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"Ikaw Stacey," Aiah pointed with her beer bottle, "how many drinks would it take for you to kiss Colet Vergara?"
Stacey snorted. "Girl, I'd rather have alcohol poisoning."
The whole table roared. "Boo! Ang boring mo!"
Whoever owned the place thought any kind of blinking lights were cool enough. The songs were too mellow for a Friday night—except, oh, wait. It wasn’t Friday. It was Wednesday. Stacey didn’t even know what day it was anymore.
Her glass was sticky in her hand. The table smelled like someone had spilled rum last week and no one bothered wiping it down. A DJ was trying to convince the crowd that a half-assed remix of an early 2000s R&B hit counted as a party track, but everyone just swayed in that half-drunk, half-bored way.
Stacey leaned back against the cracked leather booth, her head was starting to spin, trying to tune out the noise. She hated this place. Hated how every table looked like a failed attempt at a photoshoot—everyone angling their cigarettes, pretending not to care who was watching.
And then she caught a glimpse across the room. Colet Vergara. Sitting with her own circle, too loud, too fucked up for a Wednesday. Like she owned the whole fucking night.
Stacey groaned, drained the rest of her drink, and signaled the waiter for another.
Stacey Sevilleja was spoiled in the way that made people roll their eyes. She didn’t even notice. Couldn’t be bothered. She never lined up for anything, never worried about money, never thought about the future. Everything just showed up—cars, drinks, people.
She was always with the same crowd, and it was always the same routine. Someone rolled, someone poured, someone laughed too loud, and by the end of the night Stacey would be sprawled on a couch she didn’t own, an ashtray balanced on her stomach, wondering where her shoes went.
She had joints tucked into every jacket pocket, every sling bag, sometimes even in her bra strap. Always ready. Always lit. Her lighter clinked like jewelry when she walked.
Opening a book? What for. People liked telling her she was wasting her potential, but that only made her laugh. Potential was for people who cared about something. Stacey didn’t. She had everything without trying, and she wasn’t planning to start now.
—
The vodka, the rum, and the ecstasy hit Colet all at once.
The world had started to wobble, but Colet just laughed, head thrown back, the sound carrying over the music like she was daring the whole club to match her volume. She slammed her empty glass on the table, ice scattering, and barked at the waiter, “Isa pa! Bilis!”
People turned, of course they did. Colet didn’t just blend in, she filled every corner. Varsity jacket hanging off her shoulders, hair tied in a messy bun from the afternoon practice, sneakers kicked up on the velvet couch as if it were a locker room bench.
Colet was spoiled too, but hers came with sweat, stadium lights, and the arrogance of a girl who’d always been cheered for. She’d grown up with brand-new cleats every season, coaches begging her to play, and parents who let her skip exams for tournaments. Winning wasn’t just expected—it was her baseline.
And now, even in a haze of liquor and pills, she treated the club like a championship match. Loud, reckless, cocky. Arm slung over whoever was nearest, yelling across the room, trash-talking strangers she didn’t know. People laughed because it was easier than telling her to shut up.
Colet was the kind of spoiled who made sure you knew it.
—
"Grabe, ang ingay ng table ni Vergara!" Gwen huffed, pouring tequila shots now. "She’s so… what’s the word—"
"Obnoxious?" Aiah cut in.
"Off-putting?"
"Pabibo?"
"All of the above." Stacey said, taking the shot of tequila in one go. The burn was nothing compared to how much Colet’s laughter was drilling into her skull. "Feeling ko she’s someone who would say the N word unironically."
The table howled, half in shock, half in agreement. Aiah slapped the table, nearly spilling her drink. “Grabe ka naman!”
"I mean, tell me I’m wrong," Stacey added, already reaching for another pour. She didn’t look towards Colet, but she didn’t need to. She knew the girl was still being loud, still performing for everyone around her like they’d pay ticket prices just to watch her exist.
Gwen leaned over, grinning. "Sounds like someone’s obsessed."
"Obsessed with her downfall," Stacey shot back. "Big difference."
