OUR STORY (BxB)

Chapter 20

-AKIRO-

Joshua let out a long breath, eyes still locked on mine. He looked conflicted—not angry, not dismissive, just... worried.

"Akiro, I get it. I do," he said quietly. "But this kind of impulsive move? You're exhausted. Emotional. Flying alone at midnight just because you're scared—because you're hurting? That's not peace. That's panic."

I stopped, hands trembling slightly as I held my jacket. I didn't want logic right now. I wanted Roo.

"I'm not going there to fight," I whispered. "I'm going there to remind him. That I'm still here. That this trip was ours first."

Joshua nodded slowly, stood up, and placed a steadying hand on my shoulder. "Then go. But don't bring anger with you. Bring honesty. That's what Roo deserves."

I exhaled shakily, heart thudding.

"I'll keep my phone on," he added, softer now. "Just in case."

"Hurry up. I'll drop you at the airport," Joshua said, already grabbing his keys.

I turned to him, stunned.

I thought he'd scold me. I thought he'd remind me of the rules, the risks—the way the world watches us when we slip. But he didn't.

Instead, he showed up.

I blinked hard, then stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him. My tears fell freely this time, hot and helpless against his shoulder.

"Joshua... thank you," I whispered, voice breaking mid-sob.

He rubbed my back, firm and steady. "Oh, Akiro... stop crying, okay? Hurry up if you want to get your Tamaro back."

The other members had gathered quietly in the hallway. They didn't speak much. Just stood there with tired eyes and worried hearts. Renz handed me a hoodie, Jemuel made me promise to call as soon as I landed, and Stephen gave me his water bottle like I'd forget to hydrate.

Even Harly—stoic as ever—just placed a gentle hand on my shoulder.

As the youngest, I could feel it. Their care. Their silent prayers. Their loyalty.

And as I stepped out into the quiet night, I held onto every reminder they gave. Every parting word tucked into my heart like folded letters I might need to reread on the plane.

The hotel lobby was dimly lit, shadows stretching across marble tiles and soft upholstery. I kept my hoodie pulled low, mask secure, hidden in plain sight. No one paid attention—which was good. I didn't come here to be seen.

It was almost midnight.

I sat on the edge of the sofa; eyes fixed on the glass entrance. Every time the automatic doors slid open, my pulse jumped. But it wasn't them. Not yet.

I had confirmed the booking. Our booking. The one Roo and I made together weeks ago. Now... it was being used. By someone else. By them.

I clenched my jaw.

More than an hour passed. My legs ached, my throat dry, but I didn't move. I couldn't.

I was waiting. Waiting for the boy I loved—and the person beside him I couldn't stand to share him with.

My head was lowered, eyes buried in the blur of carpet and marble when I heard it.

That laugh.

Familiar. Effortless. His.

I looked up, heart thudding. There they were—Tamaro and Arion—entering the lobby side by side, laughter echoing between the high ceilings and polished floors.

I shot to my feet.

The air left my lungs.

Tamaro was smiling. Not hesitantly. Not out of politeness. Truly smiling.

And the reason wasn't me.

All the pain I'd been carrying since I came home and found him gone—since I'd boarded a plane with nothing but jealousy in my chest—surged back in an instant.

He saw me.

Stopped.

I saw it in his eyes first—the flash of nerves, of guilt, of recognition. My own gaze held steady, sharp, unblinking. I poked the inside of my cheek with my tongue, jaw clenched, the only thing holding back a flood of fury and heartbreak.

Arion leaned in and whispered something. Tamaro gulped, eyes locked with mine.

But he didn't move.

He didn't speak.

He just stood there—caught, frozen in the space between his smile and my silence.

Arion smiled at me—soft, understanding. The kind of smile that says "I know," even if nothing is said aloud. I hated that it came so effortlessly from him. His sweetness. His calm. The way he looked at Roo like he'd never known conflict.

He stepped closer, and though my eyes flicked to him in greeting, they were fixed on Roo.

Roo, who hadn't blinked. Roo, whose eyes were wide and unsure and overflowing with something that looked a lot like guilt.

I wanted to run to him, wrap my arms around him, bury my face in his chest and say nothing except why weren't you waiting for me?

But I stayed still.

Arion greeted me gently, and I returned it with respect. Because despite everything, he had cared for Roo when I hadn't been able to. That counted for something.

"Arion," I said carefully, voice low, "I want to talk to Tamaro."

