Prisha

who shall be our red flag character? #juniormark #junniorrs #markjrtn he shouted from across the room. voice cracking through uneven breaths. body hovering his feet with his hands bracing against his knees like someone had just punched straight through his gut and left him struggling to stay standing. “loving you felt like standing in the ocean. beautiful and serene at first, until i realized i was drowning.. and you know what’s funny? i could have handled rejection. i really could have. but i couldn’t handle the hope you were giving me. how cruel was it to take every single thing i ever poured into your hands and treat it like it weighed nothing at all. you knew. that was the worst part. you knew i loved you long before i ever said it out loud. for years. you saw it in every lingering glance, every act of care, every way i kept choosing you even when it hurt me to do so. and instead of stopping me, instead of letting me go gently, you kept me close enough to hope. yet you rejected me in every way except your actions. your words pushed me away while your hands kept pulling me back in. and i hate myself for it. for falling.” his voice broke apart on the last word. “and maybe that’s why it ruined me. because i could have survived not being loved back. but i couldn’t survive being loved just enough to stay confused. so tell me. what is it that you want from me? why are you doing this to me?” the man across the room stood there silently, expression unreadable. he was a red flag built entirely out of almosts. beautiful enough to make you ignore the warning signs. yet warm enough to make you stay even when staying was killing you. and all he said was, “i let you drown in a love i never intended to save you from and yet you loved every version of me except the one that was never going to stay.” and that was when i knew there was nothing left to save. not the version of my heart that still kept reaching for him despite everything. so i laughed quietly through the ache in my chest. nodded like something inside me hadn’t just died. i let my last tear for him fall down my cheek and walked out the door before he could see how badly he had ruined me. and this time, i swore to never look back. and i never did.

#juniormark #junniorrs #markjrtn the space you left behind no one mentions markji after that. not once. not by accident. not even in passing. not in the small, harmless ways people usually do when they’re trying to help someone remember. it’s almost too clean. too intentional. junior doesn’t notice it right away since there’s already too much missing. too much he’s trying to piece together. too much he doesn't understand. but over time, the silence and absence begins to take shape. the gaps are starting to feel like they should matter but don't have names yet. as if something was carefully removed. not forgotten but deliberately and intentionally hidden. “did i work closely with anyone?” junior asks one afternoon, trying to sound casual in a way that doesn't match the intent of the question. his mother pauses just for a fraction too long. “you have many coworkers,” she replies gently. many. but not one. junior nods, like that answer is enough. but it isn't. the feeling in his chest doesn’t match “many.” it feels like one. it's because markji asked for it. he asked those around them not to mention his name. not because he didn’t matter, but because he mattered too much. what right did he have to exist in junior’s world now, when junior doesn’t even remember choosing him? or simply doesn't remember him. markji wasn't mad at junior. of course not. how could he? he only blames himself for everything that happened. markji wonders if he was just being selfish but in reality they are just coworkers. that’s what everyone else saw. that’s what he allowed them to believe. so that’s what stays and remains. he told them it would be easier that way. less confusing. less of a burden. less of a headache. for junior. never for himself. his contract sits in front of him days later. it's up for renewal. this meant continuation. this meant continuing to see junior or possibly working together again. to stay or to leave. markji is indecisive at this point. the words blur. not because he can’t read them. but because none of it feels like it belongs to him anymore. it all feels irrelevant now. he had built something here, or thought he had. but now it feels like standing in a place that remembers him, while the only person who mattered doesn’t. flight attendant. the thought comes quietly. a life that doesn’t overlap. a sky wide enough to disappear into. he lets the idea sit there. because leaving feels easier than staying where everything hurts. he tries to say it out loud but a deep hesitation stops the words from coming out from his lips. all that came out was an audible exhale. “he was in a hurry that day,” junior’s mother says softly, not realizing what she’s giving away. markji stills. “he said he had something important,” she continues. “he didn’t tell me what. just that he didn’t want to be late.” something inside markji caves in. his stomach churns. his heart throbs. his eyes red