The ferry's horn bellowed through the air as Emilio and Angelo stood at the railing, watching the coastline of Manila recede into the distance. The waters sparkled under the rising sun, a deceptive calm surrounding them as their hearts raced with the weight of what they'd left behind.
Angelo leaned heavily on the railing, his face pale but his posture stubborn. The wound in his side still ached, but he refused to let it show. Emilio, standing close enough to catch him if he faltered, couldn't take his eyes off him.
"You should sit down," Emilio said quietly, breaking the silence.
Angelo smirked, though the effort cost him. "What, and miss this view? It's not every day you see freedom on the horizon."
Emilio sighed. "You're impossible."
"And you're too cautious," Angelo replied, his voice softer. "But maybe that's why we work."
Emilio couldn't argue with that. They were opposites in so many ways, yet somehow, they fit together like pieces of a puzzle. He reached out, his fingers brushing against Angelo's. It was a small, fleeting touch, but in that moment, it felt like a promise.
By the time the ferry docked in Cebu City, the sun was high in the sky, casting long shadows over the bustling port. The air was warmer here, heavy with the scent of salt and dried fish.
Angelo winced as he stepped off the boat, but he waved off Emilio's attempt to help him. "I'm fine," he insisted, though his steps were uneven.
"Fine isn't good enough," Emilio muttered, guiding him toward the narrow streets beyond the port.
Their first priority was finding somewhere to stay—a place where they could blend in and plan their next move. They wandered through the city, keeping their heads down as they navigated the maze of markets and alleyways.
Eventually, they found a small boarding house tucked away in a quiet corner of the city. The owner, an elderly woman with kind eyes, barely glanced at them as she handed over a key.
"Room at the end of the hall," she said, her voice raspy. "No visitors, no noise. Rent's due every week."
"Thank you," Emilio said, slipping her a few bills.
The room was small and sparsely furnished, with a single bed pushed against the wall and a cracked window that overlooked a busy street. It wasn't much, but it was safe.
Angelo collapsed onto the bed with a groan, his hand clutching his side. Emilio knelt beside him, carefully unbuttoning his shirt to check the wound.
"You're lucky it didn't get infected," Emilio said, his voice tinged with both relief and frustration.
Angelo chuckled weakly. "Guess I've got you to thank for that."
Emilio didn't respond. Instead, he busied himself with re-dressing the wound, his hands gentle but firm.
"You're quiet," Angelo said after a while.
"I'm just… thinking," Emilio admitted.
"About what?"
"About what happens next," Emilio said, sitting back on his heels. "We've made it this far, but what if they find us? What if—"
"Hey," Angelo interrupted, reaching out to grab Emilio's hand. "We'll figure it out. One step at a time, okay?"
Emilio nodded, though his worry didn't entirely fade.
The days that followed were both liberating and challenging. For the first time, Emilio and Angelo were free to be themselves without the suffocating expectations of their old lives. They spent their mornings exploring the city, marveling at its vibrant culture and colorful streets.
Emilio found work at a local café, washing dishes and bussing tables. It was a far cry from the luxury he had grown up with, but he didn't mind. The simplicity of it felt like a fresh start.
Angelo, despite his injury, managed to land a job at a small repair shop, fixing everything from radios to bicycles. His quick wit and charm quickly earned him the favor of the shop's owner, an older man named Lolo Ben.
For a while, it seemed like they had found a semblance of peace. They spent their evenings on the balcony of their boarding house, sharing stories and stolen kisses under the stars.
But the past had a way of catching up.
It was a quiet afternoon when Emilio spotted him—a man in a dark suit standing across the street from the café. He wasn't doing anything overtly suspicious, but something about him felt off.
Emilio's stomach sank. He recognized the man as one of his father's enforcers, a loyal soldier who had been with the Montemayor family for years.
Panic surged through Emilio as he ducked behind the counter, his heart racing.
"What's wrong?" his coworker asked, her brows furrowing in concern.
"Nothing," Emilio said quickly, forcing a smile. "I just… thought I saw someone I knew."
For the rest of his shift, Emilio couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.
That evening, Emilio returned to the boarding house, his nerves frayed. He found Angelo sitting on the balcony, a cigarette dangling from his lips.
"You're late," Angelo said, his tone light but his eyes sharp.
Emilio hesitated before sitting beside him. "I think someone found us."
Angelo froze, his cigarette halfway to his lips. "What do you mean?"
"There was a man at the café," Emilio said. "One of my father's men. I'm sure of it."
Angelo cursed under his breath, running a hand through his hair. "We knew this might happen."
"But we just got here," Emilio said, his voice cracking. "I thought we'd have more time."
"We don't have time," Angelo said, his tone firm. "We need to leave. Tonight."
Emilio's heart sank. "Leave? Where would we even go?"
"Anywhere but here," Angelo said.
As night fell, they packed what little they had into a single bag. Angelo insisted on taking the revolver Emilio had brought from Manila, though Emilio hated the idea of needing it.
They slipped out of the boarding house under the cover of darkness, avoiding the main streets as they made their way to the outskirts of the city.
Their plan was simple: find a fisherman willing to take them to one of the smaller islands where they could lay low.
But as they approached the docks, they realized they weren't alone.
The man from the café was there, flanked by two others. They stood between Emilio and Angelo and the boats, their expressions cold and calculating.
"You didn't think you could run forever, did you?" the man said, his voice dripping with disdain.
Angelo stepped in front of Emilio, his hand hovering near his waist where the revolver was tucked.
"You don't have to do this," Angelo said, his voice steady. "Just let us go."
The man laughed. "Sorry, but orders are orders."
The confrontation erupted into chaos. One of the men lunged at Angelo, but he was ready, pulling out the revolver and firing a warning shot into the air.
"Stay back!" Angelo shouted, his voice echoing across the docks.
Emilio grabbed a piece of wood from the ground, swinging it at another man who had charged at him. The makeshift weapon connected with a sickening thud, and the man crumpled to the ground.
"Go!" Angelo shouted, grabbing Emilio's arm and pulling him toward a small fishing boat.
They scrambled onto the boat, Angelo fumbling with the engine as the remaining man fired a shot that narrowly missed them.
"Come on, come on," Angelo muttered, finally getting the engine to sputter to life.
As the boat sped away from the docks, Emilio looked back to see the men growing smaller and smaller in the distance.
For now, they were safe.