Archive of Our Own

“Stacey, I remember the first time I saw you. You were inside a cab, fumbling over your wallet, digging out cash in a sea of receipts that had overstayed their welcome. At the time, you were just a girl a friend introduced me to. A distraction, maybe. You were never someone I expected to lo–”

“Love?!” Mikha’s chair grazed on the carpet as she jerked upright. “Casual lang dapat, diba?”

“Pwede patapusin mo muna ako?” 

Mikha leaned back, arms crossed, her expression a tight mix of concern and disbelief.

“Okay,” Colet sighed. “At the time, you were just a girl a friend introduced me to. A distraction, maybe. You were never someone I expected to love. It took me three hours to make a move. But you never rushed me. The second time you came over, you brought me brownies…”

Mikha laughed—too loud, too sharp. “Brownies? Pati brownies may meaning?”

Colet smiled faintly. “Cute kaya yun! Sabi niya di niya daw alam kung gusto ko may peanuts, kaya two batches ginawa niya. Isang meron, isang wala. Who does that?”

Mikha went quiet.

Colet turned to face her. “Kailangan ko lang masabi sa kanya, okay? Alam ko naman na casual lang dapat—”

“Exactly,” Mikha said, eyes flicking away. “Casual lang yung deal. You both agreed. Ikaw pa nga propose ng set up.”

“No,” Colet said, shaking her head. “I mean, oo, idea ko ‘to. Pero si Stacey kasi… never niya naman sinabi kung ano gusto niya. Sumabay lang agad sa trip ko.”

“Yun na nga,” Mikha looked at her then. “So why are you telling me all this now? Nakaka-whiplash ka naman.”

“Kasi bestfriend kita,” Colet said quietly. “And I need to know kung tama ba ‘tong gagawin ko.”

Mikha didn’t answer right away. She reached for her mug, took a slow sip, then said, “You really wanna know what I think?”

“Oo nga!”

“It’s a bad idea,” Mikha said, walking over to Colet now. “Casual is casual. And can I just say? Three years na kayo sa set up na yan. Why risk it?”

“Kasalanan mo ’to. Ikaw nag-reto kay Stacey!”

Mikha’s mouth dropped open, offended. “Excuse me? Hindi kita pinilit makipaglandian, ah!”

But Colet didn’t back down. “Oo, pero ikaw yung nagsabing, "I think you’ll like her.”

Mikha opened her mouth to argue again—but the memory hit her first.

Three years ago

Wednesday, late afternoon. Everyone else was glued to their screens, neck-deep in their Quarter 3-4 business review even when it didn’t really matter. Colet was hunched over her desk, nursing a Monster and half a headache, when Mikha wheeled over.

"Hoy, serious ka ba sa ginagawa mo?" she whispered, nudging Colet’s chair with her foot.

“Medyo,” Colet said, not looking up.

“Mamaya na yan. May ire-reto ako sa’yo.”

Colet sighed. “Sino na namang walking red flag ’to?”

“Hoy, hindi. Legit to. Her name’s Stacey. Single, gay, bestfriend ng girlfriend ko sa law school.”

“Bestfriend ni Aiah?”

“Yup. Wala naman akong ibang girlfriend!”

Colet side-eyed her. “So this girl is…?”

“Kinda your type?” Mikha grinned. “Pero more conyo. Parang ikaw, pero—”

“Bougie?”

“Medyo. She bakes. She runs 5Ks for fun. Aircon yung buong bahay.” Mikha chuckled to herself. “Honestly, crush ko nga nung una, pero nawala agad. Mas bet ko si Aiah.”

“Right.” Colet raised a brow. “So pasa-pasahan?”

“Hindi naman!” Mikha said quickly. “I just thought… ewan, baka bet mo lang. Para maka move on ka na kay Maloi, di ba?”

Colet tilted her head, staring at Mikha for a moment longer than necessary. Then: “Sige. Stalk ko muna bago ako mag-thank you.”

She spent the next two hours scrolling through Stacey’s twitter profile.

“Me and @aarceta when we see Balenciaga bags.” 

“Loveee my new Chanel tweed blazer. Hope this will help with Corpo tho :(“ 

“Sorry for the budol sissy @aarceta. At least we have matching sandro paris dresses?” 

“Will I finish the coverage or will the coverage finish me?” 

Colet flopped onto the spare chair beside Mikha’s desk, letting out a sigh like she’d just reviewed an entire year’s worth of twitter musings.
“Okay. Confirmed. She’s too shiny.”

Mikha rolled her eyes. “Oily?”

“No, shiny. Alam mo na, curated. Glossy. May five-step skincare routine at 5AM.”

“She bakes,” Mikha added helpfully.

“Of course she bakes,” Colet muttered. “Tapos parang nag a-annotate lang pag bored.”

“May rescue dog din daw siya.”

“Sandali—indie coffee shop name, no? Bean or Miso?”

Mikha grinned. “Scone.”

“Jusko,” Colet groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Pass sa babaeng Pinterest board.”

“Pretty, though,” Mikha teased.

“Masyadong pretty,” Colet muttered. “Ano namang pag-uusapan namin? Balenciaga bags? Case digests? Puro shoutouts kay @aarceta.”

Mikha chuckled, already used to this routine. “You sound judgmental.”

Colet gave her a flat look. “I sound bored.”

“Di mo pa nga na-meet eh.”

“Basta ayoko.”

Mikha sipped her coffee smugly. “Sure ka?”

“Oo.”

“Papayag ka rin naman.”

“Ayoko nga.”

“Promise. Papayag ka.”

“Bahal—”

Just then, Viber pinged.

Colet glanced at the message.

From Mikha.

A screenshot.

“Babyyyy, what’s your friend’s name? Colet ba?”
– Aiah

Followed by:

“She’s cute daw sabi ni Stacey. Let’s make reto!!!”

Colet sighed.

Paused.

Then groaned, dragging her hands down her face. “Bwiset ka talaga.”

“Payag ka na?”

“Ulol,” Colet stood up. “Syempre, tang ina cute daw ako eh.”

