Prologue
Walking toward him after a decade of not seeing him, I feel an overwhelming sense of longing. His eyes, which smile as he smiles, are still the same; his dark brown hair smoothly hangs over his forehead, his cheeks are still as red as cherries, and the way he looks at me makes everything feel as new as the first time I saw him. As I step closer, it feels heavy; each step seems like carrying a giant rock, making my feet tremble. I gulped.
The rain is pouring. The sky is dark. The surroundings are eerily silent, with only thunder echoing.
Now standing in front of him, staring directly into his eyes, conveys a thousand different emotions that I am very familiar with.
I couldn't help but reminisce about everything we've gone through from the very start. Then suddenly, I felt my tears streaming down my cheeks. Everything flashed back. Each memory engraved a special place in my heart.
For the very first time I laid my eyes on him, I felt jealous. I remember him walking through our door, holding my mother's hand, and in his other hand was my mom's new boyfriend. They were happy, as I remember it well. Their hopeful eyes were looking at me, assuming I would be happy, and I knew nothing. But she knew nothing. I knew it all from how my father collapsed every night on the living room floor in front of the television, he was crying, whimpering in pain, drinking his heart away. I saw how my father slowly sank into sadness, barely talking to me, always spacing out while holding their wedding picture. I was six. I could barely put names to what my father was feeling, but I knew he was sad. Then one night, I was woken by the screech of a chair. A voice struggling. I followed the sound, which only led me to my father, hanging in our kitchen, his face red, his feet swaying front and back. He looked at me. I didn't know what to do. I was six. All I could do was watch him as he breathed his last breath.
Hours turn into days, days turn into weeks, and weeks turn into months. Everyone moved on with their lives like nothing had happened. Mom flew again overseas to work. She's a nurse. She left me with Brian, my mom's boyfriend, and his son, Andrei. Andrei was four years older than I was back then. I was six, and he was ten. He was nice, but I hate him. I hate him so much that sometimes I wish him to die, he and his father. But he was patient. He was kind. He was a flower, a sun that gave me warmth when I was cold.
"Ethan," he called from the other side of my door. He softly knocked, then waited for a minute, and he knocked again, patiently waiting for me to say a word. But I remained silent. "If you ever change your mind, I'm leaving it here on your door."
A sound of silverware echoed in the hallway. Seconds passed, I thought he had left, but he spoke again, "Grab it ok? Or else the mice will come to eat it first."
I didn't answer. I just listened to Andy's footsteps slowly fading away. I waited a minute before deciding to open the door. On the doorstep was a tray of orange juice and some pancakes, some of which were burnt, with maple syrup on top. As I was picking up the tray, I noticed a folded paper plane beside it. On the wings was written 'Meet me at the treehouse after : )'.
I didn't notice a smile was starting to form at my lips. Leaving my room, the scene shifted to us, laughing, lying on our backs in the treehouse while grabbing our stomachs. We pranked our neighbor, Kuya Ronald—we called him on the phone. Andy mimicked an old voice saying he won a brand-new refrigerator and that he would finally be able to claim it at Ayalla Malls Serin.
We laughed our asses off. We were happy. I was happy. As we laughed, I caught a quick glimpse of Andy's face. For a second, it felt like time slowed down. The afternoon light gave his face a beautiful glow, like he was in some IG filter, highlighting his perfectly chiseled jawline and genuine smile, which made my heart flutter. He brushed his hair up, then his gaze dropped to me.
"You should smile more often," he said. I felt my cheeks get warmer. I bowed down, not knowing what to do or say. "Bagay sa'yo." (It suits you)
I didn't have much time to process everything when all of a sudden, he gripped my hand and pulled me down the tree house. I looked at his hand, which was firmly holding mine, and at him, and at our hands again. I was speechless. It was my first time feeling the security I had longed for before everything started to crumble. I didn't notice my lips smiling and my ears feeling warmer. I was at peace. My mind cleared. Everything felt right at the moment.
Holding hands, we entered the school together. Andy never failed to drop me off at my room before going to his. He acted as if I were really his younger brother, but I knew at that age that what I was feeling for him wasn't the same. I didn't want us to be brothers. I knew it, but I also didn't know at the time what I really wanted.
"Wait for me," he reminded me, "Huwag kang aalis sa room mo hanggang hindi ako dumadating." (Don't leave your room until I come back.)
