” Mark says, taking a big bite of his sandwich, a slight smudge of mayonnaise near his mouth. In the last eight hours that Benedict has spent with this kid, he’s grown surprisingly fond of him, which is funny because Benedict is the last person to willingly welcome anyone into his tightly guarded personal space. Yet here he is now, squeezed comfortably against Mark in a small booth in Subway, the plastic seats creaking faintly. “Kaya naman pala po napa-oo kayo sa feature.” Mark’s eyes twinkle with newfound understanding.

“Yeah, we met in college.” Benedict replies, a slight catch in his voice, keeping it brief.

Suddenly, a production assistant, a young woman with a bright smile, butts in, her voice cheerful.

“Attorney, last call. Babayaran po namin ‘tong lunch? Kasi iniiwan naman po ni CCP ‘yung card niya.” She gestures vaguely towards the counter.

“Company card?” Benedict asks, his eyebrows raised in surprise. He reaches for the stack of tissues next to him and hands them to the younger kids who are messily eating their subs.

“No, his card po.” Mark pulls a sleek black card from his pocket, which Benedict recognizes immediately as Caleb’s debit card. “Ayaw nu’n na ginagamit ‘yung company card kasi natitipid daw ‘yung team so he just leaves this.”

“He leaves his cards everywhere.” Benedict laughs, a genuine, startled sound escaping him. He reaches into his own wallet, and sure enough, he fishes out another one of Caleb’s debit cards, a faded red one from years ago that Caleb probably forgot he even owned. “See? And now, my treat. You guys have been so kind to me today kahit wala akong alam.” He waves the red card.

“Natural ka naman po sa camera.” Another production assistant, a young man who he remembers as Ten, smiles, his eyes bright. “Thank you rin po kasi pinayagan niyo kami mag-exceed sa time. If andito si CCP, patay kami do’n. Nagpapa-wrap up na ‘yun ng 11:30.”

“’Pag pinagalitan kayo, sabihan niyo ako kaagad, ha?” Benedict instructs, his voice firm, a protective edge to it. “Just tell him ako ang nag-insist. If he has qualms about it, Mark can get in touch with me tas ako magagalit do’n.” He nods decisively.

The production assistants high-five each other under the table, a flurry of hands, and even Mark makes a face, a silent "wow, we have a back-up" expression passing over his features.

“’Di pa naman matago ni CCP ‘pag naiinis siya.” Ten chuckles, shaking his head, a fond exasperation in his tone. “Wala siyang matago. Love life lang niya yata ‘yung ‘di namin alam.”

“True.” Mark agrees immediately, nodding. “Everything else he’s open. Love life, wuma-walk out ‘yan.”

“Except for that one time sa shoot sa Batangas with Kathniel, remember?” Ten adds, his eyes widening as he recalls. “Naka-inom siya slight tapos we asked pero unrequited lang sabi niya.”

“Tanga! Right love, wrong time ang sabi niya.” The quietest production assistant, Lucas, suddenly butts in, his voice firm, correcting Ten. “Lasing ka na rin nu’n eh.”

“Right love, wrong time?” Benedict asks, his voice low, intrigued despite himself. A flicker of something unidentifiable passes through his eyes. “Did he say kung sino?”

“He mentioned a name that I forgot pero—di ko maalala, lasing din ako.” Mark turns to his colleagues, looking for confirmation.

“Bacon?” Ten’s eyebrows scrunch together, his forehead furrowed in concentration, trying to recall a name. “He called him Bacon or something. ‘Di ba inasar pa natin siya the next day kasi bacon ‘yung almusal pero ‘di na siya nagsalita.”

“Oo, Bacon something.” Lucas agrees, nodding vigorously. “The tequila took over all of us but what I remember lang is that he said this Bacon person was the right love and wrong time. Something like he didn’t tell him or something.”

The kids around the table turn silent, a collective effort as they try to rehash whatever messy, drunken confession happened in Batangas. Benedict too, feels a strange, electric silence.

Because there’s only one person who consistently screws up his Korean name when he’s drunk.

“That sucks.” Benedict breaks the silence, a bitter, almost self-deprecating smile curving his lips. He takes a slow sip of his Coke, the fizz cold on his tongue, and adds, “He should’ve told whoever that is. Tatanungin ko siya tapos balitaan ko kayo.”

The table erupts in cheers, a sudden burst of excited chatter and laughter. Atty. Benedict Byun was definitely the coolest adult they’ve met in their adult life. They can’t wait to tell CCP in the morning, their faces alight with mischievous anticipation.

 

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・

from:     Mark Minhyung Lee [email protected]
to: Caleb C. Park <[email protected]>;
date: Sept. 9, 2020, 5:30PM
subject: URGENT

Hi, Sir Caleb!

We were able to get a lot of sitners and a couple of interviews on-cam. We also did a short recorded one that can be an additional to your write-up. We wanted to finish at 12 but there were still more layouts so we ended up finishing at 2pm.

All raw mats are in post-process as of now.

Will update.

Thank you!

Regards,
Mark

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・

 

from:     Caleb C. Park <[email protected]>;
to: Mark Minhyung Lee [email protected]
date: Sept. 9, 2020, 5:47PM
subject: URGENT

He has a client meeting in the afternoon. Why didn’t you let him go earlier?

Caleb

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・

from:     Mark Minhyung Lee [email protected]
to: Caleb C. Park <[email protected]>;
date: Sept. 9, 2020, 5:49PM
subject: URGENT

Hi, Sir Caleb.

He insisted, sir. The wardrobe refused to dress him but he argued his way through them and won.

Thank you.

Regards,
Mark

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・

from:     Caleb C. Park <[email protected]>;
to: Mark Minhyung Lee [email protected]
date: Sept. 9, 2020, 6:07PM
subject: URGENT

Okay. Send me previews by the end of the week. Create a writeup from your recorded interview and send it to me for revision. For tomorrow.

Clock out now. It’s been a long day for you.

Tell the team I said thank you. Good job.

Caleb

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・

YIXING ZHANG
8:10PM
Where are you? Bennie’s here.
Magagalit nanaman ‘to late ka nanaman.

CALEB PARK
8:11PM
Not going. Next time na lang.
Kakagising ko lang baka super
late na if ever. Go ahead.

YIXING ZHANG
8:11PM
Wdym? You were 2 hours late
to my birthday. Come na kahit
dessert. It’s Bennie’s first photo
shoot. Haha.

CALEB PARK
8:12PM
Bawi ako.
Enjoy, bro.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・

There’s a subtle, almost invisible wall that clicks into place around Benedict the moment Yixing announces that Caleb was going to pass on this particular dinner. It feels too personal, too much like a direct slight. Like Benedict did something wrong, but he can’t quite figure out what it is yet. Benedict was always pretty good at feeling things—at thinking, at gauging situations, and at articulating his thoughts. He knew how to act on his feelings, and he almost always demanded the same directness from the people around him, especially those he’d known for a while. He’s the grumbler at the dinner table, the one who relentlessly demands his friends to “spit it out” when there’s a problem brewing or a secret being kept. He likes to be articulate; for things to have a clear explanation, a defined reason. He didn’t fear answers or even potentially painful solutions, because to Benedict, as long as you could run through the facts and knew how to act on them, everything was going to be fine. Because facts, coupled with corresponding calculated actions, inevitably resulted in being right.

And Benedict needed to always be right.

Maybe it’s the feeling of accomplishment that came with it. Maybe it’s always having the upper hand, the strategic advantage. Maybe it’s being able to predict the outcome and being right about them 99.99% of the time. It’s being able to prepare ten steps ahead because he has meticulously studied all aspects of a situation before it can even have a chance to fail. To him, there was simply no space to be wrong. Especially not him. There are moments when he dimly realizes that his ideal isn’t the ideal for everyone, and there are times when he recognizes people simply giving into him rather than putting up a fight for an argument. But Benedict has gotten so used to asserting himself, so accustomed to constantly proving people something, that he sometimes forgets he’s putting an immense amount of pressure on everyone around him to be perfect.

The world isn’t perfect.

Neither is Benedict.

But give him enough time, and he can prove you otherwise.

So he thinks he’s absolutely right to assume that Caleb is actively avoiding him for whatever unknown reason. Caleb missed out on his photo shoot, the very event Benedict had set up specifically for him. Then, he missed out on the dinner, a gathering dedicated to him. Caleb never misses out on anything Benedict-related. Not ever. Even when they weren’t okay. Especially then. Caleb was always somewhere, a constant presence—behind him, beside him, everywhere, always trailing behind him like a shadow. But he was never truly away. No matter what the circumstances, and no matter how hard Benedict pushed him away, Caleb always wore a bright smile that always deceptively lit up his eyes, waving at him, making his presence known.