with anger. with tears ready to fall at any second. salt water ready to drench his skin. because he knows. he knows exactly where junior was going. who he was going to meet. this absolutely wasn't the recognition he was hoping for. and suddenly. the waiting. the pacing. the unresponsiveness from junior when markji let him know he had arrived. it all comes back too clearly. he wasn’t just late. junior was on his way to him. and that truth settles into markji’s chest like something heavy and unforgiving. everything was devastatingly, undeniably, and heartbreakingly clear and it was a hard pill to swallow. if he hadn't asked junior to meet him. If he had just kept his heart quiet, none of this would... his breath falters. no. he doesn’t get to think like that. but the guilt doesn’t listen. it never does. it stays. it digs in. it tells him this is the consequence of something that never should have been. it sits there, quiet and suffocating, convincing him that maybe this is how it was supposed to end. before it even begins. and he is willing to live with it for the rest of his life. a few days passed and the day came where junior is discharged from the hospital. the sky felt too bright. like the sun was shining brighter than normal. as if it came to greet and welcome junior home. his parents stand beside him. familiar voices. familiar warmth. junior smiles when he should. answers when he should. but something in him keeps drifting. a part of him is elsewhere. his gaze shifts without meaning to. searching. he doesn’t know what for. only that something feels unfinished. like someone should be here and isn’t. he glances toward the hallway without realizing. just once. just long enough to feel it again. that pull. that absence. “are you okay?” his mother asks. junior nods. “yeah. i just thought…”he stops. because he doesn’t know what he thought. but just out of sight. markji is there. hidden behind the wall in the hallway like he doesn’t belong in the same moment. he watches quietly. junior standing. breathing. smiling. alive. that should be enough. it is enough. so why does it hurt like this? his chest tightens and aches again. his fingers curl tighter into the wall this time. grounding himself. because everything inside him feels like it’s slipping. junior walks out of the hospital room with his parents. they are close enough that markji could reach out. call junior's name. stop him. but he doesn’t. he can’t. he realizes he no longer has the right too. or maybe he never had that in the first place. even this proximity was too dangerous for markji because he desperately wanted to call out to junior and give him the biggest hug. and of courses, junior doesn’t look for him. “why would he?” markji asks himself rhetorically, already knowing the answer. but there is a slight pause. that almost-turn. like junior's body remembers something his mind refuses to. and it’s enough to break markji all over again. so markji stays where he is. silent. hidden. watching the person he loves walk away for the second time. only this time, junior doesn’t even know he’s leaving markji behind. after they’re gone, the hallway feels bigger. emptier. like something has been taken from it. markji steps out slowly. his chest is still aching. still holding everything junior no longer carries. he exhales, steadying himself with something that doesn’t quite hold. “he’s okay. he's really okay.” he whispers. like that’s the only thing that matters.. like that’s enough. but it isn’t. it never will be. but that's the lie markji will keep repeating to himself like a mantra, until it’s the only truth he allows himself to live with. he exhales slowly. steadying. convincing himself this is right. this is better. this is kinder. markji whispers to himself, “i am sorry p’ju. this is goodbye. i am sorry i can't keep our promise of staying together forever. please take good care of yourself.” as he turns to leaves in the opposite direction, everything shatters and breaks. the tears don’t wait. they fall immediately. this time it's heavier and faster than ever. like something he’s been holding back has finally given up. his vision blurs. the world smears at the edges and corners of his eyes, but he doesn’t stop to reach up to wipe them away. because if he does, he might stop walking. and he knows he can’t. his breathing turns uneven, fragile, catching in his chest like it doesn’t know how to keep going either. a small, broken sound slips past his lips before he can swallow it back. it hurts. too much. deeper than anything he’s ever known how to carry. the tears keep falling. down his face. over his jaw. soaking into his collar. markji keeps walking. leaving behind the only place, or rather the only person he ever wanted to stay, with nothing but the sound of his own shaking and breaking breath following him into the distance. he doesn't stop to look back. not once. not even when his cheeks became stained with dried tears. this was markji's decision turning into evidence. but somewhere far ahead, without knowing why, junior presses his hand lightly against his chest again. as if he's trying to quiet something that won’t