—
People were shouting, cheering, “Vergara! Vergara!” while Jhoanna tipped the Jager down Colet’s throat. She swallowed half, let the rest spill down her chin, and still threw her arms up, pretending not to choke.
“GODDAMN!” she roared, hopping off the couch. “LINE UP, BABY! LAHAT TAYO!”
Maloi groaned, laughing, “I don’t like Jager, gago!” but Colet was already shoving the bottle into her hands.
“No excuses!” Colet barked, grinning wide, “OPEN UP!”
The crowd screamed as Maloi tilted her head back, Colet pouring Jager until she sputtered. Everyone cheered.
“Next! Mikha Lim!” Colet shoved the bottle into Mikha’s chest, and even though Mikha mumbled something about her shoes getting ruined, she still leaned back obediently, letting the liquor burn her throat.
Sheena was already waiting, hair tied up, lips curled in a dare. Colet tipped the bottle and Sheena didn’t flinch once. “AYYYY!” the table erupted.
Jhoanna took the bottle back, but Colet snatched it, held it up like a torch. Her voice thundered over the music, “AYT AYT!! WHO’S NEXT?”
The whole circle cackled, their laughter rising and rising, everyone hyped off Colet’s chaos. Glasses clinked, liquor spilled, the room spun faster and faster.
—
Gwen dragged Stacey to the corner where someone had set up a crooked folding table, half-covered in red cups. Stacey lined up the cups, already annoyed the rims were sticky.
“Winner gets what?” Gwen grinned, swaying slightly as she grabbed the ping pong ball.
“How about, ano…loser pays for everything?” Stacey muttered, leaning on her elbow. She flicked her lighter open, the flame lighting her face before she snapped it shut again.
At their table, Aiah refused to move. She sat back, pretending to nurse her drink, but her other hand was busy—two fingers curled around one of Stacey’s joints, blowing smoke toward the floor so no one would notice. She exhaled slowly, eyes half-closed, hiding her grin behind her glass.
“YES!” Gwen yelled as her ball landed in one of Stacey’s cups. Stacey groaned, lifted it, and downed the flat beer without flinching. “Fuck, that’s warm.”
They played like that for a while—Gwen loud and dramatic, Stacey deadpan and sharper the more she drank, Aiah quietly high, hovering behind them. For a brief moment, it almost felt like their own little world.
Until the noise spilled over.
Colet spotted the beer pong table and grinned like she’d just seen prey.
“Maloi, play tayo,” she said, already pulling Mikha and Maloi closer.
“Nah, I’m out.” Mikha raised both hands in surrender, already slipping off the table. “I have early classes bukas.”
“Fucking nerd!” Colet barked, but Mikha only rolled her eyes and walked away.
“Fine, mas okay,” Colet shrugged, throwing an arm around Maloi’s shoulders. “Mas madali kang talunin.”
Maloi shoved her off, giggling, “Tangina mo.”
Colet, Jhoanna, Maloi, and Sheena walked toward the table, still loud, still riding the high of their chants. Gwen and Stacey were mid-game, the ball bouncing off the rim of a cup, both of them cursing under their breaths.
“Our turn,” Colet declared, sliding into the space. “Di naman kayo maka-shoot eh.”
Stacey’s head snapped up. “Excuse me?”
Gwen snorted, already reaching for the ball before Colet could touch it. “Fuck off, Vergara. We’re not done.”
Colet leaned on the table, smirking. “Done na kayo. Ang boring niyo panoorin. Maloi, set it up.”
“Putangina, wala ka bang ibang trip?” Stacey shot back.
Jhoanna cackled. “Oooohhh. She bites!”
"Stacey, right?" Colet said, "Just let us play for a while. You're like this na oh—" she wobbled dramatically on her feet, swaying side to side, head lolling like she might collapse.
Gwen snorted. Jhoanna barked out a laugh. Even Sheena clapped once, amused.
Stacey clenched her jaw, tossed the ball high, and it landed dead center in a cup. She then downed a bottle of beer in one go without breaking eye contact. “Looks like I can shoot just fine.”
