CHAPTER 7

Chrisnah’s Point of View

The moment reality snapped back, I found myself frozen in disbelief. My arms were wrapped around Michael, holding him close as if seeking comfort from this flamboyant whirlwind of a boy. I quickly recoiled, heat rushing to my cheeks.

Wait, why in the world did I just hug him? And what on earth was I babbling about earlier? Did I lose my mind again?

But beneath the haze of embarrassment, the truth lingered—every word I had spoken came straight from my heart. As much as it terrified me to admit, I wanted nothing more than to see that ridiculous, carefree grin of his light up his face again. It had become a strange kind of addiction—his laughter, his cheerfulness, the way he could make the world seem less suffocating, even if just for a moment.

Why do I care so much? Why does Michael, of all people, make me feel this way?

My thoughts spiraled in a chaotic dance, but one thing was clear—watching him so downcast, like a bird with clipped wings, made something twist uncomfortably in my chest. I couldn’t stand it. I had to do something, anything, to bring back that light in his eyes.

“Oh, are you lost in thought while staring at my handsome face, girl?”

His voice, dripping with playful arrogance, snapped me back to reality. I blinked, only to find Michael’s curious eyes locked onto mine, his lips curled into that familiar teasing smile.

“N-no! Ew, get away from me!” The words tumbled out faster than I could think, a flimsy shield against the embarrassment threatening to consume me.

Michael’s eyes twinkled with mischief as he leaned in closer, an impish grin spreading across his face. “Sure, whatever you say!” Before I could react, his finger darted out, poking me in the side.

A jolt of electricity shot through me. Damn it! Not there! Anywhere but there! I’m ridiculously ticklish, and this flamboyant menace seemed to have figured it out. “Geez! You!” I jumped when Michael suddenly poked my side. Damn it! Not there! I’m super ticklish there!

“W-what do you mean, me?!” I sputtered, trying to swat his hand away, but his finger persisted, poking relentlessly. “H-hey, stop it!” I scolded, my voice trembling with the effort to suppress a laugh.

But Michael, being the infuriatingly persistent person that he is, only grinned wider, his finger continuing its merciless assault. A soft chuckle escaped my lips, betraying me.

“S-stop,” I managed to say again, my voice a breathless whisper now. But his mischievous gaze told me he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Hmmm, I see.” He tilted his head, a wicked glint in his eyes. “You’re ticklish, aren’t you?”

His words hung in the air for a moment, and then he poked me again, this time with more enthusiasm. That was it—I couldn’t hold it back any longer. Laughter burst out of me, uncontrollable, unstoppable.

“I said stop!” I gasped between fits of laughter, trying in vain to shove his hand away. Michael, on the other hand, seemed to be having the time of his life, laughing right along with me as he continued his relentless tickling.

“You were staring at my beauty, girl! So you deserve this!” he declared triumphantly, doubling his efforts.

I was practically stomping my feet from the sheer force of my laughter, tears streaming down my face. This flamboyant idiot!

“Stop it, Michael!” I pleaded, my sides aching from the intensity of my laughter. “Look at your face! You’re so red!” he teased, finally relenting, though his laughter still echoed around us.

As the laughter subsided, I wiped the tears from my eyes, still catching my breath. “You’re so annoying! This is your fault!” I accused, though the smile tugging at my lips betrayed my words.

“At least I found one of your weaknesses,” he said smugly, his chest puffed out in pride. I glared at him, trying to muster a scowl, but it only made him grin wider.

“Your face is my weakness! It ruins my day whenever I look at it!” I shot back, crossing my arms over my chest in a defiant stance.

He pouted at my words, his expression so exaggerated it was almost comical. “Hey, you’re so full of yourself, lesbian! I’m even prettier than you!” he retorted, his tone haughty.

I couldn’t help but smirk at that. “Of course. I’m handsome, not pretty,” I replied with a mock air of superiority.

Michael grimaced, his face twisting in exaggerated disgust. “You know, I don’t understand why you’re a lesbian when you’re such a beautiful girl!” he suddenly blurted out, his voice filled with genuine confusion. “Like, I expected I could brush and have fun with your hair. Dress you up, fix your face, go boy hunting together. You know!”

I cringed inwardly at the thought, my stomach churning. What is he even talking about? As if I’d ever let him do any of those things to me!

“Hey, stop talking like that! It’s creepy! Even if I were a straight girl, I wouldn’t let you touch my hair or my face!” I rolled my eyes, trying to shake off the unease his words had stirred in me.

