Chapter 22 Acceptance

Chapter 22 Acceptance
Morning sunlight spilled across my room, warm and steady, slipping through the curtains I had forgotten to close the night before. I blinked against the brightness, groaning softly as I reached for my phone on the bedside table. 9:00 a.m. Not too late, but not early enough to feel productive.

For a while, I just lay there, listening to the soft hum of the air conditioner. My body felt heavy, but my mind was already racing through the long list of things I needed to do: review for finals, finish animal physiology notes, and everything else piling up.

I sat up, rubbing my eyes before kicking off the blanket. My bed looked like a warzone, so I fixed it out of habit—pulling the sheets tight and fluffing the pillows once, twice. Mom’s rule: no breakfast if the bed isn’t made. Old habits never die.

Once the bed was neat, I did a few minutes of push-ups before heading into the bathroom for a shower.

Inside, I stared at my reflection for a few seconds—eyes still puffy, hair sticking out in every direction.

Foam and thoughts mixed together in rhythm—finals week, parasitology cases, the surgery rotation coming up next month.

I turned on the shower and waited for the water to heat up. The warmth was comforting, a small grounding moment in the middle of everything. The scent of soap filled the air as I let the water run down my neck, washing away some of the heaviness that had been clinging to me.

When I finished, I towel-dried my hair, threw on a plain white shirt and jeans, and headed downstairs.

The smell of fried rice and garlic greeted me before I even reached the dining area. Mom stood at the stove, casually cooking, while Dad sat at the table with his iPad propped up in front of him.

“Morning,” I greeted, pulling out the chair across from Dad.

“Good morning, son,” Dad replied without looking up. “You’re up late today.”

“Yeah,” I said, pouring coffee into my mug. “I was reviewing anatomy last night. Finals are coming up, and Professor Villanueva said the practical exam is going to be brutal.”

Mom sat down beside Dad and placed a plate of fried rice on the table.

“You’ve been studying nonstop these past few days. Every time we call, you’re buried in your books,” she said. “You might be forgetting to rest, Lucas.”

“I have to, Mom. I don’t want to fail,” I replied, scooping food onto my plate. “How’s the business, by the way? Did you close the deal?”

They had gone to Paris last time for an important business meeting.

I didn’t mind them leaving, but with my head already in chaos, I wanted to distract myself by hearing about their trip.

Dad took a sip of his coffee before answering. “We closed the deal with Mr. Smith, but unfortunately we didn’t get the big client. It’s a shame, but there was nothing we could do.”

I nodded.

“What about Kuya? Is he okay? Any news from him?” I asked quickly while eating.

While avoiding Ethan every day, I had been calling my older brother. I wanted to talk to him about the mess in my head and check how his business in Japan was doing.

It had been almost a month since we last spoke properly. Our last conversation was about the problems in the company he was handling. He mentioned there was an issue, but he never gave details.

I wasn’t sure if he was avoiding me because of the pile of messages I had sent. I hadn’t received a single reply.

“Your Kuya Dave is fine,” Mom said. “He’s just really busy fixing the problems in the company, but he says he can handle it. I talked to him yesterday before we flew back.”

“Did you go to Japan?” I asked curiously.

“We only stopped by briefly. Your mom was getting worried about Dave.”

We ate in comfortable silence for a while, until a question about my brother’s boyfriend popped into my mind.

Did Mom and Dad already know about his boyfriend?

I wanted to ask Mom, but I was scared they might not know yet and that I would end up being the one to tell them instead of Kuya.

I didn’t want that. I wanted Kuya to be the one to tell them himself.

I cleared my throat to get their attention. “Dad, how did you know that you loved Mom?”

They exchanged glances the moment the question left my mouth.

I had been thinking about this for days—what was really happening to me. I tried to ignore it, but it kept invading my thoughts every second. That’s why I decided to ask.

“I can’t really answer that, Lucas. Your mom was the one who—” Dad started, but Mom smacked his arm.

“That hurts, hon!” he yelped.

“You have the nerve, Emilio. You liked my friend first, then you stole me from him,” Mom shot back.

I couldn’t help but laugh.

“So you weren’t even Dad’s first choice? He had to steal you?” I teased. Mom stood up from her seat to high-five me.

Dad glared at me, but the look vanished when Mom smacked him again.

“Honestly, Dad, how did you know you loved Mom?” I asked more seriously this time.

He sighed before speaking. “It’s true that I liked your mom’s friend first.” He closed his eyes briefly, then turned to Mom, who was listening quietly.

“But at that time, my friend already had someone he was courting. Almost everything your mom wanted to tell him, she told me instead because she was too shy to approach him directly.”

I stayed quiet, eating while listening to Dad’s story.

“Then came the day your mom found out my friend had someone. She cried in front of me. That’s when I realized I didn’t want to see her cry. So I stayed with her until she moved on from him.” He paused, as if reliving the memory.

“A few months later, she told me she liked someone else. The problem was, the guy she liked also liked guys, and your mom didn’t know that yet.”

What the hell?

Dad sighed again. “I told myself I didn’t want her to cry again. So even though my feelings weren’t that deep yet, I confessed. I told her I liked her, that I didn’t want her to end up with someone else, and that I didn’t want to see her hurt again. I’d rather love her every day and let those feelings grow than let her go to someone who might break her heart.”

I was shocked. So he didn’t love Mom at first? He just didn’t want her to cry and get hurt—that’s why he chose to love her? How sacrificial.

“So you didn’t love Mom at first?” I asked, still confused.

