Michaels in Love (English)(BoysLove)

Chapter 2 - Season 1: Dear Mystery Guy

I was on the verge of breaking down when the train doors slid open with a sharp hiss, spilling passengers onto the crowded platform. The cacophony of hurried footsteps filled the air, a sharp contrast to the chaos brewing inside me.

At the Araneta Center Cubao station, I stepped off the train, my pace quickening as if trying to outrun my own thoughts. The crumpled paper from the fortune cookie I’d been clutching was discarded into a trash bin, as meaningless as the hollow words printed on it. Before I realized it, I was almost sprinting. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of the man from the train—his face etched into my mind. He looked as though he wanted to follow, but the distance between us only grew.

The line at the security checkpoint to Gateway Mall barely registered as guilt wrapped itself around me like a vise. I couldn’t shake it. What was wrong with me? This pull I felt, this undeniable attraction to another man—it went against everything I thought I knew about myself. I wasn’t ready for this truth. I wasn’t ready to accept me.

Inside the mall, I made a beeline for the restroom, the only sanctuary I could think of. At the sink, I splashed cold water on my face, desperate to wash away the storm of emotions. My reflection in the mirror mocked me. Eyes wide, face flushed—I hardly recognized the person staring back.

“No,” I hissed at myself through gritted teeth. “You are NOT becoming gay, Michael!” The words hung in the air, sharp and bitter.

I clenched my fists, the urge to shatter the mirror almost overpowering. How could one fleeting encounter with a stranger unravel me so completely? “Why do I feel like this? Why does he make me feel alive?” My voice cracked as I whispered to the empty room.

Moments later, as I exited the restroom, fate played its cruel hand again. There he was. On the escalator. Our eyes collided, and the world seemed to tilt. Everything else faded—the bustling mall, the noise, the people. It was just him and me, two strangers connected by a gaze that lingered longer than it should. He was going up, I was going down, yet it felt like we were moving toward each other.

From that day, he haunted me. By day, he filled my thoughts. By night, my dreams. He became the invisible thread pulling me through the monotony of my life. Eventually, I landed a job, only to discover he worked there too. Seeing him every day was both torture and bliss. I tried to bury my feelings, but it was impossible. My heart had decided, even if my mind resisted.

I loved him—fully, irrevocably—with every piece of my fractured soul.

Back to the Present

I hadn’t realized I was staring. My eyes had been locked on Mike for who knows how long, replaying the day we first met in vivid detail. He was walking toward me now, his figure impossibly familiar yet still capable of quickening my pulse.

“Lost in thought, Michael?” His voice, warm and teasing, jolted me back to reality.

“Huh? Oh, no, not at all,” I stammered, caught off guard. My face flushed as the corners of his lips curled into a knowing smile. For a brief, insane moment, I thought he might lean in and kiss me.

He didn’t. Instead, he sat beside me, his presence as electrifying as ever.

“Come join us for a game,” he said casually, draping an arm around my shoulder. The weight of it sent shivers through me, the kind that no amount of self-denial could suppress. “The coach will be here in about thirty minutes. Plenty of time to loosen up.”

“I’m fine here,” I mumbled, avoiding his eyes.

“You sure?” His smile was disarming, and I nearly lost my composure entirely.

“Yes, Mike, I’m sure,” I managed, though the tremor in my voice betrayed me.

“Alright, suit yourself,” he said with a soft pat on my arm before standing. “I’ll be on the court if you change your mind.”

As he walked away, I let out a shaky breath and moved to another seat. Reaching into my bag, I pulled out my diary—a constant companion since January 24, 2012. It was on that date I had started recording the moments that mattered most, beginning with the day I fell hopelessly in love with Michael Angelo Tan.

Reflections from January 24, 2012

As I opened my diary, the familiar scent of paper and ink stirred memories I wasn’t sure I was ready to revisit. But today, I couldn’t resist. The pages felt heavier than usual, as though they carried the weight of the person I used to be.

