OUR STORY (BxB)

Chapter 17

-AKIRO-

We're in Hawaii—our Travel Blog Season 2.

One of our dream destinations. And now... we're finally here.

On our second day, we went out for lunch, strolling through sunlit streets and little corners that felt both foreign and familiar. You could see it in everyone's faces—happiness, excitement, like the world had paused just long enough for us to breathe.

I stayed close to Voo. I always do.

I captured everything about him. His laugh, the way he squinted against the light, how his hand reached for mine when no one was looking. We took so many selcas, just for us—not for the show, not for the fans. Just for the memory.

This time, the staff didn't separate us.

But I know how this works.

When it airs, some angles will shift. Some scenes will be cut. The way we looked at each other might disappear in editing.

Still, I'm not sad. Because I lived it.

And sometimes, the moments that don't make it onscreen are the ones that stay forever.

We're grateful to the members—they never made it hard for us to stay close. They let us be together without questions, without awkwardness. It means more than they know.

After we finished exploring the area and shopping for souvenirs, we returned to the house. The staff gathered us to organize the groups for tomorrow's travel schedule.

And I couldn't help but smile.

I was grouped with Roo and Jemuel—exactly the two I hoped for. It felt like the universe had made room for comfort.

We played a short game to decide our budget for the next day, full of teasing and laughter. Then one by one, we faded into rest—worn out from the sun, the walking, the joy.

Tomorrow holds more memories. But tonight? Tonight is for being thankful. For Roo. For Jemuel. For being surrounded by people who let me love freely.

We moved into another house for the rest of our stay.

Everyone picked their spots quickly. I ended up choosing the sofa again—it wasn't bad, just familiar. But deep down, I felt a flicker of disappointment.

I wanted to be next to him.

Instead, he's rooming with Renz. Stephen's with Jemuel, and Harly's in his own space. It's fine, really. I don't want to make a fuss. But part of me hoped for one more night curled beside him—soft conversation, shared warmth, the kind of closeness that doesn't need to be loud.

Still, I'll sleep on the sofa. And I'll carry the quiet hope that tomorrow brings something gentler.

Everyone had gone to their rooms, their voices fading into sleep and soft laughter behind closed doors. I was alone in the living room, where silence felt thicker than usual. I turned off the camera, switched off the light, and curled up on the sofa.

Then I heard footsteps.

Slow. Familiar. I didn't move—just tucked into stillness, pretending to sleep.

But a smile tugged at my lips. I knew it was him.

"Baby, are you sleeping?" he whispered, standing just above me. The only light in the room came from the outside, slipping through the window like a quiet ocean breeze.

In the soft glow, I saw him.

His hair slightly tousled. His lips curled in that signature pout. And that look—hopeful, shy, wanting to be close even if the moment didn't ask for words.

"Not yet, Roo. Why aren't you sleeping?" I whispered, pulling him gently to lay beside me.

He tucked into my side without hesitation, made my arm his pillow, and wrapped himself around me—his arms, his legs, all tangled like he needed every part of me to rest. My Roo wanted to be held, and I held him tighter, just like he needed.

"You know I can't sleep, baby... not unless I can smell your scent," he said softly.

I smiled, heart melting at his honesty. "Then sleep here. Just transfer later when the sun rises."

I kissed his forehead, brushing his hair gently as he closed his eyes.

"Thank you, baby," he whispered. "I love you."

"I love you too, Roo," I whispered.

He kissed me, and I kissed him back. I hadn't realized how much I missed the way he held me—how his kiss could make the world disappear, one breath at a time. We deepened the kiss until we were both dizzy, lips parted but hearts closer than ever.

Then he leaned in and kissed my forehead.

"Let's sleep, baby," he said, pulling me into another hug.

I smiled—his signature naughtiness always snuck in, even in soft moments. I held him tighter, calming the quiet rush inside me with slow breathing and whispered warmth.

We went to the seaside just before sunset, when the waves were calm and the sky blushed in lavender. We built a small tower out of stones—stacking them slowly, silently, as if each one carried something sacred.

Then we wished.

I glanced at him first. He had his eyes shut, already lost in his own quiet hopes. So I closed mine too.

I wished for happiness. For a strong, unshakable relationship with him. I wished for peace—for all of us. For healing, for laughter, for everything we quietly hope for but rarely say out loud.

And in that moment, the world felt kind.

