Work Text:
Bridal Shower, 2002.
Colet walked in late.
Not even fashionably. Just late.
The unit was already vibrating with cheap karaoke, fake moans, and the rustle of a 1,000 peso bill being stuffed into the waistband of a shirtless, oil-slicked macho dancer. He looked barely legal. And very underfed. The air smelled like Jollibee fries, lavender body mist, and cheap white wine.
Everyone was in pink, like it was a cult. Oversized dildos were being used as microphones, swords, and impromptu fly swatters. Someone was crying from laughing too hard. Someone else was eating cheesy spaghetti on a paper plate while dancing to a Viva Hot Babes song.
Colet stood in the doorway like a ghost who’d taken a wrong turn.
Her pink pajamas were wrinkled. The top hung too loose on her frame. Her eyeliner was from six hours ago.
She didn’t know why she even came.
Then, from behind her—
“Late ka. As usual.”
Soft. Measured. No exclamation mark.
She turned.
There was Stacey Sevilleja. Sitting cross-legged on the carpet like a kindergartener. Hello Kitty overalls over her pajama set, a single pigtail falling over one shoulder. Holding a plastic cup like it might spill secrets.
That same look in her eyes—half bored, half surgical.
Colet blinked once. “Andito ka pala”
Stacey just sipped. “Hindi ka daw sumasagot sa kanila.”
“I didn’t think I’d be missed.”
“You weren’t.”
And just like that, four months of silence collapsed into one tiny conversation. No hug. No drama. Just that steady beep in your ear when it’s too quiet. Familiar. Inevitable.
Colet rolled her eyes, but didn’t move.
Stacey patted the carpet beside her. “You’re blocking the view.”
The macho dancer was now attempting a headstand. A 500 peso bill fluttered to the ground like a fallen leaf.
Colet sighed.
And sat, knees up, arms around her legs.
The carpet was scratchy. The lighting was too pink.
She reached for a paper plate of soggy nachos, more out of boredom than hunger. All around them, the chaos escalated—a dildo got flung across the room like a javelin, landing in someone’s cup of Sprite. The bride screamed. Someone threw a slipper.
Stacey didn’t look at her.
She was laughing, sort of. That tight, stifled laugh she always had when she found something ridiculous but didn’t want to seem mean. Her arms were folded across her chest. The cup was still full. Every time the macho dancer got too close, she’d make a face like she was smelling old milk.
“Yuck,” she muttered again as he did a slow grind near the TV.
“Nagsu-suffer ka na talaga,” Colet said quietly.
Stacey shrugged. “It’s not suffering if I expected it.”
Still not looking.
Colet watched her for a beat. The same slope of her shoulder. The same chipped nails from all her biting. The same ridiculous way her bangs curled when it got humid.
And then she looked away too.
Because what right did she have, really.
Another dildo bounced across the floor.
“Why are you here?” Stacey asked, finally.
Colet could’ve asked the same thing.
But all she said was, “Invited eh.”
That made Stacey glance at her, finally. Just for a second, sharp and quiet.
And then someone yelled, “Spin the bottle! Everyone except sa macho dancer!”
They both groaned, in perfect sync.
1990
Third Year High School. All-Girls Catholic School.
The heat was too much. Electric fans spun lazily from the ceiling without cooling anything, just moving the dust around.
Outside the classroom, girls screamed in delight as the Chinese garter snapped mid-air. Two groups were arguing over the chorus steps to "Wannabe," passing a walkman back and forth, rewinding the tape with a pencil.
Inside, in the corner near the open window, sat Colet and Stacey.
Green plaid skirts. White blouses a little too big. Colet’s tie was neatly knotted and slightly crooked. Stacey’s was the clip-on kind, one she could remove in under two seconds—and did, often.
Colet was hunched over her notebook, her handwriting was a mess, a mix of small cursive and frustrated block letters. Her hair was tied in a loose ponytail, strands escaping near her temple. She tapped her pencil against her cheek.
“Pano nga ulit kunin ‘yung area ng rectangle?” Colet asked, scratching her head.
Stacey didn’t look up from her own notebook. “Length times width.”
Colet groaned. “Hindi ba ‘yan sa square lang?”
“Rectangle nga, diba. Equal ang sides ng square.” Stacey underlined something twice. “Kaya nga square root. Gets?”