Caleb always knew—how to get to him, how to please him, how to simply be the person for him. Benedict didn’t even have to say anything, and nor did Caleb. He simply caved in to whatever Benedict wasn’t explicitly asking for, and he somehow gave whatever it was that Benedict was silently thinking. It’s a soulmate thing, he thinks to himself, a fleeting, almost romantic notion. But soulmates aren’t real, he dismisses, and he can’t find enough scientific resources or legal precedents to prove his theory right. So he drops it. Instead, he settles on the idea that it’s just their dynamic. People create their own unique dynamic the longer they spend time together. Perhaps it’s telepathy, a strange, unspoken connection.

So he closes his eyes, a deep furrow forming between his brows, and thinks, Caleb, what the hell is wrong this time? And he hopes, with a desperate, silent plea, that it’ll somehow get through to him.

 

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・

BENEDICT BYUN
10:07PM
Where are you?

BENEDICT BYUN
10:20PM
Where are you?

BENEDICT BYUN
10:45PM
Where are you?

BENEDICT BYUN
10:48PM
Caleb.

CALEB PARK
10:50PM
Why?

BENEDICT BYUN
10:51PM
Why are you avoiding me?

CALEB PARK
10:52PM
?

BENEDICT BYUN
10:53PM
Last time you were avoiding me was when
I yelled at you prior to the national case.
What did I do this time?

BENEDICT BYUN
10:54PM
Ano nga

CALEB PARK
10:55PM
Wala nga.

BENEDICT BYUN
10:55PM
Use your words ano ba.

CALEB PARK
10:56PM
Dapat ikaw din.

BENEDICT BYUN
10:57PM
Ano?

CALEB PARK
10:59PM
Wala.

BENEDICT BYUN
11:01PM
I can’t guess whatever you’re thinking.

CALEB PARK
11:02PM
Same.

BENEDICT BYUN
11:03PM
Ano

CALEB PARK
11:03PM
Good night.

BENEDICT BYUN
11:05PM
Where are you?

CALEB PARK
11:08PM
Bakit ba

CALEB PARK
11:09PM
May ginagawa ako

BENEDICT BYUN
11:10PM
Ang labo mo, alam mo ba ‘yon?

CALEB PARK
11:11PM
Ikaw rin.

BENEDICT BYUN
11:12PM
ANO BA

BENEDICT BYUN
11:12PM
Bat galit ka nanaman

CALEB PARK
11:13PM
Hindi nga ako galit.
Tinatapos ko yung write-up maghapon.

BENEDICT BYUN
11:14PM
Bakit wala ka kanina

CALEB PARK
11:15PM
Paulit ulit

BENEDICT BYUN
11:16PM
Di ka naman kasi sumasagot ng maayos.

CALEB PARK
11:17PM
Eh bakit ba bigla ka interesado
Late ako nagising
Ayoko na late pumunta don
Magagalit ka lang rin naman

BENEDICT BYUN
11:18PM
Kailan ako nagalit na late ka

CALEB PARK
11:18PM
Palagi

BENEDICT BYUN
11:19PM
Na nag wowork na tayo. Kailan
ako nagalit na late ka now na
nagwowork na tayo?

CALEB PARK
11:20PM
Lagi. I feel it.

BENEDICT BYUN
11:21PM
Luh assuming

CALEB PARK
11:22PM
Naipaparating naman ng
Death glares mo at ng pagdadabog mo
palagi

BENEDICT BYUN
11:23PM
wag ka mag assume

CALEB PARK
11:34PM
Ikaw din

BENEDICT BYUN
11:35PM
??????????

BENEDICT BYUN
11:35PM
Nasa lobby ako. Bumaba ka dito.

CALEB PARK
11:36PM
Paano kung wala pala ako sa condo

BENEDICT BYUN
11:37PM
Nasaan ka nga

CALEB PARK
11:37PM
Katip

BENEDICT BYUN
11:38PM
Saan nga

CALEB PARK
11:43PM
basta

BENEDICT BYUN
11:45PM
tanginang yan

 

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・

The McDonald’s along Katipunan Avenue was the quintessential hangout for all college kids pulling an all-nighter, saving up their meager allowances, or desperately sobering themselves after a long, drunken night.

But it was also a staple for alumni who were all three.

Caleb is slumped in the farthest booth from the entrance, practically blending into the shadows. He’s clad in his usual uniform: a black hoodie, faded joggers, smelling faintly of cheap gin, and looking, frankly, like the grim reaper. His laptop is open in front of him, silently playing a loop of "Top 10 Funniest Slipping Videos of Older People and Children." He’s been out bar-hopping by himself since 4 in the afternoon, celebrating—or commiserating—after finally finishing the write-up for his magazine. By 10 PM, he was thoroughly smashed, vomiting unceremoniously on the side of the road, a group of concerned sophomores helping him up, pulling his hoodie back so he wouldn’t puke on it. From Walrus, he’d walked the quick eight minutes to McDonald’s, a desperate attempt to sober himself up. All this time, he’s somehow managed to keep his keys, wallet, phone, and laptop with him. Anyone who sees him can easily assume he’s just another college kid cramming for finals, drinking on the side to keep sane. Except he’s twenty-seven, barely making sense of his real life, and realizing wherever he is, at this very moment, is the last place he wants to be.

A chocolate fudge sundae and a cold bottle of water are placed, with a surprising thump, angrily in front of him. The flimsy plastic table bounces a little, and the first thing Caleb does is instinctively grab his laptop, pulling it back to save it from whatever impending disaster. He’s ready to fight whoever the intruder is, nevermind that his speech is absolutely slurred and it takes a while for his bleary eyes to focus. But when he finally manages to look up, he sees a dressed-down Benedict, holding his own sundae and a packet of fries, slipping into the chair across from him.

Taylor Swift blasts through a nearby speaker, her voice tinny and loud. The group of students at the table next to them mouths a dramatic "o" and starts singing along, completely off-key. Caleb can barely make out what the song is, but the loud bass only increases the dull thump behind his eyes, a throbbing headache blooming. Yet, he can’t find the energy to complain or even ask if they can turn it down.

“Are you drunk?” Benedict asks, his voice surprisingly calm, as he takes a large, deliberate scoop of his sundae. His eyes, however, are scanning Caleb’s disheveled appearance. “You smell so bad. Paano ka uuwi?”

There are too many questions, each one a small prod. Caleb chooses the last one, the easiest to answer. “Grab.”

It’s oddly, strikingly familiar—the sight in front of Benedict. The drunken state, the dark, bruised eye bags, the profound weariness on Caleb’s face, the slightly flailing limbs, the general lack of energy. These were all things that were normal, once upon a time, in Caleb’s life. When the love of his life, Nana, decided to end things with him, Benedict would often find Caleb in this exact state, slumped in this very booth, in this same McDonald’s, even. Chocolate sundaes always worked wonders, somehow pulling Caleb out of his drunken stupor, loosening his tongue, and making him talk about what was truly bothering him. A lot of people don’t seem to know that more sweets make Caleb talk more than alcohol ever could.

The same familiar feelings capture Benedict now—a potent mix of sadness and anxiety, rolled into one heavy ball. Always wondering, always thinking about when they were going to run into the next problem, the next inevitable roadblock. For a long time, Benedict was just always on the sidelines, perpetually ready to catch Caleb if he ever broke again, should anything remind him of Nana. And when they leveled up their relationship into “best friends with benefits,” he was always consumed by an anxious dread of when Caleb would finally leave him—when would he finally make sense of himself and simply walk away from Benedict?

He was contemplating, for a fleeting moment, just holding onto this sad, vulnerable version of Caleb because that was what he was most familiar with, most comfortable with. Anything out of that box was different and sent him spiraling into panic. When Caleb was slowly recovering, pulling himself back together whilst their agreement continued, Benedict’s own anxiety began to worsen, tightening its grip. This man was his best friend in the whole world, and he was deeply, irrevocably in love with him. The worst thing Caleb could possibly do to Benedict was to leave him.

What was Benedict, anyway, except for the convenient friend who allowed Caleb to be a temporary waiting shed, a temporary refuge, until he was back to his old self again?

It was as if Benedict was always coursing through a large, unknown, treacherous woods where it was dark and dangerous, with Caleb by his side. But he and his constant companion, anxiety, had grown strangely comfortable there. He knew his agreement with Caleb was fragile, a delicate thing, and when he could feel himself looking for more stability, for something solid, he impulsively demanded it—engulfed in his fear and anxiety, he blew up, demanding an answer to the millions of questions swirling in his head.