stop hurting loudly. as if he is trying to hold onto something he doesn’t even remember losing. junior reaches his condo and home doesn’t feel like home. it’s familiar in the way a place should be. the layout. the light. the way things are arranged just right. photos in frames. of junior with his family and friends. all displayed acting as proof that this space belonged to him. but something about it feels incomplete. like a story missing its last page. junior settles back slowly, taking some time away from work. leave of absence, they said. time to recover. time to rest. but rest doesn’t come the way it’s supposed to. because even in stillness, something feels off. he notices it in small ways. the way he reaches for a second glass when he pours himself a drink, only to pause halfway. fingers hovering like he forgot why he needed it. the way he leaves space beside him on the couch, shifting slightly as if someone is meant to be there. the way he keeps reaching for his broken camera wanting to look at past moments that were seemingly captured, but none were apparently taken. or so he believes. the way he grabs an extra jacket when he steps out, then frowns when he realizes he didn't need it for himself. the way he automatically packs extras of his daily essentials in his large bag but doesn't recall his reasoning for doing so. it happens too often to ignore. but not enough to understand it completely. days pass. quiet ones. junior keeps things simple. meals. walks. conversations that don’t ask too much of him. but sometimes, it slips again. he’s out one afternoon, passing by a café, when he hears it. a laugh. soft. familiar. bright in a way that feels like it belongs somewhere deeper than memory. junior stops. just for a second. his chest tightens unexpectedly, that same dull ache pressing against his ribs like something trying to surface. he turns but the person is already gone. and he’s left standing there, hand unconsciously pressed to his chest again. “what was that?” he murmurs. no answer. just that lingering ache that refuses to leave. somewhere else, markji doesn’t go to places he used to frequent anymore. not the cafés. not the restaurants. not the parks. not the gardens. not anywhere that might overlap. he keeps to himself. small spaces. quieter routines. and sometimes, when the silence gets too heavy, he opens his phone. old videos. memories he shouldn’t revisit. junior laughing. junior talking. junior calling his name in that easy, familiar way that used to feel like home. his safe space. markji watches. but the sound is always off. muted. because hearing junior’s voice responding to him. to him. hurts too much. like reopening something that never healed properly. so he settles for silence. for moving images that no longer belong to the present. junior dreams again. more often now. clearer. not full memories, not yet but closer than ever. he sees hands again. his hand brushing against someone else’s. he hears that same sweet and gentle voice. “p’ju.” almost too pretty in the way they call his name. junior feels the warmth beside him and there's laughter that feels shared. but every time. every single time, he wakes up right before he sees the face. like something stopping him. like something isn’t ready to be known yet. junior wakes up breathless. heart racing. eyes searching the empty room like he expects someone to be there. but they never are. one evening, he goes out alone. nothing special. just to get some air. to feel something different from the silence that’s been sitting too heavily on him. the streets are calm. familiar. he doesn’t think too much. just walks and walks for a while, furthering the distance from his condo. junior decides to take a break and he reaches for the door of a small convenience store at the same time as someone else. their hands brush. just barely. but it’s enough. junior freezes. because there is something in that moment. a spark or maybe a loud pulse. his breath catches. his chest tightens in a way that feels too immediate, too intense for something so small. like his body recognized something before his mind had the chance to question it. junior looks up. and there he is. the same man. the one from the hospital. the one with the soft pink lips and those big pretty eyes that always looked like they were holding something back. “he is so beautiful yet so handsome”, junior declares to himself. markji stills too. completely. like the world just narrowed down to this one impossible moment. and at barely an arm’s length distance. he didn’t plan this. he made sure to go to the convenience store further away from junior's place. he made sure of that. he stayed away. kept his distance. did everything right. and yet, here. now. junior is standing in front of him again. close enough to touch. close enough to remember. junior doesn’t speak. he just stares. because the feeling hits him all over again, stronger this time. sharper. like something inside him is pulling too hard toward something it still can’t name. his throat tightens. his chest aches. and for a second, it's as if he almost.. almost. knows. “have we-” junior starts, voice