Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Risa Hontiveros has one rule.

Or rather, she has one rule she actually keeps. The rest are more like New Year’s resolutions that are sincere amidst the fireworks but abandoned the second life demands otherwise, so Risa lives by a single, unbreakable rule: she will not fall in love again.

She likes to think she has kept it for twenty-one years, with more struggle for the last fourteen spent walking into committee rooms and the Senate hall, knowing, before she even looks up from her pile of documents, exactly how long it will take Sherwin to find an excuse to be near her, if not next to.

That's the whole of it.

(The rest of the disaster, if it needed a title, might be called “How the Senate President Ruined Senator Risa Hontiveros' Perfectly Reasonable Twenty-One-Year Life Plan With a Truck and Three Words She Tried So Hard To Keep From Spilling Out.”)

The point is, Risa can't afford to fall in love. Not with four children, not with a public image that tolerates zero missteps, and certainly not after spending over two decades carefully building a life around her late husband's absence. She’s gotten good at it, the building—so good that most days she forgets it was ever a choice, having promised herself long ago to never leave room for love again.

She won’t. 

She can’t.

Until she could. Until, God help her, she did.

Risa’s first word isn't a word at all,

it’s a hum, low in her small throat, chasing the tail end of a lullaby.

Her mother sings to her every night without fail and variation,

the lullaby sung so many times that Risa’s own mouth learns the shape of it

before she learns anything else.

Her mother laughs about it for years,

how Risa hummed before she ever spoke a word,

how she reached for the last note as if it were something she could hold.

She doesn't remember this herself.

She only remembers being told, over rice and galunggong

on a slow evening under a sky full of stars,

the story of a daughter who loved a song

before she loved anything she could name.

Risa is reading through the amendments of a bill when the door to her office swings open without a knock, because years of friendship apparently entitle Bam to that.

"Risa, halika na,” he urges, tilting his head toward the door.

She doesn’t even look up from her papers before responding. “Five minutes.”

“Sinabi mo na ‘yan two hours ago. Mag-aalas nuebe na.”

"I meant it less that time.”

She finally glances up to find Bam leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, and Risa, despite having decades of sponsoring successful measures under her belt, has never once won an argument against that stance. 

"Nasa office ko sina Kiko," Bam says. "May pagkain din. We need to discuss something important.”

With a heavy sigh, she lets her pen clatter onto the desk and heads for the corridor, rolling the stiffness out of her shoulders as she goes. “So pinatigil mo ‘ko sa pagtatrabaho to make me work on something else?”

Bam ushers her down the hall with a gentle roll of his eyes. “Semantics.”

Two senators and one visibly stressed chief of staff are still fussing over the food spread when Risa and Bam walk in.

The first thing that catches Risa’s attention is the lopsided, poorly lettered banner taped over the wall that reads INTERVENTION. She immediately bites her lower lip to fight the massive grin threatening to break across her face.

“Ano nanaman ‘tong pakulo niyo?” she asks, schooling her amusement into something more befitting a senator.

She takes a seat near the door, offering a quick nod of thanks to her chief of staff as he sets a plate down in front of her. As her eyes sweep the room out of habit, a flicker of disappointment crosses her face when it fails to land on the one person she hadn't even realized she was hoping to see.

The four men exchange uneasy glances before Migz elbows Bam in the ribs. Risa thinks they look ridiculous, like a group of unprepared high school boys trying to wing a presentation.

Bam takes a deep breath, his tone shifting to the one he uses in sessions to be compelling. “Risa, sobrang busy mo lately,” he begins. “Alam naman namin na you do the bare minimum of taking care of yourself—“

She tilts her head, her brows furrowing in confusion. “Bare minimum? I think I take good care of myself. Kumakain ako thrice a day, I get at least six hours of sleep—“

Kiko glares at Bam while Risa's chief of staff buries his face in his palms. “Galing. ‘Bare minimum’ pa talaga ginamit mong term sa senador na palaging over and beyond,” Kiko whispers harshly, making Bam wince.

“—and nag-oovertime lang naman ako kapag kailangan, like tonight,” Risa continues, unfazed. “Tuwing weekends, lumalabas ako with my kids or nag-uunwind—”

Kiko interrupts her gently. “We’re well aware, Risa, and that’s great. Nag-aalala lang kami kasi your rest feels… methodical. We think you need a real break.”

