Work Text:
"Hello, Vergara."
"Ah, Sevilleja. Good evening."
Stacey smiled—wide, fake, a little too bright. “This is my date tonight,” she said, tilting her head toward the girl beside her. “This is Gwen.”
Colet mirrored the expression with that trademark smug curve of her lips. “Well, this is my date. Doctor Jhoanna Robles.”
“Hi,” Gwen said softly, giving a shy little wave.
“Nice to meet you, girls.” Jhoanna extended her hand with a polite smile.
Then silence.
Colet and Stacey’s eyes met and dropped at the same time.
Stacey’s black dress clung tight, just enough to show the traces of Colet’s kisses from last night. Colet tried not to stare.
Meanwhile, Colet’s navy suit was sharp and open at the chest, nothing underneath. The koi tattoo peeked from her chest. That stupid fish Stacey used to trace with her fingertip.
Stacey didn’t look away.
Neither did Colet.
Stacey broke first. “Doctor din si Gwen, actually.”
Gwen flushed. “Hindi pa,” she said, smiling shyly. “I’m still working on my PhD. Jhoanna’s more impressive.”
“You’re impressive kaya,” Stacey said, forcing another laugh before turning back to Colet and Jhoanna. “Ang talino ni Gwen! She’s doing a paper on, uh…”
She looked at Gwen for help, her smile already slipping.
“Ah,” Gwen cut in gently, saving her. “The Influence of Media and Technology on Filipino Lexical Change. Nothing special.”
“Nice,” Colet said, nodding slowly. “Well, Jhoanna’s a pediatrician. Magaling sa little humans.”
“Impressive,” Stacey replied with a tight smile.
“Very,” Colet said, her eyes still fixed on Stacey’s. “Very impressive.”
Jhoanna laughed, blushing. “Ano ba, you’re making me shy! Let’s go find our seats na. Nice to meet you again, Stacey, Gwen.”
She wrapped an arm around Colet’s waist—casual, affectionate, claimed.
Stacey’s smile faltered. She cleared her throat. “Let’s go, Gwen. Table eight tayo.”
“Same!” Jhoanna said brightly. “Sabay na tayo!”
Colet and Stacey froze for half a second—a pause where both realized fate wasn’t done being a little bitch.
“Perfect,” Colet said first, smiling thinly.
“Yeah,” Stacey answered, a little too sweet. “Perfect.”
16 hours ago
Colet laid on Stacey’s chest—bare skin on bare skin, their breaths still catching, still coming down from the high of what they’d just done.
“We need to stop doing this,” Colet said quietly, tracing the edge of a scar near Stacey’s collarbone.
“You say that now,” Stacey chuckled, lazy and smug, her fingers drawing slow circles on Colet’s shoulder. “Pero sino ba unang nangangalabit palagi?”
Colet smiled against her skin. “Hindi ka naman umaayaw.”
“I know,” Stacey said, catching Colet’s chin between her fingers and turning her face up. “Pero tama ka. We need to stop doing this.”
Colet met her eyes, and gave that dangerous, knowing smile. “We’re bad for each other.”
Stacey grinned. “So what’s the plan?”
Colet laughed softly, moving closer until her lips brushed Stacey’s. “Bukas sa wedding, bring a different date,” she whispered, stealing a quick kiss.
“Why?” Stacey murmured, kissing her back just as quick.
“I think it’s the only way.” Another kiss.
Stacey smiled against her lips. “Is it?”
Colet kissed her again. “I’m,” kiss, “wearing,” kiss, “something,” kiss, “revealing,” kiss.
Stacey rolled her eyes, still smiling. “Fine.”
Colet laughed, settling back onto that warm spot on Stacey’s chest. “So last na talaga natin ’to. Promise.”
“A hundred percent agree.”
—
“How long have you two been friends pala?” Gwen asked.
There was food on the table now. Colet had made it a point to fall in line last. That was the contract—unspoken but binding. As far as their stubborn feelings were concerned, verbal agreements had to count for something. Otherwise, they’d fall right back into the same routine.
“Uh…” Stacey trailed off, glancing at Colet for backup.
What were they supposed to say? Start from the beginning? Make Gwen and Jhoanna sit through the turbulence that was their two-year relationship?