January 24, 2012

Dear Diary,

My name is Michael Alexander Muraoka. I’m 19 years old, from San Fernando City, La Union. I stand about 5’10”, with fair skin and slightly chinky eyes—thanks to my Japanese father. My mother? She’d say she was Latina just to make us laugh, but truthfully, she had Spanish ancestry. I’m not too skinny, not too bulky—just in between. People say I have a “pleasing personality,” though I suspect that’s why I landed this job so easily. Haha.

Every day, I ride the LRT from Legarda Station to Araneta-Center Cubao. My job? Cleaning up after those who can afford to eat in the food court at Gateway Mall. Glamorous, I know. I couldn’t finish my HRM course in college after my mom passed away from cervical cancer.

Mom and I had no other family in La Union. She was from Samar originally, though she never went back. As a child, she was trafficked to Manila and spent years trying to survive. She escaped a club where girls were forced to expose themselves and worked as a housemaid instead.

My father, Akihiko Muraoka, was a Japanese businessman married to a Filipina. When he met my mom, he was already tied to someone else. She got pregnant with me. His wife offered her ₱500,000 to disappear, but my mom refused. She fled with me to La Union, desperate to provide. To buy milk, diapers, and everything I needed, she worked at a bar in Poro Point.

When Mom passed, the life I knew in La Union became unbearable. I left for Manila, knowing my father was somewhere in the city. But I didn’t search for him—I had no picture, only a name. Before she died, Mom told me his name: Akihiko Muraoka. She even gave me the address of her family in Samar, but I haven’t been able to save enough to visit them.

When I first arrived in Manila, people said I should work in a bar. “You’d sell well,” they’d joke. Uncle Jerry, my mom’s best friend and my godfather, shut them down every time. Uncle Jerry is gay, married, and a father to preschool-aged triplets. He took me in when I had nowhere to go. To me, he’s been more of a father than my real one ever could.

Others suggested male beauty pageants or indie films. They thought I’d get “discovered,” but those ideas never sat right with me.

That day started like any other.

I jolted awake to the mechanical voice announcing “Pureza Station.” A quick glance at my watch confirmed my worst fear: it was 9:30 AM, and I was late for work.

As the train rattled on, I gazed out the window, my eyes catching a billboard for Manchester Garden City. Its model—a tall, dashing man with sharp features—reminded me of Mike Tan or Mario Maurer. But it wasn’t an actor; it was Michael Angelo Tan, the Junior Sales and Marketing Manager for Manchester City Garden.

I saw him every day. His showroom was at Gateway Mall, right where I worked.

When the train doors opened at Araneta-Center Cubao, I rushed out, weaving through the crowd. I couldn’t afford to be late. Not again.

During my lunch break, I sat down to tally my expenses. Payday had just come, and I was determined to save enough to finish my education someday. Uncle Jerry always told me not to worry about contributing to the household, but his wife, Aunt Mercy, wasn’t as forgiving. I didn’t want to give her any reason to resent me.

Despite three months of working at the mall, my savings were embarrassingly small. I sighed, folding up my calculations and stuffing them into my pocket.

That evening, as I walked into the house, I reached for the envelope containing my salary. My heart sank. It wasn’t there.

Panic set in as I searched every pocket, every corner of my bag. But it was gone. Half a month’s wages, lost. I didn’t know if someone had stolen it on the train or if I’d accidentally dropped it somewhere.

Defeated, I sat on my bed, staring at my empty hands. Another sigh escaped me. Life in Manila wasn’t easy, and today had made it painfully clear.

I closed the diary with a heavy heart, the memory of that day still fresh, even years later. Life has thrown me curveballs, but revisiting my past always reminds me of one thing: resilience. Even then, when everything felt like it was falling apart, I kept going.

January 25, 2012

The morning started with a sliver of hope as I arrived at work early. Maybe, just maybe, I had left my salary in my locker. As I opened it, my heart sank—nothing. The envelope, along with my carefully planned budget breakdown, was gone.

Regret weighed heavily on me all day. While clearing tables at Food Express, I couldn’t help but envy the students who ate there. They seemed carefree, unburdened by the struggles I faced daily. Their laughter and chatter only amplified the ache inside me. Sighing, I wiped the tables near Taco Bell, distracted and lost in my thoughts.

That’s when it happened.

