"Hang in there... just a bit longer," Julian says gently, his arm encircled around Joaquin's shoulder for support.

Joaquin lets out a pained grunt as he moves cautiously, his gaze falling on his ultimate goal—the wooden bench in the hospital atrium, surrounded by flourishing greenery and bathed in the sun.

Finally, a semblance of freedom.

It's been a couple of days since he's been admitted, and the lack of fresh air and sunshine has become agonizing. And while his left side still pulsates in protest when he moves, being cooped up in his hospital room is killing his mood day by day.

When Joaquin plops down on the bench, he heaves a deep sigh, "Thank you."

His gaze wanders over the space. Several patients and their caregivers are scattered about, some engaged in conversations, some enjoying the peace and quiet. Julian sits beside him.

"This is nice. I was getting sick of the A/C, too," Julian mumbles, enjoying the warmth in his skin.

Joaquin grabs his phone from his pocket. Even with his vacation responder on, his inbox is overflowing.

A couple of patients walk by, sneaking glances at Joaquin as they whisper among themselves. Julian gives a small shake of the head. "I expected your face would be all over the news someday, but not as a victim. Gotta say, though, your photos came out nice."

"Yeah, real silver lining. At least my suffering is photogenic." Joaquin puffs out air, exasperated. It almost feels like the old days, back when his dad was still in office. "And now I have a mountain of work waiting for me..."

Julian clicks his tongue. "You're not serious. You're literally in a hospital." He shoots Joaquin a glare. "You gotta learn how to slow down."

"I've lived like this my whole life. Academic success defines me, and perfectionism keeps me going."

"That's not a flex. That sounds like a recipe for burnout."

"Hey, I gotta have something to show for myself."

Julian squeezes his hand. "Joaquin, can you please focus on recovery—?"

"He's right."

The unmistakable deep voice from behind surprises them both, and they spin their heads sharply. Joaquin winces at the motion, his neck twinging, while Julian instinctively pulls away as he lays eyes on the person who's just arrived.

Then, he stands up abruptly, shuffling his feet. His pulse hammers in his ears. He and Joaquin have planned to visit his dad at some point, to tell him about them, but they've been pushing it back. A mutual decision to stay in their comfort zone a little longer.

Ultimately, Julian played his part. Encouraged Joaquin to focus on his work. He was at his peak. Their relationship was at its peak. Why shake things up?

He glances at Joaquin, his stomach tying into a huge knot as he watches his chin quiver. And for a good reason.

Dennis Chavez is unrecognizable.

Bald, frail... the once strong and intimidating figure is no more.

So, no matter how much they try to run away, to remain in their little bubble of bliss, reality usually catches up. It requires them to move forward. And with how his dad appears right now... they might not have enough time left.

Julian's heart breaks at the thought. Joaquin just lost his mother. He didn't mourn her but Julian witnessed the damage it had on him. Losing his father is going to be different. It would shatter him.

"Oh, uh, hello Sir."

"Julian, hello. It's nice to see you," Dennis says, his voice weary, though there is a feeble attempt at warmth. His cane taps softly on the stone floor as he approaches them. "Thank you for calling me. And for taking care of him."

Julian gulps. "Oh. Yes, of course." He glances at Joaquin, whose face remains ashen, visibly shaken. "Joaquin."

Joaquin's hands feel cold. He's been checking in with his dad over the phone every month, their conversations filled with travel stories. There were a couple of months when he couldn't reach him properly, and when he got through, all he got was an excuse: busy. His Aunt Sharon, Dennis's cousin, had backed it up.

Busy. But with what?

They all lied to him.

His father lied to him again.

"Hey, Joaquin?"

"Y-Yeah?"

"I'll give you two some space."

Joaquin finally looks at Julian, his tense features melting. "No, stay."

"But—"

"Dad," he mutters. "Whatever you want to say, you can say in front of Julian."

******

December 2024

"This isn't what we talked about. You said you'd be here to get treatment, and now it's done. So why would you want to stay here?" Joaquin asked, an edge of disappointment in his tone. He paced back and forth across the living room while his dad stood by the fireplace, staring into the flickering embers.

"A lot of people know me in the country. They don't want me to retire. I'm tired of politics."

"That's it? They wouldn't be able to force you to work." Joaquin's forehead creased. "Besides, you said your results are better now. You're in remission. We can get any maintenance treatment back home. So why can't you return with me?"

Dennis turned to him with a small smile. He had known that this conversation was inevitable the moment he mentioned he was flying to the US to seek treatment he couldn't receive in the Philippines. Joaquin's stubbornness wasn't surprising. It was, in part, Dennis's own doing.

Dennis had lied to him once, thinking he could keep his illness a secret indefinitely. He had managed for a while, receiving his diagnosis when Joaquin was 21. Yet, the truth had slipped out in Joaquin's first year in law school, and since then, his son had been hyper-vigilant about his health.

"Joaquin, you're an adult. It is time for you to live on your own."

"I can move out of the house if that's what you're concerned about. But at least fly back with me."

Sighing, Dennis lowered himself on the accent chair. "I'm sorry, son. I'm staying here."

