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He thinks, gnawing at his bottom lip, that he shouldn't have been oblivious to the signs.
In his defense, he was in Japan for his first-ever solo concert in a foreign land, and his entire week-long stay was nothing short of hectic. Promo interviews here and there, a scheduled album signing, meet-and-greet with fans. It was filled with endless socializing: networking with other artists, filming TikTok challenges with them, making new friends who, delightfully enough, shared the same interests as him. And most wonderful of all, a much-needed shopping run. The days blurred into each other, the way they usually did when he was swamped with affairs endowed by his many titles and responsibilities. The way that pumped him up, but drained him, too. He hardly had time to check social media, and when he did, it was just to share a snap of what he was up to.
What he didn't fail to do amongst all: send Justin daily anecdotes and occasional rants. Who waited for them, he knew, and indulged his stories at every second. But as far as he was concerned, he needed that too. It has always been that way, him eager to share something—anything—with Justin and hear what he has to say. He has yet to articulate why Justin's words seemed to placate him, appease him most, when there are handfuls of people expressing their appreciation and recognition of his efforts.
Nothing seemed to be different while he was in Japan. Or so he thought.
“Sana po hindi niyo pa ko nakakalimutan hehe. Ingat kayo, may bagyo,” is Justin's reply to him when he said they already boarded the plane to Manila. And, huh. At first, it does seem like an attempt at ribbing. But years of exposure to a person's temperament make you sensitive to their moods. His suspicion is cemented when Justin doesn't answer his prod to clarify—just a prod because if something is indeed wrong, revealing he is monumentally unaware makes matters worse, and well, he couldn't afford a repeat of three years ago. No. Not right now. Not when he is craving sweet rest and comfort and warmth.
The first standard operating procedure is to check whether he mentioned something unbecoming in their chats for the previous week. There is none, as far as he could tell. It might have taken him a while to reply, but aside from being preoccupied most of the time, Justin told him he was painting and playing games in between sleeping. Ken didn't want to be a nuisance. Some of Justin's replies, on the other hand, did sound a little perfunctory, almost tepid, but he didn't read into it. How could he when Justin made him look forward to coming back to Japan? “Gastos pa hahaha. Pero may gusto rin akong puntahan na shop na nakita ko sa Instagram. Ako naman samahan mong mag shopping next time na nasa Japan tayo.” How could he when Justin told him he looked good, replying to his pre-concert mirror selfie, “Sarap. Lalo pa kung wala kang suot na damit diyan.” He did tell Justin that Japan is a conservative country for such fashion choices, to which Justin answered, "Pero di ka napigilang isuot yung bigay na mesh top ng new friend mo."
His knee is bouncing halfway through the flight. Maybe he is overthinking it, or seeing things. Justin could not have thought he was left in the dark. Nagme-message naman ako? Justin could not have felt unwanted. Saang universe? Kailan? Justin could not have been jealous. Kanino naman?
He sleeps it off. There's no way for him to know what's wrong, and he doesn't appreciate the dry, bitter feel of it in his mouth. Except when the service van finally picks them up from the airport, Justin hasn't replied, and Ken needs him to say something now. Anything.
He asks Bea if he can be dropped off at his condo first. Tells her he needs to get his car and be somewhere else. Bea looks at him with a frown, then understanding smooths her face, and she mumbles, "May bagyo, a. Hindi na makahintay?" He doesn't know how she is able to tell. He shrugs because, while other people are within earshot, he isn't going to deny it. Not when his head is spinning from the lingering feel of turbulence.
Desperate, he risks a message to Xi-Anne. Yeah, yeah. She made it clear she is not to be troubled with his and Justin's issues. But Ken is out of options. They're not with each other, nor does she know where Justin is. She asks him if he is already in the Philippines and tells him that finally matatapos na rin ang kabaliwan ni Jah. He is about to make a jest about how Justin's kabaliwan is boundless. But then it clicks. Could it be? That Justin was losing his mind because he was away? Because they were apart? It can't be.
He spends the remaining twenty minutes of the drive researching on the most reliable bastion of gossip.
Sign no. 1: the TikTok challenge they filmed did not rot in the drafts. A TikTok challenge that had tested how strong a front he could put up, because Justin had wanted to do it with him. And the trend was almost always done by couples. And how could Ken not feel giddy?
Sign no. 2: WHAT? How could he have missed this? And since when did Kalakal have that step? A flash of skin and flesh—it was TOTALLY unnecessary. Fuck. Ken knows this. Justin doesn't fancy exposing his body to the world, not without some playful intent. Ken doesn't want to flatter himself. But. Shucks. Justin is sexy and hot and every bit mouthwatering.
Sign no. 3: Echosera… Despite that first thought at the caption of this uploader's video, he only feels hot all around as he continues to stare at it: a side-by-side comparison of his photo from their Preview magazine shoot and the portrait Justin painted some days ago. Justin seemed to have depicted a womanly figure. But Ken—he knows this, too. How they both make efforts to circumvent public scrutiny. How they talk about each other without their names coming out of their mouths. How they dedicate posts to one another—Justin even more so—obscuring the real intent behind wordplay or hiding the meaning in music choices.
He makes the entire drive to the de Dios's residence as safely but swiftly as he can. He holds the steering wheel with a firm grip, his fingers tapping impatiently at every stoplight, his jaw clenching at reckless, impudent drivers. Despite making the trip, he isn't sure whether he can get answers. What he's sure of is that he only wants to see Justin. Dampen his insecurities. Whatever those are. And, if he's allowed, let his body speak because his words will fall short.
Because only through it can he be unequivocally honest with what he ought to say. Things he should've said before he left a week ago, when he and Justin lay tangled in bed, basking in postcoital tranquility. When he felt it creeping in—the struggle to detach himself from Justin. He should've expressed his gratitude, that Justin filled him more than he needed, and because of that, there would be an excess for him to share with the world. He wants to tell Justin how intoxicating the feel of his skin is, how utterly placating to be enveloped, surrounded—wholly consumed—by his devotion.
He wants to tell Justin that he can simply say he misses him. That he can be upfront. That, yeah, they have yet to put a name to this thing between them, but Justin is allowed to want him. That, if he so desires, Justin can express every convoluted yearning he has for him.
Because he is just as far gone. And perhaps more. And every waking moment without Justin, he spends aching for another walk on air, itching for satiation.