Colet blinked at her. “Hindi.”
Stacey sighed, leaned over, and drew a rectangle on the back of Colet’s hand. Her fingers were cool, and her pen was a bit too inky.
“Ito yung length. Ito yung width. Multiply mo. Yun na ‘yon.”
Colet stared at her hand.
“Ikaw talaga,” she mumbled. “Laging sure. Parang may sagot sa lahat.”
Stacey smirked without looking. “Ikaw naman, puro tanong.”
From outside, someone yelled “Girl power!” followed by a loud thud. A nun shouted, “Walang girl power-girl power! Mag-review kayo!”
The two of them laughed under their breath.
The bell hadn’t rung yet. They still had ten minutes.
And no one else in the room.
Stacey looked up finally, her face was unreadable. Her bangs were too long again—they brushed her lashes when she blinked.
Colet sat still.
Something passed between them.
Then, quietly, Stacey asked—
“Pwede tayo ulit sa bahay mo mamaya?”
Colet didn’t answer right away. She pretended to erase something on her notebook, then nodded once, not looking up.
“Oo. Wala naman sila Mommy eh.”
She didn’t say that she already cleaned her room just in case. Or that she was saving the last pack of instant noodles. Or that she still had Stacey’s hair clip from last week in her pencil case.
She didn’t have to.
“Okay,” Stacey said, voice softer now. “Pero kwek-kwek muna tayo.”
That made Colet smile.
Of course. There always had to be kwek-kwek.
The big ones from the stall near the tricycle terminal. The one where the sauce was extra thick and the vinegar had slivers of garlic floating in the bottle. They always bought the 10-peso cup and asked for more sauce twice, then sat on the gutter pretending they were full-grown women with problems.
Colet closed her notebook and began to pack up.
Outside, the music changed to Spice Girls' “Say You’ll Be There” and someone screamed about a busted garter. The bell rang. Girls rushed back in with sweaty brows and missing ribbons.
Stacey stood and stretched, brushing imaginary lint off her skirt.
Before they stepped towards the hallway, Colet felt the lightest tug on her wrist.
“Wala tayong gagawin ah,” Stacey said.
Colet blinked. “Ha?”
“Sa bahay mo. Wala tayong gagawin.”
A beat.
“Homework lang.”
Colet didn’t say anything. Just grinned, a little crooked, a little guilty.
Then walked ahead.
And Stacey followed, pretending not to smile.
—
They were in Colet’s room.
The sun bathed the walls in soft orange light, filtered through old curtains with cartoon cows printed on them.
Colet had changed into her brother’s old basketball shorts. Stacey was wearing Colet’s Sibika at Kultura shirt from freshman year—it hung awkwardly over her frame, sleeves rolled twice.
They were on the bed.
Books everywhere. Yellow paper crumpled on the floor.
Colet was scratching her head, chewing the back of her pencil. Desperately trying to remember the difference between congruent and non-congruent shapes.
She stared at her notes like they might change if she squinted hard enough.
Stacey rolled her eyes from across the bed, where she was already lying on her stomach, legs bent, feet swaying in the air.
“Sige na, itanong mo na.”
Colet groaned. “Wag na. Maiinis ka lang eh.”
She started doodling something demonic on her paper—little horns, a triangle tail, the words “Math = Satan.”
Then—
“Colet…” Stacey said.
“Ano?” Colet didn’t look up, still sketching.
“Can we… practice ulit?”
That made Colet stop.
“Sabi mo one time lang ‘yon!”
“Gusto ko maging expert!” Stacey replied, grinning against her forearm.
“Para kanino? Wala namang boys sa school.”
“Para sa future. Hello?”
Colet dropped her pen, eyeing Stacey suspiciously.
“Last na ‘to ha.”
She turned to face her.
Stacey giggled. “Okay. Close your eyes ulit.”
“Edi hindi kita makikita!”
“Pikit! Isa…”
Colet rolled her eyes, but closed them anyway.
She waited.
Felt the bed shift slightly. A quiet breath. Then Stacey leaned closer, careful, warm.
A kiss on the cheek.
“Yan na ba yung practice?!” Colet teased, eyes still shut.
“Warm up lang.”
Then Stacey leaned in again. This time, her lips brushed Colet’s chin.