What, mention how the brides introduced them? How they said I love you on the second date? How Stacey moved in, moved out, moved back in every other fight?
Fuck. No.
What was she supposed to add next? That they’d broken up six times and slept together seven? That their longest period of peace lasted exactly twenty-four days and ended over a forgotten toothbrush?
Should she say how Colet always packed first—quick, efficient, like she’d practiced leaving—but never really went far? How every fight ended in the same place anyway: Colet’s sofa, cheap gin, and apologies that always started with “this doesn’t mean anything”?
Or maybe she should skip all that and tell them the truth: that she’d tried to move on, but every girl since Colet had the same problem—none of them were Colet.
Yeah. No fucking way.
She stabbed her fork into the salad instead.
“We met in college,” Colet said finally, seemingly unaffected. “Same circle kami ng brides.”
“Oh that’s nice,” Jhoanna said, taking a tiny sip of her wine. “I miss my college friends.”
“Yeah,” Colet managed. “It’s nice.”
But what’s not nice, Colet thought, was Stacey leaning just a little too close to Gwen.
Not nice, the way she laughed too hard at something Gwen said. Not nice, the way she offered to carry Gwen’s plates when she couldn’t even be bothered to bring Colet a glass of water.
Not nice, either, how Stacey suddenly knew when to listen, how she kept her voice soft, patient—as if she’d learned how to be tender overnight. Not nice, how she looked at Gwen the way she used to look at Colet, with that same half-smile that once meant it was both of them against the world, the bills, the leaking faucets, the mold on the ceiling.
Not nice how Gwen didn’t even realize she was sitting beside a living minefield of old habits and recycled lines.
Colet took another sip of her wine, the bitterness burning down her throat. She told herself it didn’t matter anymore. That she didn’t care, that she’d move on eventually, that maybe Jhoanna was kinder, steadier, and not as complicated.
But when Stacey leaned in to tuck a stray hair behind Gwen’s ear—something inside Colet fell apart.
She wanted to look away, but didn’t. She wanted to stop caring, but couldn’t. And she hated that small, cowardly part of her that was still waiting for Stacey to look back.
She didn’t even realize Jhoanna and Stacey were trading stories now. Didn’t even realize she’d suddenly become the butt of the joke, until she heard Jhoanna say, “Seryoso, Colet? Twenty ka na nung natuto kang mag commute?”
She rolled her eyes at Stacey, then grinned at Jhoanna. “Sorry,” she said, “strict ang parents ko. Ikaw talaga Stacey sinisiraan mo ako sa date ko.”
“I mean,” Stacey teased, sipping her beer bottle, "she asked eh."
Colet huffed and turned to face Gwen, “Alam mo ba, Gwen,” she said, “yang si Stacey, kahit pancit canton, hindi niya kayang lutuin.”
“Uy!” Stacey laughed, pretending to be offended. “Below the belt!”
Colet laughed, but it was short lived, because Gwen then said, "Don't worry, Stace," she put a hand on top of Stacey's, "I'll teach you." And then Stacey had the nerve to respond with, "I'd love that."
Perfect. Amazing. Ten out of ten. Five fucking stars.
Because now all she could see was Gwen behind Stacey in a prettier kitchen, guiding her hand as she sliced something delicate. Maybe tomatoes. Maybe lemons for the cheap gin they’d drink while pretending not to flirt.
And of course, Stacey would cut her finger—because she was always so embarrassingly careless—and Gwen would laugh, soft and concerned, before reaching for a band-aid. Maybe kiss it for good measure. Because that’s what nice people did. Nice, warm, capable people like Gwen.
And Colet hated that she could picture it so clearly. Hated that she could see the light in Stacey’s eyes. She used to earn that, once, with bad jokes and borrowed guitars and late-night Minute Burger runs.
Now someone else had her hand on Stacey’s.
Now someone else would get to teach her things.
Colet looked down at her glass, at the wine catching the light.
She smiled, small and polite, as if she hadn’t just been gutted in public.
“Cute,” she said. “Cooking lessons. Love that for you.”
