Michaels in Love (English)(BoysLove)

Chapter 7 Season 1: Tangled

The clock read 8:30 PM as I boarded the LRT heading to Legarda Station. Exhaustion weighed heavy on me, not just from the intense tryouts earlier but also from the other tryout with Mike in the men’s locker room. Needing a moment to rest, I leaned back, holding onto the pole, and soon felt my eyes close. Sleep claimed me as the train hummed along its tracks.

In my brief slumber, vivid scenes from earlier played in my mind—the heat, the urgency of our shared moment in the locker room. My heart raced even in my sleep. The sudden announcement over the speaker startled me awake: “Arriving at Legarda Station. Paparating na sa Legarda Station.”

I opened my eyes to find the group of women seated across from me and a trio of flamboyant men standing nearby staring intently—at me. Or rather, at my lap. A cold realization hit me. The bulge. My bulge.

"Your abs and belly button are showing. They’ve been staring at you for a while now,” whispered the man sitting beside me, his tone suggestive, almost indecent. I glanced down and quickly adjusted my shirt. Too late—the damage was done.

Before I could make my escape, the train doors slid shut.

“Next station: Recto. Ang susunod na istasyon ay Recto.”

Great. I missed my stop. Flustered and embarrassed, I resigned myself to waiting for the next train back to Legarda.

As the train neared Recto, my phone buzzed with a message. It was from Mike.

Let’s just forget what happened. I got carried away. Don’t think this means I like you. I’m sorry. I’m not gay. And don’t you dare reply because I’m with my girlfriend right now. Let’s keep things casual, like nothing happened. Okay?

His words stabbed at my chest. I stared blankly at the screen, the weight of his rejection sinking in. As I left the LRT and re-entered the station to catch the next train, my mind swirled with memories of his lips on mine, his touch, the momentary euphoria. My heart raced not from exertion but from an ache I couldn’t suppress.

By the time I arrived at Legarda Station, the pain had transformed into an overwhelming longing. My steps were slow, heavy, as if my emotions weighed me down.

And then I remembered the one place I could unburden myself: the internet café. Without delay, I headed there, hoping that niceguy87—my only confidant—was online. As luck would have it, he was.

“Hi, how are you, niceguy87?” I messaged, my fingers trembling.

“I’m okay. Just got home,” came his reply.

“Can you help me with my problem?” I typed, desperate.

“I’ll try. What’s going on?”

"I feel sad and happy at the same time."

"Mixed emotions, huh? Hehe," he teased.

"Yeah, something like that. I’m in a situation where I really, really like someone—a guy. I admire him so much, and I fantasize about him every day. But he’s already taken. I thought he was straight, so I figured there was no chance for us. Then one day, out of nowhere, something happened between us. We kissed. Things went further. But now he’s telling me to forget everything like it never happened. I don’t know what to do. Niceguy87, please tell me—what should I do?"

He paused before replying.

“Hmm... Maybe he’s not ready for this. And he’s straight, right?”

“Maybe,” I replied, unsure. “Or maybe he’s questioning himself? Bi? Curious? I mean, why would he kiss me if he’s really straight? But then, I’ve heard from his coworkers that he used to be quite the ladies’ man before meeting his girlfriend.”

“Ah, I see,” he replied. “You know, his situation is very similar to mine. It’s not easy for us—to confront feelings like this. It’s a battle.”

“How so? What happened to you?” I asked, intrigued.

“I kissed someone too.”

His confession caught my attention.

“We’d just finished a game of tennis on the hotel rooftop. Our other friends left, and it was just the two of us in a secluded area. While we were changing, I couldn’t hold back anymore. I leaned in and kissed him.”

“Did he kiss you back?” I asked eagerly.

“Yes. And his kisses... They were fiery, passionate,” he admitted.

“So, did you enjoy it?”

“More than you can imagine. I forgot who I was in that moment. But then... I stopped. Something inside me screamed that it was wrong. It was like a voice yelling ‘gay’ at me, over and over. So I pulled away, left the locker room, and drove off. I couldn’t take it anymore. I ended up... jacking off in my car.”

“Why would you stop?” I typed, frustrated. “You had the chance to go all the way, like what happened to me! He kissed me too, but then he stopped, just like you did.”

“Maybe, like me, he’s not ready for the sudden shift in his identity,” he explained. “And maybe it’s easier for you because you’re already open about who you are.”

His words lingered in my mind, a mix of comfort and pain. The train of thought was too heavy to stop, but at least I wasn’t alone in my confusion.

