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Han had grown used to quiet birthdays. He never threw parties again. Never really told anyone. Never bothered checking his messages. He just woke up early in the morning to work and now he just made his coffee a little more bitter, walked slower on his way home, and tried not to flinch when old memories passed like strangers on the street.
This year was no different.
He got home at 7:10 PM, groceries in hand. The sky is gray. The hallway lights flickered like they always did. Everything as expected, mundane.
Until he opened the door and saw Jeyel sitting on his couch.
No sound. No warning. Just him. Legs folded, arms resting on his knees, wearing the same hoodie he once forgot at Han’s place years ago. The one Han could never bring himself to throw out.
Han didn’t drop the groceries. He didn’t scream. His body simply... stopped.
“Hey,” Jeyel said softly, as if it hadn’t been years. As if he hadn’t died.
Han stared, eyes wide, mouth slightly open.
And Jeyel smiled.
“Happy birthday.”
Han blinked once. Then again.
Jeyel is still there.
His hoodie is a little oversized. His hair is slightly messy, like he ran a hand through it a few times. He looked exactly how Han remembered him. His youthful face is still exactly the same.
Too exactly.
Jeyel tilted his head, the way he always did when Han was too quiet.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” he asked, even though he was already inside.
Han placed the groceries down carefully, like any sudden movement would make this moment crack. He didn’t speak. He couldn’t. He just stared.
“I figured,” Jeyel said, eyes flicking toward the window where the sky darkened, “since it’s your birthday… maybe you want to do what we used to?”
Han’s voice finally found a way out. Soft. Shaky.
“Used to?”
“You know,” Jeyel stood and walked toward him. “Sa Karinderya. The dish we always used to order. The pancit you always said tasted like Nanay’s cooking. I was hoping I could have it again. With you.”
Han didn’t ask why. Or how.
He just whispered, “Have you been here long?”
Jeyel smiled. “Since morning. Been waiting for you. When did you even become a morning person? Dati 10am ka na nagigising kaya around that time ako dumating.”
There were a thousand things Han should’ve said. You’re gone. You died. I saw your name carved on marble. But none of them made it past his throat.
Because right now, Jeyel is looking at him with eyes that he remembered. Eyes that softened when they met his. The same way they always did.
And Han–tired, grief-struck, aching Han wanted to remember too.
“Okay,” he said quietly. “Magpapalit lang ako.”
“Okay,” Jeyel replied, voice warm. “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”
Han didn’t answer. He turned to his room and closed the door behind him, leaning against it, chest rising and falling too fast. He pressed a hand over his mouth.
He should be scared. Nagha-hallucinate ba sya?
But all he could feel is this soft, aching warmth blooming in his ribs.
Jeyel is home.
Even just for tonight.
The night air is cold, but not the chilling kind.
Jeyel walked beside him like nothing had changed, hands in his pockets, humming a tune Han hadn’t heard in years. 'Yung kanta na lagi nilang inaawit pauwi tuwing gabi matapos kumain sa labas. 'Yung kanta na palaging mali ang lyrics kapag si Jeyel na ang kumakanta.
They passed by the old bakery, the shut-down computer shop, the yellow gate with the barking dog. Everything looked the same. Everything felt the same.
And yet. Han kept stealing glances at him.
His shoes made no sound on the pavement. His breath didn’t cloud in the cold.
But he was here. Laughing. Talking. Smiling at Han like he used to when they were seventeen and broke and happy.
“Na-miss ko ‘to,” Jeyel said, as they neared the karinderya. “Yung simpleng lakad lang. Yung tayong dalawa lang.”
Han nodded, unsure if he could trust his voice.
The karinderya still had the same orange tarp banner, faded from the years. The same small TV in the corner playing teleseryes. The smell hit him instantly…soy sauce, oil, garlic, home.
“ ‘Nang Letty!” Jeyel called out, grinning wide.
Behind the counter, a woman in her sixties turned around, wiping her hands on her apron. Her expression lit up the second she saw him.
“Oy! Jeyel! Ang tagal mong nawala, ha!” she scolded in that warm, familiar tone. “Akala ko nakalimutan mo na ‘tong karinderya namin.”
Han stood by the door, hands in his pockets. Quiet, like always.