I had every right. He was mine. But I asked—not because I needed permission, but because I refused to be cruel.

Arion studied my face, then smiled again—warm, no bitterness. He patted my shoulder.

"I know," he said. "He's yours."

The garden was quiet—moonlight catching on trimmed leaves and forgotten benches. The air between us was still, thick with things unsaid.

He stood there, hands clenched in front of him, looking down as if the grass might explain my silence better than I could.

I wanted to run to him.

I wanted to yell.

Instead, I stood still—my arms crossed, my heart bruising itself against my ribs.

"This was supposed to be our place," I said, voice low but sharp. "Not yours and his."

Roo flinched.

"I waited," I continued. "I came home, I called, I hoped. And while I was falling apart, you were... laughing."

"I didn't mean to," he whispered, still not looking at me.

"You didn't stop it either."

He looked up, finally meeting my eyes—his own rimmed with guilt, soft, desperate.

"I just didn't want to cry anymore."

That broke something in me.

I exhaled, my jaw unclenching.

"I didn't want to cry alone."

"Go. Talk to him... and understand him," Arion said, his voice gentle, his gaze steady.

I nodded silently.

Then I walked toward Roo.

He hadn't moved—not even a step. I stopped beside him without meeting his eyes.

"Follow me," I said firmly.

He looked down and didn't speak as I passed him. But I felt him behind me—his presence quiet, hesitant.

We walked together through the corridors until we reached the back of the hotel—a hidden garden tucked beyond the glass, the one we saw online before booking this trip. A place we once imagined for us.

I stopped, then turned to face him.

He was still looking down, hands clasped in front of him, like he was holding himself together.

I looked at him.

And my heart cracked.

There was an urge to run to him, to throw my arms around him and bury the ache where he couldn't see it. But I didn't move.

I needed to say what silence couldn't.

I needed him to feel the ache of what he broke.

And in this moment, I hated how much I still loved him.

"Why?" I asked, voice low but shaking. He looked at me with tears already welling in his eyes.

No. I told myself. Not yet. I need to be hard on him.

"Baby, I'm sorry," he whispered, eyes cast down.

I breathed sharply, trying to steady the ache in my chest. "I thought you understood me. I thought you understood our work—how fragile it is, how much we have to bend for it. But this?" My voice cracked. "Is this your way of getting back at me?"

He stepped closer, pulled me into his arms. His embrace was warm—familiar—but I didn't move. I couldn't let him feel comfort when I was still drowning.

"No, baby," he said, sobbing softly. "I was disappointed because we couldn't go together. You know how badly I wanted this trip... for us."

I stayed still in his arms, rigid. I wanted him to feel my silence.

"You have no idea how guilty I felt for breaking that promise," I said bitterly. "You were in my thoughts the entire day, Roo. Every second. But while I was drowning in guilt and longing, I find out... you're here. In Palawan. With Arion."

"Baby, it's just Arion," he said.

I looked at him—hard. Then I pushed him gently, just enough to break the embrace. He stumbled slightly, eyes wide, caught off guard.

It was the first time I didn't catch him.

"I'm not being paranoid, Tamaro. I'm a guy, too. I know what interest looks like. I've seen how he looks at you... the same way I do."

Roo winced, his voice small. "Baby, Arion is like an older brother to me."

He tried to reach for my hand, but I pulled it away.

"Yes—to you he's a brother. But to him? You're not."

I wiped the tears from my face, swallowing the ache that wouldn't let me breathe.

Then I looked him straight in the eyes.

"You choose. You stay here with him... or you go with me back to Manila."

He hesitated—just for a beat. Then nodded.

"Of course I'll go with you, baby."

I felt the relief sink into me like a warm tide. But it didn't wash away the anger. Not yet.

He called Arion, voice low, and told him we were heading back to Manila. No explanation. No apology. Just a decision made between two people standing in the aftermath of something fragile.

We didn't speak during the flight.

Silence filled the cabin, thick and heavy. Words were too sharp to say, so we let the distance speak for us—until we landed, early morning, dim light filtering through the airport windows.

When we arrived at the dorm, all the members were gathered in the living room, worry written across their faces.

I didn't meet their eyes.

I walked straight to our room and closed the door behind me.

Then I heard it.

Raised voices. The others scolding him, demanding to know what happened.

And beneath it all—his quiet sobs.

Not loud. Just there.

Like guilt had finally found its way out.

I wanted to stop them from scolding him. But he needed to learn. I needed him to understand.

