The room had gone still.
They sat on the couch now, neither speaking, the earlier storm of emotions simmering down into something quieter—but just as intense. The confrontation had passed, but in its wake was a silence that felt heavier than the shouting. A silence filled with truths unsaid, histories unexplored, fears barely swallowed down.
Kate curled her legs beneath her, hugging a pillow tightly against her chest. She chewed the edge of her thumb, her eyes flicking toward Frooze now and then but never lingering. He sat on the other end of the couch, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his hands loosely clasped, staring blankly at the floor like it might have the answers he couldn't say out loud.
Seconds stretched into minutes.
Finally, he inhaled, slow and deliberate, like it physically hurt to open his chest.
"I wasn't supposed to fall for anyone again," he said, voice low and ragged.
Kate's gaze lifted to him, her breath catching.
He didn't look at her. Not yet. He just kept staring ahead, like he needed to keep some distance from the memory.
"There was someone," he began again, quieter this time. "She was… my greatest love. We were together for four years."
Kate's fingers tightened against the pillow.
"We had everything planned," Frooze continued. "Not just dreams—we started building them. A business. A life. It wasn't perfect, but we worked through everything. Or at least, I thought we did."
He swallowed hard, the muscles in his jaw twitching.
"Then one day… she just left."
Kate didn't speak. Her heart beat like a metronome in her ears.
"No fight. No closure. Just a note on the table and her keys in the bowl by the door." His laugh was brittle, empty. "She walked out of our business and out of my life in the same breath."
He leaned back, finally, eyes flicking up to the ceiling like he was trying to keep his emotions from spilling out.
"I begged for answers," he said. "Called. Texted. Showed up at her parents' house like a damn fool. But I never got them. I just... never mattered enough, I guess."
Kate felt a lump rising in her throat, and her arms curled tighter around the pillow like she could hold it all in.
"She left when things got hard. My dad was sick. Money was tight. I was burnt out. I thought we were partners. But turns out, she was only in it for the easy days. When life stopped being easy, so did her love."
His voice cracked, almost imperceptibly.
"I sold the business. Couldn't look at it without remembering her handwriting on the receipts. The scent she left on our office chair. Everything haunted me—not her, not anymore—but what we were supposed to be."
Kate pressed her lips together. Her eyes burned.
"There were days I'd look in the mirror and not recognize myself," he said. "I was broke, emotionally and literally. And I swore to myself—I'm never doing that again. Never giving anyone that kind of power again."
He was quiet for a long time after that.
Kate waited, sensing he wasn't finished.
"Two years," he said finally. "That's how long it took me to get my shit together. To start breathing again without choking on memory."
He sat up straighter, his voice a little colder.
"And then, like a genius, I thought maybe I could try again. See if I was normal. Met someone. A nurse. Kind, funny… I told myself she could be good for me."
Kate blinked, forcing herself to keep her expression neutral, but her stomach clenched.
"She lasted three months," Frooze said, his tone flat. "Cheated on me with a co-worker. Another engineer. Messaged him while I was on-call. Accused me of cheating while doing it herself."
He laughed bitterly. "Funny how the ones who cheat are always the most paranoid."
Kate's heart ached. Not out of jealousy—but for the bruises he carried beneath his calm, collected surface. Wounds she hadn't known existed.
"I wasn't even heartbroken that time," he admitted, voice quieter now. "Just... exhausted. Tired of trying. Tired of hoping. Tired of the cycle."
He turned to her then. Finally.
"And then you came."
Kate's breath caught.
His eyes softened, the anger and bitterness melting into something more tender. Raw.
"You weren't supposed to stay," he said. "You were cute and a little drunk and funny. I thought, okay. A laugh. A one-time thing. But somehow… you stayed."
Kate's lips parted slightly, her heartbeat loud in her ears.
"You sent me a voice note once about craving fishballs at midnight. I laughed for ten straight minutes. After that, I couldn't stop thinking about you."
He leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I waited for your stories. Looked forward to your sarcasm. And when you stopped replying…"
His eyes darkened with pain.
"It felt like someone kicked the air out of my lungs."
Kate blinked rapidly, her lashes damp.
"I hate that," he admitted. "I hate how much that silence got to me. How scared it made me feel. And it made me realize—this thing between us? It's not casual anymore. At least not for me."
He took a breath, and for a moment, he looked like he might crumble.
"I'm scared too, Kate. I'm not ready. I don't have it all figured out. I still flinch when someone leaves the room without saying goodbye. I still wonder if I'll ever be enough for someone."
His voice dropped even lower.
"But when I didn't hear from you for days? I knew I didn't want to go back to the life I had before you. Even if I don't know what we are yet."
Kate reached out slowly, her hand trembling as it found his. She placed it gently over his fingers—firm, steady, warm.
Frooze looked down at their hands, then back at her, like the touch grounded him.
"I'm not asking for commitment," he said softly. "Not now. I know you're still healing too. I see it in the way you pull back when things feel too good. I recognize it because I do the same."
Kate's throat tightened.
"But if you'll let me stay," he whispered, "kahit konti lang… if you'll let me be here—maybe we can figure it out. Slowly. Together."
Silence fell again.
But it didn't feel empty this time.
It felt like safety. Like surrender. Like two wounded hearts choosing, inch by inch, to open up again.
Kate blinked down at their joined hands, then met his gaze.
And in that fragile, beautiful moment—
She whispered back:
"I think I'd like that."
---
The air between them shifted—not quite light, not quite heavy, just full of something unspoken but understood. A fragile thread pulled tight between hope and hesitation.
Kate looked at Frooze, really looked at him. His eyes were tired but open, like someone who had spent years locking doors and was just now figuring out how to leave one cracked open.
She was terrified. Still guarded. But she couldn't lie to herself anymore—he had gotten under her skin, too.
They couldn't go back to what it was. But they weren't ready to leap forward either.
Maybe something in between.
"Okay," she said softly, after what felt like hours of quiet. "We'll figure it out. Slowly."
Frooze tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly like he wanted to be sure.
Kate continued, her voice steadier now. "We don't have to label it. I'm not asking for promises. But I… I don't want to pretend this doesn't exist either."
He nodded slowly, like her words were something fragile he needed to hold carefully.
"So, what?" he asked, a small, tentative smile playing at his lips. "We're in a situationship now?"
Kate gave a short laugh, surprised at herself. "Yeah. A slowburn situationship, Nakita ko sa tiktok hahaha."
He chuckled under his breath, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. "Sounds like a bad idea."
"It is," she replied. "It really is."
He leaned his forehead against hers. "But I don't want to stay away from you."
"Me neither."
There was no grand promise. No cinematic kiss. Just the quiet acknowledgment that they were both standing at the edge of something unsteady, something that might crash—but something they were willing to try anyway.
They both knew the risks.
That either one of them could walk away.
That one might fall harder than the other.
That this could end in more pieces than it began.
But still… they stayed.
Later that night, the rain began to pour—hard and fast, drumming against the windows like a warning and a lullaby all at once.
The kind of rain that makes the world feel far away. Soft. Forgiving.
Now in her bedroom.
Kate lay beside him in bed, their bodies tucked together beneath a thin blanket. Her guard wasn't down, not completely. Her muscles still tensed when his arm wrapped around her waist. Her heart still flinched when his breath touched the back of her neck.
But she didn't pull away.
Frooze didn't push. He just held her. Close, but not tight. Warm, but not suffocating. He let her lean into him at her own pace.
And when she finally did—slowly, tentatively—he pressed a small kiss against the curve of her shoulder.
Neither of them said anything.
There were no definitions. No future plans. Just two people, hearts bruised but beating, sharing the same space, the same warmth, the same fragile hope.
Outside, the rain kept falling.
Inside, they held on. Not to a promise, but to the moment.
And for now, that was enough.