“Hindi po ah,” Jeyel laughed. “Namiss ko nga kayo eh. Dalawa kami ngayon, oh. Kasama ko po si Han.”
Ate Letty leaned sideways to catch sight of him, her smile softening.
“Ay, andyan ka pala Han. Akala ko mag-isa ka na naman.” She gave a small wave. “Kayo pa rin talaga simula high school. Kala ko nag-break up na kayo kasi minsan si Han lang ang napunta dito. Oh sya, umupo na kayo.”
Han gave a small nod.
“Usual?” she asked, already turning to prepare their plates.
“Opo,” Jeyel said. “Yung combo naming dalawa, please. Yung lagi naming in-oorder dati.”
“Kayo talaga, hindi parin nagbabago.” she chuckled.
They sat at the table near the wall fan, the same spot they’d chosen a hundred times before. The seat cushions were a little more worn, but still carried the same creak when Han sat down.
“Ang bait pa rin ni ‘nang Letty no?” Jeyel said, resting his elbow on the table. “Naaalala pa rin ‘yung orders natin kahit ilang taon na tayong ‘di nakabalik.”
Han kept his eyes on the table, tracing the faded tile patterns with his thumb. “Hmm.”
“Naalala mo nung nawalan ng kuryente dito tapos may kandila sa gitna ng mesa? Para tayong nasa date sa mamahaling restaurant,” Jeyel laughed, eyes sparkling. “Pero adobo at fried chicken lang ‘yung nasa plato natin.”
Han looked at him then.
That smile was the same.
Everything is the same.
And yet, a strange warmth settled in his chest. Like an old blanket wrapped around a cold memory.
Ate Letty brought the food over, setting the plates down with a fond smile. “Oh, ayan. Favorite n’yo. Kumain na kayo, baka lumamig.”
“Salamat po,” Jeyel said. He nudged the plate closer to Han. “Kain na.”
Han picked up his fork, mechanically taking a bite. The adobo is still as salty-sweet as he remembered. The pancit still had too much pepper, just the way Jeyel liked it.
Everything is how it used to be.
And somehow, that is what made Han want to cry more.
Because it wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not anymore.
Jeyel is laughing across from him, talking about old high school stories, teasing him gently for always picking out the carrots in the pancit.
And Han couldn’t bring himself to ask why.
Not yet.
He just wanted this moment.
One more memory in the place where all their memories lived.
Once they’re done eating, Ate Letty walks over to their table, holding a pitcher of water.
“ Ganon pa rin ba ang lasa? Pasok pa rin ba sa standards nyo?” Sabi ni ate Letty.
Tumango si Jeyel. “Walang nagbago, ‘nang Letty.”
She chuckled, clearly pleased. “Ay nako, mabuti naman kung ganon. O siya, basta bumalik kayo ha? Hangga’t andito pa ‘ko. Di ko alam hanggang kelan ko pa ‘to mapapatakbo.”
“Syempre naman po ‘nang Letty. The best ka eh.” Sabay thumbs up ni Jeyel kay Ate Letty.
Tumayo na silang dalawa. “Sige na po, alis na po kami. Pupunta pa kami sa park saglit.”
“Sige, sige. Ingat kayo. Masaya akong makita kayong magkasama ulit.”
The walk there is quiet, comfortable, but heavier now. The night wind is colder than before, brushing past their cheeks. The moon hung low, half-hidden behind clouds. A few streetlamps flickered. Han and Jeyel settled onto the old swing set, the one tucked in the corner near the trees. It creaked gently under their weight, a familiar sound from their youth. The chains were a little rusted, the paint chipped, but the seat still held them like it always did.
They didn’t speak at first.
The silence isn't awkward. It's soft. Lingering. Like both of them were afraid words would break something fragile.
Jeyel gently rocked back and forth. Wind ruffled his hair. His shoes barely scraped the gravel below.
Then, finally, he spoke.
“Naalala mo si Steven?” he said, voice light, almost teasing. “Yung crush na crush si Ibo dati?”
Han gave the barest nod.
Jeyel chuckled. “Grabe, ‘di ba? Si Ibo, walang kaide-idea. Tapos nung binasted niya si Steven, ang sama pa ng pagkakasabi.”
He paused to mimic Ibo’s voice, “ ‘Ayaw ko sa mga maaasim na basketball player, steven.’ ”
Han almost smiled. Almost.