“Fine,” Colet rolled her eyes, pretending to be unbothered but clearly sparked by the challenge. “You and your friend versus me and…” She glanced at Maloi, who only shrugged, then at Jhoanna, who kept shaking her head no. Finally, she smirked and hooked a finger toward Sheena, “Shee, come here.”
Sheena blinked. “Why me?”
“For balance,” Colet said, already dragging her forward by the wrist. “Gwen and Stacey, parehong try-hard. Tayo, parehong magaling.”
“Girl, I’m too drunk for this,” Sheena mumbled, but she grabbed a ball, smirking despite herself.
Gwen sighed, setting the cups back in place. “Fine. But if we win—”
“You won’t,” Colet interjected, giving that obnoxious grin again.
“If we win,” Gwen continued anyway, “you pay for all our drinks.”
“Easy,” Colet said, readjusting her hair.
“Oh, I’m not done.”
“Huh?” Colet frowned, tilting her head.
“You pay for all our drinks,” Gwen repeated, then leaned in, smirking just enough to get under Colet’s skin, “and you shut the fuck up for the rest of the night.”
Maloi choked on her beer, laughing. “Good luck with that, Gwen.”
“Okay—” Colet responded, slow, deliberate, “and if I win…”
She paused. Looking around like she had to make sure people would hear.
“Sevilleja goes home with me.”
Gwen choked on her laugh and nearly spat beer. Jhoanna made a strangled noise that might have been a laugh.
Stacey’s hand paused mid-reach for a ball. For a second her face was all iced composure. Then she gave a loud, brittle laugh. “Dream on,” she said.
Colet shrugged, as if the idea was the most rational thing in the world. “We’ll see,” she said, backing up to her side of the table, already bouncing the ball between her palms, “Game na.”
The game started.
“Kobe!” Colet yelled, visibly drunk, but she nailed her first shot clean into a cup.
The group roared. Maloi pounded the table. Jhoanna moved closer to massage Colet’s shoulders, whispering, “You got this! Easy.” Sheena strutted forward, cupping her hands around her mouth. “Game over na!”
Gwen rolled her eyes, sank her shot—
But it bounced off the rim. “Shit.”
“Nice try, nice try,” Colet said, feigning empathy.
Stacey’s jaw flexed as she lined up her throw. The ball flew and swerved right, nowhere near the cups. The roar from Colet’s side of the table nearly drowned the music.
“Oof,” Maloi waved a finger, mocking, “It’s like you want to lose, Stacey.”
From behind, Aiah called out, already two drinks deeper than she should be. “Bend your knees, Stace! Hindi ka ba nag-PE ever?”
“Shut up, Aiah!” Stacey snapped without turning, grabbing another ball.
“No coaching!” Sheena howled, doing squats now.
Colet raised her arms like she was blessing the room. “Ready to go home with me, Stacey?” She shot—and of course, it sank.
The chant started again. “VER-GA-RA! VER-GA-RA!”
Stacey drained her beer, slammed the cup down. Her eyes had that sharp, don’t-fuck-with-me focus now.
“Gotchu, Stace,” Gwen whispered, lining up another ball. “Trust.”
The next shot went in clean. Joanna and Maloi groaned.
Sheena cracked her neck. Bounced the ball twice on the table. “Colet, watch me,” she said, closing her left eye, “Matrix!”
Colet stepped forward and yelled, “Shee, no!”
But Sheena already threw the ball. And missed terribly. The ball bounced on the floor before disappearing completely. “Oops.”
Stacey’s turn. She squared her shoulders, tuned out the noise.
One bounce, dead center.
“Ohhh shit,” Aiah crowed from the back, coughing out smoke. “That’s my girl.”
Sheena booed so loud her voice cracked. “Swerte lang!”
“Luck?” Stacey smirked, already lining up the next ball. “Honey, that’s skill.”
And just like that—the game shifted.
Cup after cup started falling. Gwen and Stacey’s side of the table got sharper, tighter, while Colet and Sheena’s laughter started sounding less triumphant, more desperate.
The table was a warzone now.
Gwen had gone cold and efficient, her earlier misses forgotten. She’d line up, flick her wrist, and another cup would sink. Stacey matched her rhythm, each shot deliberate, precise.
