Angelo stood frozen in the doorway.
The world tilted slightly—like the floor beneath him had shifted. Rainan was lying in a hospital bed. Pale. Hooked up to machines. His eyes—those familiar, steady eyes—were rimmed with exhaustion, like he'd lived through a storm alone.
Adrian was the first to speak, his voice low and stunned. “Angelo…”
But Angelo didn’t hear him.
All his focus tunneled into the man on the bed.
Rainan.
Rainan, who had vanished.
Rainan, who left San Felino without saying goodbye.
Again.
"You’re sick," Angelo said hoarsely, almost to himself. “You’re really sick.”
Rainan swallowed hard, his throat tight. He nodded once, slowly.
Angelo laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “You did it again.”
Rainan’s brows furrowed.
“You left again without telling me. You disappeared. Just like before.” His voice cracked now, rage and hurt bleeding through. “You left me standing there with questions. And now I find out you’ve been here—in a hospital bed.”
He stepped forward, chest heaving. “Do you have any idea what that did to me before? When you left without a word after high school? When you left me wondering if I ever meant anything to you?”
“Angelo—” Rainan’s voice broke.
“No, let me talk!” Angelo shouted, years of hurt bubbling to the surface. “I waited, Rainan! I waited for you back then. I kept thinking you’d call, or write, or come back someday and explain why you vanished like I was no one to you. But you didn’t. You moved on. And I was just supposed to forget. Pretend I imagined everything.”
His eyes shone with unshed tears, fists trembling at his sides. “And now? You’re doing it again. You kept this from me. You were ready to die without even letting me know. Without even giving me the chance to love you, or say goodbye, or—anything.”
Angelo stepped inside, one foot after the other, like he wasn’t sure if the floor beneath him was solid.
His voice was faint. Hollow. “Why?”
Rainan blinked, once. Slowly.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Angelo’s voice cracked now, like something fragile breaking behind his ribs. “Why… didn’t you say anything?”
“I didn’t know how,” Rainan finally said, barely above a whisper.
Angelo’s breath hitched, as if the words wounded him. “You didn’t know how?” He scoffed, shaking his head, eyes glassy with disbelief. “I would’ve come. I would’ve dropped everything. If I’d known you were going through this, I—I would’ve—”
His voice caught, choked back by a tide of something deeper—hurt, betrayal, fear.
Rainan’s throat burned. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“But you did,” Angelo said sharply, voice rising. “You hurt me worse by keeping me in the dark. By lying—by pretending you were fine when you weren’t. Rainan…” He pressed his hand to his chest. “I felt it. Something was wrong. I knew it. And still, I waited. I waited for you to reach out. To trust me. But you didn’t.”
“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” Rainan whispered, tears threatening. “Not like this. Not broken. Not fading.”
“I would’ve taken broken,” Angelo said, shaking. “I would’ve held you through it all. I still would. But you stole that choice from me.”
Silence.
It fell again, heavy and suffocating.
Rainan looked down at his lap, his fingers curling into the blanket. “I’m sorry.”
The words were quiet. Honest. Almost childlike.
“I was afraid,” he said again, a little louder this time. “Afraid that if I told you, you’d start counting the days. Afraid your smile would become pity. That your touch would become goodbye. I wanted to keep the memory of how you looked at me before—when I was still me. Not this.”
Angelo stepped closer, his voice trembling. “You’re still you, Rainan. You’re still the boy I waited for. The man I couldn’t forget. And now you’re here—and I didn’t even get the chance to prepare for this.”
He swallowed hard, chest rising and falling.
“I missed you every single day you were gone,” he said. “I thought maybe—maybe if fate was kind, we’d get a second chance. But now… now I’m standing here watching you slip away and I can’t—”
His voice broke completely, and he turned away, pressing a hand over his mouth to muffle a sob.
“I didn’t mean to disappear on you again,” Rainan said, his own tears falling freely now. “I never stopped thinking about you, Angelo. Not even once. I kept imagining your voice. The way you used to laugh. I thought if I stayed away, it would hurt less for you later.”
Angelo slowly turned back to him, face crumpled with pain. “But it didn’t. It doesn’t. And it never will.”
He came closer, finally kneeling beside the bed. “You don’t get to leave me twice. Not without saying everything.”
Their eyes met again.
And in that quiet stare, layered with years of longing, pain, and unfinished stories, something cracked open between them.
Rainan reached for him, weak but desperate.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.
Angelo took his hand, kissed the knuckles softly. “Then let’s not waste whatever time is left.”
----------------
Outside, the sky had gone from dull gray to the kind of ink-blue that only arrived when the world was fast asleep. The only sounds in the room were the soft hum of machines and the occasional shift of blankets as Rainan turned slightly to ease the discomfort in his chest.
“I’m sorry,” Rainan whispered finally, his voice frayed. “For everything.”