Mikha just laughed, turning back to her screen like she hadn’t just won.

—

It started with a ping.

New group created: "MikhAiah Bugaw Era"

Mikha Lim added Aiah Arceta
Mikha Lim added Colet Vergara
Aiah Arceta added Stacey Aubrey Sevilleja

Mikha:
welcome, mga bading!

Aiah:
for networking daw sabi ni mikha 🙄

Mikha:
@colet meet @stacey aubrey
@stacey aubrey meet @colet
u two are legally obligated to kiss now, sorry i don’t make the rules.

Stacey Aubrey:
LMAO hi @colet sorry advance if this is awkward HAHA

Colet:
not awkward at all
i love being ambushed mid-ppt preparation

Stacey Aubrey:
oh no ur working? 😭 should i come back in 2–3 business days?

Colet:
too late
i already saw the “bugaw” name
i can’t unsee that

Mikha:
you’re welcome

Aiah:
tbh i wanted to name it “Colet x Stacey real”
but Mikha said that wasn’t havey daw

Colet:
i hate it here

Stacey Aubrey:
same 😭
but also hi again
are you really still working?

Colet:
define “work”
but yeah
corp stuff, occasional fire extinguishing
sometimes i remember to eat lunch

Stacey Aubrey:
impressive
i forget lunch and burn cookies 💁‍♀️

Colet:
what kind of cookies?

Stacey Aubrey:
choco chip
w/ or w/out walnuts
i do both
para no one fights me 💅

Mikha:
SHET colet englishera era

Aiah:
@stacey aubrey your campaign starts now

Colet:
@mikha yawa jud ka
@stacey aubrey sure ka ba masarap yan?

Stacey Aubrey:
rude 😭
i’m just being nice 😭😭
i was told ur allergic to kindness

Colet:
who told you that

Stacey Aubrey:
a reliable source named… @mikha

Mikha:
reliable. very real

Aiah:
this is going well
bub, should we leave them alone now?

Mikha:
nah. i wanna watch them flirt weirdly for at least 5 more minutes

Colet:
we’re not flirting

Stacey Aubrey:
yeah
this is me being neutral zone 5-star cookie giver energy
not flirting at all

Mikha:
gege bored na ako.

Aiah:
they’re too cute
it’s making me gag

Mikha:
our work here is done. @aiah can i come over?

Aiah:
u r so papansin. okies.

Colet:
hoy!!!!!!!!!!

Stacey Aubrey:
guys. no.

Mikha Lim has left the group.
Aiah Arceta has left the group.

MikhAiah Bugaw Era
2 members remaining. 

Colet:
...
gagooo talaga

Stacey Aubrey:
hahahahahahaha 

Colet:
this is a trap

Stacey Aubrey:
a very well-designed, coordinated, gay trap
honestly impressive

Colet:
they’ve been planning this

Stacey Aubrey:
probably had spreadsheets

Colet:
god i hate them

Stacey Aubrey:
same
so…
coffee?

Colet:
why coffee?

Stacey Aubrey:
so you can judge me in person

Colet:
tempting

Stacey Aubrey:
friday?

Colet is typing…
Colet is typing…
Colet:
ok

—

Colet was outside the cafe, standing still, pretending she didn’t just spend the last hour deciding whether she should buy Stacey flowers.

She did buy them.

Pink carnations. Soft, safe, not too romantic. But then she saw herself in the mirror by the restroom, holding them like some spineless softie from a Wattpad fic, and panicked.

“OA mo,” she muttered, stuffing the bouquet into the trash bin behind the café’s delivery crates.

Now she was just standing there like a creep, checking her phone every ten seconds even though no one had messaged her.

Inside the cab across the street, Stacey stayed seated far longer than she should have. She was bent over her tiny purse, flicking through receipts and loyalty cards like they might magically turn into loose coins.

“Wala kang barya, Miss?” the driver grumbled.

“Wait lang po, wait lang po,” she said with an apologetic laugh, pulling out a crumpled twenty and checking again, as if she hadn’t done that twice already.

She glanced at the café.

Colet was already there.

Oh God.

She looked so… intimidating. Black top, cargo pants, wireless earphones slung around her neck like she was too cool to care. Stacey suddenly felt stupid in her baby blue dress and white flats. Too soft. Too put-together. Too obviously trying.

The driver coughed pointedly.

“Wait lang po,” she said again, and thought—maybe I should just—

Colet saw her through the windshield. Froze. Her chest tightened with a horrible certainty: magba-back out ‘to. 

She’s gonna take one look at me and say nope.

Abort mission.

Keep driving, kuya.

Oh God. Oh God, what if she actually does? 

Colet shifted her weight, panic clawing up her spine.

But then the cab door opened.

Stacey stepped out, still flustered, clutching her tiny purse like a life vest.

“Sorry, na-late ako,” she called out, smiling too fast.

Colet tried to act normal, like she hadn’t just been three seconds away from bolting. “Okay lang. Kakarating ko lang din.”

Which was a lie.

She had been here for forty-seven minutes.

Stacey walked up to her, squinting in the afternoon sun. “This place is cute.”

“Mas cute ka,” Colet blurted—then immediately wanted to disappear.

A pause.

Then Stacey laughed. Not a polite giggle, but a real one. Bright. Unfiltered.

Colet blinked.

“You’re not what I expected,” Stacey said, grinning now.

Colet cleared her throat. “Good unexpected or bad unexpected?”

“Ask me again after coffee.”

—

Inside the café, it was all sunlight and indie music and too many succulents. They picked a corner table—Stacey insisted on the one near the window, "for lighting," she said, before immediately clarifying, "not for selfies! I mean, unless you want to—"

“I don’t,” Colet said flatly, already flipping the menu.

Stacey turned bright red. “Okay. Cool. Same.”

They spent the first ten minutes pretending to study the drink options like it was an exam.

“Do you like matcha?” Stacey asked.

“No,” Colet said.

“Same,” Stacey lied, closing her menu quickly.

A server passed. Neither of them called him.

“So…” Stacey started, fiddling with the straw holder. “You and Mikha work together?”