Migz nods in agreement, holding a slice of pizza in his left hand and a chicken leg in his right, flashing her a wide grin. Meanwhile, Kiko, Bam, and her chief of staff are looking at her expectantly.

A wave of affection hits her, and she feels the prick of tears at the thoughtfulness of it all: at the lopsided banner, the cooling pizza, and the men who care about her enough to stage a terrible intervention on a Thursday night.

"Okay lang ako," is what she says instead, her thumb tracing the edge of her paper plate.

"You work like someone's always checking," Bam tells her softly. “Tingin mo ba, kasalanang magpahinga?”

"My kids need to see that their mother is capable," she reasons, her tone steady despite the tight knot in her throat. "May buong bansa rin tayong kailangang ipaglaban."

"Kailangan nilang makita na their mother is alive,” Kiko insists, and it isn't cruel, the way he says it. "Ilang beses mo nang napatunayan ‘yung kakayahan mo, Ris. The country can spare you for a few days.”

There’s no good rebuttal to that, so Risa doesn't offer one. She picks at her chicken instead, hoping they mistake her quietness for contemplation.

"So," Migz says, clapping his hands together once and mercifully breaking the heavy tension in the room, “ito na ‘yung intervention part. Magte-take ka ng leave, a real one, hindi ‘yung nagbabasa ka pa rin ng committee reports in secret.”

“Ano? Sandali, hindi pwede—"

"Pwede. Naayos na namin lahat," Migz cuts in, a smug grin spreading across his face. "Tsaka napag-usapan na rin namin ‘to ni—“

Kiko and Bam both scramble across the table to cover Migz’s mouth. Risa narrows her eyes at the three of them, but a part of her already has a hunch as to who he’s talking about.

“Ni?” she prompts anyway, raising an eyebrow.

Kiko’s grin only widens as Migz struggles under their grip. "You’ll see tomorrow.”

A week before any of this, on a night nobody brought up at the intervention because none of them knew about it, Risa is sitting at her desk, her workspace buried under cross-examination notes for the joint committee hearing she anticipates will be a total disaster.

She pinches the bridge of her nose, realizing she’s read the same paragraph four times without absorbing a single word, when a knock sounds at her open door.

She doesn't even have to look up to know who it is.

"You’re still here," Sherwin says, less a question than an observation, as he sets two paper bags down on the corner of her desk.

Risa leans back in her chair, her shoulders dropping as she lets out a weary breath. "Ikaw rin naman."

"May two trolleys’ worth of documents ako na kailangang pirmahan bago mag-Thursday," he counters easily, hooking a chair with his foot to drag it over with a soft scrape.

She glares at him, though the curve of her lips renders it without heat. "O, eh ba’t andito ka? Tapusin mo na muna ‘yun.”

"Magpapahinga lang saglit," he answers, unrepentant, and opens the paper bags to pull out a container of rice, another of something that smells like sinigang, and a smaller one that reveals sliced mangoes when she pries the lid off out of curiosity.

"Kumain ka muna,” he urges gently, sliding the utensils across the desk before gesturing toward the stack of papers. “Ta’s sabihin mo sa’kin kung sa’n ka nahihirapan.” 

She opens her mouth to argue out of habit, but the smell of warm food makes the defense die somewhere in her throat.

For the next fifteen minutes, a comfortable silence fills the office, broken only by the clink of her utensils and the rustle of Sherwin flipping pages beside her.

She catches herself watching the furrow of his brow, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and the exhaustion lingering in the dark circles under his eyes, wondering how much of himself he’d be willing to give if she actually asked.

"Regarding sa non-compliance ng distribution utilities sa submission ng requirements," he says eventually, breaking the quiet as his finger taps a highlighted section. “Ise-send ko sa’yo ‘yung masterfile ng show cause orders na pinadala sa kanila at sa generation companies.”

She blinks at him over her glasses, a smile breaking through her exhaustion. “Buti pala andito ka.”

He hums a soft laugh, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes at her reaction, before flipping back a page to trace a messy margin note she’d jotted about electricity rates.