But he just pouted again, even more exaggerated this time. “Why not?! Don’t you know I’ve dreamed of doing those things for so long?!” he whined, his voice taking on a childlike tone.

I rolled my eyes once more, but there was a hint of amusement in my voice as I replied, “Xylene’s right there! Why don’t you do it to her?”

His pout grew even bigger, and I had to bite back a laugh. He really did look like a duck when he pouted like that. “I don’t want to! That girl won’t even let me brush her hair! She hates it when someone touches her hair,” he complained, sounding genuinely upset.

“And so do I!” I shot back with a grin, earning a dramatic eye roll from him.

“Why are you like that? You’re such a beautiful girl, but you became a lesbian!” he exclaimed, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

I narrowed my eyes at him, my voice dripping with sarcasm as I retorted, “And why are you like that? You’re so handsome, but you’re gay!” I rolled my eyes once more for emphasis.

Michael seemed to freeze for a moment, taken aback by my words. But then, a slow grin spread across his face. “So, you admitted that I’m handsome!” he said, his voice full of triumph.

I smirked, leaning in closer. “And you admitted that I’m beautiful.”

For a heartbeat, we just stared at each other, the air between us crackling with unspoken challenges. It was a battle of wills, and neither of us was willing to back down.

But then, as if on cue, we both burst out laughing, the tension dissolving into shared amusement.

“You’re so ugly, girl!” Michael exclaimed through his laughter, though his tone was more playful than mean.

I ignored his insult, even though a part of me wanted to smack him. “You too, you look like my dirt,” I shot back, still laughing.

The laughter came easily, filling the small space between us with a warmth I hadn’t felt in a long time. This was the first time in what felt like forever that I had laughed so freely, so genuinely. And strangely enough, it was with this flamboyant, ridiculous boy in his tiny, cluttered house.

Maybe coming here with him wasn’t such a bad idea after all. In fact, it was probably the best decision I’d made in a long time.

Because now, I realized something—there was more to Michael Gabriel Dela Fuente than met the eye. And I was determined to uncover all the layers he kept hidden beneath that flamboyant exterior. This was just the beginning. There was so much more to learn about him, and I had every intention of finding out.

Michael’s Point of View

As I stepped into the kitchen, I was met with the knowing gaze of my sister, Xylene, who sat at the table sipping water. The smile on her face told me she’d been observing me for a while.

“It looks like you really enjoyed your conversation with Chrisnah earlier, huh?” she remarked, her tone teasing yet gentle.

A grin spread across my face as I eagerly approached her. “Yes, girl! It’s really fun talking with that lesbian! And you know what!” I said, my excitement bubbling over.

She raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “What?” she asked, leaning in as if ready to absorb every word.

“It’s amazing because she didn’t show any disgust toward our place or our house. She even drank water without asking where it came from. She didn’t criticize our house either. She’s really kind,” I explained, my voice filled with admiration.

Xylene nodded, clearly pleased. “That’s good then. At least we know that Chrisnah is genuinely kind and not judgmental,” she replied, her smile reflecting my own.

But I shook my head, a different kind of smile forming on my lips. “No, Xy. She’s different from the girls I’ve met,” I confessed, my thoughts drifting back to Chrisnah’s smile, the way it lit up her face, transforming her from an intimidating lesbian into someone genuinely beautiful.

The memory of her smile lingered, like a warm glow in the back of my mind. She rarely smiled, and when she did, it was like the sun breaking through storm clouds. It was a sight to behold, something so precious and rare that it left me in awe.

Eww! Am I really praising that lesbian? And so deeply! My thoughts reeled, and I shook my head, trying to clear it. Get a grip, Michael!

“Did you introduce her to Dad?” Xylene’s question brought me back to the present.

I nodded, my mind still partially wrapped around my confusing thoughts. “Yes! She was somehow surprised, then asked what happened to Dad, so I told her our life story that’s like something out of a drama series,” I joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Xylene chuckled, but her eyes held a knowing look. It was as if she could see through the facade I was putting up, straight into the chaos of emotions swirling inside me.

And then, I remembered it—the moment that had left me speechless, frozen in time. The hug. Chrisnah’s sudden, unexpected embrace, warm and comforting, catching me completely off guard. And the words she had spoken, words that had reached deep into my heart, pulling at something I didn’t know was there.

I was shocked, yes. But beyond the shock, there was something else—something that made my heart leap in a way I wasn’t prepared for. Happiness. Pure, unadulterated happiness.

