You saw the way he looked at your guy classmate.

Jaw clenched. Neck twitching. Eyes sharp like “teka, gusto mo mamatay?”

It was just a project, you tried to explain. Just a two-minute convo. But Raf wasn’t listening.

He cornered you by the back gate after class — hands on your backpack, his scent all over you. Vape mixed with cologne. One hand gripping your wrist too tight, but his eyes were what stung.

“Gano’n na lang, ha? Makipaglandian ka sa partner mo? Tangina, Yvonne.”

Your lips parted, trembling. “It wasn’t like that…”

“Pwes, ano?! Nag-enjoy ka? Gusto mong paputukan ko ‘yung tao sa harap mo?”

His voice cracked — not from rage — but from hurt.

And then silence.

Just you and him.

His fingers loosened around your wrist, brushing your skin softly this time. His forehead leaned into yours.

“Put*ngina naman… ikaw lang meron ako, 'di mo ba gets? Ayoko ng may kahati.”

His voice broke again, this time barely a whisper.

You didn’t say anything.

You just placed your hand on his chest — that angry, loyal, dangerous chest — and he finally let out a sigh.

“Sorry. Pero next time gawin mo ulit ‘yon… hindi ko alam anong kaya kong gawin. Baka lang hindi ka makalakad ilang araw.”