—
“So there was this one time,” Jhoanna began, resting her elbows lightly on the table. “We went to this far-flung barangay sa Cebu. Third day na namin, and this mother came in carrying her son—mga seven years old lang siguro. He’d been having seizures for months, but they couldn’t afford to take him to the city.”
Everyone went quiet. Even Stacey, who’d been smirking her way through dinner, softened.
“We didn’t have the right equipment,” Jhoanna continued. “No labs, no machines. Stethoscope lang, some meds, and a flashlight. We had to improvise everything.”
She smiled, though her eyes had dimmed a little. “He got better after a few days naman. We kept in touch with the family after that. Sometimes I still send medicine when I can.”
“Wow,” Gwen said softly. “Ang galing mo.”
Jhoanna shrugged. “Not really. Just doing what I can.”
“I’d love to come with you next time,” Colet said without thinking. “Promise. Sabihin mo lang when.”
Jhoanna grinned. “Talaga? Game ha, next quarter.”
“Bukid usually yan, diba?” Colet asked, light, teasing.
“Remote areas talaga, yes,” Jhoanna replied. “Why, are you worried about the sleeping arrangement?”
“Not if I get to share a tent with you,” Colet shot back with a smile.
This is a fucking blast.
How fun, Stacey thought.
At least Jhoanna seemed calmer, more put together. The type who thought before she spoke. The type who didn’t throw plates or storm out mid-argument. They’d probably fight less.
And she was a doctor, for fuck’s sake. She probably had her own house. Maybe she wouldn’t need to couch surf after every argument. Maybe she had her life together. Premium health insurance, a calendar, a retirement plan, a working rice cooker.
Hell, she might even afford that game room Colet wouldn’t shut up about. Or that home office she always dreamed of having.
And why not? Jhoanna looked like the kind of woman who’d actually build it for her. Who’d stay up late helping Colet organize her shelves and color-code her sticky notes, while Stacey was just—what—out here bragging that she could shotgun a beer faster than most men?
Perfect. Really. Great trade-up, Vergara. You found someone with a license to heal people and probably better coping mechanisms.
Stacey smiled into her drink, the bottle cool against her lip. She could almost hear Colet’s voice in her head—teasing, fond, a little smug:
See, Stace? Told you I deserve someone stable.
And god, maybe she was right.
But knowing that didn’t make it sting any less.
—
Colet found Stacey smoking outside just as she was about to grab Jhoanna’s jacket from the car. Same cheap red pack—illegally imported, stubbornly unstylish. Colet hated that Stacey smoked. She hated it more that Stacey didn’t even smoke decent brands.
“Since when did you start smoking again?” she asked.
“Three months na siguro. Ewan.” Stacey shrugged.
Colet nodded. Stacey didn’t add anything.
“Do you like Gwen?” Colet said before she could stop herself.
“What?” Stacey shot back, surprised. “We just met.”
Colet inhaled slow. “Wala lang,” she said. “Baka mag I love you ka agad.”
“Yikes.” Stacey laughed. “Never again.”
“You know,” Colet teased, “history has a weird way of repeating itself.”
“Baka ikaw mag I love you agad sa doktor mo,” Stacey replied.
Colet laughed too loud. “Masyadong mabait yun. Mga type ko kasi—mga maldita. Mga chinita na feeling princess pero kayang mag-chug ng one litre na Red Horse.”
Stacey puffed air through her nose and laughed with her. The smoke passed between them, then Stacey’s face softened. “Colet, we talked about this.”
Colet exhaled, frustrated. “I know.”
A beat.
“But I can’t,” she said, shaking her head. “I can’t do this.”
“Colet—”
“Shut up, okay?!” she snapped. The shout surprised even her. “I can’t sit there and laugh and tell Jhoanna how amazing and impressive she is. Not when all I want to do is punch Gwen in the throat for even breathing in your direction..."
"...Stace, please.”
“Colet, no.”
“Please.” Her voice broke on the last word. Tears gathered and she blinked them away. “Please don’t say no. Please come back to me. End game tayo, okay? So what kung puro tayo away? That’s just us. I’m a bitch and you’re a bitch and we’re perfect for each other. Nothing else should matter. I love you, you love me—” She paused, then sang, “…we’re a happy family.”
