The bruise on my ribcage is turning the color of an eggplant. A deep, sickly purple that throbs in time with the flickering 7-Eleven sign.
"Stop touching it," Sev says. He slaps my hand away, gentle but firm. His fingers are cool, like he’s been holding a cold soda for too long. "Lalo lang magpapasa 'yan."
We are sitting on the curb. It’s 3 AM. The air smells like exhaust and stale frying oil. Inside, the cashier is asleep with his head on the counter.
"Hindi ko mapigilan," I say. I press my side again. The pain is a grounding wire. It tells me I’m here, not back in the house where the plates were flying an hour ago. Not back in the kitchen with the smell of gin and my father’s belt snapping against the table.
Sev sighs. He opens the plastic bag between us. Two siopao. Asado. He peels the paper off the bottom of one, meticulous. He hates the paper sticking.
"Eat," he says, handing it to me. "You look like a skeleton."
"I'm not hungry."
"Eat, Eli. Please."
I take it. The bun is warm. Soft as a bruise. I take a bite, and the steam hits my face. Sev watches me chew, his eyes dark and unreadable. He has this mole under his left eye that moves when he blinks.
"Did he hit you?" Sev asks. Quiet.
I swallow the dough. It tastes like cardboard and salt. "Almost. I ducked."
"Good." Sev leans back, his shoulder pressing against mine. A solid weight. "You're getting faster."
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his earphones. The wire is tangled, a black knot in his pale palm. He spends a minute undoing it, focused. He plugs the jack into his phone—an old model with a cracked screen.
He offers me the left earbud.
"Play mo yung gusto mo," I say.
He nods. He plays that one song by UDD. The synth starts, slow and drowning. Tadhana. But not the chorus. Just the verse. The quiet part.
We sit there for an hour. The traffic light changes from red to green to yellow. No cars pass. Just us, the curb, and the music bleeding out of the cheap plastic buds.
Sev starts humming. He has a terrible voice. Off-key. Flat. It’s the most beautiful sound in the world because it drowns out the ringing in my ears.
"Uwi na tayo?" I ask. My voice cracks.
Sev turns to me. He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. "Oo. Hatid kita."
He squeezes my knee. His grip is tight. Anchoring.
-
The walk home is a minefield.
We stick to the shadows. The streetlights are broken on our street, leaving the pavement in a sickly orange gloom. Every barking dog makes me flinch. Every rustle of leaves sounds like my father’s footsteps.
Sev walks on the outside, between me and the road. A shield.
"Hinga lang," he whispers. "Malapit na."
We reach the gate. It creaks—a rusty, dying sound. I freeze.
"Go," Sev mouths. He pushes me forward gently.
I slip inside. The front door is unlocked. The living room is dark, smelling of spilled alcohol and anger. My father is snoring on the sofa, a dark shape slumped like a pile of laundry.
I tiptoe past him. My floorboards scream under my weight. I hold my breath.
Sev is right behind me. I can feel his presence, cool and steady.
I make it to my room. I close the door. I lock it.
Click.
The sound is the sweetest thing I’ve heard all night.
I slide down against the door, burying my face in my knees. My chest heaves. Safe.
Sev sits beside me on the floor. "You did good," he says. He reaches out and brushes the hair off my forehead. His hand lingers there, soothing the heat of my skin.
"Dito ka lang?" I whisper.
"Dito lang," he promises. "Sleep now. I'll watch the door."
I crawl onto my mattress. It’s just a foam pad on the floor, covered in a thin sheet. I scoot over to the wall, pressing my back against the cold cement, leaving enough space for him.
"Tabi tayo," I say.
Sev crawls in. He lies on his side, facing me. The room is pitch black, but I can see the outline of his face, the glint of his eyes.
He puts the left earbud back in my ear. He puts the right one in his.
The song is still playing on loop.
May minsan lang na nagdugtong... Damang-dama na ang ugong nito
Sev wraps his arm around my waist. He pulls me close. His hoodie is rough against my cheek. He smells like rain and safety.
"Close your eyes, Eli," he whispers against my ear.
I close them. The pain in my ribs dulls to a throb. The fear in my stomach unknots.
Sev starts humming again. That same off-key, flat melody. The vibration of his chest hums against my back. It rumbles through my bones, a lullaby for the broken.
I drift. The line between awake and asleep blurs.
"Sev?" I mumble, half-asleep.
"Hmm?"
"Thank you."
"Sleep, Eli."
The humming gets louder. It fills the room. It fills my head.
I need to change the song. I don't want the sad part anymore.
I keep my eyes closed. I reach out my hand, groping in the dark for the phone lying between us.
My fingers brush against the plastic case. I grab it.
I press the home button to light up the screen.
The light flares up, blinding in the darkness. I squint.
The screen shows the time: 3:42 AM.
It shows my wallpaper, a picture of a sunset I took alone.
There is no music app open. There is no Spotify running.
The phone is on "Silent."
I stare at the screen, the white light illuminating the mattress.
I look at the space beside me.
The sheet is flat. Smooth. Unwrinkled.
There is no one there.
I look down at my chest.
My own arm is wrapped around my waist, clutching my own shirt.
And the humming.
The humming hasn't stopped. It’s loud. It’s off-key. It’s flat.
I hold my breath.
The humming stops instantly.
I let my breath out.
Hmm-hmm...
The sound vibrates in my throat. My lips are buzzing.
I slowly reach up and touch my own face. My cheeks are wet.
I look at the earphones.
The jack is dangling loose on the pillow. It’s not plugged into anything. The metal tip gleams in the phone’s light.
I put the phone down. The light goes out. The darkness rushes back in.
I lie there in the silence, staring at the wall.
"Sev?" I whisper.
My own voice bounces back from the empty room.
I close my eyes. I wrap my arm tighter around myself. I press my back against the wall so I can’t feel the empty space behind me.
And then, because the silence is too loud, I start to hum.