Jeyel laughed again, shaking his head. “Ang tapang ni Steven, pero iyak siya nang iyak pagkatapos. Tapos ikaw pa nag-abot ng panyo kasi ako natatawa lang.”
Han’s gaze didn’t move from Jeyel.
His laughter, the curve of his lips, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, its all too intact. Too untouched by time. Or death. Pano nya ba sasabihin kay Jeyel? How is he supposed to say that Steven and Ibo ended up together? In fact, nagp-plano na sila ng kasal nila this year.
Han let out a bitter smile. Han’s hand moved before his thoughts could catch up.
He reached out slowly, fingers trembling, and gently cupped Jeyel’s cheek.
It was soft, warm and real.
Jeyel froze, lips parting slightly in surprise. But he didn’t pull away.
Jeyel’s eyes searched his, searching for something. Something Han wasn’t sure he could give.
“Han?” Jeyel whispered. “Bakit?”
For a moment, Han couldn’t find the words. His heart pounded in his chest, and all he could do was hold on.
Because in this fleeting, impossible moment, Jeyel is still here.
Han just stared at him, eyes wide with something between longing and lost. Because this isn’t a memory. This isn’t a ghost. It’s him. The warmth of his skin. The breath in his lungs. The life in his eyes.
Han’s throat tightened. His lips trembled. And then without warning his chest caved in.
Tears broke through his lashes, one after another, falling fast and without pause. As if something inside him finally shattered. Like grief realized it had been waiting too long.
He tried to speak but only a gasp escaped.
His hand stayed on Jeyel’s cheek, as if letting go would mean losing him again.
“Jeyel…” he choked, voice barely audible.
Then came the sob. From a place too deep, too buried.
His shoulders shook violently as he curled forward, his hand slipping from Jeyel’s face to grip his own shirt like he needed to hold himself together. But he couldn’t. Everything is falling apart.
He covered his face with both hands, the cries tearing out of him one after another, ugly and broken. The kind of crying that sounded like it came from someone who hadn’t let himself grieve.
The kind of crying that only happened when love refused to forget.
“I thought I was okay…” he gasped between sobs, voice crumbling, “Kala ko tapos na ang lahat.That I survived."
Jeyel didn’t speak. He just moved closer. Arms wrapping around Han. Holding him the way he used to, firm, safe, steady.
And Han sobbed harder.
“Bakit ngayon pa?” he cried into Jeyel’s shoulder. “Why do you make me feel like… like you’re still here?”
He clung to him like a drowning man, his voice cracking with every syllable.
“It still hurts so much, Jeyel… it still hurts…”
Jeyel’s hand moved in slow, calming circles on Han’s back. Not saying anything. Just… being there.
And maybe that is the most painful part of all. Because he isn’t supposed to be there. But he is.
They were back at Han's house.
He didn’t even remember how they got there.
Everything is in a blur, His feet moving on autopilot, his mind replaying fragments he couldn’t control. And now he sat on the edge of his bed, frozen. Breath shallow and hands trembling.
And Jeyel is there. Sitting beside him.
Like he never left.
Han stared blankly at the wall, tears slipping before he even realized he was crying. His chest tightened when he looked at the clock.
10:30 PM.
The same time. The exact fucking time.
His vision spun. He stood up shaky, disoriented and crawled into bed, pulling the blanket over his head like a child hiding from monsters.
But this wasn’t a monster.
It’s Jeyel.
Han wanted to believe its a dream. That his mind finally gave in and created something…anything to soften the ache.
Then, he felt the covers being pulled down gently, like Jeyel always did when Han pretended to be asleep just to feel him near.
“Hannie,” Jeyel's voice was soft, almost cautious. “Can you look at me?”
Han didn’t. He couldn't.
His body is still, but his heart is spiraling.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Han whispered, his voice cracking. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
“Love–”
“No,” he sat up suddenly, eyes red, voice trembling. “Please don’t talk. Please d-don’t say anything right now because I-I might break.”
His fingers dug into his knees as if grounding himself. He laughed shallow and broken. “I didn’t even know you were gone. I didn’t even know you were dying. I wasn’t there. I wasn’t there, Jeyel.”
His chest heaved.