When Caleb didn’t answer the way that Benedict wanted him to, the way he desperately needed him to, Benedict didn’t realize there was another entire floor of anxiety waiting to open, a deeper, more terrifying level. Right then and there, it opened, a gaping maw, drowning his thoughts and clouding his feelings with an incredible, overwhelming amount of nerves. He was back in the deep-end of the woods, but this time, his familiar friend, anxiety, was not in his hand, and he couldn’t control it. It engulfed him; it was all over him, a suffocating blanket. And before he could even get used to the profound, aching silence that followed, anger came knocking in, a furious, pounding presence. Without any resistance, he let anger in too, welcoming its fiery embrace.

Looking at Caleb now, slumped and vulnerable, Benedict realizes that he held onto so much—so much anger, so much anxiety, so much fear—except Caleb himself.

And that his anxiety and anger were really, deeply rooted in the terrifying fear of not knowing if he was right about his relationship with Caleb—that he was just a substitute; just a friend; not even truly in the options.

“Is Eric not looking for you?” He hears Caleb ask, his voice a little clearer now, cutting through Benedict’s thoughts. Caleb starts eating the sundae in front of him, a steady, rhythmic spoonful to mouth motion. Benedict knows it’s only a matter of time until he gets something, some raw, unedited truth, out of his friend.

“Why would he?” Benedict retorts, his voice sharp, a defensive edge to it.

He gets a simple shrug as a reply. Caleb, with a decisive flick of his wrist, shuts off his laptop and pushes it to the side of the booth. He’s still slouched deeply in his seat, eating his sundae mindlessly, the cool sweetness a counterpoint to the gin.

“Ito pa rin ba talaga ‘yung sad spot mo? ‘Di mo ba naalala si Nana dito?” Benedict asks, pushing.

This time, Caleb shakes his head slowly, a clear negation.

“I remember you buying me sundae every time though.” Caleb replies, a small, genuine smile finally appearing on his lips. He raises his sundae spoon, gesturing with it to make his point. “Good times.”

“Good times?” Benedict questions, a hint of disbelief in his voice.

“You?” Caleb counters, his eyes meeting Benedict’s. It’s a rhetorical question, at least to Caleb, filled with an unspoken meaning. “Always. Naalala mo when you would go here in your scooter and we tried to ride it together pabalik sa dorm pero nasira?”

A fuzzy, almost dreamlike memory of two nineteen-year-olds trying, absurdly, to fit onto a normal-sized scooter enters Benedict’s head. Caleb was drunk then too, but they were laughing, loud and uninhibited, as they both ended up in a heap on the pavement because the scooter was, by no stretch of the imagination, going to fit both of them.

“Or when we tried all the sundae variations dito tapos sila Ate na ‘yung sumuko kasi pang-eight na ate nu’n tapos baka daw magsuka.” Caleb chuckles, the sound a low rumble in his chest. “Kaya naman eh. Epal nila.”

“Nagsuka ka kaya pauwi.” Benedict says, a small smile finally breaking through his tense expression, remembering the messy aftermath.

“Naalala mo pa?” Caleb asks, a surprised, almost childlike wonder in his voice.

“Oo naman.” Benedict replies, the words soft, unwavering.

Caleb scrunches his nose, a sad, knowing smile appearing on his face, the dimple appearing faintly.

“I thought you forgot about them. You’re the kind of person who deletes all the bad stuff that happens to him.”

“That’s true.” Benedict agrees, a slight shrug. “But those days were fun.”

“Were they?” Caleb scoops a large spoonful of chocolate fudge and shoves it into his mouth, the sweetness overwhelming. “Yixing told me you cried a lot. I find it hard to believe it was fun.” His gaze is sharp, suddenly accusatory.

Fuck Yixing Zhang for being so neutral between them, for being the keeper of inconvenient truths.

“Some parts were fun.” Benedict concedes, his gaze dropping to his own melting sundae.

“You kept me sane.” Caleb hums, a low, contented sound, his eyes distant, lost in memory. “Thanks for making it fun for me. Like—like college, as in you were so cool. So organized and you were always there for me. And even post-college, you were—”

And this is exactly what Benedict knew he was going to get. A talkative, emotional, and utterly honest Caleb. Slightly drunk, yes, but now clearly high on sugar. Everything about this moment feels oddly the same, familiar and comfortable, except for the subject matter. It was never about them, or about him. It was always about school, or their families, or Nana.

Caleb’s inner conyo was also starting to show, the subtle shift in his Taglish. God knows how he and his friends had painstakingly tried to not speak that way around other people, and it had taken Caleb some serious effort to break the habit. Now, it only shows when he’s in this vulnerable, drunken state. It shows when he’s truly relaxed, which doesn’t happen very often anymore.

“Post-college, you were so kind, man.” Caleb takes his time, chewing on his lower lip, truly thinking if “kind” was the right word to use. “You had such a big heart tapos halos ako lang ‘yung pinagkakasya mo do’n and just, just, you’re the best. As in, thank you, Bennie. Cause even when I hurt you, kahit ang kulit ko pa rin, hinahayaan mo lang ako like you still allowed me to lurk in your life and I love that about you. Just, thank you.” His voice cracks slightly, filled with raw emotion.

“Cale—” Benedict starts, leaning forward, a desperate need to interrupt, to respond.

“And sorry for fucking it up, dude.” Caleb seems to be talking more to himself at this point, his gaze fixated at nowhere in particular as he continuously eats his sundae, the spoon moving mechanically. “Like fuck—as in ‘di naman tayo mag-aaway if I didn’t suggest the fuck buddies thing, like that’s so stupid. So fucking stupid. Tapos na-hurt pa kita like—tangina, bobo ko sa part na ‘yun.” He shakes his head vigorously, a grimace on his face.

Benedict offers a small, fragile smile, his heart thumping in his chest. He knows it may take another thirty minutes or so before he can butt in, before Caleb truly exhausts himself. These are things he had kind of known, bits and pieces, but he never really had the full confirmation—if Caleb was truly sorry, if he knew the depth to which he had hurt Benedict, if he ever made him truly happy. They were just hearsays from the barkada, whispered truths, never spoken directly. To hear them coming from Caleb’s own mouth, raw and unfiltered, was something entirely different. He didn’t expect it to be in this most mundane setting, in their most comfortable selves, doing the very thing they usually do.

“Do you regret it?” Benedict manages to croak out, the question barely a whisper, his throat tight.

“No.” Caleb shakes his head, a firm, immediate denial. His eyes, though still unfocused, hold a surprising clarity. “If I didn’t see you that way like if I didn’t you bare yourself to me, I wouldn’t have fallen in love with you. Man, that was the greatest privilege of all. Imagine, out of all the men in the world, you allowed me to love you. I mean, I should’ve at least made it clear though, right? Kasi sabi ni Xing, I was so labo daw. I didn’t tell you I love you so you left. Eh tangina, ayaw mo nga ng flowers kasi cheesy, ganu’n pa kaya and like, if you told me to be cheesy, ‘yun talaga una kong sasabihin. As in I love you, Bennie. Ganu’n talaga, as in kaso—”

The rest of the world turns silent, the background noise of McDonald’s fading into a dull hum. Benedict is gaping at the man in front of him, utterly stunned, with how casually Caleb is dumping this earth-shattering information on him, with the very words he had been longing to hear for years, words that had haunted his dreams. He starts bouncing his leg uncontrollably under the table, a frantic rhythm, as he feels his anxiety creep up his spine, then slowly, surprisingly, ebb back down. It’s simmering, yes, but never really blowing up, never taking over. He wasn’t used to this. He hasn’t prepared a next step, a logical course of action, for when he hears this.

“Babe, I fucked up.” Caleb states, placing his empty sundae cup on the table with a soft clink. He twists the water bottle cap open and takes a few large gulps, the water gurgling. “Royally. As in tangina. Excuse ba ‘yung na-o-overwhelm ako sa’yo kasi sobrang mahal kita? As in gusto ko talagang ibigay lahat sa’yo. New strategy. Kasi ‘di nag-work ‘yung I love you ako nang I love you sa una kong relationship so maybe sa’yo, actions but like, ang labo kasi talaga. Ang labo ko ha? Hindi ikaw. Labo ko, puta.” He throws his head back, running a hand through his already messy hair.

“Tama na nga ‘yan. Inumin mo ‘yung tubig.” Benedict tells him, his voice surprisingly steady, a quiet authority in his tone. He kicks Caleb lightly on the leg under the table. “Tapos uuwi na tayo. I’ll drive you.”

“You’re the best.” Caleb murmurs, a small, grateful smile forming. He listens to Benedict and takes another long swig from his bottle of water. For the first time since Benedict arrived, he looks directly at Benedict—his eyes, though still heavy with gin, are now filled with raw regret and unspoken questions—and says, “For what it’s worth, I really love you.”

