It was strange how stillness could feel like a heartbeat.
In this little space between secrets and stolen moments, life with Sebastian felt quieter, like we were floating, suspended above the chaos of our pasts and the impossibility of our future.
Nobody knew and that made everything even more precious.
-
Today was one of those rare days when he didn't have to run off to the studio right after sunrise.
He had the morning free.
That meant he was currently curled up on the far end of my couch, hoodie over his head, arms crossed as he scrolled through something on his phone.
I was sitting on the floor by the coffee table, tying my hair up with a scrunchie, pretending to look for something in my planner when in truth, I was just watching him through the reflection of the glass panel.
His presence was still something i hadn't gotten used to.
Not in the way most people mean it. I was used to seeing him, Sebastian, in sweatpants, barefoot, teasing me about my snack hoarding, or pretending he didn't love the strawberry milk i kept buying him.
That felt normal now.
But the fact that he was here, beside me, with me, knowing what it meant, knowing what we were risking…
That part still left my chest aching, in the best way.
"Is this mine?" he asked suddenly, lifting the blanket i left on the couch.
"No," I answered without looking up. "It's mine."
"You always say that and yet it smells like me."
"Because you've used it. Multiple times. Without asking."
He hummed, pulling it over his legs anyway. "Then it's shared property now."
I rolled my eyes and finally looked at him, and when i did, his gaze was already waiting.
He tilted his head slightly, those warm, coffee-dark eyes holding me steady.
We didn't need to say much.
Not anymore.
"Want breakfast?" I asked, just to break the quiet.
"You're the best thing that's ever happened to instant noodles," he said with a grin.
It wasn't always like this simple, soft, whole.
There were still nights i woke up wondering if any of it was real, or if i'd made it all up in some elaborate fantasy born from isolation.
But then he'd do things like leave a can of whipped cream in my fridge just because i mentioned liking it once or slip handwritten notes under my door before dawn or pull me into his chest at the end of a long day, telling me without words that i mattered.
And suddenly, the fantasy would become reality again.
-
We were lying side by side on my bed.
He was facing the window, one arm behind his head.
I was curled on my side, facing him.
There was no music, no noise.
Just the occasional hum of cars below and the faint ticking of the wall clock.
His fingers moved slowly, almost absentmindedly, over mine.
Drawing circles.
Lines.
Nothing in particular.
But it was the kind of touch that felt like a promise.
"You still haven't told me," I said softly.
He looked over. "Told you what?"
"Your favorite place in the world."
A pause.
Then he looked away, thinking. "The rooftop in the old dance studio back in Manila. I used to climb there after practice. When I didn't want to be around people."
I nodded, resting my chin on my hand. "What did it look like?"
"Ugly," he said, chuckling. "Rusty metal, Peeling paint, but the sky looked different from there. Like it belonged to me."
I smiled faintly. "That's beautiful."
"What about you?"
"My bathtub," I whispered.
He blinked. "Seriously?"
"It was my hiding place growing up. I used to fill it with pillows and blankets. Lock the door. No scripts, no cameras, no stylists. Just me."
His face softened.
"I didn't have many places that felt safe," I said. "But the tub always did."
Sebastian reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "You have one now."
I didn't say anything.
Just closed my eyes, pressed my forehead to his, and let the moment sink in.
He was right.
I had him now.
-
Evenings were our favorite time.
When the city lights began to flicker on like little stars, and the world outside grew quieter, we'd sometimes sneak up to the rooftop of our building.
Sebastian would bring a thermos of hot chocolate, and i'd bring two mismatched mugs.
We'd sit cross-legged on a blanket, close enough to touch, far enough to feel the stillness of the night.
That evening, we didn't talk much.
He had practice again the next morning, and I could tell his body was tired even if his smile didn't fade.
"Do you ever regret it?" I asked suddenly.
"Becoming who you are now?"
He looked at me, brows slightly furrowed.
"Why?"
"Just wondering. If all of this was worth it."
He reached over, brushing his thumb against my cheek. "It's worth it, even if it's hard, even if i have to keep us a secret right now."
I swallowed.
The lump in my throat was stubborn.
"You're not… ashamed?" I asked.
His jaw tightened a bit. "Never. If anything, I'm proud of this. Of you."
"Then why can't we—"
"Because i don't want you to be the one they break," he said, his voice suddenly low. "You already survived so much. If they found out about us, they'd twist the narrative. Turn you into a villain again."
I knew he was right.
I hated that he was right.
But i also knew that keeping us a secret was the only way to protect what we had for now.
So instead of replying, I leaned into him, letting the city disappear beneath us.
Letting my heart settle into the rhythm of his.
Some nights, he stayed over.
We never said it out loud, but we both knew when it was going to be one of those nights, the kind where silence wrapped around us tighter than any blanket.
Where sleep felt too far, and the air carried something heavier, more intimate.
He would knock twice.
I would open the door already in pajamas. And we wouldn't say much, just fall into bed, limbs tangled, hearts steady.
It wasn't always about kisses or skin or heat.
Sometimes it was just about knowing someone was there.
That even if the world fell apart the next day, tonight, we were okay.
But some nights… some nights were different.
Like the night i told him i loved him without using words.
When my body trembled beneath his, not from fear, but from the sheer weight of surrender.
The kind that came from trust. The kind that whispered, I'm yours, even if i can't say it.
He held me after, his hand tracing my spine in slow, comforting lines.
"You okay?" he whispered.
I nodded against his chest.
I was more than okay.
I was whole.
-
Weeks passed like a soft melody.
We had our little routines.
Sunday breakfasts.
Tuesday movie nights.
Secret smiles in the hallway.
Silly voice notes when he was away at shoots.
Code names on contact lists.
Late-night walks in oversized hoodies.
Nobody knew.
And maybe one day, that would change.
Maybe we'd step into the light together and let the world know we found each other in the most unexpected of places.
But for now, this was enough.
Loving him in the quiet.
Keeping each other safe in the shadows.
And knowing that somehow, in a world that never played fair, we found something real.