“I should’ve known. I should’ve felt it. I should’ve—” his voice gave out as he gripped his own shirt over his chest. “You died and I didn't know. I didn’t get to say goodbye. I didn’t get to hold you. I didn’t even know you were in pain.”
“Hindi ako naging enough at hindi ko man lang napansin." he sobbed. “What kind of person… what kind of lover doesn’t even know the person they love is leaving…dying?”
Jeyel reached for him, but Han flinched, shaking his head. “Don’t. Please. Don’t touch me. If you touch me, I’ll believe this is real and I can’t…I can’t survive that again.”
He dragged his palms down his face, sobs spilling uncontrollably now. “Do you know how cruel that is? To learn that the love of your life died while you were still dreaming of them?”
He looked up at Jeyel eyes wild, broken, and desperate. “Why now?” His voice was a whisper. “Why today? After two years of learning how to breathe without you again… why did you come back today?”
His voice cracked again as he folded in on himself.
He looked at Jeyel through soaked lashes. “I’m scared to touch you. Kasi kung hindi ‘to totoo…Kung panaginip lang ang lahat ng ‘to…Di ko kakayanin Jeyel.”
Jeyel didn’t say anything at first. He didn’t try to argue, didn’t try to explain himself. He just... moved closer. Slow and hesitant like approaching a wounded animal. And then, without asking, he reached out. Not to touch Han’s hands. Not to pull him into an embrace. He just rested his palm against Han’s back.
But it was enough to make Han shatter all over again.
His back trembled under Jeyel’s touch, sobs tightening in his throat like knots. He leaned forward, curling into himself, trying so hard to keep it together but he couldn’t.
He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t even confused anymore.
He is just hurting. Deep, relentless, soul-tearing kind of hurt.
“Why are you real?” Han whispered, not lifting his head. “Why are you warm?”
Jeyel didn’t answer. His thumb only rubbed small circles against Han’s back.
That’s what broke Han more, how gentle he was. Because this isn’t fair. Jeyel being here like this. Breathing and real.
“Bakit ka pa bumalik Jey?”
For a moment, Jeyel looked like he might cry too. But instead, he said nothing. He simply closed the distance between them, pulling Han into a tight embrace, One so firm, so desperately warm, it felt like a promise trying to hold together what had already broken.
Han’s body gave out entirely. He clung to Jeyel like a drowning man, sobbing into his chest, fingers twisting into the back of Jeyel’s shirt, as if letting go would mean losing him all over again.
“Stay,” he whispered, barely audible. “Please stay. Don’t disappear on me again.”
Jeyel didn’t answer. He just held him tighter.
They sank onto the bed together, Han still crying. Jeyel embraced Han, arms wrapped around Han’s frame.
Han’s hands clutched at Jeyel’s arm like a child terrified of being abandoned again. He couldn’t stop shaking. Even when the tears dried up, his breaths came out unsteady, shallow, as if his body was still bracing for grief’s next wave. Then Han forced himself to calm down.
Han stood up, his hands trembling as he walked toward the cabinet. He couldn’t stop himself. It was as if some force was pulling him forward, making him do this.
After a few moments, he turned back to face Jeyel, whose confused gaze met his. Han’s chest tightened at the sight.
“I’ve got something for you,” Han said, his voice barely a whisper, tight and strained.
Han moved slowly like his feet couldn’t carry him fast enough. His hand trembled as he opened it, revealing the velvet box, and held it out toward Jeyel.
Jeyel’s gaze dropped to the box, and then, with a sharp intake of breath, he looked back up at Han, his eyes wide with disbelief. He froze for a moment, uncertainty flooding his features before he slowly reached for it. As he opened the box, his breath caught, and the gasp he let out was the kind of sound that broke something inside Han.
Han’s fingers trembled as he stared at the ring inside. It was the same ring Han had chosen so long ago, the one he had imagined sliding onto Jeyel’s finger in a future they would never get to have.
Han’s chest tightened painfully, and without thinking, he took the ring from the box, his hand shaking as he held it out. He didn’t look away from Jeyel’s face, even though his own eyes were starting to sting.
“Han…” Jeyel’s voice cracked, filled with a kind of raw pain that made Han’s heart ache. His gaze flickered between Han and the ring, realization written across his face.