 

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・

They’re cleaning up their table, the clatter of plastic trays and wrappers, when Caleb notices that Benedict is sniffing. Although still a little dizzy, his head swimming with gin, he can tell from the subtle, slow shakes of Benedict’s shoulders and the tiny, almost imperceptible sniffs he’s trying to hide, that something was profoundly wrong. Caleb places himself deliberately between the table and Benedict, who is methodically picking up discarded tissues, a frantic energy to his movements. Benedict startles, his head snapping up.

“Spill it, Bennie. We have to use our words, remember?” Caleb whispers, his voice low and gentle, as he reaches out and ruffles Benedict’s hair, the soft strands slipping through his fingers. He pulls his hand back, crosses his arms over his chest, and waits, patiently, for Benedict to lift his head up and talk.

“Why weren’t you in the shoot today?” Benedict asks, his voice barely above a whisper, raw with unshed tears.

“I was writing.” Caleb replies, his voice flat.

Caleb reaches out, tapping Benedict’s chin lightly with his index finger, urging him to look up, but Benedict resists, his head still bowed, his gaze fixed on the messy table. Caleb pulls his hand away again, and waits, his patience unwavering.

“And why weren’t you at dinner?” Benedict presses, his voice now a little stronger, tinged with accusation.

“I was,” Caleb hesitates. He could say he was sleeping, but he was also pretty smashed just an hour ago. He settles on the truth, blunt and simple. “Drinking.”

“Why?” Benedict asks, his voice rising, a sharp edge to it.

“I felt like it.” Caleb shrugs, a helpless gesture.

“Why didn’t you go,” Benedict’s voice quivers now, losing its strength, and Caleb can almost perfectly imagine the familiar pout that will appear on his lips. The sniffs increase, becoming louder, more desperate, and Benedict doesn’t even try to hide it as he openly wipes the hot tears streaming down his cheeks with the back of his hand. Benedict, in this moment, resembles a little puppy being told off, utterly vulnerable, and Caleb has to hold himself back, physically clenching his fists, to keep from cooing, from gathering him into his arms. “Why didn’t—Why did—Why—Why didn’t you tell me?” The words tumble out, broken and desperate.

Ack.

There’s a sharp, unexpected punch that lands square on Caleb’s stomach, a sudden jolt of pain that makes him gasp. But before he can fully focus on the ache, Benedict begins to cry, deep, racking sobs that shake his entire body. Caleb’s more worried about the man slowly losing his strong, carefully constructed façade in front of him, shattering into pieces. He instinctively grabs Benedict by his arms, his grip firm, and forces him to wrap his arms around Caleb’s waist, pulling him into a tight embrace. Caleb sways them gently from side to side, a slow, comforting rhythm. McDonald’s is eerily quiet at midnight, the usual bustle replaced by a hushed reverence, broken only by the raw, heart-wrenching sobs escaping from Benedict’s lips.

“Pagod na ‘ko, Cal.” Benedict cries, his voice muffled against Caleb’s chest, the words wet with tears. “Bakit ngayon mo lang sinabi?”

“I just—” Caleb starts, his own throat tightening, unable to find the right words.

“Pagod na ‘ko.” Benedict cries even harder, his voice rising to a wail, and he starts hitting Caleb’s back, weak, frustrated thumps against his shoulder blades.

For a multitude of reasons—for the grueling photo shoot, the exhausting client meeting, the awkward dinner, the overdue case study waiting on his desk, for the sheer, overwhelming weight of loving Caleb—Benedict was utterly exhausted. Pagod was the only word he could come up with, the only word that captured the profound weariness. And he can feel it, deeply, in his arms, his legs, and his entire body, threatening to simply give way beneath him. With the high of his anxiety and the adrenaline from his anger finally gone, his body was shutting down, collapsing under the strain.

“Cali,” The nickname, soft and intimately familiar, falls from Benedict’s lips, a sound Caleb hasn’t heard in years. It was a name reserved only for the rare, quiet times Benedict showed him the secret, sweet, vulnerable sides of himself. “Cali, I am so—tired.”

There’s not much Caleb can do but hold him, swaying gently, trying to calm him down. He doesn’t tell him to get a grip or to hold in the tears, resisting the urge to offer useless platitudes. Instead, he subtly moves them away from the few prying eyes still left in the McDonald’s, shielding Benedict, and simply lets him exhaust the tears, let him release the profound tiredness. He squeezes him tighter, slowly realizing, with a sharp pang in his own chest, that he hasn’t been allowed to touch Benedict like this in years. This was the first time since they “broke up” that he was even physically near him, their bodies pressed close.

Caleb has been in show business long enough to know that there are a million different versions of a break-up. The dramatic ones he sees played out in his cohorts’ social media outlets. The controversial ones discussed in hushed tones at meetings over expensive dinners. All of them, people said, truly hurt, but it was nothing a good tequila couldn’t fix. A few more good press releases and a few more drinks, and people are often good as new, seamlessly moving on. It’s a cycle he genuinely enjoys watching—how people fall in love, then fall out, and then, inexplicably, fall in love again, with someone new. He thinks it’s absolutely fascinating that people are able to meet new people and love them just as deeply, just as good, because he, personally, can’t.

Drenching him in tears and snot, Caleb knows in his heart that this person, Benedict, was all that he ever wants to break up and make up with, over and over. But what he has learned over the past few years, through agonizing observation, is to not force things. Even flowers, he reminds himself, grow in their own pace and time. But until when can he just sit and watch?

Maybe when the phone rings and the new person, Eric, calls in to check if Benedict’s already safely in bed. Maybe when Benedict scrambles, pulling away from him, and motions frantically for Caleb to follow him outside, clutching his phone awkwardly between his neck and shoulder. Maybe when he hears the soft, endearing cooing on the other line and the genuine, light laugh that Benedict emits in response. Maybe when he hears Benedict say, “Call me after,” and sees the quiet, peaceful aura that suddenly engulfs Benedict after the call ends, a serene calm settling over him.

Time. What a funny, cruel thing. Maybe there are some things worth fighting for, things he mistakenly thought would break if he forced them. Things that were just waiting, patiently, to be fought for, to be claimed.

When you leave a flower to grow in its own pace, resisting any other efforts to help them, it won’t always bloom. But when the flower is given its own space to grow, with a gentle sprinkle of water, a steady dose of sunlight, and consistent affirmations, it becomes the best version a flower can be.

I love you, he wants to say, the words bubbling up, desperate to escape. Now that he has finally said it, finally broken the dam, he feels an overwhelming urge to say it again and again, to shout it from the rooftops. But Caleb knows it won’t change anything. Not when someone else can oh, so quickly, pull Benedict away from the dark, from the very depths of his despair, with just one simple phone call.

“I don’t think I told you,” Benedict starts, his voice clearer now, as he pulls up to Caleb’s condo building, the engine purring softly. “But I love you too.” He looks at Caleb, his eyes still red but now gleaming with a profound sense of relief.

But love and in love are different—the distinct look of relief in Benedict’s eyes, the quiet exhale that escapes him, screams the former.

“Sorry for that—” Benedict gestures vaguely to the wetness on Caleb’s sweater, where his tears and snot had soaked through. “Moment of vulnerability.”

“Ano ba, wala ‘yun.” Caleb waves him off, a dismissive flick of his hand. He’s already reaching for the door handle. “Thanks for picking me up.”

“That’s—” Benedict starts again, his voice hesitant.

“And thank you. For everything.” Caleb cuts him off gently, his gaze unwavering.

Are we out of the woods? The unspoken question hangs in the quiet car.

Benedict reaches his fist out, a silent offering, and Caleb meets him halfway with a soft fist bump, their knuckles brushing.

Sometimes, when we’re so wary and calculated about things, when we overthink and plan every single step, we miss the timing. Caleb and Benedict know that now, a bitter, shared truth.

Caleb gives him a small, sad smile before finally opening the car door. He takes a few more seconds, lingering, before physically getting out. The world outside looks exactly as it was hours ago, the familiar streetlights casting long shadows, but something inside him feels fundamentally different, irrevocably shifted. It was as if for the past two years, his entire world was put on a halt, frozen in time, and he hadn’t even noticed until this very moment. Looking back once again for one final wave before jogging to the lobby entrance, Caleb realizes, with a profound ache, that his life is finally moving again now. He’s held onto this part of his life for so long, clinging to it, holding back any kind of growth on his part as he always tried to convince himself that he could fix what they broke before. Benedict waves back, a small, almost imperceptible movement, and honks the car horn lightly, a soft, farewell beep. Caleb realizes then, with a crushing certainty, that this is his first actual heartbreak—loving someone when it’s truly too late, and realizing that the world didn’t stop at all for him. Everyone else has moved on but him. How does he even begin to start?