"Baka i-send ko na lang ‘yung buong file nung fuel cost audit and confirmation na cinonduct ng ERC para mas marami kang basis," he murmurs, pulling out his phone. "I’ll sit in. Baka ma-late lang ako since I need to attend another hearing, but I’ll be there.”

The relief that washes over her at his promise is unbidden, so she tucks it away before it can reach her face, offering a small smile instead. “Salamat, Win. Really.”

Something tender crosses his face, and he doesn’t look away as quickly as he should have before tucking his phone away. “It’s no problem.”

They stay for another hour, trading documents back and forth. Sherwin reads her drafted questions aloud in the flattest voice imaginable, mocking the formality of the energy executives they’re preparing to drill, his eyes twinkling with mischief. 

Every deadpan delivery earns a laugh from her, and by the time she finally packs up to go home, the impending hearing feels manageable again.

She doesn't examine too closely why it always seems to, whenever he decides to stay.

As it turns out, the mastermind behind last night’s intervention is standing in the hallway outside her office at nine in the morning, smelling faintly of laundry detergent. He’s holding two cups of coffee with a clenched jaw, though his eyes soften the moment Risa opens the door.

"SP," Risa greets smoothly, stepping out into the corridor. Even after fourteen years of overlapping committee work and the practiced ease that has grown between them, the formal title remains her favorite shield.

It’s safer this way, she thinks. It’s always been safer like this.

"Sherwin," he corrects automatically, extending one of the cups like a peace offering. His eyes linger on hers a beat too long over the rim. “Nakapagpahinga ka ba?”

"Naka-six hours naman.”

"Napaka-consistent talaga.”

The morning exhaustion clouding her lifts just a bit at the familiarity of him, and at the taste of the coffee fixed exactly how she takes it without her even having to ask. Tilting her head up, she meets his eyes with a knowing look. "May collusion na naganap kagabi.”

Sherwin blinks, raising an eyebrow in feigned innocence. "Sounds scandalous. Tungkol saan?”

“An intervention, though I’m convinced ginamit lang ‘yun na excuse nina Migz para magpa-deliver ng pagkain. Familiar ba?”

“Wala akong alam d’yan, Senator,” he says, his lips twitching into a terrible attempt at a straight face.

Risa doesn't say a word. She simply takes another sip of her coffee, holds his gaze over the rim, and arches a single eyebrow. 

Sherwin lasts maybe three seconds under her gaze before his composure cracks.

"Fine, you got me," he chuckles, a sheepish smile breaking through as he rubs the back of his neck. "So... are you up for it?”

"Depende kung ano ‘yang ‘it’ mo.”

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his thumb worrying the paper seam of his coffee cup.

"A five-day road trip.”

Risa’s eyes widen, and the silence between them stretches long as she glances around the empty corridor, expecting a hidden camera to pop out or for someone to yell, “It’s a prank!” like a scene straight out of a sitcom.

When nothing happens, her gaze flits back to him. She waits for his expression to give way, for him to laugh and say, “Joke lang! Ito naman, ‘di mabiro,” but the punchline never comes. Instead, she notices the nervous breath he draws, the way his shoulders square as if he's bracing for a no, and realizes with growing panic that he’s probably serious.

"I'm sorry," Risa lets out, her forehead creasing in incredulity. "Medyo namali ata ako ng dinig. Gusto mong mag-road trip?”

"Baguio muna. Maybe further, depende sa’yo,” he says quickly, deciding that momentum is the only thing keeping the idea from sounding as reckless out loud as it did in his head at two in the morning. 

“Depende sa’kin?” she echoes, eyebrows shooting up. “So tayong dalawa lang?”

Sherwin grimaces, the question hanging between them for a moment before he offers a hesitant nod.

“May truck ako na walang official Senate plate, so we can just blend in. I haven't taken a real day off since…” He trails off, thinking, while Risa takes another sip of her coffee to ground herself. “...I don't actually remember,” he finishes. “And I know it’s the same with you, so I thought—"

"—you thought—"

"—baka pwedeng ‘wag muna tayong maging senador, kahit limang araw lang,” he says softly, his eyes finally lifting to search hers.

