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The dorm was quiet when Colet returned that night, her body heavy from the weight of rehearsals. Her bones ached, her throat was dry, and all she wanted was to collapse onto her bed. But the second she opened the door to the living room, her tiredness turned into something else entirely—something soft, something so full of love it nearly knocked the breath out of her.
Because there, curled up on the couch, was Maloi.
She was dressed in one of Colet’s oversized hoodies—the dark green one she guarded like treasure but always let Maloi borrow without a second thought. The hood was halfway covering her face, her cheek squished against a throw pillow, and her lips parted in the gentlest pout. A little line of drool clung to the corner of her mouth, and her fingers clutched the fabric of the hoodie as if it were a lifeline.
Colet froze in the doorway. A tired smile tugged at her lips. Dearest... she thought, heart swelling in her chest. She hadn’t even realized Maloi had been waiting for her.
The room smelled faintly of chamomile tea, and the soft hum of the fridge was the only sound. Maloi’s phone screen was still lit on the coffee table, the YouTube autoplay frozen on some Studio Ghibli soundtrack playlist.
“Loi…” Colet whispered, stepping closer. Her voice was careful, reverent, like she was speaking to something sacred.
Maloi stirred faintly, frowning in her sleep but not waking. Colet’s chest tightened. She crouched down, brushing away the strands of hair sticking to Maloi’s forehead. The warmth of her skin was there, steady, grounding.
She could have woken her. She could have gently shaken her shoulder and told her to sleep properly in bed. But instead, Colet did what her body demanded. She slid her arms under Maloi’s body and carefully, carefully lifted her bridal-style off the couch.
And God—Maloi fit. She fit so perfectly against her chest, head resting against her collarbone, arms instinctively wrapping around her even in sleep.
Colet’s lips parted in awe, heart thundering.
Oh my God.
Her steps toward the bedroom were slow, careful, as if each movement was sacred choreography. When she finally laid Maloi down on her bed—the bed she never let anyone touch—Maloi shifted, brows furrowing as if resisting the loss of Colet’s warmth.
And then it happened.
“‘Wag ka aalis…” Maloi mumbled in a sleepy, broken voice, clinging to the hem of Colet’s shirt with trembling fingers. “…please.”
Colet’s world stilled. Her lungs ached with how much love crashed into her chest all at once. She sank onto the edge of the bed, eyes burning, a shaky laugh leaving her.
“Oh, baby…” she whispered, leaning down to press a kiss to Maloi’s damp forehead. Her lips lingered there. “Hindi ako aalis. Never.”
She tucked the blanket over Maloi’s body, smoothing it down with gentle hands. Maloi had already slipped back into deeper sleep, her breathing soft and uneven, her pout still visible.
But Colet didn’t leave. She couldn’t. She laid down beside her, sliding an arm under Maloi’s head and pulling her close until her cheek rested against her hair.
And there, in the stillness of the night, Colet whispered everything she’d never had the courage to say in daylight.
“You’re so beautiful,” she breathed against her hair. “Alam mo ba? You’re my favorite. My always. Kahit gaano ako kapagod, the second I see you... everything makes sense again.”
She pressed another kiss—this time to Maloi’s temple.
And then, with Maloi curled into her arms, Colet stayed awake, watching her sleep. She traced the slope of her nose with her gaze, memorized the way her lashes brushed against her cheeks, and smiled every time Maloi unconsciously clutched tighter at her shirt, like she never wanted her to go.
Hours slipped by, the night deepening, but Colet didn’t care. She’d trade sleep a hundred times over if it meant moments like this—if it meant she got to hold Maloi like the whole world belonged to them.
And just before Colet finally drifted off, her lips brushed Maloi’s again—gentle, feather-light, a promise tucked in a kiss.
“Hindi ako aalis, dearest,”
she whispered one last time, the words sinking into the quiet of the room, steady as a vow.