As Benedict watches Caleb jog towards the brightly lit lobby, he feels so many more words brewing inside of him, a torrent of unspoken thoughts and feelings, waiting to be said. But that’s for another day. Today was enough. Learning the truth, albeit unexpectedly, brutally, was enough. He feels a tangible weight lifted off of his chest, a heavy burden finally released. Like there’s a definite ending to this unbelievably long, convoluted chapter of his life.

He’s out of the woods now.

He flips a page, a quiet, almost symbolic gesture, and drives away.

 

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・

YIXING (PERSONAL)
8:07AM
I just think that it’s too early
to talk about this.

BENEDICT BYUN
8:07AM
haha, gags. di ko rin inexpect
mental breakdown lol

YIXING (PERSONAL)
8:08AM
So? How do you feel?

BENEDICT BYUN
8:08AM
relieved
happy

YIXING (PERSONAL)
8:10AM
That’s good?

BENEDICT BYUN
8:10AM
Relieved. Like may natanggal sa chest ko
na mabigat. Like it all makes sense now.
Caleb and ang lagi niyang late sa lahat ng bagay.
I just feel validated.

YIXING (PERSONAL)
8:11AM
O, that’s good.
What else did you guys talk about?
Try again?
Kayo na?

BENEDICT BYUN
8:12AM
Try again? Gago
I needed to go kasi Eric
had a lead in this new case.

BENEDICT BYUN
8:13AM
We have a new case against Usec. Uy di ba.
May lead kagabi.
But nasiraan sila sa highway and nagwawala si
Atty. Heechul kasi walang magpa-hitch sakanila.
Wala din daw mabook na grab.

YIXING (PERSONAL)
8:13AM
So pause nanaman kayo ni Caleb?
Akala ko pa naman nag late night talks kayo.

BENEDICT BYUN
8:15AM
I was mid-breakdown tapos
tawang tawa ako bigla kina Atty. Kim and Eric.
Feel ko akala ni Caleb, baliw ako. Haha.

YIXING (PERSONAL)
8:17AM
Baliw sa kanya haha

BENEDICT BYUN
8:18AM
ew

YIXING (PERSONAL)
8:19AM
Sobrang hirap itago ng secrets nyong dalawa.
Either date or just casually be a barkada.
Hirap na kami hahahaha

BENEDICT BYUN
8:20AM
The latter probs.
I mean I feel like ang tagal ko nag
momove on sa kanya kasi I was so angry.
And I was so confused so when he told
me na he felt the same way, parang gumaan bigla?
Like I can finally, finally, FINALLY move on with my life.
Yun na yung ending na iniintay ko.

YIXING (PERSONAL)
8:21AM
I’m happy for you.
Btw, office ka pa?

BENEDICT BYUN
8:22AM
Yes, dito na ako natulog.

YIXING (PERSONAL)
8:23AM
I’ll text mamaya.
Caleb’s asking me out for
breakfast. Baka magkwento rin.

BENEDICT BYUN
8:25AM
take care

 

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・

 

from:     Caleb  Park <[email protected]>
to:          Julius Parker >[email protected]>
date:     Sept. 11, 2020, 8:00AM
subject: Acceptance: Caleb C. Park

Mr. Julius Parker
Head, Human Resources
Folklore International
876 Acadia Dr.
Toronto, Canada

Sub: Acceptance of Job Offer

Dear Mr. Parker,

I extend my gratitude to you for offering me the position of Editor-in-Chief in Folklore International. I am delighted to accept your offer and look forward to commencing work with your company from October 4, 2020.

Kindly let me know if there is any information or documents that I have yet to submit to you. I hope to complete all the formalities prior to my joining so that I can start my work efficiently.

I thank you again for providing me with this wonderful opportunity. I am excited to be a part of your team and make my notable contribution to it.

Yours Sincerely,
Caleb Park

 

Notes:

This made a lot of sense to me. I hope it's the same for you as well.

Slightly proofread. SLIGHTLY.

Let me know what you think through comments and/or DMs and/or tweets (@__jonginnie, yes TWO underscores)

Chapter 6: Epilogue

Summary:

Caleb persisted and resisted the temptation to ask Benedict if one thing had been different--Would everything be different today?

Notes:

HI! I can't believe we're at the epilogue now. Thank you so much for reading. Please leave a comment or tweet me @__jonginnie (yes, two underscores). Thank you so much!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Epilogue: The 1

____________

CALEB PARK
8:15 AM
Flight is early.
Might not make it to dinner.

YIXING ZHANG
8:18AM
The dinner is for you?
What time is it?

CALEB PARK
8:18AM
9PM.
Next time na lang.
When I go home for Christmas.
In two months.

YIXING ZHANG
8:20AM
You sure?

CALEB PARK
8:20AM
Yeah. Plus, di ko sure
if I wanna go through goodbyes again.
LOL.

YIXING ZHANG
8:22AM
Text ka na lang pag
pasakay ka na ng plane mamaya.
We’ll call.

CALEB PARK
8:23AM
Sounds good!

                𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・

There’s an unfamiliar silence that wraps around Caleb in his apartment, thick and heavy. His bags are packed, neatly lined by the door, and the space is almost empty, save for a few essentials. His sister had generously helped him move out his old stuff to his parents’ house the week before. The only things left for him are his mattress, a pillow, and a small blanket, a solitary island in the vast emptiness. A part of his head is throbbing, a dull, insistent ache, from the heavy drinking he did the night before. His entire work team, against his wishes, had practically forced him out of his terminal leave to say goodbye. None of them had foreseen that their team leader, the architect of their success, was actually going to quit. There were a lot of tears shed, some of them, surprisingly, even from Caleb himself. Leaving was truly the last thing he wanted to do. Not when Wallows Digital was his actual baby, a company he’d pulled up from the ground, working day and night to get it to where it is now. To exit while they were at the top, at their peak, feels like a shame, a betrayal of his own creation. But he has to leave. There’s something deep in his gut, a primal urge, desperate for him to do so. It’s not that his heart wasn’t in his work anymore.

In fact, his heart was going to be the full-feature of the last issue he was going to write—and that was precisely the problem. Caleb didn’t realize that he had been walking around heartless, completely detached, filling this gaping void with temporary fixes: work, a string of blind dates, fleeting Tinder encounters, and then, back to work again. He understands, now, with a startling clarity, why things didn’t truly hurt when he saw one problem after another unfold in his life. It was because his heart wasn’t where it was supposed to be. He had given his mind, and his mind alone, the entire freewill to decide on what to do next—whether it was forcing himself into the Byun family dinners, overstaying his welcome in Benedict’s condo, or still desperately holding onto a part of his old self, a past identity, as they all grew older.

As he sits on his worn-out mattress in the empty room, the silence amplifying his thoughts, he realizes that he didn’t only lose Benedict. He lost himself too, somewhere along the way. The thing was, he knew exactly where to find Benedict; he was predictable, a familiar landmark. But he didn’t know where to find Caleb.

His flight isn’t until midnight, hours away, but the farewell dinner his best friends have so generously prepared for him tonight was only going to make him feel guiltier. Caleb was pretty good at that—feeling guilty for things he doesn’t even have control over. Maybe it’s from seeing his parents separate as a young child, the weight of their sadness settling on him. Or maybe it’s being at the short end of the stick at every heartbreak his sister endured, feeling helpless. Perhaps it’s the quiet loneliness of growing up alone, nurturing the thought that if he was just a better kid, a more perfect child, he would be surrounded by more loved ones. Maybe it’s trying his absolute best but not really being enough for everyone, not meeting their unspoken expectations. No matter what it was, the guilt rests comfortably, heavily on his chest, a constant pressure. And when he sends a cancellation text to Yixing, the guilt, perverse as it is, adds even more weight to itself, as if subtly telling him that this is what he’s truly good at—hurting people.

He tries to kill time, the hours stretching endlessly before him, by taking two more naps, burying himself in the folds of his blanket, and pointedly ignoring the relentless series of phone calls and texts he’s receiving from old friends and colleagues, all wishing him "happy trails."

His decision to move to Folklore wasn’t a decision made on a whim, or in a fit of emotion. The esteemed company has been reaching out to him for almost two years, a persistent, flattering pursuit. They said they were big fans of his writing, praising his unique voice, and that they would be more than honored to have him in their team. Flight and accommodation for the rest of his stay, no matter how long, are fully charged to Folklore as well, a testament to their desire. It was, truly, a dream come true for any writer out there, the ultimate opportunity. But two years ago, Benedict was fiercely taking his bar exams, the culmination of years of hard work, and Caleb couldn’t afford to leave him without a proper meal every week, a small anchor in his chaotic life. The year after that, he was meticulously “fixing” their friendship, carefully patching up the cracks, and Benedict was preparing for the biggest trial of his life, a career-defining moment. Caleb, then, couldn’t afford to leave and not remind him to eat, to sleep, to relax, to just breathe.