It is, objectively, an insane request. Risa has spent over two decades carefully constructing routines, because unstructured time is where grief finds you when you’re too tired to look away.

"Hindi ako pwede, SP," she says, and means it mostly. She watches the disappointment flicker behind his eyes before he quickly tucks it somewhere she’s sure she isn’t meant to see, using the practiced containment she herself wears every day.

"Okay lang," Sherwin responds with a polite smile, as if the ask itself were the point and not the answer. “It was worth a shot. Have a good morning, Risa.”

He’s already turning to walk away, and maybe it’s the sheer exhaustion, the bitter sting of the coffee, or the panic rising in her chest at the sight of his back turned to her, but Risa hears herself speak before her defenses can catch up.

"Win, sandali.”

Sherwin stops, turning back slowly, and something bright and hopeful crosses his face before he schools it, badly, back into patience.

Risa swallows past the lump in her throat. "Five days lang."

"Five days," he agrees instantly.

"I have conditions."

A slow curve returns to his mouth. “Anything you want.”

"Ako mag-ddrive at least half the time."

"Done."

"And," Risa adds, her eyes inadvertently tracing the line of his smile before she quickly catches herself, "no work on the road. Dapat totoong pahinga ‘to.”

"Baka ikaw pa nga ‘yung magdala ng briefing materials," he teases, a low laugh escaping him. "See you on Sunday, Risa.”

Risa lets her eyes drift shut, weighing the risks and the dangerous comfort of being alone with him for five days. She exhales in surrender anyway, and when she opens her eyes, she catches the spark in his.

“See you.”

It's only after the sound of his footsteps has faded down the hall that she notices the second coffee cup he'd left balanced on the ledge by her office door, a small square of paper taped to the sleeve with his longhand:

She stands there for a long moment before she finally picks it up and carries it inside, telling herself, unconvincingly, that it doesn't mean anything at all.

Risa's yearbook entry is longer than anyone else's in her graduating class,

something about a Nuclear Disarmament Group

Social Reorientation Program,

written with the total conviction

of a seventeen-year-old who has just discovered

that the world can be argued with.

A cadet finds the yearbook months later,

flips to her page out of pure boredom,

and is, against every expectation,

genuinely stirred.

He writes her a letter: six pages, front and back,

with doodled Snoopys in the margins, 

quotations from philosophers she has to look up,

and questions that are somehow both mocking and sincere.

There’s a story about his own father, a career soldier,

that has nothing to do with disarmament

and everything to do with why he wanted to write in the first place.

She writes back, longer.

He writes back longer, still.

By the twelfth letter, she is calling him her fascist military,

fondly, always fondly,

and he is calling her his radical nitwit.

They break up twice before they marry:

once over a posting she cannot forgive,

and once over a rally he cannot attend.

A cadet and an activist, trying, badly, to build one life

out of two very different ideas

of what a life should be for.

They manage it anyway, eventually,

and it is, Risa thinks,

the only fight worth having lost twice

before finally winning.

She doesn’t yet know of a man in the Senate

who knows nothing but to lose.

The house where Kiko grew up, Issa after him, and then the two girls after that, has been Risa’s alone ever since Sinta finally moved out.

On Saturday nights, it fills back up anyway, and tonight, telling her children takes considerably longer than telling Sherwin yes.

"Five days with Tito Sherwin," Issa repeats, leaning back in her dining chair as a knowing smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. "Papunta saan, Ma?”

"Baguio, initially," Risa answers smoothly, adjusting the silverware on the table just to give her hands something to do.

"Initially?”

"Possibly further."

Issa’s eyebrows climb as she tries, and fails, to suppress her excitement. Across the table, Ianna and Sinta have both suddenly become interested in their food.

"Good," Kiko says from the head of the table, and something in his tone makes Risa look up. Her eldest has the same patient, brown eyes as his father, and he's looking at her knowingly, unwilling to let the girls tease her out of a good thing. "Tumuloy ka, Mama. You need this."

Sinta, twenty-four and the only one of them who has never quite learned to hide what she's feeling, reaches across the wooden table and squeezes her mother's hand.

"Five days lang naman," Risa says again, as if reassuring herself.

"Take lots of pictures," Issa adds with a sweet smile, nudging Ianna’s shoulder. "And magpahinga ka talaga, please."