softer than he expected. but the words don’t finish. they can’t. because he doesn’t know how. markji swallows. his fingers curl slightly at his side, grounding himself in a moment he never thought he’d face again. he should walk away. he knows he should. that was the choice he made. but his feet don’t move. because junior is looking at him. not like a stranger. not like the first time at the hospital. this time it's like junior is searching. like he’s feeling. and it’s almost enough to break every boundary markji tries to build. but ultimately markji steps back first. just one step. small enough to go unnoticed. final enough to mean something. he then turns to leave. because this is where it ends. it has to. junior moves before he thinks. his hand reaches out and grabs markji’s wrist. the contact is brief. instinctive. unplanned. but it lands like something far heavier than it should. markji freezes. not because he’s startled. not because he’s afraid. but because he honestly missed this. so much so that it pains him deeply. the warmth. the familiarity. the way junior’s touch fits like something remembered by the body, even if not by the mind. his eyes widen, just slightly. his breath falters. junior feels it too. not the meaning. just the weight. just how wrong it feels to let go and how right it feels for that second to hang on. his fingers loosen almost immediately, like he realized too late what he’s done. he let's go. “i’m sorry,” he says quickly, confusion threading through his voice. “i don’t. i don’t know why i-” he trails off. because he doesn’t. markji pulls his wrist back slowly. like even that takes effort. like leaving again feels harder this time. he should go. so he does. or at least he tries to. “wait!” the word comes out softer than junior expects. but it stops him anyway. junior takes a step forward. uncertain. like he’s following something he doesn’t understand. “don't go yet. please.” he doesn’t know what he’s going to say. he just knows he’s not ready for this man to leave. not like this. not when something inside him is still reaching. junior was absolutely certain that if he lets this moment pass, he'll never get an opportunity like this again. there’s a phone in markji’s hand. junior notices it now. nothing out of the ordinary. but the way markji’s holding it tight, like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. it makes junior pause. junior exhales slowly. trying to steady something inside him that won’t settle. “i’m junior,” he says, almost like he needs to offer something first. but as he introduces himself, junior vaguely remembers this beautifully handsome man calling him “p’ju” as if this man knows him. more than he leads on. except he doesn't actually recall if it was real or if it was all a dream. markji’s breath catches. because of course he is junior. because he never stopped being. junior hesitates, then adds quietly, “what’s your name?” silence. markji stands there. back still slightly turned. fingers gripping his phone even more now. because this. this is the moment. the line. the choice. say it, and step back into a world that no longer remembers him. or stay silent, and let everything remain where it’s been left. his throat tightens. his chest throbs. and for a second, he doesn’t know which hurts more. junior waits. not impatient. not demanding. just.. hoping. for something he can’t even name. and markji doesn’t move. doesn’t speak. just stands there, caught between leaving and being found again. so junior moves instead. he steps forward right in front of markji. closing the distance markji was trying to keep. until he’s right there. close enough to see the way markji’s shoulders are too still. close enough to notice the way his grip tightens around his phone like he's about to snap it. close enough to feel it again, that strange pull in his chest that refuses to make sense. junior shifts slightly, tilting his head just enough to catch markji's face because he looking down. avoiding any eye contact. junior repeats in his head, “he's so damn beautiful.” “well?” junior asks with hope and brightness. it comes out softer than it should. but there’s a quiet insistence in it. something steady. something that doesn’t let go. if anyone were to see him now, they’d notice the barely-contained eagerness in the way he leans forward. they would swear junior had an invisible tail wagging behind him. giving away the hopeful pull he doesn’t even realize he’s showing, especially with his eyes filled with intent and longing. junior doesn’t know why he’s doing this. why this suddenly feels so important. why this feels like something he has to know. like it’s the last thing he’ll ask before something slips away again. but he doesn’t question it. he just stays. right there. junior smiles as he waits. small. warm. a little uncertain but real. the kind of smile that reaches without knowing why. the kind that feels familiar even when it shouldn’t. “your name please,” he says again, softer now. not pushing. just asking and patiently waiting. like he already believes he’ll get an answer. as if some part of him is certain he’s supposed to already