This year, however, there was no more excuse. Folklore still wanted him, their offer unwavering, and there was no more Benedict to take care of, no more reason to stay rooted. There was no more Benedict, period.

There was simply no reason to stay anymore.

He’s about to fall back into sleep for his fourth nap of the day when his doorbell rings, a sharp, insistent sound that echoes in the empty apartment. He checks the time on his phone—2:30 PM—and groans to himself, a low, frustrated sound, for missing lunch. He’d promised himself some shawarma from his friend downstairs, a small, greasy comfort, but he doubts there’s even any left at this hour. He makes a mental note to make a call so they can whip out some “shawarma special” before he leaves for good. The doorbell rings again, a second, more impatient chime, so he springs out of bed, the mattress creaking, and trudges to the front door, his bare feet slapping against the wooden floor.

Caleb would like to think that after all of what they’ve been through, all the shared history, he has gotten to know Benedict more than anyone else in his life, deeply and intimately. He’s seen all facets of him—the hopeful young adult, the blooming adult, the happy Benedict, the sad Benedict, the heartbroken Benedict, the composed professional Benedict, the playful, teasing Benedict—and he has loved all of them just the same, equally. But, he feels his heart drop to the floor, a sickening plummet, along with the familiar companions of guilt and his old friend, sadness, when he sees a different Benedict in front of him. A new version.

Benedict has dyed his hair platinum blonde after losing to a poll in the office, the light color stark against his usual dark hair. He’s gotten noticeably slimmer in the last three weeks they haven’t seen each other because he’s started a rigorous diet and begun working out at the gym, his shoulders broader, his jawline sharper. He looks brighter than ever, his skin glowing, his smile wider than ever, and radiating a profound happiness that Caleb has never quite seen. And Caleb, in that moment, wants to squish him into a hug more than anything else, to feel that happiness for himself. Instead, he tightens his grip on the doorknob, his knuckles white, and forces a smile, a brittle, fragile thing.

“Hey,” He starts, his voice a little hoarse, barely a whisper. He feels his heart, which had dropped to his feet, suddenly slam back into his chest, thumping harder than it has in the last three weeks, a frantic drum against his ribs. “Your hair looks nice.”

“Thank you.” Benedict’s cheeks rise, a genuine, delighted blush at the compliment. He’s been told quite a few times that he looks younger than twenty-seven with his new look, and he savors it. “Yixing told me na ‘di ka na raw makakaabot sa dinner mamaya? So I thought I’d drop by.” His eyes are soft, understanding.

“Yeah, flight—” Caleb loses his words, the explanation dying on his tongue, and just nods to awkwardly end his sentence. Benedict is clad in a crisp tuxedo—his regular work outfit, even for a casual drop-by—and gleaming dress shoes. He’s holding a dark, knitted scarf in his right hand and a familiar lunch box in the other. “Come in.” Caleb steps back, opening the door wider.

“I’ll be quick. May meeting pa ako in like,” Benedict checks his expensive wristwatch, a quick glance. “Two hours.”

“Then, I guess I should say thank you?” Caleb offers, a small, wry smile.

“Here, take this.” Benedict holds out the red-knitted scarf, its soft wool feeling warm against Caleb’s outstretched hand. “I heard from a friend that it started snowing early in Toronto so baka super lamig kapag dating mo ‘doon. You should wear this. I made that with my nephew so I guess, it’s a parting gift. And ay, ito pa pala.” Benedict hands him the lunch box after, the plastic cool against his fingers. “Mama made this. She heard about you leaving. Sayang daw hindi ka niya naipag-dinner man lang but maybe when you get back.”

Benedict’s smile is too bright; too genuine; for Caleb. It’s blinding him, painfully so. Maybe that’s why his vision was beginning to blur, tears welling up without his permission. It was Benedict’s wide, toothy grin blurring everything out, washing out the edges of the room. He doesn’t know when, but he stops hearing what Benedict is saying altogether, the words dissolving into an indistinguishable hum. He’s just trying to focus on the way that Benedict is grinning at him—he hasn’t grinned at him like that, openly, genuinely, in a very long time—and he tilts his head back in disbelief when he feels a hot tear escape his eye, tracing a path down his temple. No. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to cry in front of Benedict, not again. He doesn’t know if Benedict stopped talking or if he just suddenly lost his sense of hearing, engulfed in his own emotions. He sighs to himself, a shaky breath, as he wipes his tears with the back of his hand, his head still tilted back, trying to stem the flow.

“I’m in trouble.” He chuckles nervously when he finally faces Benedict again, trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere. Benedict looks at him with genuine concern, his brow furrowed, but he doesn’t prod, nor does he ask any questions, respecting the unspoken boundary. Instead, he smiles again, a softer, empathetic curve of his lips, and asks,

“Why?”

“There’s no way out from you, huh?” Caleb’s voice, although shaky, doesn’t crack, a small victory. He feels his lip quiver, a familiar sensation signaling the unlocking of his floodgates, the impending deluge of tears. Caleb was never really the emotional type. He didn’t cry over simple things. In fact, he can count on his hands the number of times he cried before that night in McDonald’s. But nowadays, it seems that every single thing was a trigger, every emotion a raw nerve. “No way out.” He drops his head, a gesture of defeat, at the crushing realization that there really is no way out, no escape. Benedict is, and will always be, a fundamental part of him. No matter how far he tries to go, no matter the distance he puts between them.

“You know,” Benedict starts quietly, his voice gentle, understanding. “You don’t have to leave. Nilunod ko lang ‘yung sarili ko sa pag-aaral at sa pagtatrabaho nu’ng ako ‘yung nasa posisyon mo.” He looks at Caleb’s tears running freely this time, unchecked, and it takes all of Benedict’s willpower to not move, to not reach out. Benedict might have come a long way since he felt destroyed by Caleb, building himself back up, but that doesn’t mean his heart isn’t breaking now too, seeing Caleb in this raw, vulnerable state.

Caleb is and will always be his plus one; his best friend. And best friends, sometimes, break each other’s hearts too, even unintentionally.

A deep frown appears on Caleb’s face, a familiar expression. It’s the kind of frown that shows up when a child is about to throw a full-blown temper tantrum after minutes of crying silently, trying to suppress their emotions. He can’t form coherent sentences because he’s trying desperately not to make a sound, to keep the sobs silent. He’s trying, with all his might, not to inconvenience anyone with his mess of emotions, his uncontrolled vulnerability. His big, expressive eyes that everyone loved so much are turning red, bloodshot, and Benedict wants to hold him, to offer comfort, even just as a friend. But the way that Caleb is trying to grip the lunch box, his knuckles white, even as his hands are shaking uncontrollably, is enough of a sign for Benedict not to move from his position, not to cross that invisible line. Touching Caleb or reaching out to him might just break him completely, and Benedict knows well enough that the only thing he wanted when he was in that position, feeling utterly destroyed, was his dignity, a shred of self-respect.

Was there such a thing as dignified heartbreak? Perhaps. Especially when the two of you are friends and are in the same tightly-knit circle of friends, you still desperately want to save face and hide that one part of you—the weakest, most vulnerable side—from the world.

“I’m not leaving because I want to.” Caleb manages to say, his voice strained. He even forces yet another smile amidst the flowing tears, a brave, painful attempt at composure. “I just—I think it will hurt me more being reminded that I don’t have you anymore and—”

“You have me, Cali.” Benedict cuts in softly, his voice gentle but firm.

“No, no,” Caleb shakes his head vehemently, the motion making his damp hair stick to his forehead. “I don’t and that’s okay because you deserve to be happy ng malaya na sa akin.”

“Cal—” Benedict tries again, his voice filled with a desperate plea.

“Kainis,” Caleb hiccups, a wet, choked sound. He shakes his head again and waves the hand holding the scarf, motioning for Benedict to give him a few more moments, a pause. “Sabi ko hindi na ko iiyak kasi naman eh but I’m going to be okay. Like how you became okay. As in, pahingi lang ako ng time tapos uuwi rin ako tapos parang walang nangyari.” His voice is thick, full of a strange mix of conviction and desperation.

Instead of answering, Benedict only nods, a slow, understanding movement. No one truly knows what the future holds, and he and Caleb both know, deep down, that the chances of the latter coming home for a barkada reunion are excruciatingly low. A part of Benedict wants to tell Caleb to suck it up, to be strong. If he was able to move on from Caleb around him, enduring his constant presence, Caleb can do it too, he thinks.

But people deal with heartbreak differently. Some mask it in anger, in carefully constructed walls, like Benedict himself had done. Some simply have to go, to create distance, to truly heal.

