OUR STORY (BxB)

Chapter 16

-TAMARO-



We're still tangled in bed, wrapped beneath warm blankets. I'm holding my baby close, his body curled against mine like he was made to fit here.

I smile, my thoughts drifting to last night—our first foreplay after a year of loving each other in whispers and steady devotion. Every touch, every kiss, was new. But none of it felt rushed or uncertain.

It was the first time for both of us—and it was beautiful. Because it wasn't just about discovery. It was love that guided us.

The kind that says: I see you. I trust you. I choose you.

My baby pulled me closer the moment he sensed I was awake. No words—just warmth. I wrapped my arms around him even tighter.

I'm happy. I've marked him as mine.

But should that make me feel safe?

My chest tightened with thoughts I couldn't name. We've marked each other, yes... but I still felt uneasy. Nervous. Like love was a delicate thing we were both still learning how to hold.

I exhaled slowly, hoping—praying—that everything would be okay between us. Not just now, but in all the tender tomorrows still to come.

The staff gathered us together for an announcement. My baby stood beside me, and we both wore the practiced expressions of professionalism—as if the intimacy we shared last night was just a dream folded into silence.

"We're heading to Hawaii for Travel Blog Season 2," one of the coordinators revealed. "It'll be a short vacation before flying back to the Philippines to resume the world tour."

A buzz of energy swept through the group—smiles, whispers, immediate outfit planning. Roo looked at me and winked, barely hiding the thrill behind it. I smiled back, but inside, I felt something else: a mix of anticipation and quiet nerves.

Vacation meant warm sun, sandy beaches... and stolen moments, maybe. But it also meant eyes on us, cameras rolling, and the quiet tension of pretending again.

Still, the idea of being in Hawaii—with him—was more than enough to soothe whatever uncertainty stirred beneath my skin.

After the announcement, the room buzzed with excitement. Everyone was busy packing, voices overlapping with laughter and plans.

We were in our own room, folding clothes and deciding which outfits would match the Hawaiian breeze. Then Roo came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist, warm and familiar.

"Roo, we're traveling again," he whispered, resting his chin on my shoulder. "It's our second vacation since we got together."

I turned to face him, smiling. "We're going to make this one unforgettable, baby."

"Let's create new memories," he said.

"We will," I promised, pressing a kiss to his forehead and pulling him into a hug.

After packing the last of our things, we headed to the airport. The staff let us stay close to each other—which we were grateful for—but the cameras never lingered on us. That part stayed ours.

On the plane, I sat beside Jemuel, and Akiro settled across the aisle. We exchanged glances now and then—subtle reminders that we were in this together, even in silence.

After a long flight, the moment finally came.

We were in Hawaii.

The place we'd always dreamed of visiting for a real vacation... and now we were here. Together.

When we arrived at the house, the members scattered, each one eager to claim their room. It didn't take long for Harly, Akiro, and me to realize we'd be sleeping in the living room. Honestly, I didn't mind. As long as I had him nearby, the floor might as well have been a cloud.

The staff gathered us in the main hall, asking what we wanted to do for the day. "Whatever you suggest, we'll make it happen," they said—and somehow, that made our laughter louder, our ideas bolder.

After the short meeting, we decided to hit the grocery store to stock up—snacks, spices, dinner ingredients. Akiro walked beside me, his camera swinging gently around his neck. His fingers brushed mine from time to time, like it was a quiet game we weren't allowed to lose.

"Roo, I'll capture everything while we're here. You'll be the model in my GCF," he said, holding up his camera with a mischievous glint.

I laughed. "Baby, don't you ever get tired of this face?"

"Never," he replied instantly, raising a brow. "You're the most handsome man in the world—and you're mine."

I smiled, cheeks warming at his boldness. He was cheeky, dramatic, and absolutely serious—and somehow, that made me love him more.

While we browsed through racks of clothing, picking out pieces we might wear for the shoots or quiet beach walks, he kept filming me—crafting his GCF frame by frame like I was already the highlight reel.

The staff reminded him gently: when they needed footage for the show, he'd have to pause his personal filming. He nodded, but I knew it wouldn't stop him from capturing the moments that mattered most to him.

I slipped away for a few minutes, found a shirt I thought he'd love, and quietly paid for it. I didn't say anything. Not yet. I'd give it to him later—when the sun had softened and the group was laughing around the dinner table.

