It was a little after ten, and Martin and I stood outside an upscale club. There were a variety of people who vibrated with so much enthusiasm and energy. Most of them were too loud, and their voices contrasted the subdued thumps off the bass that came as people walked out of the building.
Martin convinced me that it was a good idea to come out and celebrate New Year's Eve. He also wanted to introduce me to his friends, which made my legs weak from nervousness. I haven't dated a guy in a while who introduced me to their friends. Dating was a strong word because they were more of failed commitments that started as friends with benefits.
I have always considered my friends to be my newfound family. Whenever I dated someone, and they wanted to introduce me to their friends, I felt like they were introducing me to their newfound family to some degree. I was often bothered by the idea of not making a good impression or simply not being good enough.
I didn't realize that when Martin said friends, he meant that an army of people would welcome us. It was an introduction after introduction. Some gave welcoming hugs, and others a friendly handshake. We were surrounded by some of his friends from high school, and there were few colleagues. Of course, Sam was there, who was a little less sober and far more flamboyant. He stumbled as he made his way towards Martin and me.
"Have I mentioned that both of you look so good together," Sam slurred. He balanced himself with a stranger who had a protective arm wrapped around his waist. "Hey, you look better without the Danny Zuko hairstyle. This rugged look suits you better. Definitely tall, dark, and brooding," Sam reached out and ran his fingers in my hair, only for Martin's hand to stop him.
"I think you had too much to drink," Martin said. He turned to give me an apologetic look, "He's not usually this handsy, but he has been a mess lately."
"Nonsense. I'm just happy that both of you are here," Sam replied. He handed a beer to Martin and asked him to drink. He put a glass on my hand, and I took a sniff to check if it was liquor. "And you, mister-no-alcohol. I can't say that you're missing out, but I got you all the club soda you can possibly have."
I took a sip of the drink, and it was spicy, unbearably bitter, and a lot like battery acid. I figured it was soda mixed with something else—probably poison. I wasn't sure. Whatever it was, it didn't taste good. I coughed from the burn in my throat and my face flushed beet red. Martin clasped a hand on my shoulder and took the glass from me.
"I told you. Aki doesn't drink," Martin raised his voice with the music. He glared at Sam. "What is this anyway?" Martin scrutinized the drink, looking at it before deciding to give it a sniff. He winced upon smelling how rancid it was.
"Oops," Sam giggled and took a sip of a green and lethal-looking cocktail. He didn't even try to make it look like an accident. Martin shot daggers at him, but I dismissed his worries with a pat on his chest and by telling him that I was okay.
When the music changed to something more upbeat, Sam dragged most of Martin's friends to the dancefloor while Martin and I settled on the sofa. I felt the nervousness kick in again because there were many things I wanted to tell Martin, but this wasn't the place nor the right time. My mind wanted the agony to be over, but I struggled with finding the right words. Besides, there wasn't much of a good ambiance to have a decent conversation. But, Martin had his unique way of communicating through knowing grips and intimate glances.
Ever since we spent Thanksgiving together, Martin didn't fail to make me notice how true his intentions were.
After the conversation I had with my dad, it opened a floodgate of realizations. Those were realizations that I have buried deep inside me and have long forgotten. It left me torn. Right now, beside me was a guy who accepted me for all my imperfections. But, my heart chased someone who might have given up on me.
I often asked myself, why did I desire the things I couldn't have? Most often than not, I lived in a dreadful cycle of want in the hopes of having more. It was an endless chase—a marathon without a finish line. Underneath all of the desires was the fact that I neglected to appreciate what I currently had. I figured I got blinded by wanting so much. It was a discussion I often had with my friends.
But you already have this, Aki. You need to be contented.
My mom told me that a heart lived for the chase if someone didn't choose it. Along with the pursuit was the endless list of desires to pacify any longingness.
My desires were usually temporary fixes—something to combat the longingness, numb the pain, or find something new.
My heart longed for its permanent fix, and I desired to be chosen at the same time.
These were the thoughts that ran inside my head as Martin and I spent such a lot of time together. And then some thoughts were about how great it was to have something real for once.
A day after Christmas, Martin officially met my family. It wasn't even planned or anything. Martin asked me out to watch a movie with him. He was a fan of old Hollywood classics, and they happened to be featured at a local drive-in theater.
That night, Martin carefully balanced two large sodas and a large bucket of popcorn when we bumped into Zen and his fiancée. As expected, Zen went into I'm-Aki's-big-brother mode and introduced himself in the most intimidating way possible.
As usual, Martin and his signature friendly smile would dissolve any tactics to build up unnecessary tension. Martin has been nothing but warm and welcoming, and Zen noticed that the minute he introduced himself. But it didn't stop Zen from investigating Martin in a way that made me glare at him.
