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It had been weeks since the girls last saw each other—each of them swept away by family vacations, solo getaways, and brief but precious moments of rest. So when Aiah offered to host a movie night at her place, the group agreed instantly, eager to laugh over snacks and silly plotlines like old times.
Pillows were strewn across the L-shaped sofa and floor, blankets tangled like soft vines, and the scent of popcorn lingered in the air like a promise of comfort. Netflix played something half-watched in the background, barely holding anyone’s full attention anymore.
But Stacey wasn’t thinking about the movie. She was thinking about Jhoanna.
From the moment they arrived, something had felt... off. Jhoanna hadn’t met her eyes much. She laughed at everyone’s jokes but didn’t tease Stacey like she used to. During dinner, she'd sat at the far end of the table, joining conversations that didn’t involve her. And when Stacey made her way toward the couch—hopeful, anxious, just needing proximity—Jhoanna had already stretched herself out along the long side of the L, scrolling lazily on her phone.
“Pwede bang umupo dito?” Stacey asked softly, pointing to the tiny space beside her.
Jhoanna didn’t even glance up. “Ang dami pang space, d’yan ka na lang sa kabila,” she said, light and casual, like a joke.
But the words stung deeper than they should have. Stacey gave a tight smile and backed away. “Uhh sure, right, okay”
She settled on the opposite end of the couch, curling into a blanket and forcing a laugh when Aiah cracked a joke about the movie. But her heart wasn’t in it. Not tonight. Not when Jhoanna was right there—physically close but emotionally miles away.
Eventually, when most of the girls were dozing off or half-watching the screen with drooping eyes, Stacey slipped away. She told Aiah she was going to the bathroom, but her feet led her elsewhere—through the hallway, past the kitchen, and out onto the balcony.
The night air kissed her skin with a quiet chill and the stars looked like they were barely hanging on. Just like her.
She sat down on one of the chairs, pulled her knees up, and stared at the moon, willing herself not to cry. But her throat burned, her chest felt tight, and the tears blurred her vision before she could stop them.
“Why are you like this,” she whispered to herself, voice breaking.
Behind her, the balcony door creaked open.
She didn’t have to turn to know who it was.
“Stacks?”
Jhoanna’s voice was tentative—soft in a way that made everything worse.
Stacey wiped at her face quickly, hoping she could pretend she was just cold. But the red eyes and shaking shoulders said otherwise.
She came closer, gently, like she was approaching something fragile. “Why’d you leave?”
Stacey laughed under her breath, shaking her head. “Why do you care?”
Jhoanna froze for a second at that.
Stacey finally looked at her, and her heart clenched when she saw the way her face softened. Like seeing her hurting was the last thing she wanted.
“Don’t do that,” Jhoanna said gently.
“Do what?”
“Push me away.”
Stacey stood up, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not the one who’s been pushing.”
Silence fell. Thick and heavy.
“I don’t understand, Jho. One day you’re teasing me in DMs and sending me stupid memes and replying to my ‘I miss you’ texts like you miss me more—and then suddenly, nothing. Cold. Distant. Like I imagined all of it.”
“Stace—”
“No, let me finish.” Her voice cracked, but she pushed forward. “I’ve been going crazy, wondering what I did wrong. If I said something. If I crossed a line. But I don’t think I did. We were okay... we were us . Until we weren’t.”
Jhoanna looked away, jaw tightening.
“And the worst part?” Stacey went on, breath shaking. “I keep telling myself I’m straight. That I’m just being clingy, but I miss you in ways I can’t explain. I want to talk to you every day. I want to be near you. I want to risk everything for you. And I know—I know —you don’t want that. We’ve talked about it before. You said we can’t risk our friendship. I respected that. I do. But that doesn’t mean it stopped hurting. I’ve had crushes, relationships, whatever. But none of them felt like this. Like you”
The silence after her confession was deafening. Jhoanna’s hands were trembling, and her gaze dropped to the ground.
“I keep asking myself why you can’t love me back,” Stacey whispered. “Is it me? Am I not enough for you to take that risk?”
And Jhoanna… still said nothing.
Stacey let out a soft laugh, bitter and tired. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said all that. I didn’t mean to—” her voice faltered, but she forced a smile. “I’m not asking for anything. I just needed to let it out before it eats me alive.”