Stacey let out an unexpected laugh. Short. Like it somehow managed to free itself from all of Stacey's restraint. But she still didn’t say the thing Colet wanted to hear. She just stared.
“Stace?” Colet tried again, softer now. “Please say something. Please?”
“We said we would stop.” Stacey’s voice had that forced numbness.
“So?!” Colet hissed, glancing around to check if someone had heard. She stepped closer, all earnest and dangerous at once. “That’s never stopped us before.”
“Colet—”
“Just,” Colet cut in, trembling, “just think about it. Please. Please. At least until after the party. Please.”
—
When they got back to the table, the world had the audacity to keep spinning.
Gwen was mid-sentence, talking to Jhoanna with her hands. “So basically, my research explores how internet culture is shaping Filipino word use—like, how ‘jeje’ language or code-switching affects lexical adoption.”
Jhoanna nodded, genuinely interested. “That’s fascinating. I always wondered how slang spreads that fast. Parang within weeks, may bago na naman.”
“It’s true,” Gwen said, smiling, “and it’s even faster now with—” she stopped, catching herself, “actually, even with Friendster and forums and all that before pa. Kahit nung 2006, the internet was already changing how we talk.”
“Ang galing,” Jhoanna said. “You should meet one of my friends from med school. Linguistics din background niya before shifting to psych.”
Colet pulled out her chair quietly, as if nothing happened outside. Her chest still felt tight, her heart hadn’t caught up with the rest of her body yet.
Stacey sat down across her, looking perfectly unbothered. She even smiled when Gwen leaned closer to her, finishing her thought.
“…I’m also comparing Taglish usage in digital media,” Gwen said. “Like, how ‘LOL’ or ‘BRB’ made their way into Filipino vernacular. My adviser calls it the modern-day evolution of colonial influence.”
“Interesting,” Colet said, her voice steady. Too steady. She grabbed her glass of water just to have something to do with her hands. “So basically, you study how people fuck up language.”
Gwen blinked, then laughed politely. “Something like that.”
“Colet,” Stacey teased, as if Colet didn’t beg and pour her heart out five minutes ago, “be nice.”
“I’m nice,” Colet said, smiling. “I’m very nice.”
Across the table, Stacey hid behind her bottle.
Of course she did.
Because she knew exactly what that tone meant.
And exactly what Colet looked like when she was trying not to crumble.
“We should dance!” Jhoanna said suddenly, already half-standing, tugging Colet up by the hand. “Gwen, Stacey, let’s go!”
“Uy, nakakahiya,” Gwen laughed, waving her hand in front of her. “Hindi ako marunong sumayaw.”
“Eh ako rin!” Stacey added, forcing a smile. Then she caught the way Jhoanna’s arm slid around Colet’s waist, guiding her toward the dance floor.
“I’m not drunk enough for that,” Stacey said, maintaining her fake composure.
“Then drink more,” Jhoanna teased. “Tapos hanapin niyo kami sa dance floor. You have five minutes.”
Colet glanced back just before they disappeared into the crowd. Her hand brushing against Jhoanna’s back, her laughter carrying over the music. It was that soft, careless laugh Stacey used to know by heart.
Stacey reached the same cheap beer she’d always picked, and took a long sip.
“Five minutes,” she muttered under her breath, watching Colet’s silhouette fade into the lights. “Right.”
Gwen leaned over. “You okay?”
Stacey smiled, just enough to look human. “Yeah,” she said, lying through her teeth. “More wine?”
At first, it was nothing.
Just loud, stupid, stubborn pop songs that tried too hard to be fun.
Colet was on the dance floor, flailing in her usual way—too many hands, too eager, too alive. Stacey could almost laugh. It was so her. Always looking like she’d never known shame in her life.
Even Stacey started bobbing her head. Maybe out of habit. Or maybe just to look like she wasn’t staring. Gwen was saying something beside her—about language, or about the wine, or about anything—and Stacey nodded at the right times. She didn’t hear a single word.
Then the song changed.
Slower. Soft. Meaner.
So fucking cruel.
Something with piano and yearning. The kind of song that ruins you if you let it.
And Stacey watched Jhoanna offer her hand.
Watched Colet take it.
