People called you and Hajime a power couple. Your parents liked him, and they didn't like many people to begin with. So for them to even look at Hajime when he asked them for their blessing to court you? He's never felt more accomplished in his life. They even started joking around. Something they don't usually do considering how stiff they are. "Ayan, na, future son-in-law ko," your nanay would say, and your tatay didn't protest. Surprisingly.

But you can't cover cracks in a wall just by painting them. Yours started over something small. Glancing at each other's phone as if trust was starting to lack. How he misread a conversation between you and your co-worker and you got jealous over his officemate's lunch selfie. Suspicious texts to people that weren't each other, jokes taken the wrong way, comments that got under each other's skin.

The arguments piled up. And yeah, ang mga relayson ay hindi nilalayong maging perpekto, but at that point? It was fighting each other rather than fighting with each other. The younger versions of you both would've been so disappointed if they saw you both then. Words being thrown at each other parang mga plato. Sharp edged at volumes that you two would've never reached especially towards each other.

Minsan tahimik. Minsan may sigawan. Too proud to take the first step back. And when that final fight came, both of you, too angry to listen to one another, too hurt to say sorry, full of ignorance and so heated, you both walked away. Just like that. No stopping, no pleading to stay. Just left like it was okay.

Hajime hadn't dared to look at your social media profiles and you didn't dare to look at his. No text, no calls, no shared earbuds. No silly contact names or each other as your phone wallpaper. You were at the bottom of his contact list and he was at the bottom of yours.

So why is there still a spare toothbrush in the cup by the sink at his place? And the top drawer of his dresser? Your clothes left untouched as if you were going to come by and wear them anytime soon. He hasn't gotten rid of them, whether it be through throwing it away or giving it back to you. But really, how is he supposed to look at you after all of that? Out of his own shame.

Hajime never drank. Didn't come off as the type to, anyway. Maybe, like, half a glass for a work dinner, a toast at a holiday party, but other than simple celebrations out of pure happiness? He was never deemed as the type to drink his feelings away. So, why now, at the bar you both used to go to dates at?

He wasn't supposed to be there. Not at your date spot in the city. Not nursing a half-empty glass of whisky like he even knew how to drink. But breakups don't care about how good a man is. And grief doesn't care if you're composed.

Sitting at the far end of the room, his t-shirt sleeves rolled up, hair messier than usual, and cheeks flushed pink from something more than just the heat outside. He lifted his head for another sip of the glass in his hand. Not with the expectation to see you. Though, you were on his mind anyway.

You wonder what pushed him to a bar of all places. The silence in his apartment? Your contact name and profile photo that he, matter-of-factly, kept your contact as "babes ko" with a pic of you that he found pretty.

Whatever it was, the moment your hand reached for his shoulder, he didn't flinch. He just looked. Honest in the only way someone tipsy and still in love could be. “Alam mo… sinubukan ko. Sinubukan kong kalimutan ka. Pero kahit anong gawin ko… ikaw pa rin ang hinahanap ng lahat ng parte ko.”