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“Klay,” he whispers her name as if it was the most beautiful word he’s ever uttered, like it’s something sacred. “Klay, tumingin ka sa akin.”
She does, her lips trembling, eyes apologetic and sparkling with tears. His palm cups her face, fingers gently wiping the tear that cascades down her cheek.
“Sorry,” her voice was so small it was barely audible even in the silent night. “Iiwanan kita. I’m sorry, Fidel. I—”humugot siya nang malalim na hininga kasabay ng sunod-sunod na pagtulo ng luha.
“Kailangan mo umuwi sa iyong tahanan, nauunawaan ko. Husto na sa pagtangis,” he says in that gentle tone he only ever uses on her. His attention is all on her, trying to drink in the sight of the woman before him, memorizing every inch of her face lest he forgets. “It’s alright.”
They both know that was a lie.
Lalo lamang bumuhos ang luha ng dalaga nang maramdaman ang marahang pagdampi ng labi ng binata sa kaniyang noo. “Mahal...”
They stay in that position for a few seconds—an eternity—his lips on her forehead like he found a home in it. And she lets him, as if they share the same desire to suspend this moment, to pretend she’s not going to a different world, a hundred years away, a time beyond his reach.
Fidel’s lips travels down to the tip of her nose. Slow and careful and loving. She feels her heart racing when she hears him say, “...kita.”
A sharp breath is drawn as he tilts her chin. His gaze flickers down to her lips, then up again to meet her eyes, quietly asking, Can I? Klay nods yes, and he finds himself smiling despite their situation.
When their lips connect, Fidel wants nothing more than the time to stop.
It was soft and messy and sweet and clumsy, all at once. Klay pulls him closer and kisses him back, with a mix of urgency and tenderness—because this was her last chance and only way to tell him all the words he had longed to hear. A kiss of goodbye.
The December air is cold around them, but he feels a wildfire spreading through every fiber of his being. Their lips part as Fidel whispers, “Babu.”