It tickled. Colet almost smiled. Almost.
Because this wasn’t supposed to be affecting her at all.
This was just practice.
That’s what they both said. That’s what it was.
Until Stacey kissed her mouth.
Once.
Soft.
Then again.
And this time, Colet kissed her back.
Slow. A little shaky. Neither of them knew what they were doing. Sometimes they both went for the top lip, then pulled back, giggling, faces red and hot.
They fumbled.
Their noses bumped. Their teeth clicked once. Stacey whispered “sorry” against Colet’s mouth and Colet laughed. A tiny, breathless thing that made Stacey smile too.
They tried again.
Softer this time.
Less like they were figuring something out, more like they already had.
Outside, someone’s radio was playing April Boy Regino. A dog barked in the next compound. Somewhere downstairs, Colet’s fridge made that weird humming noise it always did when it got too quiet.
But up here, in her room, everything stilled.
There were math books under Stacey’s knee. A chewed-up pencil behind Colet’s ear. The smell of paper, rubbing alcohol, and the faintest hint of coconut oil from Stacey’s hair.
And yet all Colet could focus on was the way Stacey’s hands stayed neatly at her sides, like she was afraid of wanting too much. Like she didn’t know what to do if she let herself hold on.
Colet pulled away first.
Their faces were still close, breaths mingling.
Stacey blinked slowly, dazed. Her lips were a little red now. So were Colet’s.
“Enjoy na enjoy ka ah,” Colet whispered, half-joking, fully terrified.
Stacey bit her lip. “Ikaw rin kaya.”
Colet looked away, cheeks burning. She grabbed a pillow and smacked Stacey lightly on the arm.
“Kailangan pa ba ng review?”
Stacey smiled, wide and proud.
“Kailangan ko ng quiz.”
Colet threw the pillow at her.
“Yuck, amoy laway!”
2002
Stacey had prayed Colet wouldn’t come.
Not a real prayer. Not the kind they used to whisper during earthquakes or after a storm, but the kind she looped in her head when she was doing the dishes or riding a jeepney.
Please don’t let me see her. Please don’t let her ruin me again.
She prayed when she got the invite.
She prayed while buying the Hello Kitty overalls she would end up hating the moment she put them on.
She prayed during the cab ride, watching the streetlights blur like smudges on a wet painting.
Because she knew.
She just knew.
One look.
One breath in Colet’s direction.
One blink.
And she would crumble again.
Beg again.
Ask again.
"Pwede tayo na lang ulit?"
"Can’t we just pretend none of it happened?"
"Gusto mo pa ba ako?"
They made a pact.
No more begging.
No more chances.
Colet should follow it.
So when the party hit the thirty-minute mark and Colet still wasn’t there, Stacey thought…fine.
Good. Great.
Maybe now she could breathe.
But instead, she found herself watching the door.
Staring at it, actually.
She sat near it on purpose, pretending it was because she wanted better ventilation, pretending she didn’t care.
But really, it was because if that door opened—if Colet opened it—Stacey would be the first to see.
The first to catch a whiff of that goddamn Angel’s Breath cologne.
The same one that lingered on her own jacket sleeve for weeks after they ended.
Her friends were laughing, tipsy, dancing, stuffing crumpled bills into the waistband of some boy who looked like he still took his vitamins from a spoon. Someone tried to hand her a dildo like it was a microphone.
She smiled. She laughed. She said “yuck” every five seconds.
But she never joined in.
Never touched the dancer. Never threw a single peso.
Because her hands were too busy fisting her overalls.
Because her heart was already halfway back to a bedroom in 1990, where Colet kissed her like a secret, and then kissed her again just to prove it wasn’t.
So when the door creaked—
And Colet walked in, late, in pink pajamas and a permanent scowl…
Stacey didn’t smile.
Didn’t say hi.
Just looked straight ahead and muttered under her breath, not even sure if it was for herself or for God.
“Putang ina.”
1991. One Week Before Prom.
Colet clutched the sunflowers tight.
Bought with money she wasn’t supposed to touch. The crumpled bills she slipped from her mother’s purse while pretending to look for her rosary.
She combed her hair for the tenth time.
Checked the mirror again.
Patted down her shirt. Checked her breath. Held the flowers up to her face, as if she could hide behind them.