“Yeah.”

“Like… with marketing, right?”

“And data analysis. Minsan nag pho-photoshop ng kung ano-ano”

Stacey nodded like she understood. “Cool. I only know Canva.”

Colet snorted. “That’s a start.”

Another pause.

Stacey reached for the water pitcher, poured herself a glass, then almost knocked it over when she tried to set it back.

“Sorry. I’m not usually this—” She laughed nervously. “Clumsy.”

“I am,” Colet said. “But I make it look intentional.”

Stacey laughed again, softer this time. “You’re funny pala.”

“Parang surprised ka ha.”

“I thought you’d be more…” She tilted her head, thinking. “Scary.”

“I am scary.”

“No,” Stacey said, shaking her head. “You’re just pretending to be. You’re actually kind of—”

She stopped herself.

Colet raised an eyebrow. “Kind of what?”

Stacey took a long sip of water instead.

That’s when she asked, quietly:
“Why did you agree ba? Like… to meet me?”

Colet shrugged. Looked away. Then back at her.

“Sabi mo daw cute ako eh,” she said simply. “Minsan lang naman ako nakakarinig niyan.”

Stacey turned red. Her whole face, ears included, went tomato.

She grabbed her glass again, nearly missing it. “I didn’t mean it like—well I mean, I did, but like not in a creepy way—wait no, not that you’re creepy, just—ugh.”

Colet grinned, leaning back in her chair like she just won something. “Relax. Flattering kaya.”

“You’re teasing me.”

“Slight lang,” Colet said. “But mostly I just wanted to see if you’d say it again.”

“Say what?”

“Na cute ako.”

Stacey buried her face in her hands.

Colet’s grin widened.

—

The two sat back in their chairs, the initial jitters melting into a comfortable quiet. Outside, the city was still fast and loud, but inside the café, time seemed to slow.

“So,” Stacey said, stirring her iced tea. “Ex talk. You wanna start, or should I?”

Colet shrugged. “Sige ako na. My last girlfriend…si Maloi.”

She paused, searching for the right words. “Akala ko siya na talaga eh. Pero ayaw niya daw mag settle down. Or baka ayaw niya lang mag settle down with me.”

Stacey nodded, listening intently.

“Grabe din yung babaeng yun, wild talaga. Bubbly, sobrang sunshine. She was just so…funny. Contagious type of funny.” Colet said, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“I’m still… getting over her.”

Stacey took a slow breath. “I get that.”

She looked down for a moment, then back up. “I was with this girl Jhoanna for a while. That was messy.”

Colet raised an eyebrow.

“She dated me while she was still living with her ex,” Stacey said flatly, as if stating a fact about the weather.

“No drama?” Colet asked, surprised.

Stacey shook her head. “No. At least not the kind you’d expect. It was complicated, messy. But not… tragic.”

Colet nodded thoughtfully. “Parang na-handle mo naman nang maayos.”

Stacey shrugged. “I guess. It’s weird, right? How people just… become part of your past, but without all the usual heartbreak fanfare.”

“Wow,” Colet said. “So poetic naman, attorney.”

Stacey rolled her eyes, then took a sip.

They smiled at each other—a quiet understanding passing between them.

The conversation was light, honest. Two people stating facts, sharing pieces of their histories, without sinking into sadness or regret.

Stacey reached out and nudged Colet’s arm playfully. “So, what’s your plan now? Moving on or just… waiting?”

Colet looked up, eyes steady. “Waiting. For something better, siguro.”

Stacey grinned. “Smart.”

Colet smirked. “And you?”

“Same.”

—

By 10 PM, the café was long closed, and the city outside had gone quiet. But inside Colet’s apartment, the night was just getting started.

Two empty wine bottles lay discarded on the coffee table, their contents now memories.

They sat close on the couch, laughter bubbling between them as they swapped stories about the strangest kinks they’d ever heard of.

“You’re kidding,” Stacey gasped, wiping tears from her eyes after Colet’s latest tale.

“Serious. Promise,” Colet said, hand raised as if taking an oath, grinning. 

Stacey nearly choked on her wine. “You honestly wanna watch your partner get…fucked by someone else?”

“Yeah. Ewan, it seems fun. Parang wala kang control. Weird, no?”

Stacey shook her head. “This is the kind of stuff you hear at parties and pretend not to laugh at.”

Colet leaned in. “But here’s the thing—some kinks are less weird when you actually talk about them.”

Stacey’s breath hitched slightly. “Really ba?”

“Yeah,” Colet said softly. “Like, hindi naman talaga about sa kink lang eh. It’s about trust. About sharing something private and knowing you’re not going to be judged.”

Stacey looked at her. “That sounds… kind of dangerous.”

“Dangerous can be good.”

A beat.

Their eyes locked.

The room felt smaller, warmer.

The space between them shifted into something electric and unspoken.

“Ano? Ikaw wala kang kinks?” Colet whispered.

Stacey swallowed hard, then smiled shyly. “I’ll tell you later.”

Colet chuckled, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair behind Stacey’s ear.

“Later,” she echoed.

“Now what?”

“What?” 

“What?” Stacey repeated, leaning just a bit closer.

Colet leaned closer too

Then they both whispered it together, their faces only inches apart now:

“What?”

A pause.

Then suddenly—

They closed the gap.

Fast.

Hungry.

A little sour from the wine, a little too desperate.

Their lips collided with a mix of urgency and hesitation, tasting the night and each other in equal measure.

Colet’s hand slid up to cup Stacey’s cheek, fingers trembling just a little. Stacey’s arms wrapped around Colet’s neck, pulling her closer, as if afraid to let go.

Their kiss broke only when breath escaped in ragged gasps, mouths bruised and tongues tangled.

Colet’s hands weren’t gentle anymore. They gripped Stacey’s hips, hauling her closer like she might vanish if given the chance.

Stacey’s fingers dug into Colet’s shirt, nails scratching along the taut skin beneath, desperate and rough.

They were just two bodies craving release, needing to drown the pain of what wasn’t waiting for them.