Colet, on the other hand, was still loud, still obnoxious, refusing to go down quietly. She trash-talked between gulps of beer, throwing her head back to scream whenever Sheena sank a shot.
“Come on, Sevilleja!” Colet shouted across the table, arms open wide. “One more miss and I’m carrying you home, baby girl.”
Stacey didn’t flinch. She just locked eyes with her, tossed her ball, and sank it clean.
Just a few cups left.
Then Sheena nailed one. Gwen hit back. Maloi was standing on a chair now, yelling herself hoarse, while Aiah was somewhere behind Stacey and Gwen, blowing smoke rings into the chaos and screaming advice no one asked for.
“FOCUS, STACEY! PARANG SNIPER LANG BA!”
“Sssshh, Aiah, Jesus Christ!” Gwen shook her head, aiming anyway.
By the time the noise finally leveled, both teams were down to one last cup. The tension stretched through the sweat and bass and alcohol.
Gwen and Sheena missed, both groaning and trash-talking each other. The ball rolled somewhere under the table.
Now it was Stacey and Colet.
Colet twirled the ball in her hand, drunk and grinning, eyes locked on Stacey. “I’m ready to take everything,” she said, daring, reckless, “and by everything, I mean you, gorgeous.”
Stacey caught the other ball, spun it once against her palm, and smirked back. “In your dreams, Vergara.”
Two girls, one last shot.
The crowd jostled, everyone yelling over each other about who should go first. Sheena was chanting Colet’s name, Jhoanna and Maloi bit their nails, Aiah screamed something incoherent.
Then Gwen raised her voice, “Sabay na lang,” she said, eyes flicking between the two. “Settle it clean.”
The noise rippled into excited murmurs. People leaned in closer.
Colet grinned, wild and cocky, spinning the ball once in her fingers. “Sabay? Fine by me. Para mabilis na matapos.”
Stacey didn’t blink. She simply picked up her ball, gave it one slow bounce on the table, then steadied her hand. “Ready when you are.”
The room held its breath. Even the bass from the club felt muted, distant.
“Three,” Gwen started, steady, authoritative.
“Two…” the crowd picked it up, voices in sync.
“One—”
One ball bounced hard against the rim, rolling off the table and disappearing into the crowd. The other dropped clean into the last cup, beer splashing up the sides.
“FUCKK!!!” Colet screamed, throwing her head back in sheer disbelief. Maloi was doubled over laughing, Sheena started groaning. Jhoanna had her phone up, recording the whole disaster.
On the other side, Gwen and Aiah shrieked—Aiah jumping onto Stacey’s back, a newly lit joint clamped between her fingers. “THAT WAS SO HOT!” Gwen yelled, slamming her empty cup onto the table. “CAN YOU COME HOME WITH ME NA LANG!?”
Stacey stood there in the middle of the mess, chest heaving, shaking her head and biting her cheek to suppress a smirk. She didn’t even flinch when Aiah nearly toppled her over. Her eyes, though, never left Colet—still standing loud and golden under the club lights, still grinning even in defeat.
“You’re buying our drinks now, baby girl.” Stacey said, brushing Aiah off her shoulder.
“AND shutting the fuck up!” Gwen added, pointing triumphantly at Colet.
The crowd made more noise, half of them cheering for Stacey’s finish, the other half booing and begging Colet to redeem herself.
But Colet only laughed. Low, confident, unfazed. She leaned across the table, locking eyes with Stacey, and shouted over the noise.
“Fine! But it’s not over, Sevilleja. I’ll get you next time!”
—
Stacey reapplied her lipstick in the bar restroom, steady hand despite the alcohol mixing in her system. She leaned closer to the mirror, tilted her head, and checked the angle. Took three—no, maybe ten—mirror selfies before she finally approved of one.
The door creaked open. Colet walked in, hair messy from the game, cheeks still flushed. She paused when she saw Stacey.
Stacey rolled her eyes, clicking her compact shut. “What took you so long?”
“I didn’t see your text agad,” Colet said, shrugging as she strode over the tiled floor. “Sorry, baby.”