She stepped out of the gate.
And immediately—
“Puta!”
Dog poop.
Right on her left shoe. She hopped back inside, gagging, scrubbing it off with laundry soap and an old toothbrush.
Fifteen minutes lost.
She stepped out again, this time more careful. Tricycles zoomed past her, all full. She raised a hand.
None of them stopped.
So she walked.
And walked.
And walked.
Sweat collected at her lower back. She sniffed her armpits discreetly.
“Hm. Parang okay pa naman.”
She pushed through.
Just as she turned the corner near the small eatery, a tricycle sped past and splashed a puddle across her legs.
“Ano ba, kuya!? Dahan-dahan naman!?” she yelled, but the tricycle was already halfway to Project 4.
She checked her wristwatch. Almost 3PM.
She was already too far.
Too stubborn to turn back.
Too hopeful to give up.
She kept walking.
By the time she reached Stacey’s subdivision, her socks were damp and her pride was hanging by a thread.
And then she heard it.
A low, steady growl.
She turned.
A dog. Mangy. Brown. Staring right at her like it knew her secrets.
She picked up a stone and warned, “Sige, sige!”
The dog barked, stepped forward. She tried to act cool, walking slowly, then picking up speed—
And then it ran.
“Gago!” she shrieked, bolting down the street. A few of the sunflowers fell behind her. She didn’t stop.
“Browny! Hoy!” a guy shouted.
The dog paused, huffed, and walked away like nothing happened.
Colet stood in the middle of the street, breathless and muddy, clutching what was now only two and a half sunflowers.
She was right in front of Stacey’s gate.
She took one step forward.
Then another.
The gate opened.
Stacey walked out.
Colet tried to smile. Straightened her shirt. Smelled her armpit again—just to be sure.
And then
A boy followed Stacey out.
He hugged her from behind.
Stacey didn’t flinch. She leaned into him. Their heights fit perfectly. Stacey’s head rested just under his chin. She could hear his heart from there. He kissed the top of her head like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Colet couldn’t do that. Stacey was taller. She always had been.
So instead—
She turned around.
Walked away.
Stepping on another piece of dog shit on the way back.
And for a second, she thought—
Maybe she should’ve just let the damn dog bite her to shreds.
It would’ve hurt less.
2002
Stacey turned to Colet.
Soft voice. That quiet tilt of the head. A movement she only ever used when she was about to ruin her again.
“Kamusta ka?”
Colet blinked.
She didn’t answer.
Because if she answered, she’d fall right into it.
Again.
She knew this script. Stacey had been rewriting it for years. Always the same gentle ink, always the same slow unraveling.
First, Stacey would say she’s not ready.
Then she’d ask for space. Tell Colet not to call. Not to wait. Not to hope.
“Hindi ko alam kung ano ‘to, Colet.”
“Hindi pa ako sigurado.”
“Mas okay kung wala muna tayong contact.”
And Colet—stupid, patient, hopeless—would nod, even when it felt like she was being gutted with a spoon.
And just when she had scraped her heart off the floor, just when she started sleeping without crying into a pillow…
Stacey would come back.
Like nothing happened.
With that same line.
“Kamusta ka?”
And it would all begin again.
She’d say she missed her. That she thought about her. That she kept the necklace. That she still had Colet’s 2x2 passport picture in in her wallet.
And Colet would believe it.
Every single time.
They’d fall back into each other like it was easy. Like the heartbreak didn’t happen. Like their love didn’t come with bruises and rewrites and hiding in stairwells so no one would see them holding hands.
But not this time.
She couldn’t.
She wouldn’t.
Colet swallowed the lump in her throat, smiled without warmth, and said:
“Oops. Bawal tayo mag-usap, diba? Rule mo ‘yan.”
And she stood up.
Her legs felt shaky, but her voice didn’t betray her.
She walked away.
Sat beside a bridesmaid she didn’t know. The one in the strawberry-print pajamas with hoop earrings too big for her face.
Colet took the dildo from her hand like it was a microphone and stood up theatrically.
“Lika dito, kulang ka pa ng oil!” she shouted at the dancer, who, God bless him, had no idea what was happening anymore.
Someone shrieked with laughter. Music blasted louder.
And Colet laughed too—all teeth and turmoil and armor.