Everyone was buzzing with excitement. The upcoming activities in Hawaii felt like a promise. A chance to make new memories, to let love and friendship live outside the spotlight for a little while.

After buying everything we needed, we headed straight back to the house. The staff helped us prepare dinner—they're always looking after us, and it never goes unnoticed.

That first night in Hawaii, we all stuck close. Maybe it was the comfort of being somewhere new, or maybe it was just how much we love being around each other. Laughter filled the space as we ate, the kind that feels like home no matter where you are.

After dinner, I settled into the living room, sinking into the cushions for a moment of quiet. Then he sat beside me—close, steady, familiar. His presence alone was enough to ease every thought in my head.

"Baby, are you tired?" I asked, shifting closer.

"Not really, Roo. Why?"

"There's a pool outside," I said, tilting my head and acting cute. "Let's swim."

He smiled and reached over, pinching my cheek. "Stop acting cute, Roo," he said, laughing.

"Baby... let's go swimming," I repeated, more hopeful now, maybe a little bolder.

He looked at me for a beat, that grin still lingering—the kind that always meant yes.

"Okay, okay," he agreed, and we slipped outside into the night, laughter echoing softly as we swam until our limbs begged for rest.

Back inside, the house buzzed with quiet steps and sleepy voices. Everyone was preparing to sleep. We changed into clean clothes, warmth still lingering from the water.

In the living room, Harly was already asleep.

We pulled the foam cushions off the sofa and laid them on the floor side by side. Our little corner for the night. He knew I couldn't sleep without something to hold—and tonight, he chose to be that comfort without saying a word.

I lay down first. He joined me moments later, resting his head on my arm and wrapping himself close. I curled into him, held his hand, and kissed the top of his head.

Nothing else mattered. Not cameras. Not songs. Not distance. Just this—skin to skin, heartbeat to heartbeat. Ours.

"Baby, are you going to sleep now?" I whispered.

"I'll try, Roo," he murmured, voice already thick with drowsiness.

Minutes passed. Then came the sound I'd grown to love—the soft rhythm of his breathing shifting into a gentle snore. I smiled to myself. He was tucked against me, wrapped in my arms like we were folded into one warm breath. He felt safe. Loved.

But I couldn't sleep.

Thoughts moved like waves—some warm, some cold. About us. About everything we'd done. Everything we might lose. I stared at the ceiling, wondering if love could hold steady even when the world shifted. Wondering if forever was something we were really building, or just hoping for.

Still, I didn't move. I held him closer, like maybe my arms could protect us from time itself.

I thought about how separation begins—not all at once, but in little silences, in the way arms loosen. Slowly, I slipped out of his embrace and got up. I needed fresh air.

I stepped outside and sat by the pool. The moon was high; stars scattered like forgotten wishes. They were beautiful. But something inside me felt heavy, distant.

I missed Grandma.

The longing came out of nowhere, sharp and raw. I didn't even notice when the tears started. I folded into myself, burying my face in my knees as quiet sobs shook my shoulders.

Seven months. And I still couldn't accept that she was gone.

I glanced to my side when someone sat quietly beside me and placed a hand on my shoulder. It was Jemuel. His face held a kind kind of pity—soft, not heavy. Without saying a word, he pulled me into a hug.

I broke.

He didn't ask what was wrong. He didn't need to. He just let me cry, wordlessly holding space for the pain.

When my breathing slowed, I looked up at the moon again—still shining, still watching.

"I miss my grandma," I whispered, wiping my eyes.

"It's normal, Tamaro," he said gently, his hand finding mine. "It's not easy to forget someone you loved that deeply."

I turned to him and smiled faintly. "Thank you, Jemuel."

"You know I'll always be here for you. You're my soulmate, right?" he said with that crooked, familiar grin.

"Yeah," I nodded. "You are my soulmate."

We sat like that for a while longer, watching the stars without needing to speak. Then, wordlessly, we went inside to sleep.

Who is Jemuel in my life?

He's my emotional harbor. The one who doesn't need explanations because he listens to the silence. He's not the partner marked by passion—but the soul tethered to me through gentleness, constancy, and shared understanding. I cry on his shoulder without asking. He calls me soulmate without needing permission. In the story of my life, Jemuel is the quiet chapter where everything breathes easier. Where being seen doesn't feel like exposure—it feels like home.

I met Jemuel when we were just trainees. We were the same age, so it was easy to find comfort in each other's presence. High school, practice rooms, late-night walks—we went through it all together.