That’s when she stepped forward. Her hands trembled a little as she reached up and cupped her cheeks—gently, like she was afraid Stacey would break. Her thumbs brushed away the tears she didn’t realize were falling so fast.
The touch was warm. Careful. Reverent.
And then, quietly, Jhoanna pressed a kiss to her tear-streaked cheek—so soft it felt like an apology. Or maybe a promise. Stacey couldn’t tell.
“I’m sorry,” Jhoanna murmured.
“For what?” Stacey asked, almost afraid of the answer.
Jhoanna didn’t say anything, instead she leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Stacey’s cheek. Then another. The kind of kiss that wasn’t loud or grand—but carried more weight than anything.
Stacey looked up at her, trying to decipher the look in her eyes—but Jhoanna had already pulled back, retreating into silence again.
Stacey didn’t push. She leaned into her hands, her forehead resting against Jhoannas.
She whispered, “Can you just… stay with me tonight? Just hold me. We can pretend everything’s normal again tomorrow.”
Jhoanna nodded, arms wrapping around her without hesitation, pulling her close as the night air settled around them.
They didn’t speak again. They didn’t need to. For now, the closeness was enough.
They stayed outside a while longer, wrapped in silence and in each other.
Eventually, Jhoanna whispered, “Let’s go back inside. You’ll get cold out here.”
Stacey nodded sleepily against her shoulder, her cheeks still warm from tears, but calmer now—like the ache had loosened its grip, if only for tonight.
They walked back to the living room, slow and soft like the moment might shatter if they moved too quickly. Most of the girls were already asleep, curled up in mismatched blankets and the gentle glow of the paused TV screen. The L-shaped sofa still held the same shape it did earlier—only now, Jhoanna laid down again, and this time, Stacey didn’t hesitate.
She curled into her side, head resting just beneath her chin, one hand lightly resting over Jhoanna’s hoodie. Jhoanna responded instinctively, her hand moving to stroke Stacey’s hair, gently smoothing strands away from her forehead.
The room was quiet again. The kind of quiet that wrapped around you like a secret.
Stacey was already asleep—her breaths even, her grip relaxed.
But Jhoanna… couldn’t close her eyes.
She stared at the ceiling at first, then at the girl sleeping against her chest. The weight of everything Stacey had said out on the balcony settled over her again, heavier this time now that she was alone with her thoughts.
She really broke tonight.
And Jhoanna had watched it happen, knowing she was the reason for it.
Her thumb grazed the edge of Stacey’s cheek, almost like an apology.
You always try so hard to handle everything by yourself, she thought, staring at her. You smile through the stress, laugh through the loneliness. I should’ve seen it coming. I should’ve seen you breaking.
She blinked slowly, biting the inside of her cheek.
I wish I could just say it. That I love you. That I care more than you’ll ever know. But I’m scared, Stacey. Scared that if I say it out loud, everything we have might disappear.
The feelings had been there for so long, buried under jokes and late-night chats and inside jokes only they understood. Sometimes, it was enough. Other nights, like this one, it wasn’t.
I’m scared of losing you... but I’m also scared of never letting myself love you out loud.
She looked down at her again—this brave, beautiful, aching girl who had risked her heart tonight.
Jhoanna leaned in and kissed the top of her head. Her hand never stopped moving, never stopped holding her.
“I’m here,” she whispered, even if Stacey was too deep in sleep to hear. “I promise I’m still here.”
And for the rest of the night, Jhoanna didn’t sleep. She just held her, hoping that in some small, quiet way, Stacey would feel it—that even if she couldn’t say it yet, her love was already there.
—
The morning sun poured gently through the sheer curtains of Aiah’s living room, casting a soft golden glow over the sleeping bodies curled in blankets. The TV had long gone black, and the silence was warm, broken only by the occasional murmur of someone shifting in their sleep.
Stacey was the first to stir.
The weight of the night before still lingered faintly in her chest, like a bruise she didn’t want to touch yet. Her eyes fluttered open slowly, and she found herself exactly where she had fallen asleep—nestled into Jhoanna's side, one arm slung loosely around her waist, their bodies tucked together like a secret they were both too afraid to say out loud.
Jhoanna was still sleeping. Peacefully.
Stacey turned her head slightly, just enough to look at her. Really look at her.
Dark, soft strands of hair fell across her face, her lashes long against her cheeks, lips slightly parted. Stacey’s heart clenched in that familiar, dangerous way.