That same night when Martin drove me home, he met my dad. It surprised me that my dad was more welcoming than Zen. He even invited him inside to talk and have a beer. It was a good night that resulted in an even happier version of Martin and a passionate kiss that left me breathless.
Martin and I have already reached this point in our relationship where we already met each other's family. Granted that we have only dated for two months, it was a pace that made me feel like what we had was a whirlwind romance. I didn't know if I purposely did things as a distraction because my life was currently a mess. But, as much as I wanted things to slow down, the pace gave me a kind of thrill that kept me on my toes. The last guy who made me feel this way was Oliver.
Upon sensing the chaos of my inner thoughts, Martin instinctively ran a hand on the back of my neck. He sapped the visible tension on my shoulders, and I let out a sigh of relief. He knew when to do the right thing at the right moment. It was one of the things I liked about him.
"Are you okay?" Martin asked. His hand traveled to the expanse of my back and moved in slow, soothing strokes. "We don't have to be here if you're uncomfortable."
"No. It's fine. I'm okay. I'm just thinking about a lot of things," I shrugged, looking at Martin in the hazy club lights. Even under the dim strobe lights, he looked gorgeous, and I knew he looked at me with much fervor. I loved that the smile on his face didn't seem to fade. "Partying is not really my thing. I'm sorry if I'm a loud thinker."
"Don't be sorry," Martin replied. "We can head out if you want to."
Martin wrapped his arm around my shoulder. When his thumb rubbed circles against my shirt, I suddenly jolted. It was a thing that only Oliver did. My brain wasn't able to process it before my body could react.
I didn't know it was possible that those things that Oliver did still haunt me. Martin did a lot of things that reminded me of Oliver. Little things like if I didn't talk much, he would instantly know if something was wrong. He would let me choose whatever to watch on the television even if I binge-watch too many boring historical documentaries. He wouldn't mind if I got too focused at work and forgot to send a message back. He went along with the conversation even when I didn't stop talking about something that excited me, and that thing where he kept quiet when I had a sudden outburst because he didn't want to make a big deal of a petty argument.
Little things that handled my chaotic and unexplainable quirks and tangents.
Martin was a different puzzle piece that still somehow fit.
"Let's dance," I said, offering a hand to Martin. I pulled Martin's hand as I stood, but he remained in place with a shocked look on his face. When he didn't move from his spot despite my invitation, I gripped his hand with more force. "What? You don't want to dance with me?" I asked. I know I shouldn't, but I gave him a pout that I know he couldn't resist. Martin laughed as he stood.
"I want to dance with you, silly. I want to dance all of my dances with you. Was that corny? It was corny, wasn't it?" Martin winced. I smiled for a response. "But, you're a really terrible dancer." His hands traveled down my back as he gave me a filthy kiss. For a minute, the music changed to something slower.
I pulled him towards the dance floor, where we found his other friends. They cheered, and somehow, this was reminiscent of the first time we met— that night at Redmond's, which made me realize I deserved better things. Sam put a festive headband on me, which looked ridiculous, and he placed a red party hat on Martin's head.
Martin pinched my cheek. I scowled at him, but I looked stupid wearing a plastic New Year's headband. How could anyone even be taken seriously wearing this thing? He stepped closer and laughed against my ear. His laughter was like music to my ears.
We moved along with the rhythm, and I did my best not to step on his toes. This was one moment that gave me butterflies. I knew I was happy. Martin was more than his usual cheery self, and his giggles were enough to put me out of a terrible moment.
The DJ shouted that it was a couple more minutes before midnight. A countdown flashed on the screen behind him. The crowd cheered in unison.
Martin and I stayed in our place until the end of the song, and soon right after, Martin took me to a secluded part of the club.
We snuck out to a stairway that led to the rooftop. We took a stop in front of a door that specifically had a way too bright and red off-limits sign.
As Martin pushed the door open, I gave him a look of suspicion, only for him to say, "I'm friends with the owner. Come on." He turned his head and made his way out the door.
Martin took my hand, and I followed him out. The lights led us to the opposite side of the building. The rooftop gave a breathtaking view of the neighborhood, and the city lights were vibrant and vivid, and the cold breeze was piercing. The city was alive and thrived with so much excitement. My heart was the same, ready to leap out of my chest. We stood a few feet away from a fence on the building ledge. Martin's body radiated with so much warmth, and I couldn't help but lean for comfort.
My hands tingled in the cold, so I rubbed my hands for more warmth. Martin took his jacket off and placed it on my shoulder. The jacket smelled like him—woodsy—a balance between bergamot and spice and a bit aromatic.
I crossed my arms, and my hand brushed against a box tucked inside the jacket pocket. My curiosity got the best of me, and I asked Martin what it was. His eyes lit up upon remembering what it was.