It wasn’t dramatic. No spotlight, no cinematic swell. Just two people moving together because it was easy. Like they’d done it before.
Stacey took another sip of beer. Watched Colet’s hand slip behind Jhoanna’s shoulder. Watched Jhoanna lean down to whisper something, and Colet tilt her head back to laugh.
She hated that laugh. Or maybe she loved it. It was hard to tell these days.
Her bottle was half-empty now. She wasn’t sure when that happened.
She didn’t even like slow songs. She used to skip them when Colet played her stupid mixtapes—always said they made her want to throw herself into traffic just to rile her up.
But now, she understood why people danced to them.
Because sitting still suddenly hurts too much.
—
The reception had ended.
Jhoanna left first—something about a patient in the ER. Colet barely heard her. Some kid was probably dying somewhere. She didn’t care. Not right now.
She was standing in the parking lot, pretending to check her phone, pretending not to wait.
But she was waiting.
Every pair of headlights that passed made her flinch, searching for Stacey’s shape in the blur. She could already hear her motorcycle coughing in her head, ready to die halfway home just like everything else she owned.
Then she saw Stacey and Gwen, walking side by side toward Gwen’s car. Of course. A Prius. Gwen was the type. Doing a PhD, owning something that actually starts on the first try. What else? Was she saving the planet too? Does she drink the water she bathes with? Plant her own vegetables? Does she recycle? Would she do everything I've already done with Stacey?
She wanted to laugh too. Instead, she just stood there, a shadow humiliated.
She told herself she was just getting some air. That she wasn’t waiting anymore. That what she said to Stacey earlier was just a fluke. Just a coward being a coward. And she almost believed it—until Stacey turned.
For a moment, neither of them moved. Neither blinked. Just two idiots staring across a sea of parked cars and leftover confetti.
Colet watched Gwen open the door for Stacey. She probably said thank you. Of course she did. She was always polite like that around other people.
Stacey kept her hand on the door as Gwen rounded to the driver’s side. Eyes still on Colet.
Colet smiled. Not too wide. Just enough to say so…?
A smile that asked for a sign.
A nod.
A maybe.
But Stacey just shook her head.
No...
Slow. Small. Final.
Then she got in the car.
The door shut
And that was it.
Full stop.
Colet stood there long after the Prius had reversed out of the lot, arms crossed so she could pretend she was just cold.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket. Spam. Something about a car loan. Perfect timing.
She walked toward her motorcycle. She kicked the starter once, twice, nothing. The third time, the engine sputtered to life.
She rode in silence for a while. Every streetlight was mocking her. She hated it.
At a stoplight, she thought about turning around. Maybe Stacey would step out of the car, run after her, say something pathetic like I can’t do this either or it’ll always be you.
Then the light turned green, and reality didn’t.
She ended up at a 7-Eleven. Bought a beer she couldn’t technically afford, stood outside drinking it beside a trash can. Maybe she should start all that self-love crap she’d been hearing everywhere.
The cashier had smiled at her earlier, which was something. Maybe even the start of something. Probably not.
Colet leaned against her bike, half-drunk, staring at her reflection in the store window. She still looked like someone who thought she could win her ex back even when she had nothing to offer.
“Bobo,” she whispered.
Then took another sip.
—
Colet woke up to a soft rustle. Then a warm, familiar body inching closer. Then, a head on her chest.
She didn’t even have to open her eyes.
The smell alone—cheap cigarettes and cheap beer—was enough. She shifted slightly on the couch, still half-asleep, still half-punishing herself, and wrapped an arm around Stacey.
No questions. No interrogations. Just warmth.
“She asked if she could drive me home,” Stacey whispered, her voice muffled against Colet’s shirt.
That hit her point blank in the chest—familiar, restrained, a trace of a habit she never broke. Colet memorized Stacey’s weight, the slow rhythm of her breathing, the heat between them that felt like both punishment and mercy.
“And?” she asked, almost too afraid to hear the answer.
Stacey moved higher and nuzzled her face on the crook of Colet’s neck. Colet stayed still. She felt Stacey breathe her in—one, two, three greedy, trembling breaths—like she’d missed the way she smelled or wanted to disappear inside her.
“...Now I am.”