Chapter 17 Work

Chapter 17 Work
The road stretched ahead of us under the warm orange glow of the streetlights. Ethan sat quietly in the passenger seat, his bag clutched close to his chest. The low hum of the engine filled the silence between us. Normally, silence didn’t bother me, but with him there, it felt heavy—like every second I stayed quiet, I was wasting something important.

I kept stealing quick glances at him. His face was turned toward the window, the passing lights flickering across his features. His profile looked calm, lips pressed into that familiar near-pout, eyes focused on nothing in particular. I wanted to ask how his day went or crack a stupid joke—the kind I usually made when giving my friends a ride. But I didn’t.

Instead, I gripped the steering wheel tighter and kept driving. The silence wasn’t hostile, but it wasn’t comfortable either. It was something in between. A space I wished I could cross but didn’t know how.

It took nearly half an hour before we reached the mall where he worked. I was still maneuvering the car into a parking spot when he suddenly spoke.

“Thank you. Drive safely on your way home.” He placed a five-hundred-peso bill on the center console, then stepped out and walked away without another word.

I stared at the money for a second before picking it up. What did he think I was—a Grab driver? I got out of the car and hurried after him, catching up just as he was about to enter the elevator in the basement.

“Wait,” I called out, squeezing into the elevator right before the doors closed.

“What do you want?” There was no one else in the elevator, so I could do what I wanted.

I just stared at him until my eyes dropped to his left hand, which was tucked inside his pants pocket. I grabbed his wrist and successfully pulled his hand out. He looked startled by the sudden move.

I pressed the five-hundred-peso bill into his palm and closed his fingers around it. “I said I’d drive you here. I never said you had to pay me.”

“If you don’t want to accept it, then don’t. That was my last money. I only gave it so I wouldn’t owe you anything,” he said, slipping the bill back into his wallet.

He ignored me when the elevator doors opened and immediately walked out.

I followed him. He must have sensed me behind him because he suddenly turned around and raised an eyebrow, waiting for me to say something.

“I don’t have any more classes today.” He fully faced me and stared straight at my face. Maybe he was admiring how good-looking I was.

“So?” he replied sarcastically and kept walking as if nothing had happened.

“I’ll wait for you. What time does your shift end?” I asked, even though I was starting to look like a fool chasing after him.

He ignored me until he entered a restaurant. I recognized the name—Angela had mentioned it before. This must be her aunt’s restaurant.

The restaurant was warm and lively, filled with the sound of voices and the clinking of silverware. I took a seat near the window, ordered a coffee just to look less suspicious, and leaned back. From here, I could see everything—especially him.

He had already changed into his uniform: a white button-up shirt tucked neatly into black slacks, with an apron tied around his waist. His sleeves were rolled up just enough to show the curve of his forearms, pale skin contrasting against the dark fabric. His hair, slightly messy from rushing earlier, fell into his eyes now and then, and he would push it back with a quick flick of his fingers.

He moved with quiet grace. Tray balanced steadily in one hand, the other gesturing politely as he leaned down to take orders. His smile changed depending on the customer—small and professional for strangers, brighter when kids waved at him, and softer when elderly customers needed help. He was completely different at work compared to the Ethan I knew.

Every detail mattered to him. Every glass was refilled before it was empty. Every plate was carried carefully so nothing would spill.

I glanced toward the entrance when Ethan suddenly walked over to it. He took the bag of an older woman. I looked more closely and recognized her as Angela’s aunt. We had met a few times before, but only when Angela treated the group.

They hadn’t moved far from the entrance, and it looked like Tita Vien was still talking to him. I walked over to them. Tita Vien’s eyes landed on me, and Ethan turned as well.

“Lucas? What are you doing here? Is Angela with you?” I shook my head. I noticed Ethan glancing behind me, probably checking if his niece was there too. I leaned forward and kissed her cheek. She pulled me into a hug.

“No, Tita. I’m alone.” She released the hug and looked at me.

“How can I help you, Lucas? Is there a reason you’re here?” Tita Vien asked curiously. She was a lot like Angela—both of them were very welcoming whenever someone visited.

I glanced at Ethan, who was standing beside her. “I’m here for Ethan, Tita.” He looked shocked. When Tita Vien turned to him, he immediately bowed his head.

“Don’t worry, Tita. I’m not bothering him. He’s still working,” I added quickly, in case she thought I was disturbing her employee. “I’m just sitting over there, waiting for him.” I pointed to my table.

Ethan excused himself from both of us and bowed again before leaving. He really was a polite kid.

“I thought you needed something from Ethan. You know I’m short on workers right now. They’re all on leave,” Tita Vien said with a heavy sigh.

She didn’t stay to chat for long because she had things to take care of. She told me to just approach any of her staff if I needed anything. But what I needed was Ethan’s time. Would he be able to give me that?

I found myself leaning on the table, chin resting on my palm, simply watching him. I didn’t even know what was happening to me. Usually, my time was the most important thing to me. Yet here I was, doing nothing but watching him work. Strangely, it felt entertaining—not because of the work itself, but because of his quiet determination.

It wasn’t just the way he worked. It was the patience in his voice when a customer complained, and how he never flinched even when someone was rude. Just imagine—coming straight from school instead of resting, and still having to face difficult customers like this.

I kept watching his every movement. There were moments when I caught him glancing at me—quick, subtle looks, like he didn’t want to be caught.

Once, while serving a table near mine, his eyes flickered toward me for barely a second before darting away. My heart jumped, as if I had been caught doing something wrong, even though I was just sitting there.

I lifted my phone once, holding it low against the table, and snapped a quick photo of him mid-step. He was carrying two plates, head slightly turned, the restaurant’s warm light catching his skin. The picture wasn’t perfect, but when I looked at it, all I could think was, He’s beautiful. Not in a polished, magazine-cover way, but in a way that made you stop, take notice, and want to stay longer.