know. markji looks up and reciprocates with a soft giggle and a genuine smile, because he can see it so clearly. junior’s invisible tail wagging with anticipation, with excitement. something so familiar it almost hurts. at the same time, junior notices it. the way markji’s smile curves so gently, the quiet warmth in that small giggle. and something in him settles and sparks all at once. without knowing why, he finds himself thinking how pretty it is and how, somehow, he wants to be the reason it happens again. and he made himself that vow. that promise right then and there, unknowingly. for markji, it slips out of him before he can stop it. a reflex. a memory his body remembers even if this moment shouldn’t exist anymore. “hehe. you're still the same. how cute.” markji believes he voiced this statement in his head but in reality it was the loudest whisper that anyone could hear. almost disbelieving. junior blinks. he blinks again. and again. as if he heard something he shouldn't have. “what?” junior blurts, now desperate for a response. and just like that, markji freezes, again, with his eyes wide open.

#juniormark #junniorrs #markjrtn the space you left behind no one mentions markji after that. not once. not by accident. not even in passing. not in the small, harmless ways people usually do when they’re trying to help someone remember. it’s almost too clean. too intentional. junior doesn’t notice it right away since there’s already too much missing. too much he’s trying to piece together. too much he doesn't understand. but over time, the silence and absence begins to take shape. the gaps are starting to feel like they should matter but don't have names yet. as if something was carefully removed. not forgotten but deliberately and intentionally hidden. “did i work closely with anyone?” junior asks one afternoon, trying to sound casual in a way that doesn't match the intent of the question. his mother pauses just for a fraction too long. “you have many coworkers,” she replies gently. many. but not one. junior nods, like that answer is enough. but it isn't. the feeling in his chest doesn’t match “many.” it feels like one. it's because markji asked for it. he asked those around them not to mention his name. not because he didn’t matter, but because he mattered too much. what right did he have to exist in junior’s world now, when junior doesn’t even remember choosing him? or simply doesn't remember him. markji wasn't mad at junior. of course not. how could he? he only blames himself for everything that happened. markji wonders if he was just being selfish but in reality they are just coworkers. that’s what everyone else saw. that’s what he allowed them to believe. so that’s what stays and remains. he told them it would be easier that way. less confusing. less of a burden. less of a headache. for junior. never for himself. his contract sits in front of him days later. it's up for renewal. this meant continuation. this meant continuing to see junior or possibly working together again. to stay or to leave. markji is indecisive at this point. the words blur. not because he can’t read them. but because none of it feels like it belongs to him anymore. it all feels irrelevant now. he had built something here, or thought he had. but now it feels like standing in a place that remembers him, while the only person who mattered doesn’t. flight attendant. the thought comes quietly. a life that doesn’t overlap. a sky wide enough to disappear into. he lets the idea sit there. because leaving feels easier than staying where everything hurts. he tries to say it out loud but a deep hesitation stops the words from coming out from his lips. all that came out was an audible exhale. “he was in a hurry that day,” junior’s mother says softly, not realizing what she’s giving away. markji stills. “he said he had something important,” she continues. “he didn’t tell me what. just that he didn’t want to be late.” something inside markji caves in. his stomach churns. his heart throbs. his eyes red with anger. with tears ready to fall at any second. salt water ready to drench his skin. because he knows. he knows exactly where junior was going. who he was going to meet. this absolutely wasn't the recognition he was hoping for. and suddenly. the waiting. the pacing. the unresponsiveness from junior when markji let him know he had arrived. it all comes back too clearly. he wasn’t just late. junior was on his way to him. and that truth settles into markji’s chest like something heavy and unforgiving. everything was devastatingly, undeniably, and heartbreakingly clear and it was a hard pill to swallow. if he hadn't asked junior to meet him. If he had just kept his heart quiet, none of this would... his breath falters. no. he doesn’t get to think like that. but the guilt doesn’t listen. it never does. it stays. it digs in. it tells him this is the consequence of something that never should have been. it sits there, quiet and suffocating, convincing him that maybe this is how it was supposed to end. before it even begins. and he is willing to live with it for the rest of his life. a few days passed and the