Han couldn’t hold it back anymore. With a trembling hand, he gently took Jeyel’s hand, his fingers working to slip the ring onto Jeyel’s finger. The moment the ring touched his skin, something inside Han broke wide open. This is how it was supposed to be. This is the way he’d imagined it all those years ago.
Han had imagined a lifetime of them together, a future with this very ring: marriage, a house, dogs, everything they’d wanted. But now, it was just a symbol of everything they’d lost.
Jeyel hands went still. Slowly, his gaze lifted back to Han, tears pooling in his eyes. His lips trembled, and Han could see it, Jeyel was fighting to hold it together, just as he was.
“I... I was supposed to give you this that night,” Han whispered, choking on his words. His voice cracked as tears began to fall freely. “We were supposed to be forever, Jeyel.…I’m sorry if I was too late.”
Jeyel’s hand reached up to gently touch Han’s face, wiping away a tear that he didn’t even know had fallen. And then, Jeyel broke. His own tears began to fall, and Han saw the hurt, the same pain reflected in Jeyel’s eyes.
Without thinking, Han pulled Jeyel into him, holding him tight, desperate to feel the warmth of his body, desperate to feel alive again, if only for a moment. Jeyel didn't pull away, his arms tightening around Han, pulling him closer.
The tears came like a flood, and the two of them sank onto the bed, still holding each other tightly. Han buried his face in Jeyel’s shoulder, his body wracked with sobs that felt too deep, too much for him to bear.
Minutes passed like hours. And then, in a voice so soft it almost broke, Han whispered, “I wish you’ll never leave.”
Jeyel’s arms around him tightened. “I wish that too,” he said, just above a breath, “but it’s impossible.”
Han didn’t say anything after that. He didn’t even ask what Jeyel meant. Somewhere deep inside, he already knew.
So he just stayed awake. He kept his eyes open, even when they sting. Because he had this horrible feeling that if he slept, if he even blinked too long, Jeyel would vanish. Like a mist. Like a memory.
Jeyel must’ve known. So he began to hum. Softly, low against Han’s hair. It’s a familiar tune.
And as Jeyel hummed, he drew gentle circles on Han’s back with the pads of his fingers. Absentminded and soothing. Like a lullaby.
“Nananaginip ba ako? Mags-stay ka ba?,” Han murmured, more to himself than anything.
“Mm,” Jeyel responded, still humming. Then, in a hush, he added, “Just for tonight.”
Han’s breath caught. His grip on Jeyel’s arms tightened.
Han nodded, though his throat was closing again. “I missed you every single day,” he choked out.
“I know,” Jeyel replied, his voice steady but soft, like a thread trying not to snap. “I felt it.”
Han didn’t dare blink. Didn’t dare breathe too deep. Because this was all he had. And morning is coming.
Eventually, exhaustion won.
Han fought it, fought so hard, but the warmth of Jeyel’s arms, the lull of his humming, the steady circles drawn on his back, they cradled him into stillness. His breathing slowed. His grip loosened.
Jeyel pressed a kiss on the crown of his head and whispered, “Thank you… for remembering me.”
And Han, barely conscious, managed to whisper back, “You’re worth remembering for.”
Then he fell asleep peacefully. For the first time in years.
And when he woke up The bed is cold.
Han blinked the sleep away, reached beside him.
But there was nothing.
No warmth. No hums. No arms wrapped around him.
God, the ache in his chest returned with a vengeance.
Slowly, he sat up. The blanket fell from his shoulder, and his hands clenched it tightly as he stared at the space Jeyel once occupied.
He whispered, “Jeyel…?”
But the silence answered him.
Then Han noticed the ring in the pillow.
Tears welled up again, quiet this time. He didn’t sob. He didn’t scream. He just sat there, breathing through the devastation, holding on to the memory of being held. Holding the ring like a lost soul.
Because that is all he had left now.
A ring.
A visit that lasted too short. But still he whispered, as if Jeyel could hear him, as if the walls could carry his voice into whatever world Jeyel now belonged to:
“I hope you felt it... how much I love you. How much I still do. Mahal na mahal parin kita Jeyel.”
And in that still morning light, with puffy eyes and a hollow chest, Han smiled through the tears.
Because for one night Jeyel held him again.
Even if it broke him all over.