A handsome man stormed toward me, his voice sharp and loud, slicing through the hum of the food court.

“Excuse me! You’ve been staring at my companion for a while now!”

The sudden accusation drew everyone’s attention.

“Pardon me, sir? What did you say?” I asked, stunned.

“I said you’ve been staring at my boyfriend for quite some time now!”

“With all due respect, sir, I wasn’t staring at him. I must’ve just been lost in thought. I’m sorry.”

His companion, smug and cheeky, gave me a wink. It felt like a deliberate taunt. The man noticed and, in a flash of anger, knocked over a cup of Coke, spilling it onto the floor, before storming off in frustration.

Sigh. Another mess to clean. His outburst didn’t just add to my workload—it was humiliating. The eyes of curious onlookers burned into me as I wiped up the spill, replaying the scene in my mind. How could someone dressed so impeccably act so gracelessly?

Trying to shake off the embarrassment, I moved to KFC to clear another table left by students. That’s when my manager called for me. Anxiety crept in—had someone lodged a complaint?

In my three months working here, I’d grown used to avoiding certain customers. Gay men often came in groups or pairs, and some would try to hand me their numbers or ask for mine. I’d always decline, unsure of my feelings or intentions. I wasn’t interested in anyone—except Mike.

Mike.

Even thinking his name sent a rush of warmth through me. Mike Tan, the Junior Sales and Marketing Manager of Manchester Garden City, was tall—around six feet—with fair skin and an undeniable charm. He had a gentle, angelic face that lit up the room. His resemblance to actor Mike Tan was uncanny, though my Mike was far more striking.

Every time I saw him, a joy I couldn’t explain coursed through me, even when I was tired. He became my inspiration, though I knew he had a girlfriend. When we crossed paths, I could only muster a shy smile, and he’d respond with one so captivating it made me wonder—did he like me too? Wishful thinking, of course.

As I approached the manager’s office, I saw him. Mike. His presence was magnetic, and even as I walked past, I couldn’t help but steal a glance. My heart raced as it always did.

Inside the office, Sir Andrew greeted me with his usual bright smile.

“Michael, you seem inspired today! That smile of yours could light up the whole mall,” he teased.

“Not at all, Sir,” I replied, trying to downplay it.

“Hmmm, maybe you’ve got a girlfriend now, huh?”

“No, Sir. It’s been a while since I had one. Haha.”

“Well, your smile’s about to get even bigger,” he said, pulling out an envelope. “Someone found your salary. Here, take it.”

Relief and gratitude washed over me. “Thank you so much, Sir!”

“Next time, don’t hang around upstairs. Isn’t that where people wait for their movies to start?” he asked, raising an eyebrow with a playful smirk. “Or… did you have another reason for being there?”

“No, Sir, nothing like that. I just like to spend my free time reading. I’m currently on a Dan Brown streak,” I explained, laughing nervously.

“Well, just be careful. Hanging around there too often, someone might mistake you for a call boy. Haha! And honestly, whoever picks you up will be lucky. Haha!”

“Sir Andrew! I wouldn’t do that,” I said, laughing but blushing at his teasing.

“By the way, the person who found your money didn’t want their identity revealed,” he added.

“Really? I’d love to thank them personally.”

“Sorry, no can do. Now, get back to work,” he said with a grin.

“Thanks again, Sir!”

I hurried to the locker room and opened the envelope. All my money was intact, but something else caught my eye—a small yellow note.

I unfolded it and read:

“Take care of your money—it’s your salary, after all. You seem like a helpful person, so I wanted to return it. I found the envelope upstairs, saw the payslip and your budget breakdown—sorry for peeking. You’re clearly trying to support someone’s education. A niece or sibling, perhaps? Tuition for preschool seems pricey these days. Just keep working hard—you’ll get to continue your education too. Okay, that’s all for now. Take care! —niceguy87.”

A smile spread across my face. The note felt oddly personal, as though it came from someone who truly understood my struggles. Whoever “niceguy87” was, they’d restored not just my salary but a bit of my faith in people.

For the first time in days, I felt lighter, as if everything might just be okay.

To be continued…