"And if, hypothetically," Ianna adds casually, reaching for the rice, "may mangyari mang kakaiba—"

"Ianna," Risa sighs, fixing her daughter with a warning look over the rim of her glasses.

"—I'm just saying!" Ianna holds up both hands in mock surrender, though the mischievous glint in her eyes gives her away. "Matagal-tagal din ang five days, Ma.”

"Hay nako," Risa mutters, shaking her head as a helpless smile tugs at her lips.

"You never know," Kiko murmurs into his glass, not quite hiding his smile, and Risa levels him with a glare that all four of her children stopped fearing years ago.

When Sunday morning rolls around, Sherwin arrives at six sharp. He brings two large thermoses of hot coffee, a duffel bag that clearly suggests he doesn’t know how to pack for five days any better than she does, and an expression of barely suppressed nerves that Risa finds, against her better judgment, endearing.

He steps out of the dark pickup truck immediately, rounding the hood to meet her at the gate. 

"Ako na d’yan," he says, taking her luggage before she can even protest. His fingers brush against hers in the handoff, sending a spark up her arm that she pointedly ignores.

"Ma, may dala ka bang jacket?" Issa calls from beside Kiko.

Risa turns to see all four of her children watching. Sinta and Ianna are hovering near the large potted plants with unsubtle grins, while Kiko stands near the doorway, coffee mug in hand, eyes swirling with amusement.

"Nasa bag na!" Risa calls back, shaking her head fondly.

"Tito Sherwin!" Sinta shouts, waving enthusiastically over the fence. "Good morning po! Take care of Mama. Bawal mag-usap tungkol sa bills at hearings!"

"Good morning, Sinta," Sherwin replies with an easy grin, stowing Risa’s luggage into the back seat. "Don't worry, safe ang Mama niyo sa’kin. We’ll strictly enforce the no-work policy.”

"Bakasyon lang ah," Ianna chimes in teasingly. "Baka naman pagbalik ni Mama, iba na ‘yung ngiti?”

"Ianna, isa," Risa admonishes, but the blush coloring her cheeks robs the warning of any real heat.

"Quiet na lang muna ako, baka mag-back out si Senator," Sherwin quips, opening the passenger door for her. As she steps up into the high cabin, he reflexively hovers a hand over the frame to protect her head from the roofline.

"Ang gentleman naman, Tito!" Sinta calls out, earning a chorus of laughter from the porch.

"Kayo talaga," Sherwin chuckles, shaking his head as he shuts her door.

Risa settles into the leather seat, fond exasperation tugging at her lips. She accepts the thermos Sherwin hands her as he hops into the driver's side and turns the key in the ignition.

As the engine hums to life, Risa looks over at him. "Oo nga pala. Anong rason ginamit mo sa secretariat para sa leave requests?"

"Family stuff,” he answers, adjusting the rear-view mirror.

Risa raises an eyebrow. “‘Di ba sila magtataka? Sabay tayong mawawala.”

"May masasabi at masasabi 'yung mga 'yun regardless,” he says, clicking his seatbelt into place.

“Kahit na, mas maganda na ‘yung handa," she insists, leaning her head back against the headrest. 

“Sabi ni Bam, siya na raw bahala.”

“Naniwala ka naman?”

She turns toward the window to give the kids one last wave. They wave back in unison.

“Wala naman akong choice, Ris,” he says, leaning over the console to wave goodbye to them as well. “He was very insistent.”

She rolls her eyes, though the edge of her mouth twitches upward before she unscrews her thermos to take a sip.

"Besides," Sherwin adds, leaning closer to click her seatbelt tightly into place, his knuckles brushing against her hip before pulling back, "the reason isn't entirely a lie. We are going to see my family eventually."

Risa pauses mid-sip, her eyes snapping to him. She ignores the warmth in her cheeks at the brief contact and proximity. "Eventually?"

"Baguio muna, like I said last Friday,” he responds, moving to rest his hand behind her headrest before looking back and craning his head to pivot the truck. Risa blames the morning air for whatever compels her to find the movement attractive.

“Tapos... kung okay lang sa’yo, pwede rin tayong dumaan sa La Union. Ilang buwan na kasing nangungulit si tita na bumisita ako.”