I nodded politely. Before leaving, Andy smiled and patted my head. Every time he does that, smiling, his eyes do the same. They smile in sync with his lips. I couldn't hold back my emotions and quickly wrapped my tiny arms around his waist. I looked up at him, recalling his subtle shock followed by a smile that said I was always welcome.
I let go. Andy left. I was alone again, surrounded by people I didn't even know, but still, I patiently waited for class to end.
Time seems to pass more slowly when you're watching. Every single minute, I stare out our classroom window, hoping Andy is peeking in, trying to catch a glimpse of how I'm doing. But class ended without Andy ever appearing. As the sun slowly dipped below the horizon, the moon began to rise, yet Andy still wasn't there.
I walked myself home. I didn't know where to go, but I just kept walking. Thousands of questions were running through my mind. I didn't think Andy had abandoned me, sort of, but I was worried. What if something bad happened to him? What if he was lost? What if someone took him away?
As I walked down the foggy street of Pueblo del Sol, I saw from a distance in an empty lot a group of boys around Andrei's age playing something I could barely make out. My heart suddenly started racing. I didn't know what was happening to my chest, but I found myself unknowingly moving closer and closer to them. Voices were becoming clearer, and conversations were more understandable.
Since I wasn't expecting it, I was frozen in place, unable to move, processing everything in front of me. I saw Andy in the middle of the crowd with another shirtless man. I didn't know what they were doing. I didn't know if they were fighting or just wrestling. The crowd was cheering for Andy, and some cheered for the other guy.
I didn't make a sound. I just walked and kept walking until I was in the crowd. I watched him choke the boy with his arms; they were both drenched in sweat. I saw the boy struggling to fight back. I watched them carefully, my eyes fixed on them.
My mind went blank as if everything I witnessed was not him. Not the image of him I made in my mind. I didn't know what to think. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what to feel. But right now, I feel like I'm submerged in quicksand, unable to escape. I couldn't scream, like I had lost my voice. Then my eyes started to hurt. The scene was getting blurry. My cheeks were becoming wet.
I stood upright, hoping he could see me, hoping he would come to me and pat me on my head and smile at me like he always does. And the moment our eyes crossed, I felt relieved. Maybe he will stop what he was doing, and we will go home together, but I saw confusion; I saw his eyes react as if my presence startled him.
"Ethan?" he called. That one second Andy lost his focus was the moment his opponent had been waiting for. Unaware, the boy quickly shifted his position and threw a powerful uppercut that caused Andy to lose his balance and fall to the ground.
However, despite the impact, his eyes never left mine. Even as his opponent kicked him from the ground, his gaze remained fixed on me. I didn't realize I was crying until I saw everyone staring at me strangely. They were whispering, watching, laughing, and whispering and laughing non-stop.
I stepped back, covering both my ears with my hand. I saw Andy standing up, his eyes red, a mix of rage and worry. I didn't know what he was feeling, but I knew he would come to me.
"Ethan, sandali," (Ethan, wait,) he said, but I didn't stop stepping back.
With all his strength, he got up and knocked his opponent off with a powerful body blow that sent the boy a mile away.
I froze.
I felt my blood drain from my body.
My knees started shaking uncontrollably.
He was a flower, I said. A sun that gave me warmth when I was cold. But now, I'm not so sure anymore.
"L-leave me a-alone," I stammered, but I finally managed to say it.
I run. I run even though my knees are shaking. I ran, even though I couldn't see a thing because of these tears flooding my eyes. I run because I couldn't accept the fact that Andy really doesn't care about me. He said to wait. I waited. But he forgot. I was never really the priority, am I?
"Ethan, please, let me explain," he shouted behind me.
"S-stop chasing m-me, A-andy," I said, sobbing, just enough for him to hear it.
I wiped my tears away with my hand and continued running. My chest was heavy. The road was foggy, and the surroundings were damp and cold. My body shivered.
Moments passed, and I slowed down because I couldn't hear Andy's voice calling me. I stopped. His footsteps vanished. I looked back and searched everywhere, but he was nowhere to be found. I checked every spot, every streetlight, every stop, but the fog at night doesn't help.
I wiped away my tears.
"Andy?" I called his name, "Andy, are you there?!" I called again, but a little louder.
