Chapter Text
Baguio is a beautiful city.
Sarawat shivers as the cold caresses his skin, the early December morning air filtering through his screen window. He blows on his cup of coffee, the aroma ensnaring his dull senses. It has been a day since he arrived at the City of Pines, and his body is yet to adjust from the stresses of the previous weeks. After all, it has been a while since he had a vacation.
He both likes and hates having spare time.
Spare time means his hands will be busy cutting on wood and painting on empty rooms as he literally work on his dream home. His line of work may be far from fixing homes, but it keeps his hands busy and the end product is not bad in the eyes. Spare time means grocery shopping and cooking his own meals instead of ordering food service or ordering through GrabFood. Spare time means meditation and solitude.
Spare time means reminiscing.
Sarawat places the cup of coffee on the table.
Sarawat prefers to take his coffee black with half a teaspoon of sugar. It keeps him awake and alert, at least for the first half of the day. But days like these, he mistakenly pours a bit of milk with two teaspoons of sugar. The sweet concoction reminds him of another pair of lips that takes his between them on early morning weekends, when he was young and reserved yet every bit of hopeful. Sweetness reminds him of an off-key tenor mingling with the smells of omelette and bacon, leaving his stomach growling in hunger. Sweetness reminds him of twinkling eyes and pale, pale skin that streaks with pink when he manages to steal a kiss.
Sarawat shakes his head.
It has been years since he went home, and yet the memories play in his mind as clear as if it happened yesterday.
He pours the rest of his coffee to the drain.
As his usual first days on vacation go, Sarawat finds himself at a local market.
He saunters down the stalls with familiarity, feeling more comfortable by the minute. He speaks the language, and barters with the shopkeepers with ease. They usually mistake him as a foreigner on vacation, and he charms them with his wit and easy smile. Some of them recognize him from his previous visits, especially one of the strawberry jam sellers, who usually gifts him with a jar whenever he drops by. Sarawat receives the gift graciously every single time and leaves a generous tip for the elderly woman.
He is walking towards one of the exits when he nearly stumbles.
"Sorry," he mutters, catching his balance. He straightens his figure and manages to hold his ecobags properly when a hand encloses on his elbow.
He scowls, trying to brush the person's hand as he eyes him from the side.
For a minute, Sarawat feels the world stop spinning on its axis.
He stood at the entrance of Suvarnabhumi Airport, his hands clenching and unclenching his passport on his right hand. His other hand rested on his suitcase, keeping him in balance. The doctors cleared him for travel, and his mother was waiting for him inside.
He tapped his foot. One more minute.
At the back of his mind, he knew he won't come.
Sarawat couldn't give up on hope.
If he could run, he would have sprinted all the way down to their faorite place. He trusted that he would be there, as he had always been these days. The football field was a cornerstone of their relationship, a witness to their love and losses. It was where they fought for them; where they lost and gained one another; where they cried when things got too much. Hell, he would give up everything for them.
But life always pulled them apart -- in more ways than he would have imagined.
The minute passed, yet nothing changed.
So Sarawat looked ahead, willing both feet to keep on moving forward until the automatic doors closed.