Something about the careful edge in his tone makes Risa’s eyes narrow. "And?"

Sherwin sighs. "May hindi pa ako nasasabi sa’yo.”

Risa fixes him with the best stern look she can muster at six in the morning, the warm thermos heavy in her hands. "Sherwin."

"It's really not a big deal—"

"Win."

"Okay, okay," he concedes, exhaling a long breath. "Ilang taon na kasi akong sineset-up ni tita kay Bianca, 'yung kababata ko,” he starts, gripping the steering wheel tighter as he merges onto the highway.

“Tuwing bumibisita ako, laging ando’n si Bianca, ta’s grabe silang mang-asar. Taon-taon ganun, Risa,” he adds, a horrified expression flashing across his features at a memory.

“Kaya naisip ko sana… kung okay lang sa’yo, baka pwedeng magpanggap tayo na…," he hesitates, testing the weight of the word between them, "…tayo? Just for two days!” he adds defensively. “Para lang tumigil na ‘yung matchmaking agenda nila.”

Risa stares at him, entirely incredulous. Beside her, he carefully avoids her gaze, his knuckles turning white as he grips the steering wheel at ten and two.

"Teka nga," she says, holding up a hand as if it will pause the absurdity of what she just heard. "Correct me if I’m wrong—which, for the first time in my life, I genuinely hope I am—gusto mong magpanggap tayo na may tayo?"

"Two days tops," he pleads.

If Risa listens closely, she can hear a faint, desperate whine in his voice. It’s a ridiculous sound, coming from him; and she unfortunately finds herself pleased by it, though she ensures none of it shows on her face. “Please, Risa?”

“Sherwin Gatchalian,” she warns, though the effect is ruined by the gleam of amusement in her eyes. She tries to sound properly reprimanding, but her voice cracks, the lecture dissolving into a bubble of suppressed laughter. "I am a sitting senator, at ikaw ‘yung SP ko. If word gets out—"

"It won’t. Walang ibang makakaalam. Family lang talaga," he counters, biting the inside of his cheek to hide his own amusement. "Private beach house ‘yun, and they know how strictly I guard my privacy.”

She should say no. She has every professional reason in the world to refuse, and a deeply personal one that she isn't prepared to confront this early in the morning.

"Siguraduhin mo lang," she says instead.

She tells herself it’s only because she’s mildly impressed by his strategy of bribing her with her favorite coffee and catching her before she's fully awake. 

A small voice at the back of her mind reminds her of the rule, warning her that fake-dating the man she’s spent fourteen years trying not to love is a fast track to emotional ruin. But then she remembers Kiko’s encouraging smile from the dining room, and decides, just this once, to let the wall crumble a little.

None of it is real, anyway. What could go wrong?

Ignoring the warmth blooming in her chest as she watches relief wash over his face, she points a warning finger at him. "I have rules.”

He flashes her a cheeky grin. “Gusto mo ba ng notarized contract, Senator? I can arrange that.”

She rolls her eyes in response, earning a low chuckle from him. "Una sa lahat," she begins, ticking conditions off on her fingers, "no excessive physical contact in front of your relatives, definitely no embarrassing pet names, and if anyone asks how… this started, ikaw sasagot. I refuse to fabricate stories kahit off the record pa ‘yan.”

He offers a mock salute, though the cheerful "Deal!" that follows is a dead giveaway that he’s already planning to push those boundaries as far as she’ll let him.

They're barely an hour outside the city when Risa shifts in her seat for the third time in ten minutes, one hand pressing briefly against the small of her back with a suppressed wince.

"Okay ka lang?" Sherwin asks, catching the movement out of the corner of his eye.

"Okay lang," Risa replies, leaning her head back against the headrest and giving him a reassuring, if slightly tired, smile. "Old injury, since hindi very ergonomic ‘yung Senate chairs. It acts up sometimes.”

He nods, keeping his focus on the road without saying anything else.

At the next gas stop, while she's inside the store paying for a bag of chips, he disappears toward the convenience store's hot water dispenser. He comes back to the truck carrying a plastic bottle filled to the brim and wrapped in one of the clean hand towels from his duffel bag.

