Emilio Francine De Ramos

The evening had spiraled out of control faster than I could comprehend, leaving me stunned in the wreckage of it all. I sat in the backseat of Heather’s car, my heart hammering in my chest, the events of the night still flashing behind my eyes like a series of nightmarish snapshots. The air hung heavy between us, saturated with the kind of silence that follows a detonation—loud, uneasy, and impossible to ignore.

Heather gripped the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles gleamed white, the tension radiating off her like static electricity. She hadn’t uttered a word since we left the restaurant, her lips a tight line as if every syllable was too dangerous to voice. Silas sat next to me, his arms crossed, staring out the window with a jaw set in grim determination. The streetlights outside streaked across his face in intermittent flashes, carving out the shadows that loomed beneath his eyes, illuminating the raw emotions etched there.

And then there was Yuwan.

He slumped in the passenger seat, his leg bouncing anxiously, as if the car itself was a spring, ready to snap. His arms were folded defensively across his chest, and every bump in the road made him flinch, a reflex betraying how tightly wound he still was from the confrontation. The collar of his shirt was crumpled from where Silas had grabbed him, a testament to the chaos of the evening, while a bruise already bloomed against his brown skin—an ugly purple patch that stood out starkly against the warmth of his complexion.

My hands were cold, even with the car’s heater blasting like a furnace, so I stuffed them into the pocket of my oversized hoodie, desperate to steady the tremor that had taken residence in my fingers. My mind replayed the moments on an unending loop—Yuwan lunging across the table, Silas shoving back, Heather’s horrified gasp slicing through the cacophony like a knife.

Now, in the suffocating quiet of the car, the weight of it all pressed down on me like a tidal wave, each breath a laborious effort. I could feel the fallout settling around us, thick and inescapable, suffocating as it wrapped around my lungs.

Finally, Heather broke the silence, her voice tight with frustration, barely contained fury simmering just beneath the surface.

“What the hell was that, Yuwan?”

Yuwan didn’t respond, his gaze fixed straight ahead, his jaw clenched as if holding back a storm.

Silas exhaled sharply through his nose, the sound cutting through the tension like a blade, his knuckles brushing against mine where they rested between us on the seat. It was a small touch, but it anchored me, preventing me from spiraling completely into the abyss of chaos that surrounded us.

“Seriously,” Heather pressed on, her grip tightening around the steering wheel until her fingers turned ghostly white. “You just had to pick a fight? In front of everyone?”

Yuwan shifted uncomfortably, his eyes flickering toward me for the briefest moment before retreating to the safety of the dashboard.

“He started it,” he muttered, his voice low and sullen, like a child caught in a lie.

Silas let out a disbelieving laugh, a bitter sound that echoed in the cramped space. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Heather’s glare could have burned a hole through steel. “You’re unbelievable, Yuwan.”

The silence that followed was thick, a palpable weight pressing down on us, suffocating in its intensity.

I closed my eyes, leaning my head against the cold glass of the window, willing the ride to end. I wanted out of this nightmare, away from the mess that had spiraled far beyond my control. But more than that, I craved answers, answers I wasn’t sure I was ready to face.

When we finally reached my dorm, the air was sharp and biting, a welcome relief after the oppressive atmosphere of the car. Silas walked me to the door without a word, his presence a comforting shadow beside me. Heather and Yuwan had already driven away, leaving us in the stillness of the night.

“Hey,” Silas murmured, his voice soft in the darkness. “You okay?”

I nodded, though uncertainty gnawed at my insides. “Yeah. Just... tired.”

He studied me for a moment, his dark eyes filled with something I couldn’t quite name, concern, maybe. Or something deeper, more complicated.

“Listen, I’m sorry for what happened,” he said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket, the gesture an instinctual shield. “I didn’t mean to cause all that back there. I just... I couldn’t stand the way he was looking at you.”

I swallowed hard, a knot tightening in my chest. “It’s not your fault. Yuwan’s... complicated sometimes.”

Silas huffed a quiet laugh, the sound lacking its usual warmth. “That’s one way to put it.”

We stood there in the dim glow of the streetlamp, the night wrapping around us like a heavy cloak, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on our shoulders.

“Emil,” Silas said quietly, stepping closer, the space between us charged with unspoken tension. “You don’t owe him anything. Not anymore.”

I looked away, unable to meet his gaze, the depth of my turmoil too much to bear. “I know. It’s just... It’s not that easy, you know.”

Silas nodded, as if he understood, his silence an acknowledgment of the complexities that tangled between us. “It never is.”

For a moment, we lingered there, suspended in the fragile space between past and present, between what was and what could be, the air thick with possibilities.

After Silas left, I stood in the doorway of my dorm, the night pressing in around me like a second skin, each shadow a reminder of what had just transpired. The ache in my chest lingered, familiar and heavy, but it didn’t feel as suffocating as it once had. Maybe things were messy. Maybe they always would be. But I felt like I wasn’t drowning in it anymore.

The next morning, the knock on my door was sharp and insistent, too early for someone who didn’t need anything urgent. I groaned, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I shuffled across the room, still wrapped in my sweats and an oversized hoodie. The events of last night sat heavily in my chest, a weight I didn’t want to relive.

I opened the door to find Yuwan standing there, his hair tousled and wild, like he’d barely slept. The bruise on his cheek had deepened to an ugly shade of purple, a stark contrast against the rest of his skin. His expression was a strange mix of guilt and determination, as if he had steeled himself for this moment.