Clothes were torn off in frustration, thrown aside like afterthoughts.

Colet’s mouth trailed fire down Stacey’s neck, biting and sucking marks that would sting in the morning.

Between ragged breaths, Colet’s voice softened, almost a whisper:
“Masarap ba?”

Stacey’s answer came with a broken smile and a shaky nod.
“Yes.”

Just pleasure, just relief, just the thrill of the temporary escape.

Stacey responded with gasps, arching into Colet’s touch, raw and unpolished.

Hands roamed with urgent possession, not tenderness. Their movement was frantic, desperate—a collision, not a dance.

Neither asked for permission, just took what was there.

When it was over, they lay tangled but distant, bodies still touching but minds elsewhere.

Just the sharp pulse of something physical, something real, something meant to be forgotten by morning.

The room was still now, warmed with sweat, wine, and the scent of incense that had long burned out.

They lay side by side, not quite touching, breaths slowly evening out, chests rising and falling in a rhythm that didn’t match.

Colet stared at the ceiling, one arm flung over her forehead. Her other hand curled loosely against the sheets.

She thought of Maloi.

Of her laugh. Of the way she used to fall asleep facing the door, always ready to leave.

Colet never thought she’d be here—naked beside someone else, trying to forget someone who still lived in her bones.

She turned her head slightly. Stacey’s back was to her.

Colet swallowed hard.

She never expected to be doing this. Not yet. Not like this.

Beside her, Stacey blinked slowly at the window, her body still aching in all the places Colet had touched.

She thought of Jhoanna.

Of the way she always made Stacey feel like a second choice. Of the toothbrush left in the bathroom “for emergencies.” Of how she laughed when Stacey asked if it was serious.

Tonight wasn’t about replacing her.

But it was a step. One more step to scrub Jhoanna’s memory off her skin. One more person to rewrite the touch.

She pulled the blanket up to her chin, not for modesty, but for armor.

They didn’t speak. Not yet.

Just two girls with ghosts pressed between them, pretending for a night that forgetting was as easy as sweat and skin.

And for a moment, it almost was.

And then

Stacey felt Colet shift behind her, the bed dipping with the motion.

Then—arms.

Warm, steady, wrapping around her waist. Not tentative. Not asking.

Colet pulled her close, pressing her chest against Stacey’s back, her breath landing softly at the nape of her neck.

Stacey stiffened for a second. Just a second.

Then she let herself sink into it.

She closed her eyes.

Colet’s hand splayed over her stomach, holding her like she meant it.

They lay there for a while in the hush, the city outside muffled by walls and distance.

Then Colet spoke, voice rough and small.

“This is all I can offer.”

Stacey’s fingers curled around Colet’s.

“This is all I can take,” she whispered back.

And that was it.

No promises. No lies.

Just the truth, held between them like a pulse.

And for tonight, it was enough.

—

They never defined it.

They didn’t need to.

Every couple of months, Stacey would resurface—her Twitter suddenly active after weeks of silence.

A vague tweet about caffeine and capitalism. A selfie in a courtroom hallway with her signature caption: “Trying not to die lol.” 

That was Colet’s cue.

“Alive ka pa pala.” 

A few messages. A time. A place.

And just like that, they’d be tangled in each other again.

In between, Stacey vanished into law books and bar exams and long nights buried under casework. She never explained the absences, and Colet never asked.

But when they were together, they were together. 

They ordered food they never finished. Shared wine and old stories. Talked until three in the morning about bad sex, worse flings, and the weird shit Stacey’s professors said.

They laughed too much. They always ended up in bed.

Colet would talk about her “other conquests” as she called them—sometimes with a smirk, sometimes with that same shrug that meant none of them stayed. 

Stacey would roll her eyes and confess to a blurry night she barely remembered—someone cute, maybe, someone who disappeared before sunrise.

But slowly, Colet started noticing the things she wasn’t saying.

The way she waited a beat too long before asking when Stacey would be free next.

The way her smile tightened whenever Stacey mentioned not remembering a name.

The way her chest sank—just slightly—when their nights ended, and Stacey got dressed like she hadn’t screamed her name hours ago.

It was still casual.

Still the same dance.

But Colet had started looking for something in it. Something quieter. Something more.

And she didn’t know if Stacey even noticed.

Or worse—if she did.

Colet could even remember the exact moment her heart started to wander:

It had been a few weeks of silence again. Stacey drowning in exams, unreachable, untouchable.

Then one night, Colet’s phone lit up with a simple text:

“Pwede ako tonight. You?”

Stacey arrived an hour later, still in slacks and a button-down, her hair hastily pinned, strands falling loose.

She looked exhausted—shoulders tense, eye bags unapologetic—but she was smiling.

“Grabe. I’m so done with the world,” she said, tossing her bag by the door.

“Halata nga.” Colet smirked, already reaching for a wine glass.

But Stacey waved her off.

“Later. I’m hungry. May rice ka ba?”

Colet blinked. “Mag o-order—”

“Me na. I wanna cook,” Stacey said, already moving toward the kitchen like she belonged there.

She rolled up her sleeves, tied her hair back properly this time, and started pulling ingredients from Colet’s embarrassingly sparse pantry. Egg, garlic, one sad tomato, some leftover liempo she didn’t know was still in the fridge.

“Stacey,” Colet said, leaning against the counter, arms crossed, amused. “Akala ko ba you don’t cook.”

“I don’t,” Stacey said, biting her lip. “But my brain is fried and my body needs to move. And... I don’t know. I wanted to do something nice.”

Colet didn’t say anything at first.

Just stood there, watching her move, tired and flustered and beautiful in a soft, domestic kind of way.

It was nothing. A simple gesture. Fried rice and a girl too stubborn to rest.

But something in Colet shifted.

Like a door inside her heart clicked open—quietly, unexpectedly.

It wasn’t the food. It wasn’t even Stacey’s smile when she plated it with a proud little shrug.

It was the fact that she tried.

It was that in the chaos of her life, she still showed up and thought, what can I give? 

And later that night, when they lay in bed—Stacey curled up, one leg tossed over Colet’s, her breathing finally calm—Colet found herself staring at the ceiling.