It was the first time anyone had said something like that to me, the first time someone had cared enough to reach out, to protect me. I almost couldn’t believe it. Me, Michael Gabriel Dela Fuente, the flamboyant, carefree, unapologetically gay boy—someone actually wanted to protect me. And that someone was Chrisnah.

The thought sent a shiver down my spine. _Maybe she thinks she’s the only one who wants to protect._ But I knew better. I wanted to protect her too. Not just because she was my first friend, but because I couldn’t bear the thought of losing her, of losing the one person who had seen past my flamboyance and found something worth protecting.

And that smile of hers—_I wanted to protect that smile._ It was precious, rare, like a hidden treasure. I wanted to see it again, to keep it safe, to make sure it never faded.

“It looks like your friend has a different effect on you,” Xylene’s voice cut through my thoughts, and I looked up to see her watching me intently.

She stood, her expression serious now, and placed a hand on my shoulder, her grip firm. “Guard your heart, Michael. You can’t afford to fall.”

Her words hit me like a bucket of ice water. My heart skipped a beat, and I stared at her, wide-eyed. Fall? Me?

Duh! As if I’d fall for that lesbian! I’m gay, okay! My heart is super gay! “I know, Xy! Don’t worry, I’m gay and no one can ever change that,” I said, my voice filled with certainty, trying to reassure her—and myself.

But Xylene didn’t seem convinced. Her eyes held a depth of understanding that I couldn’t quite grasp. “Just make sure, Michael. Because that will be the death of you,” she said softly, her voice laced with an ominous undertone that sent chills down my spine.

Her hand remained on my shoulder for a moment longer, as if trying to convey a message she couldn’t put into words. And then she was gone, leaving me standing there, alone with my thoughts.

The house seemed suddenly too quiet, the air too thick, as if the walls themselves were closing in on me. Xylene’s words echoed in my mind, over and over again.

Fall? The very idea seemed absurd, laughable even. But as I stood there, a strange feeling settled in the pit of my stomach. A feeling I couldn’t quite shake off.

I can’t fall. I know that. But why does it feel like something’s already slipping away?

And then, as the shadows deepened around me, the realization struck—maybe it wasn’t just my heart I had to guard. Maybe it was something far more fragile. And maybe, just maybe, it was already too late.

I swallowed hard, forcing a smile onto my face. "What is it, girl?"

But before she could answer, a loud crash echoed from outside, followed by the sound of hurried footsteps. The two of us froze, our eyes locking onto each other in shared alarm.

...

The morning sun bathed our classroom in a warm glow, but the atmosphere inside was anything but tranquil. Today was the much-awaited election day for room officers, and the air buzzed with excitement and tension. My classmates were huddled in tight groups, frantically whispering names and scribbling on tiny slips of paper. Meanwhile, Chrisnah and I sat in the back, as detached as two islands in the middle of a stormy sea. The chaos around us was just background noise, the kind you tune out when your mind is elsewhere. Char!

Not that we cared about the nominations. Voting, sure, but being voted? Nah. We were the ones who’d go with the flow, casting our votes wherever the majority leaned, but dreaming of getting elected? Please. The only title I’d ever entertain is Muse! Char!!!

While the rest of the class was engrossed in the drama of the election, I was having my own little moment of bliss. With a ballpen in hand, I was twirling Chrisnah’s soft, luscious hair like it was the most natural thing in the world. And honestly, it should be. The effort it took to get her to agree was monumental, involving some serious sweet-talking and even an alcohol rubdown for my hands. Seriously, what was she afraid of? Did she think her hair was spun from gold?

But let me tell you, it was worth it. The scent alone was heavenly—like a burst of fruity freshness that made me want to bury my nose in it forever. Huhu, the struggle was real, but so was the reward!

"Can you please stop playing with my hair?" Chrisnah whispered, her voice laced with annoyance. I pretended not to hear, my fingers still busy wrapping her silky strands around my pen.

"Hey, gay boy!" she called again, her tone a mix of irritation and exasperation. But I wasn’t backing down. This hair was my new obsession.

And honestly, who could blame me? It was as soft as a cloud, smooth as silk. Chrisnah was the epitome of a rich girl with flawless everything, and her hair was no exception.

"The nomination for Muse and Escort is now open," our class president announced, and the room buzzed with renewed energy. I sighed, my stomach growling as I glanced at the clock. This election was dragging on, and all I could think about was lunch. I was famished.

"Seriously, stop messing with my hair," Chrisnah scolded, pulling me out of my food fantasies. "Ssh! Can you just be quiet and let me enjoy this? Your hair smells divine! What shampoo do you use?" I asked, not ready to give up my newfound distraction.