“Can we talk?” Yuwan asked, his voice low but urgent, carrying the weight of something unspoken.

I hesitated, gripping the edge of the door like a lifeline. “About what?”

Yuwan gave me a look, one I knew too well, the kind that said, Don’t make this harder than it needs to be. “Please, Emil. I need to say something.”

Against my better judgment, I stepped aside and let him in. The small dorm room felt even smaller with Yuwan inside, the air thick with tension as he paced by the window, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets. I leaned against the desk, arms crossed, feeling the divide between us grow more pronounced with each passing second. The early morning light streamed through the blinds, casting harsh lines across the floor between us, symbolic, the distance echoing the rift that had formed.

Yuwan cleared his throat awkwardly. “I wanted to apologize for last night. I... I didn’t handle things well.”

I snorted, unable to hold back. “You think? You freaking blew up like a balloon at Silas.”

Yuwan winced, brushing his fingers over the bruise on his cheek, a wince of pain laced with regret. “I know. It was stupid. I let things get out of hand.”

“Yeah, you did.” My voice came out sharper than I intended, but I didn’t care. “What the hell were you thinking? You embarrassed yourself. You embarrassed Heather. You embarrassed… me.”

He looked up at me, his expression tight with guilt, the weight of his failure pressing heavily on his shoulders. “I know, okay? I know I screwed up.”

I shook my head, exhaling through my nose in frustration. “So why are you really here? Just to rub what you did last night in my face?”

Yuwan paused, and for a moment, I thought he might back out, leave it at an apology, and walk away. But then he stepped closer, his voice dropping to something more vulnerable, cracking under the weight of his emotions. “I want you to stop hanging out with Silas.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut, the air rushing from my lungs. My jaw clenched, and I crossed my arms tighter, trying to keep my anger in check. “What? Are you freaking joking? Why would I?”

Yuwan rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding my gaze, the guilt palpable. “Look, I get that he’s your friend or whatever, but... I don’t think he’s good for you.”

I let out a bitter laugh, the sound hollow in the small room. “Wow, you have some nerve to even say that. You don’t get to decide, Yuwan Machanzo.”

“I’m just saying it’s not a good idea—”

“No.” I cut him off, my voice sharp and final. “You don’t get to come in here and tell me who I can or can’t be friends with. You’re not my boyfriend, Yuwan. Hell, you’re barely my friend at this point!”

Yuwan flinched, as if the words had struck him physically, but I was too angry to care.

“I mean, seriously,” I continued, my voice rising. “What gives you the right? Why does it even matter to you if I hang out with Silas?”

Yuwan opened his mouth, then closed it again, struggling to find the right words. I could see the conflict playing out across his face, the way his hands curled into fists at his sides, tension coiling tightly.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” he said finally, though even he didn’t seem convinced by his own excuse.

“Bullshit!” I shot back, the heat rising in my chest. “This isn’t about me getting hurt. This is about you not liking the fact that I’m no longer a part of your life. And you know what? That’s not my problem.”

Yuwan’s eyes darkened, frustration bleeding into his voice. “He’s not good for you, Emil.”

“And you are?” I challenged, stepping closer, the air between us crackling with intensity. “At least Silas doesn’t try to control who I can and can’t see.”

Yuwan’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he might lash out, say something cruel to hurt me in return. Instead, he just stood there, clenching and unclenching his fists, his face a storm of emotions he couldn’t seem to name.

“Why do you care so much?” I pressed, my voice dropping to something softer but no less intense. “Why does it bother you so much that I’m spending time with him?”

Yuwan swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to the floor, the fight visibly leaving him. “I don’t know. I just… don’t want you getting too close to him.”

The admission hung in the air between us, fragile and raw, like a glass teetering on the edge of a table.

“And why is that?” My voice trembled slightly, a thread of vulnerability creeping in.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted, his shoulders sagging as if the weight of his uncertainty bore down on him.

“That’s not good enough,” I whispered, a plea wrapped in frustration.

Yuwan looked up at me then, his eyes filled with something I couldn’t quite place, regret, perhaps, mingled with an ache that mirrored my own.

“I thought...” He trailed off, his voice barely audible. “I thought if I could fix everything, we could go back to the way it was before. That maybe... we could still stay as best friends as we were.”

The air left my lungs in a rush, and for a moment, I was left speechless, grappling with the weight of his words.

“You know we can’t do that anymore, Yuwan,” I said quietly, the truth settling between us like a heavy stone. “You have Heather now; I’m no longer your priority.”

Yuwan closed his eyes, bracing himself against the impact of my words. When he opened them again, sadness pooled there, a depth of loss that hit me squarely in the chest.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracked and raw.

I nodded, the gesture feeling hollow against the enormity of what had just transpired.

We stood there in silence, the morning light casting long shadows between us, a chasm too wide to bridge. There was nothing left to say, nothing that would make this easier, nothing that could change what had already been broken.

Yuwan gave me one last, lingering look before turning toward the door, his departure feeling monumental. I watched as he walked out of my life, leaving the door ajar behind him, an echo of all that had been left unsaid.

After he left, I sank onto the edge of my bed, the weight of the conversation settling over me like a thick fog, heavy and disorienting. The anger still simmered beneath the surface, but now it was mingled with something else, something heavier, more complex.

Regret, maybe. Or relief. I didn’t know. All I was certain of was that things had shifted. And there was no going back. The ache in my chest remained, familiar and persistent, but it felt different somehow, less suffocating, more bearable, like the first breath of fresh air after being submerged underwater for far too long.