After serving the table beside mine, he walked over to me. “Aren’t you going home yet? You’re not going to gain anything by waiting here,” he said, then left quickly when another customer called him.

Moment ruiner. I scanned the restaurant and noticed there were only a few staff serving customers. Tita Vien was right—they were really short on workers tonight.

I cleaned up everything on my table and stuffed it into my backpack. I stood up and walked to the front desk.

The woman behind the computer smiled politely. “How can I help you, sir?”

“Where’s Tita Vien?” Surprise flashed across her face. Zach, one of the staff who knew me, quickly approached.

“Sir Lucas, are you looking for Ma’am Vien? She’s in her office,” he said, pointing to a door.

I thanked him and left them there. I could still hear Zach telling his colleague that I knew Tita Vien.

I knocked on the door three times before opening it. Tita Vien was typing on her laptop.

“Sorry to disturb you, Tita.” She stopped and looked up at me.

“It’s okay, Lucas.”

“I noticed you only have a few workers serving the customers, Tita. Since I don’t have anything else to do, maybe I can help?” She nearly choked on her water when she heard my question.

I didn’t even fully understand why I was offering. This was the first time I had ever done something like this. If Dad ever found out what I was doing, he might get angry. But seeing Ethan earlier wiping sweat from his brow while serving food made me think—since I was already here, I might as well help.

“You don’t have to, Lucas,” she said, starting to stand up from her chair.

“I insist, Tita Vien.”

She didn’t stop me after that. I approached Zach and asked if he had an extra uniform. He looked shocked and kept asking if I was serious. Well, I was dead serious.

I was already wearing their uniform when I saw Ethan in the kitchen area, picking up food to serve.

He set the tray down and walked over to me. “What are you doing? Just wait at your table like before,” he said angrily, raising an eyebrow.

“I need extra money,” I lied, then winked. His forehead creased in confusion.

He went back to his station, picked up the tray he had set down, and walked out of the kitchen.

He didn’t even bother teaching me what to do, so I stood there like an idiot, looking more like a chef than a food server.

I jumped when someone suddenly shouted, “Table 16!” and placed a tray on the counter.

Since I was the only remaining food server in the kitchen—all the others were chefs—I decided to take the tray and serve it myself.

The tray held crispy pata, french fries, and several servings of rice. I carried it carefully as I exited the kitchen.

I froze while holding the tray and looking for Table 16. I scanned the room and realized Table 16 was right beside the table I had been sitting at earlier.

I walked toward Table 16 and saw Ethan serving food at the adjacent table. He was leaning over slightly, and my eyes drifted from his lower back down to his buttocks.

My gaze stayed fixed on his back as I served the food on Table 16. “Here’s your order, ma’am,” I said to the slightly plump woman in front of me.

I snapped back to reality when the woman in front of me suddenly shouted, “This is not my order!” and stood up from her chair.

I checked the table number and realized it was Table 19. Fuck. Wrong table. I looked for Table 16—it was literally right beside where I had just placed the food. What the hell was wrong with me?

“Where’s your manager?” the woman demanded angrily, drawing attention from the other customers.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Ethan walking toward me.

He stood beside me, bowed politely, and addressed the customer. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I’ll serve the correct order right away.” He glanced at me briefly before turning his attention back to the customer. “He’s newly hired, ma’am. I’m really sorry.” The woman nodded and sat back down.

Ethan grabbed my wrist and dragged me into the kitchen. He told Zach to serve the food for Table 19.

“What are you doing?” he hissed at me.

“Serving food,” I answered. He only glared harder.

“To the wrong table?” he snapped.

Could he really blame me? Almost everything on that tray looked like something that plump woman would order. She was just being choosy.

When I noticed he had gone quiet but was still glaring at me, I added, “Sorry. It’s kind of your fault too.”

“My fault?” he replied sarcastically.

“Well, you don’t have to lean over so much when serving. It’s distracting.” He closed his eyes, as if trying not to explode.

I was surprised I had actually said that out loud, but there was no taking it back now.

“Just stay here and don’t do anything stupid,” he said angrily before turning away.

Before he could fully leave the kitchen, I grabbed his hand and turned him to face me.

“I want to help.” I pouted.

“Do you really think you’re helping?” he asked, eyes closed again, looking like he was about to burst from frustration.

“Yes,” I answered, winking to look proud of myself even though I had only caused trouble so far.

“Fine. Just do it properly.” He pulled his hand away from mine and quickly walked out of the kitchen.

I went back to work, but this time I made sure to double-check everything I did.

I carried plates from the counter to the tables, repeating in my head like a broken record, “Food here, order there.” My arms were starting to ache from the weight of the trays, and sweat clung to the back of my neck.

Still, whenever I looked over and saw Ethan moving smoothly—his steps steady, his smile never fading—it kept me going. He didn’t look tired at all, even though he had been working much longer than I had. No complaints, no sighs. Just him doing his job like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Compared to him, I was a mess, but I pushed through anyway. If he could handle all of this without faltering, then I had no excuse to give up.

Ethan’s shift ended at 9 p.m., so I decided to say goodbye to Tita Vien and head home. She tried to give me money for helping at the restaurant, but I told her to just add it to Ethan’s next paycheck instead.

Back then, I had never liked the idea of working—long hours, tiring tasks, the weight of responsibility. Even in our own family business, I never saw myself getting involved. But tonight felt different. Even though I was exhausted, I didn’t mind as much. Watching Ethan handle everything so calmly and steadily earlier made me want to keep up with him. Somehow, beside him, the heaviness of the work faded away.

Now that the shift was over, I realized it wasn’t really the work that kept me going…
It was him.