“Can you wait here ng konti? May kukunin lang ako.” Caleb wipes his tears with the back of his hand, trying to compose himself, and turns his back to Benedict, heading deeper into the apartment. Benedict sees him place the scarf and lunchbox carefully on one of the few remaining boxes, this one labeled, in neat script, “ATE YOO—STATIONARIES,” before disappearing into his room. When he comes back, he’s holding a thick stack of paper, worn around the edges. It looks kind of like a manuscript of some sort. “Take it.” He holds it out to Benedict, his hand trembling slightly.

The manuscript has countless handwritten notes scrawled all over it, red ink bleeding into the pages. But there’s a glaring red scribble on the very top, large and bold, with the words “FINAL” proudly signed by Caleb.

“Your issue comes out on the 18th pero ito ‘yung final draft ng write-up. I just thought… you know.” He trails off, his gaze avoiding Benedict’s.

Benedict flips through the pages, the paper rustling softly, and sees that it’s a substantial 25-pages long, including all the first drafts and revisions, a testament to Caleb’s meticulous process. In the middle part is a neatly folded page with some scribble of a reminder for his assistant, probably—“Final version after this page,” it says, written in Caleb’s hurried hand.

“I can’t wait to read it.” Benedict smiles, a genuine, soft warmth spreading through him. “I’m sure maganda ‘to. Ikaw nagsulat eh.”

“Bilhin mo pa rin ‘yung final ha. Hindi pa tapos mag-edit sila Mark sa office ngayon dahil doon.” Caleb says, a slight warning in his voice, but a hint of a smile plays on his lips.

“Ako pa ba?” Benedict teases, a lightness returning to their banter.

“Napaka-kuripot mo kaya. ‘Yung hard copy ha!” Caleb pretends to scold him, his eyes widening dramatically with a small, playful smile. “Dapat sesendan mo ‘ko ng proof.”

“Magpapadala ka ba ng pambili?” Benedict retorts, raising an eyebrow. Caleb pretends to lunge at him, a childish, playful threat, and Benedict rolls his eyes, a fond exasperation. “’Wag kang iyakin ‘doon ah.”

“Ewan ko sa’yo.” Caleb says, shaking his head. “’Pag tinanong ko sila Xing tapos ‘di ka bumili ng copies, patay ka talaga sa’kin.”

“Oo na.” Benedict concedes, pinching him lightly in the stomach, a familiar gesture. “Alis na ko, ah? Medyo malayo pa ‘yung ida-drive ko. But do take care, okay? We’re all gonna miss you.”

Caleb takes a few more seconds to gaze at the love of his life, who also happens to be his best friend, his eyes tracing Benedict’s features, before grabbing the sleeves of his tuxedo, pulling him closer for a hug. Benedict falls against him, head resting against Caleb’s chest like the perfect puzzle piece they are. He wraps his arms immediately around Caleb’s waist, squeezing it with emotions he may never get to tell him, unspoken words heavy in the air. They hold each other, taking in each other’s presence for an entire minute, a suspended moment in time, before slowly parting. Caleb presses a soft, lingering kiss on top of Benedict’s platinum blonde head.

“I love you.” Caleb whispers, the words feeling both freeing and incredibly painful.

Benedict laughs, a surprised, almost choked sound, and makes a face, scrunching his nose. He runs a hand through his very blonde hair, a self-conscious gesture.

“As a friend.” Caleb quickly adds, pulling back slightly, a forced lightness in his tone. “’Wag kang feeling.”

Benedict laughs harder this time, a genuine, unrestrained sound, and mocks him even, making an exaggerated face back.

“Tangina mo.” Benedict finally replies, the playful insult laced with affection. “Alam mo na ‘yun.” He gently hits Caleb with the manuscript, a soft, thudding sound, before bidding his final goodbyes. He tells him one last round of reminders from him, from the barkada, and even from Benedict’s mom, little nuggets of care. They hug one last time, more briefly this time, a quick squeeze. Benedict thanks him for the manuscript, genuinely grateful, and Caleb thanks him back, unsure of what he really means, but perhaps it’s a silent message of gratitude for everything said and everything left unsaid, for all the messy, beautiful years.

They wave at each other one last time, a lingering gesture. As the elevator doors begin to close, Caleb watches Benedict flash him a big, bright smile, a farewell beacon.

“Safe travels!” Benedict shouts, his voice echoing in the hallway.

Ding!

The elevator doors slide shut.

𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・

The 1: BENEDICT B. BYUN
by Caleb C. Park, Editor-in-Chief Wallows Digital

For most people, Benedict Baekhyun Byun is the country’s star lawyer, the young man who walks into courtrooms and makes seasoned men sit a little straighter. The youngest on the team, the calmest in the room, the name the press won’t stop running after, and the bachelor the headlines cling to in case he slips away before they’re done with him. They call him brilliant, quiet, serious—labels that try to capture something too big for a single page.

I first met Atty. Benedict B. Byun when we were seventeen, wandering the bright hallways of Ateneo de Manila University like we owned them. He was a few months older than I was but a few inches shorter, something I teased him about until today. To his family, he was Ben. To us, he was Bennie. When we went bowling, he was Blazing Byun, grinning so wide it made you laugh too, arm thrown around your shoulder before you could roll your eyes.

He was always laughing back then. His voice filled every corner, the sound of someone who gave himself away without thinking twice. He fed everyone first, forgot his own lunch, put you in the spotlight but stayed just outside its edge. If he was reckless with anything, it was his warmth. His ambitions, though, were another story. He kept those close, careful.

Law was never in the plan for either of us. We were Communication kids through and through, convinced we’d change the world with midnight broadcasts and dusty radio booths no one listened to at first. He once told me his voice was too soft for court. I think he half believed it.

But life, in its quiet way, pulled him elsewhere. Sometime after the diplomas and nights we thought would last forever, Bennie found himself standing outside the Ateneo de Manila School of Law with an application clutched in his hand. He got in. He always does.

These days, people see the version of him that stands steady behind a podium, wearing a suit that sits too well on his shoulders. They see the Thoota case, the months that dragged this country’s old ghosts into daylight, the verdict that shifted our ground and reminded us that some things can still be undone, if only we hold the door open long enough. They know he was the youngest on Prosecutor Kim’s team, the one who stood up, laid down the facts, never let his voice shake when the weight of it all threatened to push the walls in.

What they don’t see is how, underneath the headlines, he’s still the friend you have to drag out of his office for a meal. That he’ll push a snack onto your plate and pretend he didn’t but forget to eat his own. That he cares for people in ways that don’t fit in newsprint or a viral clip. They don’t see that even when the lights are on him, there’s always a part that stays in the dark, resting, quiet.

He’s not quite the same Bennie we used to dare into class skits and half-mocked serenades. Back then, his laugh was the first thing you noticed. Now, it lives deeper, given more carefully. If the old Bennie was all wide-open doors, the Benedict people know today is a little harder to reach. Not colder, just more certain of where he leaves himself behind.

It took more tries than I’d like to admit to get him to agree to this. He hates talking about himself. Says there are bigger stories to tell. I’ve watched him silence three phones over half a dinner. I’ve seen him roll his eyes when networks we once dreamed of working for try to call him at midnight, asking for the piece of him he won’t give.

But one Wednesday, in a café that’s heard more confessions than any courtroom ever will, he let me record him. Maybe because it was me, maybe because some days he lets himself open up in small ways no one else will ever see.

He told me, same as he tells everyone, that he’s boring. He said he hated working, that he was only ever good at studying, that if the Heechul Kim Firm hadn’t called, he’d have buried himself in books forever. The offer came at the right moment—an associate about to give birth, a small gap to fill, a space he stepped into that became everything. Timing, he says, gave him the rest.

He drifted off mid-story, eyes soft and far away. He used to do that all the time, zoning out so deep it worried everyone who didn’t know him well enough to trust that he’d come back when he was ready. When he blinked himself back, he nudged my knee under the table and smiled like he used to when we were seventeen.

“Sometimes I think too much and then nothing at all,” he said. “My brain gets too loud. I let it rest.”

When I asked him what keeps him up these days, he didn’t talk about the headlines, or the verdict that gave the country its spine back for a moment. He just said, “Timing.”

“You can do everything right,” he explained, fingers tapping his cup, steady as always. “But if you miss the timing, you lose it all. The Thoota case? It was half facts, half timing. One day later, we would’ve lost our chance. The job at HCK? If I’d ignored the call, I’d be somewhere else. Even today—five minutes later and the rain would’ve caught me.”

And then he said it, almost too soft for the café to hear.

“I lost my first love because I was too early. Too eager.”

He laughed when he saw my face, the old grin peeking through for a moment. Then, without waiting for me to ask more, he shifted us to something trivial—olives on pizza, the kind of debate you only have with someone who knows when you need to step away from your own heart.

