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It was a Tuesday morning and Placido wasn't in class. And it was a Tuesday morning when Juanito told himself he'll never quite love again.
"Asa Bulacan na Siya" was the four words that shook him straight to his core. He asked "kaylan pa?" And when he found out it was last night he began to hate Placido. Began to hate himself.
Began to hate how Placido Penitente's cologne still lingered in his nose and he'd whip his head to nothing hoping it was him. Began to hate how Placido Penitente's name sounded on other people lips as they began to wonder were the sobre saliente has gone off to. Began to hate the way he hoped and cruelty believed it was hoax and he'd be sitting next to him in his physics class, glaring at him when he entered... Began to loathe that he knew it would never happen. Began to loathe the thought of Placido entirely.
But if you knew him in truth, you'd know Juanito loved him.
He had loved him like the calloused pads on his fingers, because that the violin would sing beautifully in the rough patches of his hardships. He loved him like the disheveled harmonies he'd play when the only audience was himself, because underneath the pretention and the well groomed image of Juanito Pelaez he still desperately craved every single interaction Penitente would spare. Because the tailored resolve of his own face grows on him in a sickly mold infested way and Placido would have him in the missing notes and unsung symphonies he'd hide.
He didn't think it was true at first when Placido told him he didn't want to study anymore. But he supposed if this place caged him any longer he'd never sing again. So he tried to get him involved in the work he'd like. To get him involved with the friars and the student body. He'd talk his ear off and Placido looked at him for once in their whole... Situation, with annoyance. And Juanito thought maybe... Just maybe. He was the reason...
He's gone.
It's made his mind blank really ever time he tries to wrap his mind around it. This is a man he wanted attention and acknowledgement from so bad. And he's...
Gone off to Bulucan (at least to his knowledge) and Juanito is left in Padre Millon's class, staring at the board blankly as another tirade of his professor is droned off to the back of his head, and the clock ticks pathetically behind his mind. Padre Millon's power dwindled the day Placido stormed out of his class, his speeches and sermons held little to nothing anymore. Especially to Juanito, it bears no use anymore. It bore no use to be afraid, it bore no use to comply, and bore no use to look for an answer when the warm presence is left empty beside him.
The clock clicks pathetically in the background and he follows the ticks like it's his personal prayer.
He knew where he would go after this. Knew the places he'd visit. Alone this time. The pads of his fingers on the desk still linger on the side of Placidos. He missed the way he'd brush his pinky on the other man's own and give him a sly little smirk just to bother him and the other would roll his eyes and the faintest smile would appear on his lips and Juanito deemed it an earned victory. And after class they'd walk to Escolta.
And after class... He'd walk to Escolta.