And for the first time, she thought: I want more than this. 

And she hated herself for it.

PRESENT

"Don’t do it," Mikha said, not looking up from her monitor. 

"Bakit?" Colet asked, arms crossed, pacing behind Mikha’s desk. “I like her. I actually like her. For real.”

"Yan na nga. That’s the problem."

"How the hell is that a problem?"

Mikha finally looked up, squinting at her. “Because you said it yourself—this was supposed to be casual. You made it casual.”

"Bawal na ba mag change ng mind?!"

"Not three years in, Colet." Mikha leaned back in her chair. “Hindi pwedeng mag love bomb sa taong trained na to expect nothing from you.”

Colet scoffed. “Trained? Tangina, Mikha. I’m not some manipulative asshole.”

"Di ko sinabing manipulative ka ha," Mikha replied. “But you also don’t do feelings. That’s your whole thing. Yan yung brand. Tapos ngayon biglang…you want more?”

Colet stopped pacing. “Di mo ako gets. She was super tired, pero pinag-luto niya pa rin ako. Garlic rice for dinner. Ang soft. Ang domestic.”

Mikha raised an eyebrow. “Okay. Garlic rice is powerful, I’ll give you that.”

Colet cracked a smile but only for a second. “Hindi lang naman yung garlic rice eh. It’s the way she shows up. Never nag demand. And when she’s with me, she’s with me. I want her to know I can take more than…whatever this is.”

Mikha sighed. “You don’t confess to get it off your chest, Colet. You confess when you’re ready to offer something real. Are you?”

Silence. Just the sound of computers and distant laughter from the pantry.

Then:

"Ito na. This is me trying to be real."

Mikha looked at her friend—the nerves tucked under the sarcasm. The panic behind the posture. The girl who used to brag about never catching feelings suddenly asking if she should hand her heart over.

Finally, Mikha said, “Basta dapat ready ka if she doesn’t feel the same.”

Colet’s voice was soft now. “I am.”

Mikha studied her a moment longer, then turned back to her screen.

"Okay, dumbass. Then confess. But please don’t read the fucking letter. Just…speak from the heart."

Colet smiled. “Copy.”

—

There was one night when Stacey thought—almost. 

It wasn’t love. Not quite. But it was something terrifyingly close.

Colet had kissed her like the world was ending. Held her after like she existed through her breaths. Wiped between her thighs with a warm towel and whispered, “Okay ka lang?” like she was the only thing that mattered. Like she would’ve stopped the world if Stacey had said no.

And Stacey wanted to stay in that moment. Just a little longer.

She wanted to be held like that again. Like she was wanted. Like she wasn't a placeholder.

But then—

One morning, with her bare legs tangled in Colet’s sheets, the both of them giggling over some stupid tweet. Colet was scrolling through her feed, then paused to show her a photo.

"Ayaw nga pala ni Maloi sa shirt na ‘to. Sabi niya mukha daw akong tambay."

Just one mention.

Just once. 

And it was enough.

Stacey laughed at the joke. Of course she did.

Then quietly put her heart away after.

—

They were at the mall again. Zara. Aircon too cold. Aiah was inspecting a rack of overpriced jeans while Stacey stood nearby, half-scrolling, half-existing.

"Do you like this on me?" Aiah held up a pair of flare-cut pants against her hips.

"It’s giving… PTA meeting," Stacey replied flatly.

"So… sold?"

"Definitely," Stacey said, smirking.

They moved to the fitting rooms, Aiah disappearing behind a curtain. Stacey leaned against the mirror wall, trying not to think about anything. Especially not the text Colet hadn’t sent back.

"You’re being weird," Aiah called out from inside.

"Am I?"

"Yes. I feel like you’re trying too hard not to care."

"I don’t care."

"That’s exactly it."

Stacey sighed, loud enough for the whole store to hear. “It’s just—ugh. Do you think… do you think it's possible to almost fall in love with someone? But like, the moment you’re about to... they remind you why you shouldn’t?”

"Are you binge-watching spoken poetry again?"

"I’m being serious."

Aiah peeked through the curtain, one eyebrow raised. “Let me guess. Colet.”

Stacey didn’t answer.

"She’s hot," Aiah said. “But honestly? She’s messy. Messier than you. And that’s saying something.”

"Thanks, that’s comforting."

"You're welcome. Now help me decide—white top or green?"

Stacey reached into the fitting room and pulled out the green one. “Maloi would’ve hated this color on her.”

Aiah blinked.

Then grinned.

"Girl. You’re down bad pala."

—

Her phone buzzed against her thigh. Stacey was on her bed, the lights off, the only glow coming from her laptop screen paused on a CivPro reviewer she wasn’t really reading.

1 New Message 

Colet: girly r u still alive? 

Stacey stared at it for a long time.

Then she tapped Call.

Aiah: “Stace? It’s 11. I thought you were reviewing.”

Stacey: “Can I ask you something?”

Aiah: “Okay, scary. Go.”

She pressed the phone tighter to her ear, curled onto her side.

Stacey: “If someone only wanted you in small doses… would you still go back?”

There was a pause. Aiah exhaled, soft.

Aiah: “Colet?”

Stacey: “Who else?”

Aiah: “Babe, if you want her, just go for it. Confess. Say something.”

Stacey: “No.”

Aiah: “Why not?”

Stacey: “Because I already decided where I stand. I’m the girl she only wants at 10PM. Or when she has nothing to do on weekends. The girl she wants instead of. Not because of.”

Aiah didn’t answer.

Stacey continued, more to herself now. “No one promised me forever. I made that up. I wrote stories in my head while she was kissing someone else’s name into her pillow.”

Aiah: “But you still want to go.”

Stacey: “……. Yeah.”

She didn’t reply to Colet’s text. She just showed up.

Took the same cab, walked the same hallway, knocked on the same door with the crack in the frame.

And when Colet opened it, all sleepy-eyed and barefaced, Stacey didn’t ask questions. She didn’t demand clarity. She let herself be touched, undressed, kissed like a secret.