When we left, still arguing about who should have paid, he paused by the curb and told me he thought he might’ve been happier if he’d ended up with that first love. Maybe he would have been teaching by now, buried in books, maybe not a lawyer at all. He said it without bitterness, like someone who has made peace with a story that didn’t unfold the way he once hoped.

But as I looked at him—hands in his pockets, the city moving around him, hair pushed back and face sharper for every year he’s carried—I found myself certain that whatever version of happy he missed back then, he’s exactly where he’s meant to be now. The trial that changed us, the late nights that cracked him open and made him stronger, the quiet ways he holds everyone together without needing the credit—this is his place in the story. Maybe he needed that old heartbreak to hold this new version steady.

People will read this and see the country’s star lawyer. They’ll see the golden boy who pulled the Thoota case through and left us believing, even just for a while, that the right person at the right time can still shift the ground under all of us. But I see the boy who laughed too loudly at a bowling alley, the man who still forgets his own dinner while telling you to finish yours. The friend who never stopped carrying people forward, whether they knew it or not.

One day soon, another case will come, and he’ll stand there again, calm and unshakeable, timing tucked safely in his back pocket. And for those of us lucky enough to have stood nearby all these years, that will always be enough.

Onwards and upwards, Blazing Byun.

— CP

𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・

BENEDICT BYUN
3:09AM
Thank you.
I’m proud of you too.
Onwards and upwards, Cali.

 

𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・

Caleb rushes to the emergency exit as soon as the elevator doors close with a soft ding. His chest heaves, a desperate need for air, and there’s one burning question he needs to ask—one that can’t wait, a frantic thought pounding in his head. He needs to get to Benedict quickly. Luckily, he spots Benedict a couple of seconds after bursting out of the emergency stairwell door, Benedict’s back to him, just reaching his car.

“Bennie, Bennie, Bennie, wait!” Caleb calls out, his voice hoarse, ragged, raw with effort. He’s running on fumes, literally almost about to pass out, his lungs screaming for oxygen, burning with the strain. He’s crying one second and running the next; there’s no in-between for his heart to rest, no pause for emotional recovery, just a relentless oscillation between panic and exertion. He slumps down, bending sharply at the waist, one hand braced on his knee, the other signaling frantically for Benedict to wait for him to catch his breath, to regain some semblance of composure before he completely unravels.

“Anong problema mo?” Benedict laughs, a light, genuinely amused sound, as he walks back towards Caleb. He reaches out, his palm resting briefly on Caleb’s hair, giving him a gentle pat. “You good?” His voice is filled with genuine concern, but his eyes are still twinkling with a hint of mirth, seeing Caleb in such a disheveled state.

“Moving on advice.” Caleb croaks out, the words squeezed past ragged breaths, his chest still heaving. He’s still panting, profoundly regretting not just calling Benedict to wait instead of attempting that desperate, undignified dash. “I need—like—how—I wanna know—how you did—like how are you—you now?” The words tumble out, a jumbled mess of vulnerability and raw, desperate curiosity. He needs to know.

Benedict stops patting, his hand freezing mid-air, then slowly takes a step back, his expression shifting, a flicker of genuine surprise in his eyes. Of all the things Caleb could have possibly asked, this was the last question he expected, completely blindsiding him. But he takes it in, processes the request, the unexpected honesty of it, just as Caleb is greedily taking in his much-needed oxygen after the dumb, impulsive stunt he just pulled. Not until recently, Benedict himself thought he was still full of anger, that it was the only emotion he felt towards Caleb, a constant, burning ember, a heavy weight in his chest. But after their interview and a couple more days spent together, talking and simply being, a strange lightness had subtly descended upon him. He woke up one morning and just felt so much lighter, a tangible weight lifted from his shoulders, as if something deeply rooted had finally, gently given way. When he looks back at his years of agonizing progress, the slow, painful crawl towards healing, he always tries to pinpoint when exactly he started feeling okay, when the heavy cloak of sadness and resentment finally began to lift. It wasn’t fast progress. He even hurt some people along the way (read: Eric), leaving a trail of unintended collateral damage, of broken connections, but he got there. He finally reached a place of peace, a quiet, settled calm.

“One day,” Benedict starts, his voice quiet, reflective, almost distant. “Napagod na akong magalit sa’yo.” He sighs, a small, weary sound, a release of old burdens. “I don’t have a specific ‘moving on’ advice because I was just angry for the last two years, holding onto all that resentment, letting it consume me. But one day, everything just felt so heavy, so impossibly burdensome, the weight crushing me, that I actually prayed. And that was that.” He shrugs, a simple, honest gesture, a truth he offers without embellishment.

“You…?” Caleb repeats, his eyes wide with disbelief, a tremor in his voice. “Prayed?” The word sounds alien, foreign on his tongue, a concept he hadn’t associated with Benedict.

Benedict nods, a slight, firm tilt of his head. He wasn’t the most religious person in the world, certainly not in the traditional sense. In fact, his mother will probably kill him when she finds out that Benedict doesn’t go to Sunday mass regularly, nor does he even bother to pray before meals, a detail she’d find scandalous.

“I prayed and told God that He can decide for me, because I couldn’t do it anymore. I was just too tired to fight it.” Benedict runs a hand through his newly blonde hair, a casual gesture, the cool strands a contrast to the warmth of his confession. His heartbroken days and depressing weeks, the ones where he felt utterly consumed by grief, by the sheer desolation of loss, were long behind him now. Caleb knew it was going to take quite some time for him, a long, arduous journey, filled with its own painful discoveries, but he had a quiet certainty now: it was going to be okay for Caleb too. Benedict was his best self now, vibrant and at peace, radiating a quiet strength, and Caleb was going to get there too, in his own time. “I have so much love for you, Caleb. I care about you, deeply, truly, and I will always, always love you.” He looks directly into Caleb’s eyes, his own gaze clear and unwavering, a profound affection shining through, a love that has evolved but never diminished.

Caleb is standing straight now, his breathing steadier, no longer hunched over, the frantic energy of his run dissipating. Benedict tiptoes a little, just enough to reach the top of Caleb’s head, and gives him a gentle pet, a soft, affectionate pat, like one would comfort a large, sad dog, or a beloved, clumsy sibling. It’s a gesture that feels both tender and conclusive.

“I love you, and I think we would’ve had the most fun if we got together,” Benedict says, his voice a quiet admission, almost a wistful thought, laced with a delicate, bittersweet regret. “But you’re not my person anymore.” The words hang in the air, a finality that stings with a quiet truth. It’s not angry, not accusatory, just a simple, unchangeable fact.

“That’s okay, right?” Caleb asks, his voice barely audible, a fragile whisper that betrays his lingering uncertainty, a desperate plea for reassurance. His eyes, though, are locked on Benedict’s, searching for confirmation, for a lifeline. “I’m gonna be okay, right?” He needs Benedict to tell him, to validate the possibility of his own future peace.

Benedict smiles at him, a soft, understanding curve of his lips, a gentle reassurance that reaches Caleb’s aching heart. He pulls all of Caleb’s six-foot-one glory by the waist, a surprising strength in his grip, and engulfs Caleb in a tight, full-bodied hug. Caleb’s face is pressed against Benedict’s shoulder, the familiar scent of his cologne, a mix of crisp linen and something subtly warm, filling his senses, a fleeting comfort.

For a split second, a profound, aching something washes over Caleb. He feels like he’s home, a deep, resonant sense of belonging settling over him, wrapping him in warmth. It’s the kind of home that you’ve known your whole life, the one that fits perfectly, seamlessly. But if there was anything to learn from Benedict, anything at all from his journey, it was to not make homes out of people, to not anchor your entire being, your very existence, to another individual. To do so was to build on sand, to set oneself up for inevitable collapse. He pulls away from the thought, mentally shaking it off, the realization a quiet, painful ache. He consciously relaxes his body against Benedict’s embrace, letting himself just be in the moment, savoring the finality of it. He sighs, a long, drawn-out exhalation that carries years of unspoken burdens, and waits. But the silence continues, stretching comfortably, peacefully between them, no words needed, no explanations demanded. It takes him a couple more seconds, a small internal adjustment, a re-calibration of his soul, to feel truly comfortable in it, to find peace within its quietude. The air is still, no longer charged with unspoken desires or lingering resentments. Just presence.

In their silence, a profound, unasked question answered, a quiet acceptance blooming, Caleb found his own answer. The pain isn't gone, not entirely, but it's a good pain, a clarifying one. It's the ache of a wound finally closing, of a new path stretching out.

Fin.

Notes:

HI! I can't believe we're at the epilogue now. Thank you so much for reading. Please leave a comment or tweet me @__jonginnie (yes, two underscores). Thank you so much!

Notes:

Hi! I'm trying to write a full-length fic again. Please let me know what you think. Leave me a comment or a tweet @__jonginnie (yes, two underscores!)

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