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it had always been santi, beau thought. it had always been him, from the very beginning, even before he had realised what his own heart was doing. from the moment piper had properly, officially introduced them, it had felt like something inevitable slotting into place. it had just been a simple meeting on a day that should have been forgettable, except it wasn’t. santi had stood out from the blur, from the endless shuffle of people coming and going, and looking back now, beau could hardly believe he hadn’t seen it immediately for what it was. the start of something that would come to mean everything. even before that, santi had already been a name that lingered at the outskirts of his life, spoken both by yohan and piper. he could still remember all the times he had heard santi’s name thrown into conversation, the way it had floated around him, building an idea of him before beau had ever had the chance to see the real thing. and it was silly now, laughable even, remembering the tiny flashes of jealousy he used to feel—childish and irrational—thinking that santi had somehow stolen the place beside yohan that beau had once thought he had earned as his closest friend. but life had its way of rearranging things, not so much flipping the table over, but gently shifting the pieces until they made more sense, until the spaces between them fit more naturally. and yes, he was dead set on santi. had been for longer than he could fully admit to himself, even now. he liked him—loved, even. even sitting here, beau sometimes wondered if he was truly worthy of it. if he had any right to be the one on the receiving end of santi’s affection, of his patient love. because there was still that part of him that whispered that he was not enough. that doubted not santi’s intentions ( never santi’s ) but his own worth. there were days when the fear made him question whether he deserved to have someone like santi love him so unconditionally.
but santi had been nothing but loving, nothing but patient, nothing but sure, proving to beau time and again in the way he chose him over and over, that he was it for him.
was this what courting someone was meant to be? ang panliligaw? not just shallow, rehearsed gestures people liked to parade around, but the act of getting to know someone—not just the shiny, polished parts, but the uncertain pieces too—and choosing to stay. choosing to love them not in spite of it, but because of it. learning someone’s worst days and deciding that they were still worth every good day that would follow.
sometimes beau wondered what santi saw in him. wondered what it was that made him stay, made him love so fiercely when beau still sometimes struggled to love himself. but he never asked. not because he didn’t want to know, but because he was still a little too shy, a little too afraid that asking would sound like fishing for praise. santi made him feel important. he made beau feel like he mattered, like he was something worth choosing every single day, and it was such a rare, staggering thing that sometimes beau didn’t even know what to do with it. it made him want to return the favour, made him want to pour all that love back into santi, to shower him with affection in every way he knew how, to give him even a fraction of the time, the effort, the devotion that santi offered so easily without asking for anything in return. it was why beau was taking his time, why he hadn’t rushed headfirst into saying yes, even when every part of him had been screaming it from the beginning. it wasn’t hesitation nor uncertainty. if anything, if it had only been about his feelings, beau would have rolled his eyes at all the ceremony and blurted out his yes the very second he realised santi was courting him. there was no doubt in his heart about wanting him, about choosing him. but he wanted to make it special. wanted the moment he said yes to be something that they could both hold onto. a memory built deliberately, lovingly, carefully, like everything else he wanted to build with santi. he found himself grinning, unable to stop it, as santi planted kisses along his cheek. beau’s eyes close, heart beating faster with every brush of santi’s lips against his skin. “are you that excited na marinig ang matamis kong oo?” he joked, “should i say it now, hm? pero pano naman ’yan... i want to make the moment special when i finally say yes.” when—not if. he hoped santi caught it. beau was sure. he had never been more sure of anything. he wriggled closer, “ngi. ayoko nga. pag sinagot kita ngayon baka isipin mo ginawa ko lang ‘yon para diligan mo 'ko.”