She turned to me with a smug grin. "A rich girl’s shampoo, the kind you can’t afford." Her words dripped with sass, and I felt a pout form on my lips. This girl! Sometimes, she really got on my nerves with her high and mighty attitude.

"Then treat me to it!" I shot back, not missing a beat. She rolled her eyes, clearly not interested in entertaining my request. "In your dreams!" she retorted, leaving me to sulk in defeat.

So selfish, honestly!

"I nominate Michael Gabriel Dela Fuente as Escort." The words hit me like a brick. My name? Nominated? Escort?!

I turned to Chrisnah, my eyes wide with disbelief. We both snapped our heads towards the front, and I shot up from my seat, staring in shock at the board where my name was scrawled under "Escort."

ESCORT?! REALLY?! COULD THEY NOT SEE I WAS MUSE MATERIAL?! DO I LOOK LIKE AN ESCORT TO YOU?!

"Hey! Are you guys blind or just crazy? Do I look like an Escort to you?!" I demanded, my voice cutting through the laughter that erupted from my classmates. The nerve! These were the same people who bullied me back in the day, and now they had the audacity to laugh like we were best buddies. Unbelievable!

"It’s all good, Michael. We nominated Chrisnah as Muse," the class president piped up, her voice annoyingly chipper. I heard Chrisnah’s gasp beside me.

"What?!" She whipped her head towards the board, her eyes bulging as she saw her name listed as Muse.

"Did I even agree to this?!" she asked, her voice a mix of shock and outrage. Our classmates erupted into laughter again. Clearly, we had been the punchline of a joke we didn’t even know was happening.

"Just go along with it! We did!" one of the guys yelled out. I scowled, recognizing him as one of my former tormentors. "Let me punch you first, and maybe I’ll agree," Chrisnah snapped back, and just like that, the laughter died down. That’s Chrisnah for you—never afraid to throw a punch, even if it’s just a verbal one.

Chrisnah rolled her eyes, knowing there was no escape. The votes were in, and she was officially our class Muse, whether she liked it or not.

"So, Michael? Are you going to make a scene or what?" another classmate asked, barely able to contain his laughter. I shot him a glare, but even I knew it was pointless. Just like Chrisnah, I had no way out of this.

I slumped back into my seat, my frustration bubbling over. Escort? Really? I wanted to be the Muse! The spotlight, the runway, the glam—that was where I belonged! Huhu!

"Let’s switch places," I whined, turning to Chrisnah like a petulant child. She just stared at me, her expression deadpan. "No way. You’re on your own," she replied, her voice ice cold. I pouted, feeling the sting of rejection. "But I don’t want to be an Escort, girl! My beauty is meant for the Muse title! Look at me! I’m made for the runway!" I argued, desperate to change her mind. But Chrisnah just rolled her eyes and stayed silent.

The voting finally ended, and all the newly elected officers were called to the front of the room. Chrisnah and I exchanged glances, both of us feeling the weight of our unwanted titles. But we had no choice. We stood up and trudged to the front, where our homeroom teacher waited with a smug smile.

She lined us up, one by one, and began introducing us to the class like we were some kind of new exhibit. We already knew each other, so this felt utterly pointless!

"And now, for our Muse and Escort. Your first task this year will be to compete in the pageant for the upcoming intramurals," our teacher announced, her voice dripping with enthusiasm.

I felt the blood drain from my face. Compete? In a pageant? My eyes shot to Chrisnah’s, and I saw the same horror reflected back at me.

The room erupted in cheers and applause, our classmates celebrating like they’d just won the lottery. But Chrisnah and I? We were frozen, our minds reeling from the bombshell that had just been dropped.

Oh no, girl! I might love the runway, but a pageant? I’m out of my depth here! I’ve got the beauty, sure, but brains? Not so much! Huhuhu!

I felt my heart race as the reality of what was coming crashed over me. This wasn’t just about wearing a sash and waving at a crowd. This was going to be a battle, and I had no idea if I was ready for it. What if I messed up? What if I embarrassed myself in front of the whole school?

Chrisnah seemed to sense my panic because she leaned in close, her voice low and steady. "We’re in this together, okay? Don’t freak out."

But I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of something much bigger, something I wasn’t sure I could handle. And as the cheers around us grew louder, I realized there was no turning back.

The pageant was coming, and whether I liked it or not, I was going to be right in the center of it.

Little did I know, this was just the calm before the storm, and what awaited us would change everything.