Exhausted, I lay on my side and closed my eyes. The ache hadn't left me—it clung like mist, thick around my heart. I wiped my tears, remembering how Roo cried earlier. The way his voice cracked. The way he reached for me.

I was mad at him. And mad at myself. Guilty. Guilty for doubting, for pushing, for hurting us both.

Then the door opened.

I didn't turn, but I felt him—quiet footsteps, the soft rustle of clothes, and then his arms wrapping around me from behind. His chest against my back. His breath against my shoulder.

This is what he always does when we fight. This is how he asks for forgiveness.

"I'm sorry, baby," he whispered. "I'm sorry. I love you so much."

I felt his sobs at my back.

I cried silently.

Not because I forgave him yet—but because the love hadn't left. Because even in anger, we still reached for each other.

He didn't speak again. And after a while, I heard his breathing slow, soften.

He was asleep.

I wiped the last of my tears and closed my eyes too.

Finally, sleep found me.

The next morning, everyone woke up late. We didn't have practice until tomorrow, so the dorm was quiet—soft footsteps, lazy voices, doors creaking open one by one.

I got up, took a shower without waking Roo. He was still asleep, curled into the blanket like nothing had happened.

I didn't speak to him.

I wouldn't—not yet. Not until the lesson settled where it needed to.

Mark had asked to meet at a nearby café. Just an hour, he said. I didn't tell anyone where I was going. I needed air. Silence that didn't belong to Roo.

The café was peaceful. Familiar. Mark knew better than to pry. He talked gently, about music, about nothing. I appreciated that. After we parted, I headed back to the dorm. It was already night.

I didn't go straight to the room.

I wasn't ready to see him.

If I did, I might crumble—hug him, kiss him, forget what needed to be remembered.

So instead, I walked to the small resto near the dorm. The owner greeted me with a smile. He knew us well. Knew how to guard privacy like a secret.

Our usual spot waited in the corner, quiet and tucked away—where no fans, no questions, and no emotions too loud could find us.

Just me.

And a moment to breathe.

The night was deep, the air heavy with silence and streetlight shadows. I was dizzy from more than the drink—guilt, jealousy, heartache all tangled in my chest like vines.

I called Jemuel and told him where I was.

After the call, I buried my face in my arms, resting on the cool surface of the table, and cried. Cried everything I'd been holding. The sharp guilt. The aching jealousy. The truth I didn't want to admit: call me selfish, but I couldn't bear the thought of seeing Roo with someone else. He was mine—and mine alone.

Jemuel arrived without a word, sat beside me, and let me cry in front of him. I told him everything. Every broken, raw piece of what I felt.

He didn't interrupt. Just stayed.

When the tears slowed and my chest stopped shaking, he brought me home. The dorm was quiet, almost asleep.

Roo wasn't in sight.

Jemuel walked me to our room and gently let me rest. I lay down, eyes closed, not to sleep—but to silence everything else. I was exhausted.

Then the door opened.

Softly.

I half opened my eyes.

There he was—Roo—standing in the doorway with a worried face, like he hadn't breathed since I left.

"Baby," he called softly.

I didn't hesitate.

I leaned in and kissed him—desperately, tearfully, like the apology was already on my lips. I missed him so much. His hands cupped my face, and he kissed me back with the same longing, the same ache.

We parted, breathless, panting in the quiet dim of the room.

He brushed my tears away, his fingertips warm and familiar. I closed my eyes at his touch. Just one caress and everything in me cracked open again.

"Roo... I'm sorry," I whispered, voice trembling.

And for the first time tonight, it wasn't anger. It was love—hurting, healing, hoping.

"No, baby... I should be the one apologizing," he whispered, brushing my hair back gently. "I should've considered your feelings too."

Then he leaned in and gave me a soft, lingering kiss—just a press of warmth against my lips, like a promise tucked between breaths.

He lay down beside me, pulling me into his arms. I folded into him instinctively, using his arm as a pillow, tucking my face into his chest. He kept patting my back slowly, rhythmically, while the alcohol softened everything inside me.

"I love you, Roo," I murmured, voice barely a breath, already slipping into sleep.

"I love you more, baby," he said, pressing a kiss on my forehead and holding me tighter.

And in that final drowsy moment, a realization bloomed quietly within me:

This is the pain Roo felt when he saw me with Mark's cousin.

This ache—the jealousy, the betrayal, the fear—

Now I understand.

It hurts.