"I know that you said no presents for Christmas, but I couldn't resist," Martin said. His right hand took the box out of the jacket pocket while his left hand settled on my chest. He reached for my hand and placed the box on my palm. The box was velvety, and it weighed almost nothing, but my heart knew it was heavy for some reason. I didn't know what it was, but I instantly knew it was a declaration of something he hasn't said.
Martin has always shown his affection through actions. My instincts told me this was one of those many things he did to show just that. As my glance shifted from the box on my palm and to his eyes that glimmered hope, my breath hitched when I finally opened his mysterious present. It was a thin silver necklace with a ring and a tiny rectangular pendant. It was definitely something. My fingers traced the chain and pulled it out.
"I asked help from Elizabeth because I wasn't sure what to get," Martin remarked. I couldn't quite look at Martin. Instead, I discarded the box, the necklace in its entirety now in my hands. "Elizabeth wanted to apologize for the family dinner, so she was glad to help me out with this one."
I looked at Martin, only for him to show a similar necklace that hid under his shirt. I was stunned. No one, in their many efforts, has done something like this for me before. My silence seemed to have worried Martin while my fingers continued to trace the pendant. He did that thing again that told me that he was worried—the hand on my shoulder and his attempt to meet my eyes.
How could something so small be something so grand? My mind had so many questions for this genuine gesture, but I couldn't quite find the right words.
"It's nice," I finally said. Nice. Really? That's all I could ever think of in my overstretched, daunting silence. I was afraid to say the wrong words. Martin didn't mind it and just smiled like it was a relief for him to know that I liked his present.
"The pendant means opposites attract," Martin explained. "Kinda like us, don't you think? But in some ways, still tied together."
It must have taken him a lot of effort because I was picky. God, I was stubborn and picky. I could imagine him going through every possible thing he could give me and only to doubt his choices later on.
Of course, I liked it. I liked it more than I should.
"May I?" Martin inquired, raising his eyebrows and extending his hand. He put the necklace on me. His fingers trailed on my neck, leaving goosebumps. It was so cheesy and romantic, and I knew that the cold weather no longer caused my blush. It was all because of Martin and his romantic gestures and his pendant, and his smile.
"I have to say something," we revealed in unison. Martin laughed, and I told him that he should go first. It seemed like he had something better to say than what I had in mind.
"I know we have been dating for only two months, and it's been great," Martin said, running a hand on my chest. His eyes reflected the scenery of LA. "You showed me that I could trust again. I've been doing the casual thing for so long that I thought that's all I could ever have. When I first met you, I honestly thought you'd be just that—a random, casual thing. In so many ways, you made me realize that I wanted more. I'm so grateful to have ever met you, Aki, even if it was because your best friend was pushy."
"So I guess we can both thank Erin," I replied. "But not too much. She might see that as an opportunity to set dates for more of her friends."
Martin chuckled, his face creased as he smiled. I was left breathless when he said, "I love you, Aki. I'm so in love with you." The world stopped around us, and I felt lightheaded. He caressed my cheek, pulled me in, and kissed me. The kiss burned like a promise, but the kind that I kept at heart. My hands found their home on Martin's hips while I let him pour every ounce of emotion into this kiss—this promise.
My heart raced in my chest, and my hands trembled. For once, I broke the kiss first. Martin's cheeks were flushed, and his eyes trailed to my lips.
"I'm glad that you finally found a reason to trust again," I replied. Martin's hand rested on my neck, the other on my back. He listened to every word I said, and I did my best not to stutter—to get trapped—in between honesty and confessions. "But what about taking it slow?"
Martin grazed his thumb along my jaw. "I know a thing or two about taking things slow, but I don't want to slow burn. What we have is good, and I just want more. Is that selfish?"
"Not at all."
"Okay."
"You know," I said, crossing my arms. I took a few steps towards the fence. "You have this uncanny ability to reassure me that even if I were to walk right off the edge of this building, you'd be able to catch me. Regardless if I want you to or not."
Martin took a stride and settled beside me. "Of course."
"But I wonder, how far are you willing to go?"
"I'm willing to do anything or nothing. Whatever you want."
I pulled Martin for another heated kiss. This time, I cradled his face with both of my hands, pressing every inch of my body against his.
"I still haven't said what I needed to say," I whispered against Martin's lips. Martin leaned back and nodded. There was a lump in my throat—a big awful reminder that I could not process any kind of acceptance from anyone. "I like you, Martin, but I'm just not sure if I can say it back."
Martin's hand fell from my neck, and he took a step back.
"That's fine," Martin replied. His reply went by so fast that my chest ached by how selfless he was, by how he already willed himself to take less. "I don't want you to say anything you don't mean. It would mean more to me if you say it only if you feel it."