She let Colet worship her body, mouth warm, hands shaking like prayer.

Then she let herself fall asleep first.

And before she did, she saw it—

That picture frame on the nightstand. Faded polaroid. Colet, smiling. Maloi behind her, arms around her waist.

Frozen in a past Stacey could never compete with.

Still, she stayed.

Even knowing this was all she’d ever be allowed.

Two weeks later

The lights were off. Just the glow of her phone screen lighting her face.

Colet sat cross-legged on the floor beside her bed. A notebook open in front of her, pages scrawled with versions of the same stupid thing.

Hi, Stacey. You’re so pretty putang ina— 

Okay. No. Pwede bang makinig ka muna? 

Sorry. I’m not great with words. But I’ve been meaning to say— 

Each time she wrote it down, she crossed it out.

The words sounded fake. Rehearsed. Like she was pitching feelings in a job interview.

She tossed the pen aside and stared at her phone.

Scroll. Scroll. Scroll.

Back to the group chat with Mikha and Aiah. Back to the very first “hi” Stacey ever sent. Then the first one-on-one message. 

Colet had sent it after seeing Stacey tweet about failing a mock trial. It said, simply: “Wanna drink? I have wine and a lot of opinions about the justice system.”

Then came the blurry photos. Inside jokes. Check-ins.

The 2AM “you up?” 

The “thanks for last night” 

The “I’m on my way.” 

So many messages, all hinting at something bigger neither of them ever dared say out loud.

Colet leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes.

She thought about Stacey's hands. The way she stirred her coffee before pouring it out. The way she always seemed to choke on her laughter. How her voice softened whenever she asked, “Can you hold me?” 

She thought about the eyelash on her cheek, the way she closed her eyes when Colet reached for it. The way she blew it away from Colet’s fingers after making a wish, breath warm and minty. The way she always leaned in. The way she parted her lips slightly. The way she just…existed.

“Putangina,” she muttered under her breath. “I’m so screwed.”

She stood up, suddenly—like something clicked.

No more practicing. No more writing speeches she’d never have the guts to read. No more waiting for the perfect moment to arrive like magic.

She was crazy about Stacey. And she’d be crazier not to try. 

She grabbed her coat. Deleted the last draft of her confession from her notes app.

Tomorrow, she'd walk into that café. And she'd say what she meant.

Even if her voice shook.

Even if Stacey walked away.

Because for once in her life—Colet wasn’t going to let fear decide how the story ends.

But…

After deciding to confess, after tossing every failed draft of her feelings into the trash, Colet still couldn’t sleep.

She lay on the couch now, phone face down on her chest, staring at the ceiling.

And then, the what-ifs came rushing in.

What if Stacey says no? 

What if she laughs?

Worse—what if she’s kind about it?

Colet sat up slowly, like her own thoughts were too heavy.

She grabbed her old hoodie from under the coffee table—Stacey’s, technically. Left behind one night after too much wine and too many laughs. She’d washed it twice. Still smelled like Stacey’s perfume.

She folded it.

Then placed it inside a box under her bed.

Followed it with the polaroids. The one where Stacey’s eyes were shut mid-laugh. The hotel keycard from Tagaytay. A half-used bottle of perfume she once borrowed.

She sat with the box in her lap for a minute.

Then closed the lid.

“Just in case,” she whispered to herself.

Just in case Stacey walked away.

Just in case this didn’t end with hands held and hearts open.

Just in case she needed a way to keep breathing.

She opened her notes app again—not to confess, this time—but to write down a list titled:

How To Move On From Stacey If She Says No

• Block her on Twitter
  
  
• Don’t listen to Phoebe Bridgers and Ethel Cain and Lizzie McAlpine and Cup of Joe and December Avenue
  
  
• No stalking her Instagram stories
  
  
• Avoid Mikha’s smug face
  
  
• Say yes when Maloi asks to hang out again (but not romantically—never romantically)
  
  
• Cry once. Just once. That’s the rule.
  
  
• Remember: You tried. You finally tried.
  
  

She stared at that last line.

Let it sit.

Then finally whispered, as if to herself:

“At least I’ll know.”

She turned her phone off. 

Laid down.

And tried to get some sleep.

—

The group chat with Aiah and Mikha had gone quiet. No new messages from Colet either.

Stacey stared at her phone for a long time, thumb hovering over Colet’s name. 

She could’ve sent something.

“You good?”

“Late night study buddy?”

“Wanna hang out?”

Instead, she locked her phone. Tossed it onto the bed.

She stood by the mirror in silence, arms crossed.

“I’m done,” she said out loud. Just to hear how it sounded. 

Because it was true. She had to be.

She wasn’t going to text. Wasn’t going to double-check if Colet saw her IG story.

Wasn’t going to pretend this thing between them was enough when it never really tried to be more.

She sat on her bed, tugged her blanket over her shoulders, and stared at the ceiling like it might bless her with answers.

“I’ll just say I’m busy with exams.”

The next morning, sunlight leaked through the curtains. Her law books were still open on her desk. Her room smelled like coffee and half-slept-in thoughts.

She stood in front of the mirror again—curling iron in one hand.

Light makeup. Curled hair. A hint of perfume.

Just in case.

She scolded herself under her breath. “You’re not hoping. You’re just…presentable.”

She’d rehearsed her own script too.

If she saw Colet: 

Smile. Wave. Talk about school. Mention a fake appointment after lunch so she could leave early.

She practiced the smile. It looked fine. Hollow, but fine.

But something in her chest betrayed her.

A flicker. A wish. The kind of quiet wanting she had tried to bury weeks ago.

Just in case.

She looked at herself one last time in the mirror. Held her own gaze like a challenge.

Then picked up her bag and left.

—

Aiah and Stacey had claimed the corner booth, their table littered with index cards, highlighters, and two mostly-drained iced americanos. Law books towered beside a slice of untouched chocolate cake. The café was cool and loud, a comfortable kind of overstimulation that made it easy to feel less alone.

