She was alone. She felt like a gaping hole of all the things she wasn’t saying out loud, and no one to say it to.
Lia shook her head and resolved to try to get at least another hour of sleep before she fully gave up and started packing her bags. That would be the best nail in the coffin of her feelings, wouldn’t it, to fully confront the fact that this trip was nearly over. The extra luggage she’d ended up getting at Dongdaemun was going to be worth the purchase, she could already tell.
She put on her earphones and hit shuffle, letting the music take her away. She started with “Closing,” and all the desperate yearning Cal’s younger self had poured into it, the resigned acceptance he’d sung it with just that evening. Then there was “Blue Springs,” one of her favorite ballads from the band. Lia found herself singing along softly, in Korean, which was probably wrong, feeling a weight lift from her chest as she did. This was how CoBOLT had always made her feel. Like herself.
By the time she was singing the outro of “Happy You Year,” she was slightly delirious and happy enough to keep packing without breaking down in tears. She walked to the kitchen to get a glass of water when she spotted a little bottle of strawberry milk in the ref, the last of a ten-pack that Cal had brought home with a smug smile.
She stabbed it with her straw and took a deep sip. Warmth suddenly spread across her body as she felt a familiar weight fall on her shoulders, around her. She hadn’t even heard the front door open, probably because she’d been listening to music. Lia lowered her headphones. She wanted to ask if he’d just come in,wanted to tell him to sleep, tell him she loved him, tell him to come to Manila with her.
“What time is it?” she asked him instead, even if his Cartier tank was right there. The same watch he was wearing when she last saw him. He smelled a little like alcohol, but more like himself, and Lia wanted to bury her face in his. Wanted to have his arms around her for as long as they both had time.
They didn’t have much left.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “They wanted to celebrate the new contract. I didn’t know we would go out for a drink after. I tried to leave as soon as I could.”
“Don’t apologize.” Lia shook her head. “You guys killed it. I can’t think of a better way to make a comeback.”
“You should have been there.” He pouted. “We were looking for you. You should have celebrated with us. Minji really wants to meet you, you know.”
The idea of meeting Seo Minji made her laugh. What would even Cal introduce her as? A friend? Lia had flashes of futures in which she would be at events with Cal, on his arm, and pretending they weren’t dating. Because rumors, because saesangs, because people would talk about them without them knowing or liking.
As much as his second-generation colleagues had mastered the art of the bombshell announcements—“So and So Announces Plans to Marry Non-Celebrity Girlfriend, To Welcome A Child at the End of the Year,” it still meant a significant amount of time where they were hiding their relationship. Even if they figured out that part, where would that even happen? Who would have to give up their career? Their home? Their personal life?
“I can meet her some other time,” she said, putting her phone and headphones, her strawberry milk on the kitchen counter nearby.
“Some other time,” he echoed with a defeated sigh.
“You should go to bed, you must be exhausted.” She tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but he held her a little tighter. Enough that she could leave if she wanted, but just a bit that she could tell how much he wanted her to stay, still.
“Sleep with me? Literally. I’m exhausted, but I need to be next to you.” His voice sounded wrecked. “Please.”
She agreed and followed him into his bedroom. Lia realized she’d never been inside it before—and for good reason. There was very little room to move in, not when the master bedroom seemed to have another bedroom stuffed to the side of it. There were pieces of equipment she didn’t understand, a desk that didn’t quite fit, a monitor that wasn’t used. There was an electric keyboard leaning against the bookshelf, and a now-dead plant in a pot.
“It’s a mess, sorry.” Cal moved behind her, making a piss poor attempt at clearing up the things. “I was moving some things to the studio, but—I guess your bedroom is going to become an office again anyway.”
“My room was an office?” Lia echoed, confused. There was a copy of theConjugal Dictatorshipon a bedside table. “You’re reading this?”
“Very, verrry slowly. My appa recommended it. He has friends in the History department—did I tell you he was a Korean professor in Diliman? He said this book was really good. And I wanted to read it, my parents still live in Manila, and it’s still home, too. But the Marcoses are the worst, I can’t believe they were even elected still, and—” he paused and yawned. “Anyway. This room. When Teddy told me you were coming, I wanted to make sure you had your own space. I wanted you to be comfortable, and?—”
He did all that, and he didn’t even know her?
Her breathing went first. She didn’t even realize that it was happening, but she could hear it, her struggling to catch her breath, her chest heaving. Then there were the tears. It took so long for them to bubble up, and she tried so hard to push them back, but she couldn’t. And her tears were falling, and falling, and her breath was struggling, and god, was that snot?
“Lia?” Cal asked, banging his knee on the side of something before he came up to her. “Please don’t cry. I don’t want you to cry. I’m still here, right? I’m still here.”
“Yes, but I’m leaving. And I’m starting a new job, and you’re going to get everything you ever wanted, and I’m so, so happy for you. I really am.” She wiped her nose on the back of her hand because who cared anymore. Certainly not her. “But why do I not get to keep the things I love? It’s not fair! They all end up rejecting me, or leaving, or doing better things.”
“Because you never needed the things that rejected you.” Cal reminded her, wiping her tears before pulling her into his arms. “And the good things can still come back to you.”
“Like you did,” she said, pressing her cheek to his chest. Her mind still had those images of him on stage, fresh and clear. His voice was still ringing in her ears, and he was in her heart. Where else would he be? “You came back to me, and brought me back to life, Cal.”
“Lia, what do you want?” The pain in his voice was palpable. He was tired and god, so was she. “Do you really want to end this?”
“No.”
“Do you want to be with me?”
“Yes.”