When evening came, we walked back home together, the streetlights flickering gently above us. He wrapped his arm around my shoulder, and I leaned into him, letting our footsteps fall into rhythm.

We were just a couple, strolling through the Hawaiian streets.

Jemuel followed quietly behind us, looking every bit like our chaperone and every bit like the protector of this quiet joy.

When we arrived back at the house, the staff gathered us around once more. This time, everyone had to place a personal item on the table—whoever you picked, you'd cook for them.

I smiled to myself. I knew exactly which one was Roo's.

But when the staff called my name, I played along—pretending I had no clue. I sifted through the items slowly, acting unsure, until I reached for his.

Roo's eyes caught mine across the room. That smile of his—a little proud, a little playful—told me everything.

Once everyone had made their pick, it was time for the big reveal.

"Who's item did I choose?" I asked aloud.

Roo didn't hesitate. He walked straight to me, sat on my lap, curled his arm around my shoulder, and said with that teasing grin:

"You are mine."

And I couldn't hide it—the way my heart jumped, the way my smile took over my whole face. That kind of happiness... it's the kind you don't even try to contain.

It was my turn to cook dinner for him, and I wanted everything to be perfect. He's a picky eater, so I put extra care into every detail—seasoning, presentation, even the way the rice settled on the plate. When he took his first bite, I held my breath.

Then he smiled.

And just like that, I was satisfied. Not because the dish was flawless, but because he liked it. That was enough.

Later, when it was his turn to cook for Harly, I found myself watching him more than I intended. I worried about him handling the knife, about whether he'd burn the sauce or forget the oil. From time to time, I drifted over—pretending to tidy up, but really just checking in. He noticed, of course, and smiled each time. Patient. Amused. Soft.

Everyone finished dinner eventually, the clinking and chatter fading into post-meal quiet. We were assigned to clean the kitchen together. It was quiet work, dish by dish, but it felt like ours—our rhythm, our little routine.

After we were done, the others went off to their rooms to rest.

But he stayed.

Stayed beside me. Stayed even when the silence settled thick between us. Not because he had to, but because his heart chose mine, over and over, in small ways no camera could ever catch.

"Baby, let's go outside on the balcony," he said. And together, we stepped into the night.

The moon hung low, stars scattered across the quiet Hawaii sky. He rested his head gently on my shoulder, his fingers lacing through mine.

"Roo, we only have two days left," I whispered, leaning into him. "Once we're back in the Philippines... the separation starts again."

"I know, baby." His voice was low. "I just hope I can endure the jealousy every time you do fanservice."

I hugged him from behind, wrapped my arms around his waist and rested my chin on his shoulder.

"Just trust me, Roo. Always remember—our relationship isn't for the camera."

He turned to face me, his arms slipping around my body, holding me close.

"I do trust you, baby," he said softly. "I know you're scared... but let's keep holding each other's hand. We'll face every trial together."

I looked down. "I'm sorry for being a coward, Roo."

He gently lifted my chin until our eyes met. "Don't be sorry, baby," he smiled. "I understand you. I always understand you."

And in that moment, surrounded by moonlight and his steady gaze, the tears came quietly. Not from sadness—but from the overwhelming relief of being loved without conditions.

Do I really deserve the love he gives me?

Sometimes, I feel like I don't—because in the corners of my heart, fear still lives. I'm a coward. I love him—that I know. But why does that love feel not enough? Why does it feel so tangled inside me?

Why do I keep worrying that I'll hurt him again?

I don't want to keep thinking. Not like this. I'll let time carry us now. Let time decide what stays and what fades.

All I know, all I hold onto, is that I love him.

And I don't want to lose him.

Looking at him, I couldn't resist—I leaned in and kissed him.

He pulled me closer, responding with the kind of warmth that only love knows. We deepened the kiss until the world dissolved around us. Everyone else was sleeping, tucked away inside. Out here, it was just the two of us beneath the stars.

Every thought that weighed me down earlier—gone.

His lips held a sweetness that unraveled my fears, like a promise without words.

We only have two days left in Hawaii.

And in this moment, I don't know what the future holds... but I hope—deep down—that everything will be okay.

-TAMARO-

Throughout our stay in Hawaii, we've seen so many beautiful places. But today felt different—we climbed the mountains to catch the sunset.

Everyone stood still, eyes fixed on the horizon as the sky softened into shades of gold and lavender. Akiro was beside me.