Angelo didn’t respond right away. He reached for the cup of water on the bedside table and offered it to him. Rainan took a sip, hands trembling. Their fingers brushed.
“I don’t want you to be sorry,” Angelo said after a moment, eyes fixed on the blanket. “I want you to let me stay.”
Rainan looked at him, eyes glassy. “It’s not going to be easy to watch.”
“I already watched you walk away once,” Angelo said softly, “and that hurt more than anything. Being here... at least I know you're still breathing. That has to count for something.”
Rainan blinked hard. He didn’t trust himself to speak, only nodded slightly.
Angelo shifted, then stood up quietly. He looked unsure for a second, then pulled the chair closer to the bed, close enough that their knees nearly touched. He reached out and carefully took Rainan’s hand in his own.
It was a small gesture, but it shattered something inside Rainan. He looked down at their intertwined fingers—Angelo’s warm and firm, his own cold and unsteady.
“I’ll stay here,” Angelo murmured. “You sleep. I’ll be right here.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
Rainan gave a weak, tired smile, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes but carried the weight of silent gratitude. He leaned his head back, the tension in his face softening slowly.
Minutes passed. Then an hour. Angelo didn’t let go.
He watched Rainan drift between sleep and wakefulness, watched the pain flicker through his expressions even in dreams. Occasionally, Rainan would stir, and Angelo would squeeze his hand gently in reassurance. He didn’t speak, didn’t try to fill the silence. He simply stayed.
And when Rainan finally surrendered to sleep, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that was still too fragile, Angelo leaned back in the chair and rested his head against the edge of the bed.
His hand never left Rainan’s.
And even in the hospital’s sterile quiet, with fluorescent lights dimmed and uncertainty still looming, there was something profoundly human and heartbreakingly gentle in the way they stayed like that—tethered by grief, regret, and love that refused to leave again.
------------------
The door creaked open.
Angelo looked up, expecting a nurse—but it was Eduardo and Leticia. Leticia carried a small container and a thermos, while Eduardo held a paper bag of what seemed like extra linens and medicine. Their expressions softened when they saw Angelo, though a sadness pulled at the corners of their eyes.
Leticia walked to the other side of the bed and checked on her son quietly, brushing a few strands of hair from his forehead with the tenderness only a mother could give.
“He had trouble sleeping earlier,” she whispered, not looking up. “But he’s better now. You being here helped.”
Angelo nodded, voice caught in his throat. “I just... I didn’t know. None of you told me.”
Leticia looked at him then, eyes brimming. Eduardo placed a hand on her shoulder and stepped closer to Angelo.
“We wanted to,” Eduardo said gently. “But Rainan made us promise. He didn’t want anyone else to see him this way—not until he was ready.”
Eduardo’s voice lowered. “Stage four pancreatic cancer. The doctors estimate only weeks now. Maybe less.”
Angelo blinked fast, the words pressing into his chest like cold iron. “Weeks?”
Leticia sat in the chair beside him. “I’m sorry you had to find out like this. I wish we had told you sooner.”
“He still could’ve told me himself,” Angelo whispered bitterly, not out of anger, but heartbreak. “He still left. Just like before.”
Leticia placed a hand on his arm. “This time... he thought he was protecting you.”
Angelo looked down, jaw clenched, chest tight. “But that’s not protection. That’s abandonment. No goodbye. No explanation. Just silence.”
Leticia’s eyes shimmered. “We know. And we’re sorry. But Rainan… he’s always carried his pain quietly, like it was his burden alone to carry.”
Angelo swallowed hard and looked at Rainan again, his face pale against the sheets. “I would’ve held him through it. Every step. But he didn’t let me.”
Eduardo crouched beside him and spoke softly, “Then hold him now. He needs you more than ever.”
Leticia smiled through her tears. “He may not say it, but we can see it in him when you’re around. You’re part of his peace. There’s still time. It may not be much, but it’s time. And it’s yours, if you want it.”
Angelo’s throat tightened as he looked at Rainan—so still, so small against the world, a man once too big for any room now shrunken by sickness.
The parents stayed only a little while longer, checking Rainan’s meds, adjusting the blanket, brushing kisses on his forehead. Then, with soft smiles and silent footsteps, they left the two alone again, the door clicking gently behind them.
Angelo leaned forward, his hand finding Rainan’s once more. He laced their fingers together, this time not letting go. Not ever again.
“I’m here now,” he whispered. “And I’m not leaving. Whatever time you have left... I’ll be right here.”
Rainan didn’t respond—still lost in the quiet pull of sleep—but the slightest movement in his fingers against Angelo’s told him he’d heard. That he knew.
And so the night continued like that: the quiet hum of machines, the ticking of the clock, and two hands bound in silence, pain, and something stronger than either—love unspoken, but deeply understood.