Because if she laughed loud enough, maybe it would drown out that voice in her head.
The one that still wanted to look back.
The one that still wanted Stacey to say, No, wait. I meant it this time. Ikaw lang gusto ko.
But Colet didn’t look back.
Not even once.
She kept cheering, arms in the air, body swaying, fake joy bubbling in her chest.
And across the room, Stacey sat still.
Watching her.
Saying nothing.
Again.
1991. Prom Night.
Prom night smelled like cheap hairspray and the orange zest of floor wax they used on the covered court when they wanted the place to feel fancy. Stacey had worn pink. A shade lighter than the punch. A satin ballgown she borrowed from her cousin, one strap slipping from her chest every few seconds no matter how many times she adjusted it.
“Baka sakaling magka-boobs ka na bago matapos yung gabi,” a girl from class teased while blotting her lipstick.
“Ikaw nga eh naka-makeup na, pangit pa rin,” Stacey rolled her eyes. "Kahit ang liwanag ng foundation mo, nagdidilim ang paningin ko sa'yo."
The laughter around them was sharp. Familiar. Survivable. She’d always had her claws out in these circles. Even if they never really felt like her people.
And just when she thought she’d get a break from it all—she felt a hand on her back. She inhaled. Finally. She turned around.
But it wasn’t Colet.
It was her date. Gelled hair. Polished shoes. Polo tucked a little too neatly. His grin was sweet, nervous. "Nag-eenjoy ka ba?" he asked, already placing his hands on her waist before she could answer.
She smiled. Because that was the right thing to do. Because she was supposed to be having fun. This was prom night. Her senior year. A celebration.
So she smiled. And danced.
But she kept looking around.
Colet wasn’t in the corner of the stage sipping orange juice with a straw and crinkly cellophane. She wasn’t at their table hoarding lechon skin or pretending she didn’t care about the photographers. She wasn’t by the boys’ section challenging them to play dampa or complaining about the stupid song choices.
She wasn’t anywhere.
So Stacey danced. In circles. In rhythm. With a boy who liked her, who smelled nice, who tried.
And the more he smiled at her, the more she felt like crying.
Because wasn’t this what she wanted? Wasn’t this what girls were supposed to want? A kind, presentable guy who held her waist like she was made of glass. Who said she looked beautiful even though her strap kept slipping and her eyeliner smudged by 7PM.
She was supposed to like this. She was supposed to like him.
She wasn’t supposed to want Colet.
A girl.
But maybe it wasn’t girls. Maybe it was just… Colet. With her rough laugh and sunburnt nose. Her offbeat way of being tender. The way she’d give Stacey her last bite of burger and pretend she didn’t even like it. Her voice over the landline at midnight. Her legs over Stacey’s lap while watching cable reruns. Her fingers stained with ballpen ink. Her stupid Bazooka bubblegum.
That night, after the slow dances, after the awkward picture taking, after the string lights buzzed off one by one, he dropped her off.
He walked her to the gate. Said goodnight. Stood still like he didn’t know what came next. Then leaned in.
The kiss was quick. Soft. Polite. The kind they would talk about in graduation practice like it meant something.
He smiled after, like he was waiting for her to be swept off her feet. Like this was a chapter in a high school romance and they were just playing the parts.
But for Stacey?
The kiss was...nothing.
It wasn’t clumsy. Wasn’t messy. Wasn’t sweet in that annoying, lopsided way that Colet’s always were.
There was no Bazooka bubblegum. No smell of sweat and Angel’s Breath cologne. No accidental knocking of teeth. No laugh after. No “Ang sakit naman ng braces mo."
Just a neat little kiss. And a quiet gate.
And when she got inside, she sat by the stairs. Still in her gown. Dress strap slipping again.
And for the first time that night, she let herself cry.
Because she wanted Colet to show up and kiss her.
Because there were no braces that would hurt her this time.
2002
Colet was right.
It was Stacey’s decision to end things. Every time.
She always had the last say—the final word, the final silence.
And Colet… for some reason, always let her.
She never begged. Not once. Even when Stacey left in the middle of a week, or after a kiss, or with no reason at all. She just… let her go. Like maybe that was the most generous thing she could do.
Let Stacey choose.
Let her be confused.
Let her leave.