I waited.
And waited.
And waited.
No one answered.
Hopeless, I sat beside the street, feeling tears stream down my face again, rolling nonstop. I hugged my knees, looking for comfort, but it didn't help. I cried; my sobs were the only thing that broke through the silence of the night.
"Andy, why did you leave me?" I spoke to the air, hoping it would ease the burden in my chest. "Mom left. Dad left. Why are you, too?"
I was all alone, my feet trembling, when I remembered the paper plane Andy had given me. I pulled my backpack off my back. I inspected everything inside and found it right away. It was there, folded from the back.
I looked at it, reminiscing about how it made me smile, how it made me accept him, and how it made me long for him every day. Despite the cold, my shivering body, and my heavy heart, it still brought a smile to my face. But that smile quickly faded when, all of a sudden, a flashback of him leaving me waiting at school for a wrestling match with a boy appeared.
"You said you'll always be there for me," I said to the paper plane in my hand. "I love you, Andy. But it hurts. It hurts, and I don't know why."
"I love you too, Ethan!"
I froze the moment I heard his voice. The voice that brings me peace when all is chaotic. I raised my head and saw him from the other side of the road, wearing a birthday cap, holding a green balloon—my favorite color, and in his other hand was a cupcake with a small candle on top from my favorite cakeshop.
"Happy Birthday!" he shouted. I couldn't see him clearly through the fog, but I knew he was smiling. The kind of smile he always gave me. Genuine. Pure.
The sobbing from heartache gives way to an overwhelming joy. I forgot it was my birthday, but he remembered.
"I want to surprise you today because it's your day, but Dad didn't lend me any money. I heard the wrestling match can win some money, so I tried my luck and won. Still, it doesn't matter, and it's not a reason to leave you alone waiting for me that long. But what matters now is that I have a balloon and a cake for you!"
I couldn't help but cry again and again, but now it was tears of joy. I was wrong. I thought he had forgotten. I thought he left me. And all this time, I was mistaken about him. He cared for me more than anyone ever could. And it made me appreciate him even more.
"Don't cry, hindi sa'yo bagay!" (Don't cry, it doesn't look good on you!) He shouted as he laughed.
I wiped away my tears, and a subtle laugh escaped from me. Without a second thought, driven by an urge to hold Andy tightly, I sprinted down the road, my mind solely focused on reaching him, being with him, and falling asleep beside him as he strokes my hair.
"Ethan!"
The surroundings slowly brighten. Time seemed to freeze. I heard horns honking in the distance. I saw Andy's eyes widen. I watched the balloon slip from his hands, and the cupcake fall to the cement below, all in slow motion. He sprinted, fast. The cold night wind was blowing his hair away from his face. I couldn't understand what he was saying. It's just his face, all I could see was his face, mumbling words I couldn't understand.
Realizing something was wrong, I stopped midway. I felt my heart pounding as if it were being hammered. Everything slowly made sense. The surroundings grew brighter, the light almost blinding. I looked toward the source and saw a car speeding toward me.
Before I could step away, the light engulfed my entire body. I thought it was my end. I thought I wouldn't see Andy again. I thought it was finally over, but in the last second, I felt a pair of arms wrapping around me as I saw Andy, smiling, a tear falling from his eye, and he pushed me into the darkness for as long as I can remember.
Now, standing in front of him, staring directly into his eyes, conveyed a thousand different emotions that I am very familiar with.
"Why didn't you wait for me?" I asked him, seeking answers, only to be met with silence. "You're an asshole, do you know that?!" My voice cracked as it rose slightly.
I allowed my tears to fall, feeling every emotion—heartache, grudges, sorrow, longing—and it broke me completely. I crumpled on the wet grass; my umbrella was gone, and the cold rain poured heavily down on me.
"Why did you save me?" I muttered, kneeling in front of his grave, talking to his portrait. "You're a fucking idiot!"
I poured my heart out, crying for God knows how long until my eyes were too tired to cry anymore.
Then I remembered something—something that reminds me of Andrei. It's in my pocket. It was the same paper plane he gave me ten years ago. I look at it as raindrops falling on it one by one.
I stood up. The paper plane in my hand. I looked at it one last time and then at Andy.
"This belongs to you," I said, bittersweet. "I hope to see you again at the treehouse, Andy."
