Page 14 of Signal No. Us

“Always,” Robby said, entirely unashamed. “You’re effective.”

“You could just say you like spending time with me,” Allan said, half a joke, testing the ground the way you’d test ice.

Robby’s expression did something complicated, soft, then cautious, then deliberately light again, like he’d caught himself right at the edge of something and stepped back.

“Maybe,” he said. “But it’s easier to say I need you for the grant.”

“Coward,” Allan said, but gently, because he understood the instinct exactly and had built an entire career and a whole ten years out of the same one.

One of the boys, maybe seven, tugged on Allan’s sleeve before they packed up, holding out a drawing with immense pride: a house, a dog, and two stick figures standing close together under a large, bright sun.

“Who’s this?” Allan asked, pointing at the two figures.

“You and Kuya Robby,” the boy said, matter-of-fact, like this was obvious. “You’re always together. That’s why I drew you both. Mag-boyfriend kayo?”

Allan felt his face go warm, aware of Robby’s poorly concealed grin beside him.

“We’re…friends,” Allan said to the boy, mostly, but a little bit to himself too.

“Okay,” the boy said, a cheeky grin on his face. He handed over the drawing and ran off.

“Thank you,” Allan said, accepting it with more care than the moment strictly required, and tucked it into his sketchbook where it would, admittedly, stay for considerably longer than he was willing to explain to anyone that week.

CHAPTER 6

The barangay held a pre-bachelor’s night dinner for Ver that Saturday, which is really just a small, loud, utterly unnecessary excuse to eat, reason enough for everyone involved.

They set up plastic tables in the Reyes yard, stringing up the same fairy lights that came out for every fiesta, birthday, and unexplained Tuesday. The BEBES had appointed themselves in charge of the lechon, which mostly meant standing near it and supervising loudly.

“This isn’t the real send-off,” Tita Yolanda clarified to anyone who’d listen, “since Ver hasn’t even said goodbye to bachelor life yet. Just a practice run, so we know if the lechon’s enough.”

“We have two lechons,” Tita Gemma pointed out.

“Right, practice for two.”

Jake had appointed himself unofficial emcee for the evening, weaving between tables with a borrowed karaoke mic he wasn’t yet using, narrating the party like a sports commentator. “And here, ladies and gentlemen, we have the guest of honor for tonight, Allan, who just asked, minutes ago, if he could possibly skip the games.” He paused for effect. “I’ll go ahead and answer that one: yes, you’re playing.”

“I never agreed to any games.”

“Nobody agreed to anything here,” Jake said cheerfully. “Same as joining barangay life. Voluntary in name only, mandatory in practice.”

Ver, presiding over his own pre-goodbye-bachelor-life party with the relaxed confidence of a man who knew he was thoroughly beloved, raised a plastic cup in Allan’s direction. “Thanks for coming home, kuya—wait, he’s my younger brother, not my kuya.” He laughed at his own joke, already two San Miguels deep. “Point is, I’m happy you’re here. We’re complete again.”

“To being complete,” Allan said, raising his own cup, meaning it more than the toast’s casualness let on.

Allan found himself wedged at a table between Jake and a plate of isaw, half-listening to Ver tell an old story to a cluster of cousins, one of those stories that got better and less accurate every time it was told.

“—and then Allan, he was in third year then, joined the science fair, built this whole volcano with actual smoke, and it filled the entire gym⁠—”

“It set off the fire alarm,” Allan supplied. “I was very proud.”

“They evacuated the entire school,” Ver said happily. “Legend. But that was his first project before he got obsessed with the periodic table like it was a cult.”

Laughter went around the table, easy and warm, and for a second Allan let himself sink into it: a certain comfort of being known by people who’d watched you fail at things loudly and loved you anyway.

Then one of the older cousins, clearly drunk and grinning, leaned across the table.

“Hey, Robby,” he said. “Weren’t you the one who got jealous over Allan back then? The locker room incident, I remember that; the whole school knew about it⁠—”