And now, watching Colet laugh too loud across the room—surrounded by girls she didn’t even know, cheering the poor macho dancer on like it was the highlight of her year—Stacey knew she had no right to be this angry. Or sad. Or stunned that she wasn’t welcome anymore.
Because she loved Colet. She did.
There had never been anyone else. Not really. Not the prom date from the all boys school. Not the classmate who held her books. Not the guy she pretended to have a crush on in college just to feel normal.
None of them stuck.
None of them made her feel like the air shifted when they walked in.
Only Colet.
But she had an idea of a life.
A husband. A house. A child, maybe two.
Maybe three.
A Sunday market. A mother-in-law who called before dropping by. A photo album filled with little hearts.
This wasn't how the world worked.
She knew it then.
She knows it now.
There wasn’t room in that picture for sleepovers that turned into kissing. For years of “best friend” excuses. For the way her body only ever felt honest in Colet’s hands.
She could love Colet in the dark, in secret, in passing.
But not in the daylight. Not where people could see. Not where it would make her life harder.
And yet—
Here she was. Watching Colet from across the room. Heart thudding like a teenager again. Arms crossed, trying to look cool, even though she could feel that familiar twist in her gut.
And Colet wasn’t looking back.
Not this time.
Because maybe, finally, she had stopped waiting.
And she had tried a hundred times to let Colet go.
A hundred versions of goodbye.
Some whispered. Some slammed shut. Some sent through text with shaking fingers. Some laced with guilt, hoping Colet would fight harder. She never did.
And still—Stacey always came back.
She was always the one to leave.
To ask for space.
To say she needed time to figure herself out.
That she didn’t know what she wanted.
That maybe it was better if they stayed friends.
But eventually—always—she’d crawl back.
Gasping for air, pretending she just happened to be in the area.
Pretending she didn’t miss Colet like a phantom limb.
On the outside, it seemed like Stacey was the one in control.
Like she was the one who kept calling the shots.
She was the one who walked away. The one with the power to decide when it ended.
And Colet? She just stood there. Letting it happen. Always calm. Always composed.
But that wasn’t true.
Because inside, Stacey was chaos.
Every time she left, it wasn’t strength.
It was fear.
And every time she returned, it wasn’t by accident.
It was desperation.
Colet could probably breathe without her. Walk away without turning back.
But Stacey?
Stacey would’ve followed her to the edge of the world just to hear her laugh again.
Colet could dangle the smallest kindness—a glance, a half-smile, a memory Stacey hadn’t even known she missed—and it would wreck her. She’d spend the rest of her life chasing it.
Because Colet wasn’t just a girl she used to love.
She was gravity.
And Stacey had been pretending not to fall for years.
1993. College. Sophomore Year.
State university. No uniforms. No bells. No lines to fall into, no nuns checking skirt length at the gate.
Freedom. Or at least the illusion of it.
Colet walked across campus like she owned it—her ID was always tied to the belt loop of her baggy jeans, the same ones she wore six days a week. The hem was frayed. The pockets were always full of crumpled candy wrappers, mismatched pens, and cigarette boxes with two sticks left, always two.
A 1x1 picture of Stacey was taped behind it. No one knew. Not even Stacey.
Stacey always had a cardigan on. Even in heat. Even in rallies. A thin black one with a missing button. She carried a beeper she never used.
Because Colet was always with her anyway. On most days. On the good days.
Except the days when Stacey broke up with her.
Again.
They’d been doing this dance since they were sixteen.
Break up. Make up. Secret kisses in borrowed beds. Hand-holding under the table. Sorrys passed down in crumpled papers during class.
But this time was supposed to be the last time.
Stacey had said it carefully, like she was reading it off a script she had memorized too well.
She didn’t want to disappoint her parents.
She wanted a normal life.
They should stay friends.
Friendship was always better.
She was sorry.
She shouldn’t have started anything in the first place.
Colet didn’t say much. Just huffed. Laughed—short, breathy, bitter. And then she left.
And Stacey stood there. Alone.
But it was good.
It was smart.
The right choice.
She’d heard the way her parents talked about women who loved women. About men who weren’t “real” men. The venom in their voices. The shame.
So yes.
It was better this way.
Colet would be safe. She wouldn’t have to hear it. Maybe she’d even meet someone else—someone whose parents wouldn’t kill her for loving the way she did.