"Baby," I said, my voice gentle, eyes on the last sliver of sun, "I want to live here someday. You'd live here with me?"

"Of course, Roo," he answered without hesitation, turning to look at me.

I smiled and reached for his hand, lacing our fingers together before looking back at the view.

"In the future," I murmured, resting my head on his shoulder, "we'll live peacefully here. Just us."

"We will, Roo," he whispered.

And under that fading sky, it felt true.

The day finally came—we had to move to another place.

This time, Akiro and Jemuel left together, while I was grouped with Renz and Stephen. We were headed to the last house where we'd stay before leaving Hawaii.

One by one, we arrived and chose our sleeping arrangements. I ended up sharing a room with Harly. Akiro and Stephen took one of the others. It was quiet, a little bittersweet, like the final pieces falling into place.

After everyone settled in, the staff announced how we'd be paired for that day's stroll. But this time, we didn't decide—the staff did.

Stephen was chosen as my partner.

Akiro would be with Joshua.

And Jemuel—of course—walked with quiet understanding beside them both.

Late at night, when the house had gone quiet and everyone was fast asleep, I slipped outside and sat by the pool in front of our room.

The air was still, touched only by the sound of water and the hush of distant waves. I looked up at the moon and smiled.

Every time I miss someone, I look at the moon and imagine they're beside me—sharing the same sky, held in the same light.

When I'm alone, I always think of my grandma.

Her smile. The way it lit up the room every time she saw me. That kind of love doesn't fade easily—it stays in the quiet, in the echoes of her laughter, in the spaces where I feel her most.

I know someday I'll accept that she's no longer here. But for now, I let the moon carry her memory. I let the silence hold her presence.

And I sit beside the water, whispering love into the night.

The next morning, we headed to the seaside and had lunch beneath the sunlit breeze. Before the stroll began, everyone split off—wandering wherever their feet or mood led them.

I was with Stephen.

"Tell me where you want to go," he said, looking at me. "I'll give you the chance to choose."

I didn't answer in words—just gave him my Tata face.

Stephen isn't the most expressive when the cameras are rolling. But offscreen, he always spoils me.

"Let's buy some souvenirs, bro," I said as we stepped into the street.

We wandered from shop to shop; laughter tucked between displays of trinkets and charm. We ended up buying matching necklaces—simple, but meaningful. Proof we'd been here. Proof we'd been together.

After lunch, we strolled around again, chasing sunlight and small memories.

Later, I carried him on my back—punishment for losing our game. Stephen isn't exactly light, but I didn't mind. I've always treasured him. Since my debut, he's taken care of me like an older brother would. No spotlight needed.

As we walked, he asked, "Are you happy, Tamaro?"

"I am, bro," I said. "But... to be honest, I'm scared. Scared of what the future holds."

He slipped off my back and looked at me. "You know I'll always support you. And Akiro. Whatever happens... I'll be here. I'll listen."

He draped his arm over my shoulder as we made our way back to the house—quiet, steady, like he always is.

In the last days of our trip, we went surfing, rode jet skis, and joined a special program for tourists. Akiro stayed beside me the whole time. We watched the performers with quiet awe, until some children invited us to dance with them onstage.

Without hesitation, I joined—with Harly and Jemuel stepping beside me. We moved to the rhythm of their traditional dance, laughing, leaning into the moment.

I glanced toward the crowd and found him.

Akiro was holding up his phone, recording every second. His smile was wide and unguarded—the kind that made my heart skip. He watched me dance, eyes full of light, and I winked at him from the stage.

He looked down, flustered, cheeks pink with embarrassment.

I laughed silently, still dancing.

After the program ended, we walked home under the fading sky. The night felt soft around us, like the memory had settled gently into forever.

For our last day in Hawaii, the staff asked us to write a letter to one of the members. I chose Jemuel.

I went into the room to write, and of course—Akiro followed, teasing me the whole way. I got shy and kicked him out, laughing quietly to myself as I scribbled thoughts I've never said aloud.

When everyone finished their letters, we boarded a yacht for the evening. The staff had prepared a compilation video of our album—snapshots of our journey, our growth, all the pieces of ourselves we've left in songs and stages.

We watched in silence, the sun beginning to dip below the horizon.

Then, as the sky turned soft orange and the waves whispered beneath us, we gathered outside to read our letters to one another.

One by one, voices cracked, laughter echoed, tears slipped quietly. The air was full—not just with words, but with everything that couldn't be said.

