There was a siren in the distance.
No, not siren. Just the soft beep of a heart monitor. Steady, constant.
The kind you only hear when the world feels like it's slipping through your fingers. My eyes were heavy, like someone tied sandbags to my lashes. I wanted to wake up, but the weight of sleep was stronger.
I felt it first before i saw anything, his hand, warm against mine. Holding me.
Ken.
Not in a dream way. Not fantasy. He was sitting beside me, knuckles cut, palm wrapped, eyes tired. But his grip? Gentle. Protective. As if somehow, I was the one who needed saving.
He whispered something, but it echoed in my ears like water.
"Cass..."
Then, darkness again.
I woke up with a start.
Not in a hospital. Not with him.
Just my apartment. My bed. The blinds slightly open, letting the gray morning spill into the silence.
I blinked a few times, my heart hammering for no reason. Dream lang pala.
I sat up. Rubbed my face. Looked at the time, 9:46 AM. My throat was dry.
Coffee wasn't enough. Not this time.
I stepped out onto the terrace, lit a cigarette with trembling fingers. Smoke curled into the sky like it always did. Predictable. Comforting.
Then i saw him.
Across the other unit, Ken was back at his desk. Hair still damp from a recent shower. Headphones on. Typing fast. Working again like nothing ever happened.
I didn't disturb him.
I could've waved. Texted. Knocked.
But i didn't.
I just smoked. Quietly. Watching him between sips of smoke and silence.
The day crawled by. I didn't write. Didn't answer messages. Just stayed in limbo, somewhere between recovery and denial.
And then, as night fell, I saw him again.
This time in outside.
Ken was hanging laundry on a folding rack by the balcony. A navy hoodie, then a few black shirts, then one lone white towel that looked way too soft to be real. He was humming something, earbuds in. Slightly off-tune.
I stepped out with my hair still damp from the shower. Shirt hanging loose. I didn't even pretend i wasn't watching him.
"Wow," I called out. "Domestic era unlocked?"
Ken startled, nearly dropping a sock.
He turned to me, ears pink. "You caught me."
"I mean, if you need help folding your boxers—"
"Stop," he laughed, shaking his head. "Privacy, please?"
I grinned. "You're the one doing laundry in full view."
He just scratched the back of his neck, obviously shy.
I leaned forward on the railing. "You wanna go to 7-Eleven or something? I need drinks. Or chips. Or... something salty to match my personality."
He blinked. "Now?"
"Yeah. Unless your briefs need more air time."
He chuckled again, then nodded. "Okay. Let me just get my wallet."
7-Eleven was a short walk. The city was calm, slightly humid. He was beside me, silent but comfortable.
I grabbed two iced coffees and a bag of wasabi chips. He picked up one canned beer and some spicy noodles.
Then while we were lining up at the counter, someone called his name.
"Ken?"
We both turned.
A woman. Pretty. Tall. Long hair, bare-faced but clearly beautiful. She wasn't dressed up, but there was something polished about her. Her nails were painted nude. She held a single vitamin water in her hand like she was in a commercial.
"Celine?" Ken blinked.
They stared at each other for a second too long.
I felt it instantly.
Something in the air shifted. Her eyes softened. His lips twitched. Their past clung to the silence like humidity.
"Oh my god," she said, "it's been… forever."
Ken nodded. "Yeah, since..."
He didn't finish the sentence.
And i didn't wait for him to.
"I'll go ahead," I said, already placing my things on the counter. "You can follow."
He turned to me. "Wait—"
"I'll just walk. It's okay." I gave him a small smile, like it didn't matter. Like i wasn't burning inside.
But he followed.
Of course he did.
We walked back side by side, but this time, the air wasn't light. My chest felt heavy. Like i was being ridiculous for even feeling anything. For assuming anything.
We weren't anything.
There was no label. No rule. No obligation.
But God, I hated the look he gave her.
When we got back, I didn't say a word. Just stood at my balcony, leaning on the rail again.
Lit another cigarette. Pretended the lights were more interesting than the way my stomach twisted.
Ken turned to me. He hesitated at his door.
"I'll head in," he said.
I nodded without looking.
He paused for a second. "Celine's just... an old friend."
"Friends don't look at each other like that."
I hadn't meant to say it out loud.
But i did.
He looked at me for a second longer. Then just nodded. "Goodnight, Cass."
I didn't answer.
I took a long drag.
Let the smoke fill the spaces he didn't.
And stared into the dark city until even the stars turned away.