And Stacey would be okay. She had her cardigan. Her books. Her beeper. Her guilt.
Until one night. A campus party. Loud. Crowded. Everyone smelled like gin and floor wax.
And there she was.
Colet.
Leaning against the wall, laughing too loud, one arm lazily draped over a girl’s shoulders—a classmate. The one with the pink ribbons.
The same girl who always borrowed Stacey’s readings and returned them wrinkled.
The same girl who once said, “You and Colet are like, so close. Parang kayo na ah!” and laughed like it was a joke.
Now she was tucked under Colet’s arm like she belonged there.
Something shifted inside Stacey. It was hot and cold and stupid.
And unfair.
Because she wore pink ribbons better.
Because that laugh wasn’t hers.
Because she told Colet to go.
But she said Colet was allowed to move on.
That night, she didn’t even think. She just ran.
She knocked on Colet’s dorm room door so hard her knuckles bruised.
When Colet opened it, groggy, half-dressed in a band tee and boxers, Stacey was already crying.
"SINO ‘YON?!" she yelled, fists shaking, voice cracking. “’YUNG BABAE! KAYONG DALAWA SA PARTY! SINO SIYA?!”
Colet blinked. Took a beat. Then shushed her quickly, pulling her inside and locking the door. Twice.
"Stace—"
"Shut up!!" Stacey screamed. "Sino ‘yon?!"
Colet stood by the door, stunned.
“Bakit ka ba ganyan maka-react?! Girlfriend ba ki—”
"OO!!" Stacey shouted.
The word exploded out of her like it had been building for years.
“GIRLFRIEND MO ‘KO, GAGO!”
Her voice broke on the last word.
And so did she.
She cried harder. Shoulders shaking. Snot mixing with her lipstick. Her fists clenched like she wanted to punch a wall or kiss Colet or both at the same time.
Colet didn’t say anything for a moment. Just stared at her. Quiet. Soft.
Then she walked over and pulled Stacey to her chest.
Held her.
Let her sob against her shirt, not caring about the tears or the bruised hands or the fact that Stacey only ever showed up when it was too late.
Outside, the party raged on.
Inside, Stacey broke again.
And Colet held her.
Like she always did.
Because there was nothing else she’d rather do.
2002
The party was finally over.
The pink streamers drooped. The balloons hung low like they were just as tired. Girls clung to each other with slurred giggles, cheeks red from laughter and cheap wine. The bride made a teary speech about girlhood and freedom, about friendship and never letting go, and then joked about running away instead of getting married.
There was applause. A few more laughs. Someone fell asleep on the floor.
Outside, Colet lit her second cigarette.
Always reds.
She liked the way they smelled—smoke and rust, like her father’s shirts after work. Like old memories she hadn’t decided if she hated or missed.
She leaned against the wall, eyes squinting up at the sky, exhaling through her nose. The night was warm. The silence, heavier than it should be.
Then Stacey walked out.
Quiet. Measured. The way she always did when she was trying not to be obvious.
She didn’t say anything.
Colet didn’t either. Just held out the pack. Offered her a stick.
Stacey took it. Colet handed over the lighter. Stacey coughed twice on her first inhale, then took another drag like she had something to prove.
They stood like that—two feet apart, a decade worth of questions in between them.
Colet stared at her.
She shouldn’t want Stacey right now.
Not tonight.
Not after everything.
She shouldn’t have wanted her in high school. Should’ve laughed off those first kisses, locked her windows during those midnight knocks in college. She should’ve picked someone easier.
Someone available.
Someone braver.
But here they were.
Still.
More than ten years later. Still circling the same drain. Still orbiting around each other.
Stacey was always a world away even when she was in Colet’s arms.
Even when she was in her bed.
Even when they were eating kwek-kwek on a plastic bench on Saturday afternoons.
She always had one foot out the door.
Never took the spare keys.
Never listed her as emergency contact.
Never unpacked her bag.
And the truth was, Stacey was more tangible in Colet’s stories than she ever was beside her. In real life, she was always half-there. Like a dream you remember wrong.
Still—
Colet pictured things.
A kid they’d raise together. Maybe one that looked like her. Maybe one that looked like Stacey. Science would catch up eventually. Or they’d adopt. It didn’t matter.
