The Space In Between

They stood outside a silent lot, a very old and rustic house tucked quietly at the end of the street. It was a wide property, yes, but the structure at the center—a small hut—looked like it had seen better decades. The bamboo walls had faded with time, and the thatched roof sagged slightly as if countless storms and summers tested its resolve.

But inside, through the slats of the wooden walls and the creaking floors, there was tenderness that felt dearly inviting, like a scene plucked out from a movie or maybe a simpler gentler past. Around it were mango trees, their limbs without yield but the modest garden adorned with buckets, bottles, and cups or whatever could carry soil added a touch of sweetness—something that's built out of love and care.

"You live here?" Matthew's voice carried a note that, if not entirely mocking, was close enough to sound like it which stung Felix, but a small smile curled up at the corner of his lips. Matthew's reaction was one of the things he'd gotten used to, but the scratch of embarrassment afterwards was something he never made peace with.

His classmates never expected him to live in a shabby hpuse—most of them practically equated his smarts with affluence, and by the time they've realized that he had nothing more to him than wits, they all acted like strangers.

It mattered...everything mattered to him. He listens to every comment, every request, favor, opinion, and he left himself with nothing. At the very least, he owed himself pity which is why he would always tell himself that one man's hut is another man's castle—thankful enough he didn't live on the streets nor was he slipping in and out youth shelters for accomodation.

"I do," Felix answered, his hand reaching for the cyclone wire gate. It creaked open with ease, and he stepped inside, then he paused just long enough to glance back at Matthew. "I bet this place seems comically poor by your standards." Matthew grunted in response, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets as he shifted where he stood.

Matthew lived his life chiefly in the city. Visits to the country were rare even when it came to the hollidays. His people, from his father's family hailed from Hastings—they barely visited which is why, if he was thinking about it, this was probably the first time he'd seen a place like this outside of the curated images on television or in books about rural life.

"Isn't it cold in there? I mean, how do you even stay warm with—" he motioned vaguely at the sagging roof and cracked bamboo walls, "—all this?" His voice had a tinge of disbelief, as though he was trying to wrap his mind around how anyone could call this home. "And isn't it dangerous? Couldn't anyone just… break in?"

It wasn't that Matthew hated it—just... surprised. After all, he was used to the Victorian townhouses, modern flats, and fierce skyscrapers.

"I thought you weren't interested in swapping stories~" that reply made Matthew huff. The flavour of his own medicine leaving a bitter aftertaste in his mouth.

Felix chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced at his home. "It can get cold sometimes, yeah," he admitted, his voice more feeble than before.

"When the wind passes through the openings, it sneaks in like an uninvited guest," he tightened his grip on the container he was holding. "But we have thick blankets, and my mom makes this ginger tea that warms you from the inside out. It's not so bad, really."

"And as for people breaking in—well, I guess they could." He scratched at the nape of his neck, thinking. "But neighbors look out for each other here. If someone so much as rattles a door at night, half the barangay would know before sunrise. Besides," he grinned now, though it was warped by pity, "I doubt anyone would bother. There's not much to steal, unless someone's really desperate for old wooden chairs and a busted radio."

Matthew let out a small breath, taking in whatever Felix threw. It was sad, it almost felt like having blessings was a crime, he couldn't imagine himself living like this—if anything, if he was forced to, he'd likely run away.

"I didn't need to know all that," he snarked, though whatever it was, it seemed Felix didn't feel any rancor from it.

"Well, you did ask," Felix then turned to face him, masking his irritation with a smile that was borderline fake, but it disappeared quickly as it stretched replaced by a sudden jolt of curiosity.

"By the way," he began, interest painted over his eyes, "why'd you walk me all the way home? I mean, you could've just stopped halfway and tita wouldn't know, but you didn't."

Matthew tilted his head slightly, his posture stiffening as Felix's question cut through the air. The flickering light from the streetlamp cast long shadows, and for a moment, Matthew's green eyes narrowed as though he was processing the question—or perhaps, finding a way to avoid it.

"None of your business," Matthew muttered, the words carrying the faintest trace of irritation, his tone dismissive as if the question itself was a nuisance. With his shoulders squared, and his lips thinning, he shut off any further curiosity—but it donned the opposite effect.

"It's just interesting," he continued. "You're actually nice underneath all that...well all that," whatever it was about him, Matthew was having none of it and he groaned—quite horrendous enough to make an entire plaza know that he was at his wit's end.

"Just shut up and go home for fuck's sake,"

Ouch! what was that all about? Felix hadn't expected the remark to hit like that, like the sound of a door slamming in his face. That question was meant to be something else, but here Matthew was, practically suffocating under something that was so plainly lighthearted. It wasn't as though he was digging into Matthew's deepest secrets—just a little query, an innocent question.

"Right," Felix surrendered. He was exhausted and hungry, and he had already taken a number of beating from the day's work. The last thing he wanted to do was to continue this conversation—with this person.

"So," he began, turning on his heel. "I guess this is good night," he addded before he stomped his feet and began to walk towards the door.

"Be safe on your way back!" But there was a few more angry whispers that trailed off—sounds of—well, Matthew didn't really care, but...he couldn't move.

He didn't even say thank you, he thought. But that was the least of Matthew's concerns. For a moment, he stood there, staring at Felix walking to the house, trying to make sense of the decision that had kept him by his side all the way to his home. There were reasons, but they felt jumbled, tangled in a way that Matthew couldn't decipher.

His feet had moved without him thinking. His eyes had stayed on Felix, even when he didn't have to—

Why did he stay?

It wasn't because he was being noble, or because he liked him. That would be absurd. Maybe it was just the sheer act of wanting to get away from the weight of his own thoughts—the suffocating atmosphere that stuck to him when he was in his relatives' home. And then there was Amor, who had a way of suffocating him too, but in a different way. But that wasn't the reason either.

Maybe he just couldn't stand the idea of being alone, at a time where, even his mother felt miles from him. Was it a desperate move? but—thinking about it... The few minutes they talked—when they were talking about home was the first time he actually felt comfortable ever since he landed in this country.