All good things has an end.....
Ray was leaving.
A whole month had passed—too fast. It felt like no time at all. Just yesterday they were laughing at silogs and milk tea, giggling over Mark’s biceps, and pretending the world outside their friendship bubble didn’t exist.
Now that bubble was popping.
Ray adjusted the strap of his backpack, looking way too calm for someone about to board another cruise ship across the Pacific. “Hey,” he said, voice gentler now. “You good?”
Kyle tried to smile. Failed. “You sure you don’t wanna just stay and be my personal chef?”
Ray grinned. “Tempting. But Dave would probably file a missing persons report by tomorrow.”
Kyle laughed through a cracked voice. “You guys are so clingy.”
Ray’s expression softened. “Seriously, though. If things get rough—and I mean even a little bit rough—message me. I’ll wire you money, I’ll fly over, I’ll bring a suitcase of fancy cheese. I don’t care. You don’t do things alone anymore. Not if I can help it.”
Kyle swallowed hard. “Okay. Take good care of yourself.”
“You, too,” Ray said.
They hugged tightly. Ray’s arms were warm and sure and familiar—Kyle’s safe space since Masbate. He didn’t want to let go.
He cried quietly into Ray’s shoulder, ashamed but unable to stop.
Ray didn’t say anything. He just held him.
“I’m gonna miss you so much,” Kyle whispered.
“I’ll come back,” Ray said. “Always.”
And then, like all cruel departures, Ray walked away.
Kyle stood behind the security gate alone, wiping his cheeks with the sleeve of his jacket, heart hurting more than he thought possible.
By the time he got home, he was drained. Emotionally emptied.
---
The day after Ray's departure
Green Sprout Haven
Ryan barged into Green Sprout Haven unannounced—again—Kyle already didn’t have the energy to deal.
Ryan looked frustrated, as usual. Hair perfectly styled, outfit curated just enough to pass off as casual. His smile didn’t reach his eyes.
“You’ve been ignoring my messages,” Ryan said, leaning on the counter like he owned it.
“I wasn’t ignoring them,” Kyle replied quietly. “Ray left yesterday. I was at the airport.”
Ryan’s eyes narrowed. “That guy again? Your best friend?”
Kyle bristled. “Yeah. My best friend. He’s leaving the country. I was upset.”
Ryan stepped closer. “You’re always upset. But never for me.”
Kyle blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m your boyfriend, Kyle.” Ryan’s tone was sharper now, edged with entitlement. “We barely spend time together. And when we do, it’s like you’re not even there.”
Kyle sighed. “Ryan, I’m tired—”
“You don’t let me hold you, touch you—hell, even kiss you without flinching!”
Kyle’s heart sank. “I—I told you I’m not ready.”
“We’ve been together for weeks!”
“We’ve been out a handful of times!” Kyle snapped, voice rising for the first time. “And most of it was me paying, waiting for you to show up, or pretending I wasn’t uncomfortable every time you got too close.”
Ryan’s face twisted. “So what? Now I’m some predator?”
Kyle’s hands curled into fists. “That’s not what I said.”
Ryan suddenly stepped in and grabbed his arm—too tightly. “Then what are we doing, Kyle? Why are you even with me?”
Before Kyle could answer, Ryan leaned in and forced a kiss on him.
Kyle’s eyes went wide.
He shoved Ryan back, hard. “Stop it!”
Ryan stumbled, red-faced and furious. “You’re unbelievable.”
“You don’t get to touch me like that,” Kyle said, voice trembling, cheeks wet with new, furious tears.
Ryan’s jaw clenched. “Maybe you’re just broken.”
And with that, he turned and stormed out of the shop, leaving Kyle shaking, chest hollow, lips trembling from the kiss he never wanted.
The night before Ray's departure.
Ageha Bar in Quezon City – Loud Music, Neon Lights, and Poor Decisions
The clink of shot glasses echoed above the booming bassline. Ryan leaned against the sticky edge of the bar, his shirt half-unbuttoned and his breath already laced with liquor. Around him, his so-called "bros" were deep in their usual antics—mocking girls, laughing too loud, and pulling out their phones for selfies they’d barely remember in the morning.
"Yo, Ryan," one of them, Julius, elbowed him. “So what’s the deal with that plant boy you’re dating? Kyle, right? You tap that yet or what?”
Ryan scoffed, tossing back another shot of whiskey. “Nah. Not yet.”
“What? All this time?” another friend chimed in. “Thought you said he’s into you.”
“He is,” Ryan snapped, more defensive than he intended. “We kissed. Couple of times.”
“Just kissed? Bro, it’s been what—weeks? What are you, twelve?”
That stung. Ryan slammed his glass down a little too hard. “It’s not like that. He’s just… slow. You know? Always busy with his plants, his best friend, that weird green place he works at—” He trailed off, jaw clenching.
He thought Kyle would melt under charm by now. But all he got were half-hearted dates, cheek kisses, and awkward silences when things got too heated. Worse, Kyle seemed more emotionally available to his best friend than him. And now that he thought of it…
That chef dude. Ray.
Always hanging out with Kyle. Laughing. Traveling. Hugging.
Ryan pulled out his phone, his jealousy now fermented by alcohol. He stared at Kyle’s chat, the last message blue-ticked but unanswered since yesterday. Tonight, he wanted Kyle to answer. To drop everything. To choose him.
He started typing.
You busy?
Typing…
Let’s talk. Meet me tonight.
Still typing.
Don’t ignore me, Kyle. I’m sick of waiting.
He hit send.
He waited.
No reply.
The phone stayed dark. No “typing…” No “read.”
Ryan’s grip tightened. He glanced at his friends, who were now laughing about something else entirely. He felt small. Disrespected. Forgotten.
“Kyle,” he muttered under his breath, “you better not be out with that chef or even that Mark.”
---
NAIA Terminal 3 – Departure
Kyle didn’t leave right away after Ray disappeared past the airport gates.
There was a heaviness in his chest—sadness laced with pride. He was happy for his friend, truly. Becoming a seafarer wasn’t easy. It meant long months away from home, endless training, facing the unknown. But Ray had faced it all—head on—for a chance at something better.
Kyle quietly made his way home.
The moment he stepped inside, the silenced greeted him like a weight. He trudged to his bedroom, each step heavier than the last, and collapsed onto the bed, utterly drained.
From inside his bag, his phone buzzed once.
He didn’t reach for it.
Not tonight.
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