"No, I’m not open either. I lived my life as a straight guy before," I began typing, pausing only to gather my thoughts, "but when I started having feelings for the guy who kissed me, I decided to accept myself. I didn’t want to fight what I was feeling anymore—it’s exhausting. I had girlfriends before, three of them, but nothing ever happened. I’ve never felt attracted to a man before, not until I met the guy who kissed me."

“Same here, mikearcangel01," came his reply. "To be honest, I’m attracted to girls too. Not once have I ever been infatuated or even remotely interested in another guy before. Back in college, my buddies and I used to shower together in the locker room, and I never felt anything for them. No excitement, no arousal. But with him? Why is it so different with him?”

“It’s the same for me, niceguy87. Why him? Why only him?” I typed back quickly.

“It’s hard to explain, right?”

“Maybe you’re soulmates?” we messaged each other at the same time, the identical thought making us chuckle.

“Haha! We even had the same idea,” he said, adding a laughing emoji.

“Maybe,” I replied with a grin, though my heart was still heavy. “But, niceguy87, what do you think my next move should be? Should I talk to him and ask why he did it?”

“You could. You have every right to ask him. After all, he was the one who kissed you first, wasn’t he?”

“You’re right... I just hope I get the chance. When I do, I’ll talk to him,” I replied, my resolve strengthening.

“How about me, mikearcangel01? What should I do?” he asked.

“I have a question first,” I said, thinking carefully about how to phrase it.

“What’s your question?”

“Did you enjoy kissing him?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.

“Of course I did! Kissing him felt so different from kissing my girlfriend. His kisses... they were intoxicating!” he confessed, and I could almost feel his exhilaration through the screen.

“So... would you kiss him again?” I pressed, eager to hear his thoughts.

“I don’t know. Maybe. But how could it happen again?” he wondered aloud.

“Why? Are you still not ready? Or is it that you haven’t fully accepted yet that you might be bisexual—or gay?” I typed, testing the waters.

“Don’t call me gay!” he shot back quickly. I could tell he was offended, even through the screen.

“Why not?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“I just don’t want to be called gay,” he insisted.

“You kissed a boy, you liked it, and now you don’t want to be called gay?” I teased, a bit playfully but with a serious undertone.

“I just don’t want it,” he repeated firmly.

“Why? Haven’t you accepted yourself yet? Come on, this is who you are now. I know it’s hard, but accepting yourself will set you free. How can you love yourself if you can’t accept who you are, right?”

“I just hate the stigma of being gay... but I’ll try kissing him again,” he admitted, his tone softening.

“Haha! Good. Just don’t think about what other people might say. Their dirty minds don’t matter,” I replied with a smile, feeling a mix of pride and relief for him. “Anyway, I need to rest. I hope we can chat again next time, niceguy87.”

“Thanks for your time. I hope you’ll have good news to share the next time we talk,” he said.

“Same here. I’ll be waiting for good news from you too,” I replied, chuckling.

“Take care!”

“You too, niceguy87,” I said before logging off, feeling a little lighter but still filled with a mix of hope and uncertainty.

February 2, 2012.

It was a Thursday, three days since the first tryouts for the basketball league. And yet, it felt like nothing had happened between Mike and me. Whenever we crossed paths, he acted like I didn’t exist. He rarely lingered in the mall, always busy at the construction site of Manchester’s.

I didn’t dare call or text him, afraid his girlfriend might answer or see my messages and misunderstand. The last thing I wanted was to cause trouble. He seemed distant, focused on his work, and even though Liza had been absent from our workplace for three days, Mike didn’t even spare me a smile. Even when I made the first move to greet him, it was as though I wasn’t there.

It made my days at work feel heavy, draining. But every fleeting glimpse of Mike only brought back memories of his kiss—the warmth of his lips, the way he made me feel alive. I couldn’t help but long for another moment like that. My lips ached to feel his again.

At 2:00 PM, I saw him sitting alone at one of the center tables, eating. My heart raced as I summoned every ounce of courage I had and approached him. Conveniently, there were dishes to clear near his table, so I pretended to clean up as I tried to strike up a conversation.

“Mike, about what happened—”

He didn’t let me finish.

“Michael, this is not the right place to talk about what happened in the locker room,” he said, cutting me off sharply but quietly. “Please, I’m at work, and my mind is already a mess. Let’s just forget it ever happened. It was a mistake, a big mistake. Finish what you’re doing and leave me alone.”

His words, though softly spoken, cut deeper than any shout. I felt a tight knot in my chest, pain spreading like wildfire through me. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves, but I couldn’t hold back the words that had been weighing on me.

“Mike,” I said, my voice trembling, “I’ve accepted who I am. Whatever this is, whatever I feel—thank you for making me feel it’s okay. From the moment I first saw you, I admired you. And the moment I felt like you were mine, even for just a second... you made my life brighter. Because you kissed me.”

