Chapter Text
The air smelled like burnt sugar and rain. It was the kind of muggy late afternoon in Quezon City that wrapped around your skin like a memory you hadn’t asked to remember. Heeseung tightened his grip on the paper cup of iced caramel macchiato, now sweating cold into his palm, and leaned against the weathered railing of the UP Vargas Museum steps.
“Walang pinagbago,” he muttered to no one in particular, eyes scanning the familiar chaos of Katipunan Avenue beyond the acacia trees. Jeepneys rumbled. Students laughed somewhere behind him. And that breeze—laced with exhaust, sampaguita from a vendor’s basket, and warm taho from a nearby pushcart—carried him back.
He hadn’t planned to be here. Heeseung was in Manila for a week-long music workshop, just a quick flight from Seoul. He had promised himself it was business only. But the minute his Grab car passed the oblation statue, something in his chest ached in recognition.
Five years.
Five years since he last walked these grounds with his hand intertwined with Jungwon’s, careless and wild in the type of love that made everything else look dull. Five years since the break-up. No calls. No texts. No trace.
And yet.
That morning, Jay had messaged him out of nowhere:
“Hey. You back in the PH? Ikaw ba yung nakita kong name sa guest list for the ABS Music Workshop?”
Jay. The same Jay who used to crash in their dorm room to escape Econ exams. The same Jay who once told Heeseung, after a particularly explosive fight with Jungwon, “Pare, mahal mo pa rin kahit galit ka. That’s how I know.”
Jay wanted to meet. Over beers. Tonight.
Heeseung had agreed without thinking, and now, with hours to kill before their reunion, he found himself haunting their old college haunts—just like the ghost he always feared he’d become.
Heeseung's feet moved on their own, the way muscle memory overpowers logic. From the museum, he wandered past the Sunken Garden, crossed the Acad Oval under golden hour skies, and ended up outside the College of Music. The building looked smaller somehow. Or maybe it was him who had gotten bigger—older.
Inside, the echoes of piano practice filled the hall like distant waves. He watched a student with earbuds pacing, muttering lyrics to herself while scrolling through notes. His own college days flashed—him and Jungwon cramming for juries, hiding in practice rooms after curfew, scribbling lyrics in the margins of notebooks between exams.
He remembered that one night, rain lashing against the windows, when Jungwon had whispered, “Wag mo akong iwan, kahit anong mangyari.”
Heeseung hadn’t answered then. He had kissed him instead.
The weight of that silence now sat heavy in his throat.
Jay looked almost the same, just a little more tired around the eyes when they met at The Brewery along Maginhawa. The bar was noisier than Heeseung remembered. Or maybe it was just his own thoughts roaring.
“Tagal mo nang nawala, pare,” Jay said, raising his glass. “I thought you forgot all about us.”
“Hindi naman ganun,” Heeseung offered, a tight smile on his face. “Busy lang. Life.”
“Life, huh?” Jay’s gaze flickered. “So... narinig mo na ba?”
Heeseung’s stomach dropped.
Jay sipped his beer, casually, almost cruelly, before continuing. “Jungwon. He’s back. Moved to QC again. Nag-teach siya ngayon—voice coach for a theatre group in Cubao.”
It felt like someone had cracked a window in Heeseung’s chest. A wind came in, sharp and cold.
Jay watched him. “Alam kong hindi mo na siya hinanap. Pero baka dapat mo na siyang makita ulit.”
Heeseung could only shake his head, voice tight. “Bakit ngayon mo lang sinasabi?”
Jay shrugged. “Maybe ngayon ka lang handa.”
The truth was, he wasn’t. He didn’t know if he ever would be.
Back in his hotel room that night, Heeseung lay in the dark with only the humming of the aircon and the blinking blue light of the TV for company. His fingers hovered over his phone screen, over Jungwon’s old number. He knew it probably didn’t work anymore, but he still had it memorized.
Heeseung opened Instagram. He hadn’t dared in years. The search bar mocked him.
@jywonvoice
His thumb trembled.
The profile was public. The bio read: Voice coach | Theatre is home | He/him | Cubao.
There was a recent photo—a grainy candid of Jungwon laughing with students, hair shorter now, dyed a soft brown, but the smile unmistakable. Heeseung’s heart twisted.
A voice message came in. Jay again.
“Multo na kayo sa isa’t isa. Pero minsan, kailangan harapin ang multo para mapatahimik.”
Heeseung didn’t sleep that night.
The next day, with barely a plan and heart pounding like a freshman confessing love, Heeseung found himself in Cubao Expo. The streets were noisy with Friday traffic, vendors selling kwek-kwek and ukay deals booming from shops. Somewhere nearby, a small performance theatre operated by a local arts collective was rehearsing for an upcoming indie musical.
The door was open. Inside, piano chords floated gently into the warm, dusty air. A voice rose—not perfect, but honest. Then another. Then laughter.
Then him.
Jungwon stepped into view from the wings, a clipboard in hand, correcting a student’s posture with familiar precision. His voice was calm. Still melodic. Still everything.
Heeseung froze.
He didn't step inside. He couldn’t.
Not yet.
Instead, he backed away, heart slamming against his ribs like drumbeats.
He turned the corner, walking fast until he reached a bakery down the road. There, with pandesal in hand and coffee that tasted too bitter, Heeseung finally cried. Quietly, behind his sunglasses. The way only people who thought they’d moved on cried.
And in his mind, one line played over and over.
"Wag mo akong iwan, kahit anong mangyari."