day came where junior is discharged from the hospital. the sky felt too bright. like the sun was shining brighter than normal. as if it came to greet and welcome junior home. his parents stand beside him. familiar voices. familiar warmth. junior smiles when he should. answers when he should. but something in him keeps drifting. a part of him is elsewhere. his gaze shifts without meaning to. searching. he doesn’t know what for. only that something feels unfinished. like someone should be here and isn’t. he glances toward the hallway without realizing. just once. just long enough to feel it again. that pull. that absence. “are you okay?” his mother asks. junior nods. “yeah. i just thought…”he stops. because he doesn’t know what he thought. but just out of sight. markji is there. hidden behind the wall in the hallway like he doesn’t belong in the same moment. he watches quietly. junior standing. breathing. smiling. alive. that should be enough. it is enough. so why does it hurt like this? his chest tightens and aches again. his fingers curl tighter into the wall this time. grounding himself. because everything inside him feels like it’s slipping. junior walks out of the hospital room with his parents. they are close enough that markji could reach out. call junior's name. stop him. but he doesn’t. he can’t. he realizes he no longer has the right too. or maybe he never had that in the first place. even this proximity was too dangerous for markji because he desperately wanted to call out to junior and give him the biggest hug. and of courses, junior doesn’t look for him. “why would he?” markji asks himself rhetorically, already knowing the answer. but there is a slight pause. that almost-turn. like junior's body remembers something his mind refuses to. and it’s enough to break markji all over again. so markji stays where he is. silent. hidden. watching the person he loves walk away for the second time. only this time, junior doesn’t even know he’s leaving markji behind. after they’re gone, the hallway feels bigger. emptier. like something has been taken from it. markji steps out slowly. his chest is still aching. still holding everything junior no longer carries. he exhales, steadying himself with something that doesn’t quite hold. “he’s okay. he's really okay.” he whispers. like that’s the only thing that matters.. like that’s enough. but it isn’t. it never will be. but that's the lie markji will keep repeating to himself like a mantra, until it’s the only truth he allows himself to live with. he exhales slowly. steadying. convincing himself this is right. this is better. this is kinder. markji whispers to himself, “i am sorry p’ju. this is goodbye. i am sorry i can't keep our promise of staying together forever. please take good care of yourself.” as he turns to leaves in the opposite direction, everything shatters and breaks. the tears don’t wait. they fall immediately. this time it's heavier and faster than ever. like something he’s been holding back has finally given up. his vision blurs. the world smears at the edges and corners of his eyes, but he doesn’t stop to reach up to wipe them away. because if he does, he might stop walking. and he knows he can’t. his breathing turns uneven, fragile, catching in his chest like it doesn’t know how to keep going either. a small, broken sound slips past his lips before he can swallow it back. it hurts. too much. deeper than anything he’s ever known how to carry. the tears keep falling. down his face. over his jaw. soaking into his collar. markji keeps walking. leaving behind the only place, or rather the only person he ever wanted to stay, with nothing but the sound of his own shaking and breaking breath following him into the distance. he doesn't stop to look back. not once. not even when his cheeks became stained with dried tears. this was markji's decision turning into evidence. but somewhere far ahead, without knowing why, junior presses his hand lightly against his chest again. as if he's trying to quiet something that won’t stop hurting loudly. as if he is trying to hold onto something he doesn’t even remember losing. junior reaches his condo and home doesn’t feel like home. it’s familiar in the way a place should be. the layout. the light. the way things are arranged just right. photos in frames. of junior with his family and friends. all displayed acting as proof that this space belonged to him. but something about it feels incomplete. like a story missing its last page. junior settles back slowly, taking some time away from work. leave of absence, they said. time to recover. time to rest. but rest doesn’t come the way it’s supposed to. because even in stillness, something feels off. he notices it in small ways. the way he reaches for a second glass when he pours himself a drink, only to pause halfway. fingers hovering like he forgot why he needed it. the way he leaves space beside him on the couch, shifting slightly as if someone is meant to be there. the way he keeps reaching for his broken camera wanting to look at past moments that were seemingly captured, but none were apparently taken. or so he believes. the way he