It didn't take him a minute to pull me back in and kiss me. However, this kiss was more of an apology and less of an intention to show yearning. It lasted more than it should, and I had to pull back once again. Our simultaneous ragged breathing filled my ears.
My soul was crushed when Martin looked at me with a discernable hint of sadness in his eyes. I didn't want it to be this way, but I tried my best to push past it—the barrier to my happiness. I liked Martin so bad, but I didn't know what stopped me. At the end of the line—the end of the goddamn marathon—Martin stood with arms wide open, but why was I running towards the other way?
"I'm sorry," I repeated.
"Yeah. Me too," Martin mumbled.
Something in my stomach burned, and my ears rang to the point that I could no longer hear anything. Before anything worse happened, and without saying anything, I walked towards the exit and rushed down the staircase. I balanced myself with shaky legs, my sweaty hands doing their best to grip the handrail of the fire escape for support. My feet tingled with every step I took. It was a burst of emotions I felt at my fingertips.
Martin walked a few steps behind me, but I didn't dare to look at him. I didn't want him to see me this way. The overwhelming sensation took over me, and my body couldn't take it.
As I passed through the crowd, they all cheered Happy New Year, and everyone was on their feet. I navigated through a sea of people, now nothing but a maze to me, with walls so high that I couldn't push them. Everything was in slow motion, and I couldn't entirely focus. My vision disfigured as if I was looking through a pair of fisheye lens. The bass thumped against my chest, and I couldn't breathe. The muffled cheer from the crowd became quieter and quieter. It felt like my ears were stuffed with cotton balls.
I needed air. Everything was too tight, too close.
When I finally stepped outside of the club, I focused on the noise of the cars that passed by and the faint voices of people along the street. There were also fireworks in the sky that were like muted gunshots. It wasn't near as peaceful as being alone, but it helped me be at ease. As the fireworks lit up the sky in such a colorful scenic display, a hand on my shoulder took me out of my thoughts. It was Martin. He was panicked and out of breath.
"Why did you run off like that?" Martin asked. There was hesitation in his voice, but he shifted around so that he could face me. He looked at me, and I realized I was still wearing his jacket. When I made a move to remove it, he said, "You don't have to take it off if you need it. Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," I replied, my tone dismissive. I brushed off his hand on my shoulder, and he raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry. It was too much. You know, the confession and the fireworks and the general scheme of things." My hands motioned in the air swiftly as if it explained things easier. My eyes scoured the streets for somewhere quiet, but we were in the middle of a stretch of clubs that had different parties, and it was fucking impossible. Panic started to swell in my stomach again. The unsettling pain tightened in my chest.
"Do you need anything?" Martin asked. I shook my head, and he took a few steps back but remained within arm's reach. "Look, we don't have to talk about it, but can I please see if I can do anything?"
When I didn't say anything, Martin guided me back to his car. His hand on my shoulder never left me. He ushered me inside the passenger seat, leaving the car door open. My chest still hurt, and I gasped for air.
"Try to breathe a bit slower," Martin said. He took my risk, resting a finger on my pulse. He took a water bottle from the glove compartment and handed it to me with his other hand. "If you can, try to drink."
"Thanks," I said. Martin stood in front of me. It took a while for him to remove his finger from my wrist. When he did, he rubbed my back, looking into my eyes. When I nodded, he made his distance, standing in the middle of the parking lot. He stood where I could still see him, a few feet away under the streetlight.
It probably took too long because there were a few cars that already left the lot. I have been getting a lot of these panic attacks lately, and I still haven't figured out how to handle them well.
When I felt like I was ready for company, I called out for Martin. He turned and didn't have that usual smile. He was dead serious, like a soldier on a mission. Once inside the car, he didn't start the engine. He just sat there and took my hand.
"I know you still have worries, but they don't scare me," Martin asserted. He shifted in his seat to look at me. "I was serious with what I said earlier. Whatever you need, Aki. Let me be here for you." He lifted my hand to kiss it.
"Thanks," I said, my voice came out hoarse. "I didn't get panic attacks before, but it has been happening recently. And it's been incredibly shitty."
"I get those, too. They are shitty," Martin smiled and then chuckled. He put a hand on my head and gave it a quick pat. "Let me take you home?"
Just when I was about to respond, my phone rang in my pocket. I answered it with shaking hands, "Hey, Zen. What's up? What is that? Is that an ambulance? Where are you? No. I'm with Martin." I looked at Martin, and he was in the middle of fastening his seatbelt. "It's fine. We'll be there in fifteen."
"Is everything okay?" Martin asked, starting the car's engine.
"It was Zen. My dad—" I said, my voice trembled. "They're on their way to the hospital."
Little did I know, it was the beginning of an even longer night.