And I looked at Jemuel, my letter in hand.

Because sometimes, love isn't loud. It's choosing someone to write to when no one's watching. It's kicking your boyfriend out because you're nervous. It's saying thank you to the friend who's stood beside you through every storm.

As I read my letter to Jemuel, I couldn't stop the tears.

I was overwhelmed by how deeply thankful I am for him—how he's stood beside me through every storm. He's cried for me. Laughed with me. Sat in silence when silence was the only thing I could manage.

Six years. We've been together since the earliest training days. Through sweat, heartbreak, and every fragile triumph.

Jemuel is more than my best friend.

He's, my soulmate.

And as my voice trembled reading those words, Akiro sat quietly beside me... crying, too.

Because he knew. He's seen it. He's lived inside the spaces Jemuel helped hold. That letter wasn't just a thank-you—it was a tribute to the kind of love that doesn't seek applause, just presence.

When we returned to the house, I noticed that Jemuel had grown quiet after the letters were read. He spoke to me, but there was a bitterness in his voice I couldn't ignore.

As night fell, he began to distance himself.

I didn't mind it much—he's always done that. Jemuel has a habit of turning away, of ignoring me without explanation. It's familiar, but it still stings.

After dinner, I went to our room and lay down, still wondering why Akiro had suddenly gone silent too. Something about his energy felt different, but I couldn't place it.

I drifted into shallow sleep—until a voice woke me.

Someone was singing.

I opened my eyes to darkness. Harly was already fast asleep beside me. I glanced at the clock. Almost sunrise.

I got up and drew the curtains open, revealing the stillness of the pool outside.

There he was.

Akiro sat at the edge, his back to me, softly singing Nothing Like Us—the same song he covered last year, during our first month together. His voice floated in the air like something fragile, barely clinging to the night.

I watched him from afar, held still by the sadness etched into his posture. His face was turned toward the water, but I could see it in the way his shoulders sank... something wasn't right.

And without realizing, my tears began to fall.

Did I hurt him?

Why does it feel like I made a mistake—one I don't know how to name?

When he finished singing, he lay back in the chair, turned off the camera, and closed his eyes like he didn't want to be seen. I wiped my tears quietly, stepped outside, and walked toward him.

He stayed still.

Eyes closed. Face peaceful. But something in the air between us felt heavy.

"Baby?" I whispered.

He looked up, startled to see me standing there.

"Roo," he said, sitting up slowly.

I lowered myself beside him, letting the quiet settle before I spoke.

"Baby... did I do something wrong?" I asked. His eyes widened, surprised by the question.

"No, Roo," he replied quickly, his voice low. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"Then why are you ignoring me?" I pressed gently.

He took a deep breath. Looked down. The silence stretched... until I heard it—soft sobs escaping from him like words he couldn't speak.

I reached out and held his hand, wrapping mine around his slowly.

"Baby... please tell me. What are you thinking?"

He didn't look up yet, but I could feel the ache pulsing between us. The fear of hurting. The fear of being misunderstood. The need to be held, not blamed.

"Roo," he said, voice breaking, "after I heard your letter to Jemuel... I felt guilty. Because I'm one of the reasons you got hurt. I should have comforted you when you were in pain. But instead... I was the one who hurt you."

Tears slipped from his eyes, and mine fell too. I pulled him into a hug, holding him close like forgiveness could be stitched into skin.

"Baby, that's already in the past," I whispered, brushing his hair gently. "I've already forgiven you. Don't carry the weight alone—because I made mistakes too."

He held me tighter, trembling, his voice low.

"Roo... I won't get tired of saying I'm sorry to you."

"Baby, please stop crying," I whispered, brushing away his tears with the softest touch. "It hurts me more to see you like this. Let's focus on the present... prepare for what's ahead. Let's leave the past where it belongs."

"I love you," I continued, letting my voice steady itself. "That's what matters."

He looked at me—eyes wide, glassy, guilt blooming across his expression like a quiet bruise. I smiled through my own tears, leaned in, and kissed him as the sun rose behind us.

I could taste our tears as our lips met—bittersweet, honest, healing.

When I pulled away, I reached up again, gently wiping the last of his tears.

"I will always love you. And I'll always forgive you. Remember that, baby."

I kissed his forehead like a vow.

And in that golden morning light, it felt like everything broken had been cradled back into place—not erased but accepted.