"Ano 'yan?" Risa asks, arching an eyebrow as she looks between the bottle and his earnest expression.

"Emergency heat pack," he says smoothly, pressing it gently into her hands. "Lagay mo sa likod mo.”

She holds it for a moment, her eyes softening as she tests the warmth of it against her palm, feeling the gesture settle somewhere in her chest. She tucks the bottle on her lower back, sinking into the seat, and is almost annoyed to find that it actually relieves the dull ache.

"Sabihan mo ‘ko ‘pag ‘di na mainit," Sherwin adds, shifting the gear back into drive. "We can stop over para palitan ‘yung tubig.”

“Salamat, Win,” she says quietly, making him look over. "You really didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” he replies, his gaze softening before he turns his attention back to the open highway. “It’s not a big deal.”

By the time they hit Kennon Road, Sherwin rolls the windows down a few inches, letting the scent of pine wash into the truck.

Instead of taking in the mountain view, Risa finds herself watching the shift of his hands on the wheel and the familiar furrow of his brow whenever the road narrows. She wonders, not for the first time, what it would be like if she were brave enough to just reach out.

"May dumi ba sa mukha ko?" Sherwin asks, downshifting around a sharp curve.

Risa snaps her eyes back to the windshield, a faint blush creeping into her cheeks. "Wala."

"Sigurado ka? Kanina ka pa nakatingin eh," he teases, a smug little grin tugging at his mouth. 

"Naisip ko lang na ang tagal na pala nating magkakilala," she lies, recovering her composure. "And I’m revisiting what compelled me to agree to this.”

"Aray," Sherwin chuckles, flicking his gaze toward her for a second before focusing back on the road. "Fourteen years nung June."

Risa arches an eyebrow, turning to face him. "Tanda mo pa talaga 'yung buwan?"

"Tandang-tanda," he responds softly. "You were wearing a yellow dress, tapos inasar mo pa ‘ko kasi kabadong-kabado ako nung nagkamayan tayo."

A lighthearted laugh escapes her before she can stop it. "Totoo naman kasi, ta’s ang lamig pa ng kamay mo no’n."

"Ikaw ba naman makipagkamay kay Risa Hontiveros, tignan natin kung 'di ka kabahan," he counters, shaking his head. "Nang-iintimidate ka kaya no’n."

"I was not!"

"You were," he insists, laughing. 

"Gawa-gawa ka," Risa responds, rolling her eyes. "I was being polite."

"Polite with a hint of threat? Very on-brand," he quips, glancing over as the truck slows to let a stray cat cross the road. The morning sunlight catches the warmth in his eyes, and she regrets looking and recognizing the wistfulness in them. 

"So," she says quickly, trying to steer them back to safer ground, "sinong mag-aakala na nasa Senado pa rin tayo hanggang ngayon?”

Sherwin smiles, though it softens into something pensive as he rolls the windows back up against the rising chill.

They make an unplanned stop at a small roadside stall because Sherwin spots the vendor's stalled tricycle tipped against a ditch.

"Sandali lang," he says, already pulling over before Risa can even ask why.

He jogs across the road, his sleeves already pushed up past his forearms, and helps the old man right the tricycle before coaxing the stalled engine back to life. Risa watches from the passenger seat, leaning forward to fold her arms over the open window frame. She rests her chin on the back of her wrist, catching herself smiling before she can stop it.

"Salamat, iho," the vendor says warmly when the engine finally sputters back to life, pressing two rolls of suman into Sherwin’s hands despite his gentle protests.

When Sherwin climbs back into the driver's seat, he’s holding the suman awkwardly in one hand, unbothered by the dark streak of motor grease smudged across his forearm.

"Akin na," she mutters gently, pulling a wet wipe from her bag and reaching over to take a hold of his wrist.

Sherwin stills at her touch, holding his breath as she swipes the cool wipe along his forearm to carefully lift the dark smudge from his skin. Her thumb circles his wrist once before she lets go, tossing the used wipe into the small bin between them.

"Thank you,” he says softly, as if afraid of breaking the bubble they’re floating in, before handing her one of the rolls.

She offers a small smile, taking the suman and turning it over in her hands, letting the weight of his kindness settle unsaid between them.