He became my best friend without ever needing to say it. The kind of person who understood me with just a glance.

When I got the call—that I was officially part of Phonix, ready to debut—he was the first to run to me, arms wide, eyes shining.

"You did it," he said, like he'd always known I would.

He was proud. And in that moment, so was I—not just of the debut, but of the fact that I got to share it with someone who never once stopped believing in me.

The management asked if I wanted him to be part of Phonix. I didn't even hesitate—I said yes right away.

If there's one person I've always wanted to debut with, it's Jimin.

We're the kind of friends who constantly tease each other, bump into one another in every hallway, every scene. There isn't a single day we don't argue—but there also isn't a day we don't make it right before it ends.

He's chaos and comfort in the same breath. And truthfully, I wouldn't want it any other way.

I still remember our worst fight—over something as simple as pizza. We didn't speak for days, even though we saw each other every day, trained together, spent almost every moment side by side. But in that stretch of silence, it felt like something precious had fractured.

And I'm not someone who holds grudges.

So I found a way to break the distance. I messaged him and asked to meet me at the park—the one I always retreat to when I need to be alone.

When he arrived, I cried.

I told him everything I'd been holding in. How hard that week had been. How heavy it felt to be near him and yet so far. And he cried too. Said he'd been immature. Said he hadn't realized how deeply his silence cut.

And just like that, the fight ended—not with laughter, but with tears and truth.

Would you like to turn this into a journal entry from Tamaro's perspective? Or maybe write it as a letter he never sends—one that says, "Even when we fight, I still choose you." This feels like one of those pivotal moments that shaped how strong their bond truly is.

When my grandmother passed away—we were in Thailand at the time—Jemuel was the one who stayed close. He talked to me every day, tried to make me laugh, helped carry the silence when I couldn't find the words.

Then came our last concert in the Philippines. That night, I told the crowd what I hadn't been able to say out loud before: that she was gone.

And when the stage lights dimmed and the applause faded, Jemuel hugged me.

He didn't say anything. He didn't have to. His hug was one of the warmest I've ever felt.

It was steady, grounding. Like grief didn't have to be carried alone. Like I was still held by someone who understood.

When Akiro cheated, Jemuel didn't take sides. He spoke to him. And he spoke to me.

He wasn't trying to decide who was right—he was trying to keep love from unraveling completely. He kept saying we should try to fix things, not out of blind hope, but because he believed in the heart work between us.

There was a day I locked myself in the bathroom, crying so hard I thought I might dissolve.

Jemuel came in and sat beside me. He didn't speak at first. He just cried with me.

And in that moment, I knew—he was the kind of friend everyone dreams of having. Someone who doesn't flinch at your pain, doesn't abandon you when your world feels broken. And somehow, I got lucky.

Because that dream came true.

When I asked everyone to love all seven of us, it wasn't just for the group—it was for Jemuel.

I've seen how words can wound, how praise can skip over the ones who stay silent. We're young, but we carry so much. And sometimes that weight turns cruel when the world doesn't pause to be gentle.

When Jemuel's hurting, I feel it. And I can't bear to see him cry.

It's the same for the others. We built this dream together, one step at a time. And no matter how high we climb, I just want them to be loved—not for the spotlight, but for who they are when the cameras go quiet.

When the company decided that Akiro and Jemuel needed to do fanservice together, Jemuel didn't agree with it. He even argued with Mr. William, but in the end, the decision was final—and there wasn't much we could do.

Every time he did fanservice with Akiro, he would apologize to me afterward.

Sometimes, I got annoyed. I won't deny that. And it's hard to hide the frustration when they're performing closeness that feels borrowed.

I keep reminding myself—Akiro is my boyfriend. Jemuel is my best friend. I trust them not to betray that.

Jemuel is the one who wipes my tears when no one else sees them. The one who carries my silences like they're sacred. He is, without question, my soulmate.

I just hope... our relationship doesn't end.

I slowly lay down beside Akiro and wrapped my arms around him, pressing close. The moment he felt me there; he pulled me into his warmth and kissed the top of my head.

"Hmm... I love you, Roo," he whispered.

"I love you more, baby."

His body was warm against mine—steady, familiar, mine. And just like that, the fatigue melted into comfort. I could feel sleep tugging at me, soft and patient.

Everything will be okay.

I need to enjoy this trip, every moment of it—with the members I love, and most of all, with him.