A house. A dog. Maybe a cat. The kind that purrs near Stacey when she cries. A spare room for Stacey’s Barbie collection. Mornings where Colet would force her to eat something green.
A life.
A wife.
A marriage.
And every time she pictured it, it was always Stacey.
The most pathetic part?
Stacey pictured that, too.
Just not with her.
And before Colet could think her way out of it—
Before she could stop herself,
Before she could protect her heart the way she swore she would,
She said, softly, eyes still on the smoke rising from her cigarette:
“Stace… drinks tayo bukas, gusto mo?”
"Drinks?" Stacey asked, voice already starting to shake.
"Or coffee," Colet shrugged, pretending she wasn’t holding her breath. "Whatever you want."
Coffee. Great.
Stacey thought.
Coffee.
The thing about her and Colet was that it was never just coffee.
They had tried rules before. Boundaries. “Just friends” dinners. “Just catching up” lunches. But they were never good at half-measures.
Pick somewhere crowded, they’d say.
Somewhere safe.
No motels. No second chances. No last kisses that always turned into reaching for each other in their sleep.
They tried parks. They tried malls. But even there, she’d feel it—Colet’s fingers grazing hers when no one was looking. Her eyes daring her to remember.
Stacey couldn’t say yes to that.
Not to coffee in the same shop where they used to study, legs tangled under the table, pretending not to be in love.
Not to dinners at Colet’s house, where her mother would pass the rice like nothing had happened and her father would ask about Stacey’s plans like they weren’t tearing each other apart in secret.
Not to drinks, which always ended the same way—with Stacey mumbling her usual wicked declarations of love and longing and the absurdity of it all, right before she kissed Colet, hoping it would fix everything.
Nowhere was safe.
Because with Colet, she was always at risk of falling.
And Stacey couldn’t keep falling.
Maybe it would’ve been fine if she didn’t love her.
If she didn’t doodle Colet’s name in the margins of her college notebooks like a curse she couldn’t shake.
If she didn’t still sleep with Colet’s ratty beach photo in her drawer, kissing it every night before bed like a stupid teenage ritual.
If she didn’t get gut-punched every time someone walked by wearing Angel’s Breath cologne.
Maybe then, it would’ve been okay.
Maybe then, she could do the coffee.
But this—this was drowning.
She just had to push through.
They’d move on. They’d grow up. They’d get what they want.
Colet would get her dog and her soccer-playing kid. Stacey would get her neat little life.
One day.
One day.
Colet would be just another story.
Another girl.
Another shrug.
Another laugh she’d have to learn to live without.
It’s over.
It’s over.
It’s over.
That’s what she wanted to say.
She had it ready. Pre-rehearsed. Bold font in her head.
Clean.
Final.
Responsible.
But instead
Instead
The only thing that came out of her mouth was:
"How about coffee now?"
Because sometimes love is like that.
A never-ending loop of pathetic, desperate decisions dressed up as choice.
Inevitable. Inescapable.
A carousel they’ve tried to jump off a hundred times, only to find themselves back on the same damn horse, dizzy and breathless and still reaching for each other.
They’d go on like this.
Maybe for a few more months.
Maybe years.
No one knows.
Not even them.
Maybe they’d end up raising a kid who’d need her inhaler every thirty minutes, who’d inherit Stacey’s ability to remember math formulas and Colet’s habit of chewing her pens until they cracked.
Or maybe they wouldn’t.
Maybe Colet won’t be there to tie Stacey’s shoelaces when her back starts giving out.
Maybe she will.
Maybe they’d still kiss each other before brushing their teeth, like it never mattered.
Maybe it would stop one day, quietly, the way songs end in elevators.
But not tonight.
Tonight, they’d get coffee.
And Stacey would say something about the taste being too strong.
And Colet would tease her for still taking it with three spoons of sugar.
And somewhere between the second sip and the second silence, Colet would look at her the way she always did—like she was almost everything.
Almost.
And Stacey, who has never really known how to be anyone’s first choice
Would hold that look like a secret between her palms.
Carefully. Gratefully.
As if she didn’t know how much longer she’d be allowed to keep it.
Because sometimes, love is like that too.
Wanting to be every little thing they ever needed,
And knowing you never really were.
But still showing up anyway.
Just in case.