"—so the husband files for concubinage, but here’s the thing," Stacey said, speaking fast, hands flailing a little. “He was also cheating. Just sneakier.”

"Ugh, men," Aiah rolled her eyes, scribbling a note. “Mikha would never.”

"Kaya nga, you’re so lucky. Pang bayani ang loyalty ni Mikha. I get… ano, situationships and women with lingering exes.”

Aiah raised a brow, flipping a flashcard. “And yet, you stay.”

Stacey laughed, too sharp. “And yet, I stay. I’m in law school for fuck's sake. I’m smarter than this.”

Aiah laughed mid-sip.

They were mid-review again when the door opened.

A small chime. Cold air. And then—

Colet.

Wearing black, of course. She looked freshly anxious. Hair undone. Hands in the pockets of a jacket too warm for the weather. She scanned the café—and found them.

Stacey froze. Her highlighter hovered above the word jurisprudence. Her body forgot how to move.

Aiah blinked. "Did you… invite her?"

"No."

"Do you want me to go?"

Stacey shook her head. Her throat was dry. “No.”

Colet walked toward them, one step too fast, like she might back out if she slowed down. She stopped at their table, eyes flicking toward Aiah.

"Hi."

Aiah raised both brows. “Hi?”

"Can I borrow Stacey?" Colet asked. “Five minutes lang.”

Stacey looked at Aiah, who nodded once and began gathering her things. She whispered, "I’ll be in Fully Booked. Call me if you die." 

Then it was just the two of them.

Colet didn’t sit. She stood there, shifting from one foot to the other, words already storming in her chest.

"Okay, so—here’s the thing," she began, voice uneven. “I think I messed up.”

Stacey didn’t say anything.

"I thought I could do the whole casual thing," Colet continued. “And for a while, I convinced myself it was working. Pero parang…hinahanap na kita.”

She took a deep breath.

"Hinahanap kita kahit saan. And not just for sex, or comfort, or company. I like how you talk when you're tired. I like how you hate the word 'budol' but say it anyway. I like how you laugh when you don’t want to.”

A pause.

"I’m not sure kung pwede ko bang gawin ‘to. Because I promised you nothing. Sabi pa nga ni Mikha na I trained you to expect the bare minimum. But I want more now. I want to try.”

She finally looked at Stacey—really looked.

"If you let me."

Silence.

Then Stacey said, quietly: "You kept bringing her up."

Colet’s expression fell. “Stace—”

"I know I’m not her.”

A beat.

"I still know.”

Then Stacey added:

"But you can sit down now."

And she slid her book aside, just enough to make room.

Colet sat slowly, like the chair might reject her.

Stacey didn’t look at her. She sipped her coffee. Flipped a page. Scribbled a word down and crossed it out.

For a minute, that was all there was—scratching pens, a clink of spoon to glass, the clatter of a cup somewhere behind the barista counter.

Then Colet leaned forward.

"You’re not her."

She said it simply.

"That’s the point."

Stacey didn’t look up. “Good.”

Colet exhaled. “I think nag-unlearn lang ako. Actually, I’m still…unlearning things.”

Stacey finally turned to her, cool and unreadable.

"Three years na yung set up, and you're just bringing this up now. What do you really want from me, Colet?"

That gave Colet a pause. Her fingers curled under the table. She didn’t answer right away.

"I want to know you before nighttime. Gusto ko ma-meet yung Tuesday Stacey or Thursday Stacey. I want more than your lazy weekends. I want to see what you look like when you're highlighting things. Or when your brain’s about to explode before exam week. I want to stay until you fall asleep, and stay when you wake up."

Stacey blinked. Her mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. Not yet.

"And if I don’t say yes today?"

"Hindi ako titigil." Colet shrugged, "Deserve mong piliin. On purpose. At full volume. I wasn’t that before. I want to be that now."

She stood up.

"Hindi mo kailangang mag yes ngayon. Pero isang text mo lang… kahit anong oras… I’ll show up. Not to hook up. Not to half-love you. To try. For real."

Stacey watched her leave.

Didn’t say anything.

Didn’t move for a while.

But later that night, when she was back home—hair damp, case notes spread across the bed—she opened her messages.

Typed:

You forgot your sunglasses. 

Deleted it.

Typed again:

What does full volume look like? 

She hovered for a second.

Then pressed Send.

Week 1

Stacey reacted to a meme Colet sent: a screenshot of a fake legal article titled “The Adultery Loophole No One Tells You About.” 

Reaction: 😑

But that was enough.

Colet showed up outside the law library two nights later, holding two bottles of Yakult and a pack of Nova.

“Dinner of champions,” she said. Stacey took the snacks and said, “You’re so papansin,” but let her sit on the bench beside her.

They didn’t talk about feelings. Just cited cases and made fun of lawyers who post TikToks about bar prep.

Week 2

Stacey’s tweet:

What if I fall in love with the same person again. Do I get a discount or a refund???

Colet replied publicly.

Lifetime warranty, babe. But you have to fill out the Google form 

Stacey ignored the tweet. But she texted:

You still owe me ramen. 

That night, they ate in silence. Stacey didn’t bring up Maloi. Colet didn’t bring up the almost-love they left behind.

But she reached across the table and tucked a piece of hair behind Stacey’s ear like it was nothing. A habit. Something so common it almost felt invisible.

Stacey didn’t pull away.

Week 3

Stacey saw the frame was gone.

The polaroid of Colet and Maloi. It wasn’t on the nightstand anymore.

"You moved it?"

"Tinapon ko na."

"Why?"

"Hindi na akin yun. Also…you’re the one I want now."

Stacey didn’t say anything. She just climbed into bed, pulling the sheets up to her chin.

Later, just before sleep, she whispered:

“This is your second chance.”

Colet nods against the pillow.

“I’ll make it count.”

Week 4

The mistake wasn’t huge. 

It wasn’t loud.

But it mattered.

They were at a birthday dinner—a friend of Colet’s from college. Loud laughter, wine that didn’t taste expensive, someone passing around a vape.

Stacey wasn’t used to being around Colet’s people. She stood beside her quietly, nursing a drink, content just to be there.