Why do you have to be so beautiful? she thought, almost bitterly, her fingers twitching with the urge to touch. Why do I keep wishing you were mine when I already know I can’t have you?
Still, she couldn’t help herself. She reached forward slowly, brushing a stray lock of hair away from Jhoanna’s eyes with trembling fingers. Her skin buzzed at the faint contact.
She stared a moment longer—memorizing.
Then, quietly, she slipped off the couch, careful not to wake anyone, and padded toward the kitchen. Maybe cooking would help her clear her head. Maybe if she focused on something else, she could forget, just for a moment, how close she had been to everything she wanted.
The scent of sizzling garlic rice and eggs drifted through the air.
Jhoanna stirred.
The emptiness beside her was the first thing she noticed. Her brows furrowed slightly, one arm searching for warmth that was no longer there. When she opened her eyes and didn’t see Stacey, her chest clenched in panic.
She sat up abruptly, scanning the room. Most of the girls were still asleep—but Stacey wasn’t among them.
She stood up, still half-dreaming, half-frantic, and turned toward the faint sound of movement. There, in the soft-lit kitchen, was Stacey—barefoot, hair tousled, in an oversized shirt, flipping eggs in a pan like she belonged there.
Jhoanna paused. Something shifted in her chest.
It wasn’t just how adorable she looked, biting her lip in concentration, or the way her head bobbed slightly to the music playing from her phone tucked in the corner. It was the scene —the domesticity of it. The possibility of a quiet future with mornings just like this.
Maybe in Stacey’s kitchen. Maybe in hers.
Something safe. Something hers.
Before she could second-guess herself, Jhoanna walked up behind her quietly and slipped her arms around Stacey’s waist. She rested her chin on her shoulder, breathing her in. The familiar scent of Stacey’s perfume hit her immediately—sweet, soft, comforting.
Stacey froze.
Her hand paused mid-air over the stove, her breath caught in her throat. This wasn’t new—Jhoanna had always been clingy, always physically affectionate. But usually, Stacey would laugh it off, squirm away, deflect the tension with a joke and a little push.
But today… she didn’t move.
She let her stay.
Jhoanna smiled against her neck. “Ang bango mo,” she whispered.
Stacey couldn’t speak at first. Her throat tightened, fingers still curled around the spatula. After a few seconds, she simply nodded, hoping it would be enough to hide how fast her heart was pounding.
She didn’t know what this meant.
If it meant anything at all.
But in that moment, with Jhoanna’s arms around her and the sun spilling through the windows, she didn’t want to think about what came next. She just wanted to stay right here.
“I made garlic rice,” she finally said, softly.
“Smells good,” Jhoanna murmured, hugging her a little tighter.
They stayed like that for a few seconds longer—Jhoanna resting against Stacey’s back, Stacey willing her heart to calm down—until the sound of someone shuffling into the kitchen broke the stillness.
Aiah emerged first, yawning with her hair in a mess and a pillow still half-clinging to her shirt. She blinked at them, smiled sleepily, and padded over to the counter like it was the most normal thing to see Jhoanna wrapped around Stacey like a hoodie.
“Mmm,” Aiah said as she sniffed the air. “Good morning girls”
“And sweet n'yo ha?” she mumbled with a small smirk, still half-asleep.
Jhoanna didn’t let go. She tightened her arms just slightly around Stacey’s waist and said, so soft it almost disappeared into the sound of the fridge opening:
“Namiss ko siya, eh.”
Stacey went still. Her breath hitched. It was casual—too casual, maybe—but it landed with the weight of everything she’d been aching to hear.
Aiah, too sleepy to register the tension, just hummed and moved on, already sipping water and wandering back out of the kitchen.
Jhoanna stayed where she was, her chin now resting gently on Stacey’s shoulder, her face angled so close that Stacey could feel the warmth of her breath against her skin.
For a moment, Stacey considered stepping away like she always did—her automatic, protective instinct. But something about Jhoanna’s voice stopped her. The softness. The honesty in it, so she stayed.
Soon enough, the rest of the girls trickled into the living room-turned-campground—Mikha, Maloi, Sheena, Colet, Gwen—all in various stages of morning grumpiness and bedhead. It didn’t take long before the space was filled with soft chatter, sleepy greetings, and the clatter of mismatched mugs being pulled from cabinets.
Stacey focused on plating the food, grateful for the distraction. Her cheeks still burned from earlier, and every move Jhoanna made felt like it left an imprint—like her warmth hadn’t fully left Stacey’s skin yet.