grabs an extra jacket when he steps out, then frowns when he realizes he didn't need it for himself. the way he automatically packs extras of his daily essentials in his large bag but doesn't recall his reasoning for doing so. it happens too often to ignore. but not enough to understand it completely. days pass. quiet ones. junior keeps things simple. meals. walks. conversations that don’t ask too much of him. but sometimes, it slips again. he’s out one afternoon, passing by a café, when he hears it. a laugh. soft. familiar. bright in a way that feels like it belongs somewhere deeper than memory. junior stops. just for a second. his chest tightens unexpectedly, that same dull ache pressing against his ribs like something trying to surface. he turns but the person is already gone. and he’s left standing there, hand unconsciously pressed to his chest again. “what was that?” he murmurs. no answer. just that lingering ache that refuses to leave. somewhere else, markji doesn’t go to places he used to frequent anymore. not the cafés. not the restaurants. not the parks. not the gardens. not anywhere that might overlap. he keeps to himself. small spaces. quieter routines. and sometimes, when the silence gets too heavy, he opens his phone. old videos. memories he shouldn’t revisit. junior laughing. junior talking. junior calling his name in that easy, familiar way that used to feel like home. his safe space. markji watches. but the sound is always off. muted. because hearing junior’s voice responding to him. to him. hurts too much. like reopening something that never healed properly. so he settles for silence. for moving images that no longer belong to the present. junior dreams again. more often now. clearer. not full memories, not yet but closer than ever. he sees hands again. his hand brushing against someone else’s. he hears that same sweet and gentle voice. “p’ju.” almost too pretty in the way they call his name. junior feels the warmth beside him and there's laughter that feels shared. but every time. every single time, he wakes up right before he sees the face. like something stopping him. like something isn’t ready to be known yet. junior wakes up breathless. heart racing. eyes searching the empty room like he expects someone to be there. but they never are. one evening, he goes out alone. nothing special. just to get some air. to feel something different from the silence that’s been sitting too heavily on him. the streets are calm. familiar. he doesn’t think too much. just walks and walks for a while, furthering the distance from his condo. junior decides to take a break and he reaches for the door of a small convenience store at the same time as someone else. their hands brush. just barely. but it’s enough. junior freezes. because there is something in that moment. a spark or maybe a loud pulse. his breath catches. his chest tightens in a way that feels too immediate, too intense for something so small. like his body recognized something before his mind had the chance to question it. junior looks up. and there he is. the same man. the one from the hospital. the one with the soft pink lips and those big pretty eyes that always looked like they were holding something back. “he is so beautiful yet so handsome”, junior declares to himself. markji stills too. completely. like the world just narrowed down to this one impossible moment. and at barely an arm’s length distance. he didn’t plan this. he made sure to go to the convenience store further away from junior's place. he made sure of that. he stayed away. kept his distance. did everything right. and yet, here. now. junior is standing in front of him again. close enough to touch. close enough to remember. junior doesn’t speak. he just stares. because the feeling hits him all over again, stronger this time. sharper. like something inside him is pulling too hard toward something it still can’t name. his throat tightens. his chest aches. and for a second, it's as if he almost.. almost. knows. “have we-” junior starts, voice softer than he expected. but the words don’t finish. they can’t. because he doesn’t know how. markji swallows. his fingers curl slightly at his side, grounding himself in a moment he never thought he’d face again. he should walk away. he knows he should. that was the choice he made. but his feet don’t move. because junior is looking at him. not like a stranger. not like the first time at the hospital. this time it's like junior is searching. like he’s feeling. and it’s almost enough to break every boundary markji tries to build. but ultimately markji steps back first. just one step. small enough to go unnoticed. final enough to mean something. he then turns to leave. because this is where it ends. it has to. junior moves before he thinks. his hand reaches out and grabs markji’s wrist. the contact is brief. instinctive. unplanned. but it lands like something far heavier than it should. markji freezes. not because he’s startled. not because he’s afraid. but because he honestly missed this. so much so that it pains him deeply. the warmth. the familiarity. the way junior’s touch fits like something remembered