“Andhetold me how much of a better singer I am than him -”
“Wow!” Tita Regina’s squeal breaks us out of our battle, and we both turn to her.
Our parents are gazing at us, that same twinkle in their eyes, as if Marlon and I were exchangingI love yousinstead of trying to one up each other.
“You must both really like each other,” Ria interjects, pointing her spoon at the both of us.
Marlon and I stay silent for a moment, beats passing between us.
It’s Marlon who breaks it, “Hm, I guess we do.”
He reaches forward, interweaving his fingers with mine. I inhale sharply. His fingers feel warm.
Ria’s face scrunches, turning away while our parents chorus anawww.
They continue their chatter afterward and I expect Marlon to let go of my hand, but he doesn’t.
Not once. So I don’t let go of his.
After dinner, Marlon and I’s parents move onto tea.
They let us know that we could hang out elsewhere if need be, but to leave Marlon’s bedroom door open if we hung there. I’m glad the bile stayed rested in my throat.
“I’m fine out here,” Ria proclaims, settling herself at the Salvadors’ family piano. She quickly loses herself in the tunes she’s been practising all week, so I decide not to push her further.
Marlon and I head down to the end of the hallway, to his room. He pushes the door open, and leaves it like that.
It’s been a while since I’ve been in here, back when we’d play on his Nintendo Wii. Or, at least, the days I would watch him while he hogged it.
Not much has changed, and strangely, it comes as a relief.
A tattered poster of Assassin’s Creed still hangs beside his mirror, just as I remember.
Opposite his bed, there’s a small TV atop a wooden unit, where his PS5 is perched, along with some Transformers figurines. A vague memory, one of me stealing his Optimus Prime from the same unit as revenge for his attack on my Barbies, resurfaces. It’s still in my trunk, to this day.
On the wall beside his bed, there are new posters I haven’t seen before: one from the anime Attack on Titan, one from the game Cyberpunk and lastly, a small array of fanart for media that’s unfamiliar to me.
He has an LED lamp atop his desk, beside his monitor, and of course, he has one of those light up RGB keyboards I see on social media.
It’s all Marlon, old and new, but what screams out to me most is the old. Because it means he’s still the same Marlon from my childhood and my teenagehood. He’ll be the same Marlon entering my young-adulthood too.
Nothing has changed, when you strip away the pretence of our ruse.
Marlon pops himself down on his bed, patting his stomach.
“Oh, I am full with a capitalf.”
I chuckle, fingers skirting the Bumblebee figurine.
“How was today, really?” I ask, because last night before we slept, Marlon told me he was planning to see Christine.
I hear his body shift atop his bed sheets.
“It was normal,” he claims, nonchalantly. I wonder if that’s how he truly feels. “Christine and I got some lunch before her afternoon class, and we were able to catch up a little. We’re quite awkward right now, but I think the fact we’ve been chatting more lately has made it…not as awkward as I thought.”
I turn my head, glancing at him. He’s lying on his back, staring at the ceiling.
“When will you see her again?”