Jhoanna slouched into her seat beside Stacey with half-lidded eyes, looking like she was still halfway in dreamland.
“Gutom na ako,” she mumbled, head resting on the table dramatically.
“You literally just said that two minutes ago,” Stacey said, plating up her food and sliding it in front of her. “Eat ka na.”
Jhoanna blinked up at her, then obediently grabbed a fork—only to completely miss her mouth on the first try, getting rice on the side of her lip instead.
Stacey paused, watched her for a moment, then sighed with a mix of fondness and mock exasperation. “Oh my god, ang gulo mo.”
She leaned over, plucked the fork from Jhoanna’s hand, and carefully scooped a bite of egg and rice. “Open your mouth.”
Jhoanna blinked. “Ha?”
“Just—open.”
Jhoanna smirked but did as she was told, leaning in slightly as Stacey fed her with practiced ease.
“Ayyy wow umaga pa lang, PDA na agad?” Colet teased from across the table, raising both brows.
Maloi nearly choked on her juice. “Grabe kayo”
But the laughter was light, affectionate—none of it was really surprise. It wasn’t the first time they’d seen Stacey wiping crumbs from the corner of Jhoanna’s mouth or Jhoanna resting her head on Stacey’s shoulder for no reason at all.
Still, Stacey blushed faintly, sitting back in her chair and rolling her eyes and Jhoanna just grinned, cheeks full, and bumped her shoulder lightly against Stacey’s. “Thanks, chef.”
Stacey’s heart did a weird little flip, but she forced a grin and took a bite of her own food, pretending everything was perfectly, totally normal.
But under the table, Jhoanna’s knee gently knocked against hers—and didn’t move away. Stacey noticed that she wasn’t talking much. She was picking at her rice with her spoon, sneaking glances when she thought no one noticed.
What are you thinking, Stacey wondered, chewing slowly, because I can’t afford to hope if you’re not.
After breakfast, the group cleaned up together—some washing dishes, others folding blankets in the living room. The sound of music and inside jokes filled the house again, but the hum beneath it all was still the way Jhoanna kept hovering nearby. Not obviously. But always close.
It wasn’t until most of the girls decided to freshen up or get their stuff packed that Stacey ended up alone in the living room again, finishing the last of her coffee. Jhoanna came in a minute later, barefoot, holding a folded blanket in her arms. Their eyes met.
Stacey looked away first, swallowing.
“You okay?” Jhoanna asked softly, walking toward her.
Stacey nodded. “Yeah.”
But Jhoanna didn’t sit down. She stood in front of her for a few seconds, the air buzzing between them.
Then, carefully, she placed the folded blanket down and sat beside Stacey, facing her this time—leg bent under her, gaze hesitant.
“About last night…” she began, her voice low. “And this morning…”
Stacey didn’t answer right away. She stared into her coffee like it might give her courage.
“You don’t have to say anything,” she finally said, quiet but steady. “I meant what I said. But I won’t push you, Jho. You don’t owe me anything.”
Jhoanna’s breath caught. “That’s not true.”
“Then what is?”
There was a beat of silence. One heartbeat. Two.
“I don’t know how to do this,” Jhoanna admitted. “I thought I was doing the right thing by pretending I didn’t feel anything. By drawing lines. By keeping it safe. But it hurt. Every time I held back. Every time you pulled away because you thought I didn’t want you close.”
Stacey blinked, not trusting her ears.
“I’m scared,” Jhoanna said, barely a whisper now. “That if I say it… it’ll ruin everything. That you’ll get tired of waiting for me to be brave. That I’ll lose you completely.”
Stacey set her cup down.
Slowly, carefully, she reached forward, gently placing her hand over Jhoanna’s.
“I’ve been scared too,” she said. “But last night… I realized what’s even scarier is pretending I don’t feel anything just to keep things safe.”
Jhoanna didn’t pull away.
Neither of them smiled. They just looked at each other—vulnerable and raw, like the silence between them had finally opened into something real.
They didn’t talk about what tomorrow would look like. They didn’t define it. Didn’t rush it. Didn’t pressure each other into anything more than what this moment could hold.
But in the soft quiet of that evening, with the sound of laughter somewhere in the background and the warmth of each other beside them, it was enough.
It was more than enough.
And for once, neither of them felt the need to run from it.