Tears welled up in my eyes as I spoke, and by the time I finished, they were streaming freely down my cheeks. I turned away quickly, ready to leave.

As I walked away, I caught a glimpse of Mike raising his hand, as if wanting to stop me, to call me back. For a moment, I thought he might. I turned to look at him, my tear-filled eyes meeting his.

And then it happened. My hands trembled, and I didn’t even realize I’d dropped the tray I was holding. Plates and glasses crashed to the floor, shattering the fragile silence of the room. All eyes turned to me.

Mike stood abruptly, as though about to rush over and help, but before he could, Bryan, one of the KFC crew, came to my side.

“Hey, man, are you okay?” Bryan asked, concern evident in his tone.

“Yeah, I guess I didn’t get enough sleep last night,” I mumbled, trying to compose myself.

“Love life issues? Did you break up with your girlfriend?” he teased, trying to lighten the mood.

“No... I don’t have a girlfriend,” I admitted, wiping my face.

“Really? Then what’s that on your neck?” he said, pointing to the faint kiss mark that Mike had left days ago. I flushed, embarrassed.

“It’s just an allergy,” I lied, brushing it off, but Bryan smirked knowingly.

“Sure, bro. An allergy. But I’ve noticed it for three days now,” he said with a playful grin.

I chuckled awkwardly. “It’s just an allergy, not a kiss mark,” I insisted, laughing it off.

“Alright, alright. Sorry for prying. Here, I’ll take care of this mess. You go ahead and clear Sir Mike’s table.”

“Thanks, man,” I said, grateful for the distraction.

Bryan began cleaning the mess as I approached Mike’s table. By then, Mike had finished eating and was walking past us. I could see it in his eyes—there was something he wanted to say, something he was holding back.

I imagined him pulling me into a tight embrace, whispering in my ear, “It’s okay, don’t cry anymore. I love you too.”

But it was just a fantasy.

I went to his table to clear it, but as I picked up the dishes, I noticed something. There, on the table, was his iPhone. He had forgotten it.

It was 2:30 PM, and my lunch break had just started. With Mike’s iPhone in hand, I decided to return it to him. First, I went to the Manchester showroom, but one of the agents told me he was at the construction site.

Luckily, the site was still within the Araneta Center, so I made my way there. The construction site of the multi-million Manchester City Garden condominium was vast and impressive, the hum of heavy machinery and the chatter of workers filling the air.

At the entrance, I asked around, and someone directed me to a small wooden office within the site where Mike often stayed. One of the workers, Mang Nestor, offered to guide me.

When we arrived, Mike was sitting alone inside the makeshift office, bent over a desk cluttered with blueprints and documents. He looked up as we entered, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“Mang Nestor, you can leave us,” he said curtly.

“Yes, Sir Mike,” the man replied, stepping out and leaving us alone.

Mike shut the door firmly behind him, his expression clouded and tense.

“Why are you here?” he asked, his voice sharp. “Didn’t I tell you to forget everything? I don’t have time to talk to you. My head’s a mess, and I have work to do. Leave.”

“Mike…” I started, but he cut me off.

“Enough! Don’t say anything. Just go out that door!”

I reached into my pocket, pulled out his iPhone, and extended it to him silently. I couldn’t meet his eyes as I handed it over, my gaze dropping to the floor. Without another word, I turned to leave.

“Michael, wait…”

His voice stopped me, and I froze in place.

“Thank you,” he said softly. “Thank you for returning my phone. I completely forgot about it with everything that’s been going on.”

I turned to face him, and he stepped closer, his expression softening.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his tone gentler now. “I’m sorry for what I said to you earlier.”

“Mike…” I whispered his name, my voice trembling as I met his gaze.

I didn’t need words—my eyes spoke for me. They told him everything: how much I wanted him, how deeply I cared for him, and how much I longed for him. Tears welled up in my eyes, spilling over as I felt the weight of my emotions.

Unable to stop myself, I closed the distance between us. My lips found his, and I kissed him, pouring every ounce of love and longing into that single moment.

He didn’t pull away. Instead, he closed his eyes and let out a deep, shuddering breath. Then, he kissed me back.

His kiss wasn’t hesitant or unsure. It was fierce, fiery, and full of hunger, as if he had been yearning for this as much as I had. The heat between us grew, a magnetic pull drawing us closer, erasing all the tension from moments ago.

My back hit the wooden door as his hands found my waist, holding me as if afraid to let go. His lips moved against mine with an intensity that made my heart race and my knees weak.

Time seemed to stop. The world outside—the noise of the construction, the workers bustling around—faded away. There was only us. Only this moment. Only him.

To be continued…