Then someone asked, teasing, “Is this the girlfriend?”

And Colet laughed. “No! God, no. Baka i-demanda ako nito.”

A joke.

Thrown like a dart.

Stacey smiled. Small. The kind of smile people don’t notice unless they know you.

She stayed until the end. Said her goodbyes. Kissed Colet goodbye, even.

But she didn’t reply for three days.

Colet knew.

The moment she got home and saw Stacey’s untouched leftovers still on her table.

She tried to call once. Denied.

Tried again. Nothing.

So she tried harder:

She left a handwritten note on Stacey’s gate:

“Okay. That was a shitty thing to say. I’m scared of labels and I panic around people who knew the old me. But you’re not a joke. And if anyone laughed that night, it wasn’t at you. It was me. Scared. Trying too hard. I’m sorry.” 

She taped a donut to it. It was slightly squished. Still warm.

She showed up at the café where Stacey liked to study. Didn’t sit with her. Just slid a bag across the table.

Inside was a sandwich, a phone charger, and a post-it: “Para di ka magutom. Or manahimik. Please don’t stay mad forever.” 

Stacey looked up. Said nothing.

But she didn’t throw the bag away.

Later that night, Colet sent a text:

“I said I’d keep showing up. So this is me. Still here. When you’re ready.” 

Then, out of nowhere—

Stacey showed up at Colet’s door past midnight. In pajamas. Hair a mess. Eyes puffy.

“Do you want me or not?” she asked, trembling. “Because I can’t do this if you only want me when it’s quiet and private and safe. I need to be real to you. Not a secret. Not a joke.”

Colet took one look at her and pulled her in.

Held her tight.

“I want you,” she whispered into her hair. “Gustong gusto kita. Sorry kung bobo ako minsan. I know I can be very clumsy with your heart. And I’m so sorry. But, please, one last chance.”

Stacey’s fists are still curled in Colet’s hoodie when she pulls back.

“Prove it,” she said.

Colet blinked. “Stace…”

“Don’t ‘Stace’ me. You want to stay? Prove it. Show me I’m not just the girl you keep coming back to when you feel lonely. Show me I’m not a substitute for someone else.”

Colet stood there, stunned. Like she expected the hug to fix everything. But Stacey was no longer that girl—soft and waiting.

She’s asking for more now.

“I don’t need flowers or notes or donuts.” Stacey’s voice shook. “I need to stop wondering what I am to you.”

Colet stepped back. Nodded slowly.

“Okay.” 

“Aayusin ko ‘to. I don’t know how yet, but I’ll do it. You’ll know. You’ll feel it.”

A month later

Their date was supposed to be simple.

Fishballs. Fruit shakes.

Matching sunglasses from a stall with no return policy.

Stacey had picked the most obnoxious pair for Colet—neon orange with rhinestones on the corners—and was already teasing her as they walked down the market street.

“You look like an off-duty drag queen,” Stacey grinned.

“Thank you?” Colet said, pushing the shades up like a crown. “At least bagay.”

They were laughing, bumping shoulders, just beginning to feel like a couple that belonged to the world and not just the dark privacy of Colet’s apartment when it happened.

“Colet?”

The voice didn’t raise itself. It didn’t have to.

Colet turned.

And there she was.

Maloi.

Still sharp-jawed. Still in that denim jacket she always wore. Holding a canvas tote with the words “Radical Tenderness” printed across it. Her friend beside her had already gone quiet, sensing something shift.

For a heartbeat, Colet’s body paused. Not out of longing. Not regret.

Just recognition.

The kind that only happens when someone who once knew your entire body by heart is suddenly a stranger again.

She looked at Maloi.

Then at Stacey—who had gone quiet beside her.

And Colet did the only thing that felt right.

She reached for Stacey’s hand.

Held it.

Tight.

Then stepped forward, voice calm. Clear.

“Hi.”

“This is my girlfriend.” She turned to Stacey with something soft in her smile. “This is Stacey.”

Maloi blinked. Her expression didn’t shift. But something in her shoulders relaxed—like she had been bracing for a different version of Colet.

One that still wanted her.

She nodded, politely. “Nice to meet you.”

Stacey smiled, polite but unreadable. “You too.”

There was a moment. A beat suspended in time.

Then Maloi’s friend tugged her sleeve. She nodded again, then walked away.

No scenes.

No unfinished business.

Just the past, finally doing what it’s supposed to.

Getting the hell out of their way.

3 years later

Aiah’s mother rented out the rooftop of a cozy events place in the city. Paper lanterns hung between the rails. Someone played acoustic covers of love songs no one remembered the titles of.

Mikha was glowing, still in her signature sneakers under a linen dress. Aiah had refused to wear anything that didn’t let her breathe. They looked disgustingly happy.

Colet had teased them earlier. “Pwede ba next time sa gym na lang yung party niyo, para comfy lahat.”

Now she was sitting near the open bar, sipping something pink and fizzy, her heels kicked off under the table.

Stacey was beside her—one leg crossed over the other, phone tucked away.

They didn’t have to say much.

They’d made it through the noise, through the exes, through the nights where neither of them believed they were worthy of staying. And now they were here. Present. Together.

Mikha walked past their table with a plate of garlic peanuts and said, “Grabe, I still remember when I had to force you two into one group chat.”

Colet threw a peanut at her. Missed. “Bwiset ka pa rin. Congrats though.”

Aiah passed by after, kissed Stacey’s cheek, said something about “Sandro Paris gang represent.” Stacey laughed.

No more awkward glances.

No more tension in the shoulders when someone asked, “So kayo na ba talaga?” 

Just Stacey reaching across the table to refill Colet’s glass. Just Colet leaning back against her shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Later, someone pulled them up to dance. Colet grumbled, but went anyway.

Stacey whispered something in her ear that made her smile too wide, too real.

And for a second—amid the slow lights, and the laughter, and the messy, chaotic joy of people who found home in each other—

There was no more wondering.

Not from Colet. Not from Stacey.

Not from anyone watching them dance, eyes closed, like the music had been written just for this. Just for them.