Stacey’s scowl softened. Barely. She let out a sharp little laugh, slipping her phone into her purse. “You’re so full of shit.”
“You’re still coming home with me, diba?” Colet whispered, playful, testing, still half-drunk, half-wild.
“Do you even have to ask?” Stacey shot back, pulling Colet by the neck.
And then their mouths crashed together. Hungry, reckless, all teeth and lipstick and the taste of alcohol. Colet pressed Stacey against the counter, one hand on her jaw, the other gripping her hip, like she’d been waiting all night for this. Stacey kissed her back just as hard, just as sharp, until the room spun and the mirror rattled against the wall.
Stacey had been waiting for this since the second Colet walked into the bar—loud, insufferable, demanding the world bend around her. She hated it. Hated the way Colet never said please, never said thank you. Hated the cruelty she didn’t even try to hide, the entitlement baked into every laugh, every careless touch, every time she took up space like everything was made for her entertainment alone.
Still, Stacey couldn’t stop watching. Couldn’t stop wanting. Every awful trick Colet pulled, every brag, every shout, it twisted something in her gut. Attraction that felt like nausea, like swallowing glass. She despised how her body betrayed her, how her pulse jumped whenever Colet leaned too close, how her mouth burned every time she imagined biting back instead of rolling her eyes.
It felt so wrong. Like wanting fire because it promised to scar. Like letting your hand hover over a stove and praying you’re not strong enough to pull it back. Colet was everything she should have spit out, should have walked away from, but Stacey kept letting her rot sweet on her tongue.
Because beneath the noise, Colet meant destruction. Ruin. The kind of ruin that made Stacey want to dig her nails in and never stop.
And Colet had been itching since the beer pong table. Every time Stacey flicked her wrist and sank a cup, no hesitation, no mercy. It rattled her. Stacey didn’t play to win, she played like winning was inevitable, like the table, the ball, the rules, and everything else bent to her will.
And she fucking loved it. Loved how Stacey stripped her down without saying a word. How she could make her feel like she wasn’t the star athlete, wasn’t the loudmouth everyone put up with. With Stacey, she wasn’t untouchable—she was cornered. Small. Powerless. And it thrilled her, the way winning never had.
Because she’d grown up in a world of awards—trophies, medals, high-fives, applauses. Even when she fucked up, someone still patted her on the back and called it potential. No one ever made her feel the sting of losing, not really.
But Stacey did. Stacey looked at her like punishment. Like consequence. Like the silence after a joke that didn’t land, the airless drop when nobody caught you. And Colet wanted that. Needed it. The rough edge of being cut down, the sobering reminder that she wasn’t owed anything.
She wanted Stacey to ruin her.
And they loved each other.
Even though it was something they couldn’t say out loud without it turning sour. They loved each other in rented beds. In cramped parking lots. In borrowed minutes that never felt long enough.
And they chose to keep it a secret. Just because it was more fun that way. More thrilling to pretend they couldn’t stand each other in public, only to unravel behind closed doors. To lock eyes across a room and know, without anyone else knowing, what would happen later. To turn their love into a game no one else was allowed to play.
They became addicted to the secrecy. Being untouchable, invisible. Every lie, every sidelong glance was another high. The hiding wasn’t just part of it, it was the whole point. As if saying it out loud, naming it, would strip away the hunger, the rush.
In a world full of safety nets, they had to invent their own kind of danger.
So when they finally collided, it wasn’t just romance. It was a risk dressed as a kiss. Lipstick smeared, teeth clashed, breaths passed back and forth. Stacey clawed at her shirt, Colet pulled her closer, and closer, and closer—until Stacey shoved her off hard with a hand to the chest.
“Later,” Stacey hissed, breathless, wiping her smudged lipstick with the back of her hand. “Go away na.”
Colet laughed, unbothered, stumbling back with her hands raised in surrender. “Fine. But don’t make me wait too long, baby.”
And then she was gone. The door swung shut, leaving Stacey staring at herself in the mirror. Hair a mess, lipstick ruined. She laughed at her reflection, almost daring it to deny what just happened, and started reapplying her lipstick all over again.