by the body, even if not by the mind. his eyes widen, just slightly. his breath falters. junior feels it too. not the meaning. just the weight. just how wrong it feels to let go and how right it feels for that second to hang on. his fingers loosen almost immediately, like he realized too late what he’s done. he let's go. “i’m sorry,” he says quickly, confusion threading through his voice. “i don’t. i don’t know why i-” he trails off. because he doesn’t. markji pulls his wrist back slowly. like even that takes effort. like leaving again feels harder this time. he should go. so he does. or at least he tries to. “wait!” the word comes out softer than junior expects. but it stops him anyway. junior takes a step forward. uncertain. like he’s following something he doesn’t understand. “don't go yet. please.” he doesn’t know what he’s going to say. he just knows he’s not ready for this man to leave. not like this. not when something inside him is still reaching. junior was absolutely certain that if he lets this moment pass, he'll never get an opportunity like this again. there’s a phone in markji’s hand. junior notices it now. nothing out of the ordinary. but the way markji’s holding it tight, like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. it makes junior pause. junior exhales slowly. trying to steady something inside him that won’t settle. “i’m junior,” he says, almost like he needs to offer something first. but as he introduces himself, junior vaguely remembers this beautifully handsome man calling him “p’ju” as if this man knows him. more than he leads on. except he doesn't actually recall if it was real or if it was all a dream. markji’s breath catches. because of course he is junior. because he never stopped being. junior hesitates, then adds quietly, “what’s your name?” silence. markji stands there. back still slightly turned. fingers gripping his phone even more now. because this. this is the moment. the line. the choice. say it, and step back into a world that no longer remembers him. or stay silent, and let everything remain where it’s been left. his throat tightens. his chest throbs. and for a second, he doesn’t know which hurts more. junior waits. not impatient. not demanding. just.. hoping. for something he can’t even name. and markji doesn’t move. doesn’t speak. just stands there, caught between leaving and being found again. so junior moves instead. he steps forward right in front of markji. closing the distance markji was trying to keep. until he’s right there. close enough to see the way markji’s shoulders are too still. close enough to notice the way his grip tightens around his phone like he's about to snap it. close enough to feel it again, that strange pull in his chest that refuses to make sense. junior shifts slightly, tilting his head just enough to catch markji's face because he looking down. avoiding any eye contact. junior repeats in his head, “he's so damn beautiful.” “well?” junior asks with hope and brightness. it comes out softer than it should. but there’s a quiet insistence in it. something steady. something that doesn’t let go. if anyone were to see him now, they’d notice the barely-contained eagerness in the way he leans forward. they would swear junior had an invisible tail wagging behind him. giving away the hopeful pull he doesn’t even realize he’s showing, especially with his eyes filled with intent and longing. junior doesn’t know why he’s doing this. why this suddenly feels so important. why this feels like something he has to know. like it’s the last thing he’ll ask before something slips away again. but he doesn’t question it. he just stays. right there. junior smiles as he waits. small. warm. a little uncertain but real. the kind of smile that reaches without knowing why. the kind that feels familiar even when it shouldn’t. “your name please,” he says again, softer now. not pushing. just asking and patiently waiting. like he already believes he’ll get an answer. as if some part of him is certain he’s supposed to already know. markji looks up and reciprocates with a soft giggle and a genuine smile, because he can see it so clearly. junior’s invisible tail wagging with anticipation, with excitement. something so familiar it almost hurts. at the same time, junior notices it. the way markji’s smile curves so gently, the quiet warmth in that small giggle. and something in him settles and sparks all at once. without knowing why, he finds himself thinking how pretty it is and how, somehow, he wants to be the reason it happens again. and he made himself that vow. that promise right then and there, unknowingly. for markji, it slips out of him before he can stop it. a reflex. a memory his body remembers even if this moment shouldn’t exist anymore. “hehe. you're still the same. how cute.” markji believes he voiced this statement in his head but in reality it was the loudest whisper that anyone could hear. almost disbelieving. junior blinks. he blinks again. and again. as if he heard something he shouldn't have. “what?” junior blurts, now desperate for a response. and just like that, markji freezes, again, with his eyes wide open.