Joaquin's jaw clenched. "Then give me a reason. Are you keeping something from me again? Because if you're staying, then so am I."

Dennis massaged his temples. As much as he'd like his son to put up a fight with him sometimes, this was not one of those moments.

"I'll keep up with my regular checkups here if that makes you feel better," he reassured him. "Besides, what would you do about your career?"

Joaquin flinched. His law career. The future that he'd mapped out so carefully.

"I'll... apply for a Master's and take the California state bar."

Dennis's expression hardened. "No. That's not what you want."

"It's not." Joaquin's fists turned white, his voice inevitably cracking, "But why... why would you leave me behind?"

Dennis's chest tightened, guilt clawing its way back like an old wound reopening. His poor son. He'd given up finding a suitable partner for him, but this reminded him of why he'd tried to begin with.

Who would be with him in his time of loneliness?

Dennis gestured to the sofa beside him. "Sit, Joaquin."

Joaquin unwillingly heeded, his frustration simmering. His gaze was fixated on the rug he could bore a hole into it.

"Do you realize this is the first time you've ever talked back to me?" Dennis mused.

When Joaquin didn't say anything, Dennis started, "Amelia and I met in Romblon. I was a tourist, tagging along with one of my friends who owned a beach property. She was a waitress."

Joaquin stiffened at the mention of his mother, the buried discomfort stirring within him. He hadn't thought about her in a while, and he'd rather keep it that way. Where was his father going with this?

"Dad, why—?"

"We had a brief relationship, but I thought it was a summer fling. Amelia didn't see it that way. She followed me to Manila, and we started seeing each other again... And that was my mistake. I knew my parents would never approve of her, so I should have ended it sooner. And I did." He exhaled sharply. "But by then, she was carrying you."

Dennis looked Joaquin in the eye. "Joaquin, I'm sorry."

"For what...?"

"I offered to support your mother, but I couldn't marry her. At the time, I also wasn't sure what to do so—" Dennis hesitated. "I told your mother it was her choice."

Joaquin swallowed hard, his gut twisting. "Her choice."

"Yes."

Tears sprung up in Joaquin's eyes as he absorbed the truth. All of it. But what was there to be said? He was unplanned; he knew it from the beginning. Plus, he'd thought about it more than once: Why was he even born? It would've spared him the pain if he wasn't.

He didn't know what to feel.

An excruciating silence stretched between them.

"Dad... why tell me now?" Joaquin whispered, breath trembling. "You could've just let me believe she was at fault for everything. She abandoned me anyway. You found me."

"Because you deserve to know what went down." Dennis let out a sharp breath. "And most importantly, I want to apologize for everything that happened to you as a child. We failed you. Both of us... I was just as responsible for what happened as she was. And you're still hurting because of it."

He wrapped his arms around Joaquin, giving him gentle claps on his back.

"Joaquin, I'm staying here to live my life. Away from politics and away from the spotlight. But you... You have to go back and live your life. I can't undo the past, but you need to know that I'm not leaving you. And more than anything, I just want you to be happy. Be happy, son."

******

Joaquin's steps echoed as he made his way into the arrivals wing of the airport, his suitcase rolling behind him and clattering over the tile floor. It was still the holidays, so the chaos was expected—clustered travelers, children having tantrums, and announcements of delays over the intercom. He looked straight, pressing forward, despite the exhaustion and turbulence in his chest.

He had relented. Yet, he remained anxious and conflicted.

He was, once again, alone.

Joaquin booked a ride, but even as he was typing the address he wondered whether home was still home. It was too big even for him and his dad. Too quiet. Thinking about sitting there by himself unsettled him.

In the back of the car, Joaquin kneaded his shoulders, his body tired of the long flight. Then, his phone buzzes with an unexpected text. Myka. She was checking in regarding the job offer for him to join Jimenez.

His lips twitched into a grin.

His dad was right. This was what he wanted. It was the path he had set out on before leaving for the US.

They texted back and forth, and when Myka casually brought up that someone Joaquin knew was working at the firm, it hit him like a jolt.

Julian.

Joaquin paused, his fingers hovering over the screen and his heart skipping. Joaquin hadn't heard from Julian in so long.

Joaquin pivoted the subject to something safer before he got too invested: the best places to rent in the area. Myka provided a list of options immediately, her excitement palpable, and he skimmed the recommendations. He'd find a realtor. He didn't have an ounce of energy left to find a place himself. At that point, anywhere was fine.

Joaquin looked out the window.

The diversion fell flat. The second she'd mentioned him, it was over.

Julian took his place—just like years ago. He was at the forefront of his thoughts.

Reluctantly, Joaquin typed his name in the search bar of a social media app. His shoulders loosened when he realized he hadn't been deleted. Or blocked. No new posts, but Myka tagged him in a recent article. Congratulating him on an exhibit.

He clicked on the link, a proud smile appearing on his lips as he scrolled down. At the end of the page, a phone number was listed. His pulse kicked up. Still, conjuring enough courage, he dialed.

"Hello, good morning. This is Joaquin Chavez... I found your number in an article, and I'd like to inquire about something..."