How could you confess to someone if you didn’t fully love them yet?

“I do love your mom. But because we were friends first, I kept questioning whether I truly loved her or if I just wanted to protect our friendship. Then the day she cried in front of me… that’s when everything became clear,” he explained.

I nodded slowly.

It was like making a promise to nurture love rather than waiting for it to appear instantly. It was rare. Most people fall first and decide later. Here, he decided first and let his heart follow.

For some reason, my mind drifted to my situation with Ethan. Blake was courting him, and I was… nothing to Ethan. But somehow, I didn’t want Ethan to end up with Blake. I knew I could give him more than Blake ever could.

So was it possible that I loved him?

My head hurt.

I was pulled back to reality when Mom spoke.

“I love you, hon,” she said, hugging Dad and kissing him.

“Really? In front of my fried rice?” Mom just smiled and kept kissing him.

After breakfast, I went back upstairs. My desk looked like a battlefield—books stacked unevenly, scribbled notes everywhere, and a model skeleton of a dog perched near the lamp.

I sat down and started flipping through my notes on animal anatomy and parasitology. I recited each term under my breath: Ctenocephalides felis, Strongyloides stercoralis, Canis familiaris skeletal structure.

Sometimes I wondered why I even chose this course. Regret always came at the end.

Time blurred. The steady scratching of my pen filled the room. My back ached and my brain buzzed, but I couldn’t stop.

Every time I thought of taking a break, Ethan’s name slipped into my mind for no reason—the way he smiled, how his voice lingered even when he wasn’t around. He was literally eating me alive. I shook the thought off and forced myself to focus harder.

Suddenly, my phone screen lit up with a message from Ethan.

Ethan Hale
Do you have free time now? Elijah and Elise have been asking about you.

My thumb hovered over the reply button, but I didn’t type anything. I locked the phone and pushed it aside. I still didn’t know what to say to him—not yet.

By late afternoon, my brain was completely fried. The notes were starting to blur together, so I decided to drive to TJ’s house. Maybe he would know what to do with these feelings I couldn’t explain.

He was in his garage when I arrived, sleeves rolled up, working on his motorbike.

He only glanced at me as I walked over.

I sat on the wooden stool beside him. “Something wrong with it?” I asked, noticing how focused he was.

“Nothing major. Just checking a few things,” he replied, eyes still on the bike.

“Finals are coming, bro. Reviewing is exhausting.”

He paused, then moved to sit beside me.

“Who are you kidding? You’re not even reviewing,” he said with a grin.

Idiot. What does he think I am, lazy?

We sat in silence for a few minutes, both of us waiting to see who would speak first.

“Why did you come here? Got a problem?” he finally asked.

I turned to face him so I could see his expression clearly.

Out of everyone, TJ and Martin were the ones we ran to when we had problems. The difference was that with Martin, there was always alcohol on the table. With TJ, it was quiet—but his words always carried weight.

I let out a heavy sigh. “Have you ever liked someone?” I asked seriously.

I studied his face. He had a calm, almost serene expression, as if lost in thought. His dark hair fell naturally over his forehead, slightly tousled yet effortlessly neat. His skin was smooth and fair, catching the light gently. His brows were well-shaped and expressive, resting above a pair of deep gray eyes that held quiet curiosity.

His nose was straight and balanced, giving structure to his gentle face, while his lips—soft and naturally full—added a touch of warmth. There was something unassuming yet captivating about him. The kind of presence that drew attention not because he tried, but simply because he existed that way—calm, composed, and quietly striking.

He was actually good-looking. That’s why I never understood why he never introduced anyone to us. If he were a girl, I probably would have courted him already. I really liked how thick his eyebrows were.

“Why are you asking?” he said, finally looking at me. A cigarette rested between the fingers of his left hand.

He offered me one along with a lighter. I took them, lit the cigarette, and took a drag.

“Just curious,” I answered.

“Back in high school, I had this friend,” he began. “We did everything together. We explored all kinds of things. Whenever my family went out, I brought him along. He felt like a brother to me.” He paused, took a drag, and exhaled slowly.

“Then one day, he started liking someone. I supported him. We did everything we could so that person would notice him.”

I stayed quiet, watching his face. Every word carried visible weight.

“When they finally got together, I was so happy for him. But that happiness slowly turned into sadness. Every time he told me stories about the two of them, it felt like my heart was being crushed. I kept thinking it should have been me in that position. But because I was scared, I never fought for it.”

He suddenly rested his head on my shoulder. I let him. At that moment, I knew he needed it.

“Love is too complicated, Lucas, if you ask me. You think you just want to make the person happy because they deserve it. You want them to succeed, and you want to be part of that success. You don’t want to see them cry. But when the time comes and they find someone else they want to spend their life with, your own heart betrays you. That’s when you realize you did all those things not just because they were important to you… but because you already loved them.”

I let him keep his head on my shoulder.

I sat there staring at nothing, trying to swallow what he said. But the truth clung to me like something I had been avoiding for too long.

Maybe that was exactly what had been happening all along.

I thought I was just being kind. I thought I was just protecting Ethan, making sure he had someone to lean on, making him feel safe when I was around.

But now… I was starting to see it wasn’t just comfort or concern.

He was the reason I was feeling this way.

I let out a soft laugh—not from amusement, but the kind that slips out when you’re trying to hide how much something stings.

My eyes drifted to the floor, tracing the cracks in the tiles so I wouldn’t have to look at him.

“It’s hard, isn’t it?” I said quietly. “You think you can control it.”

I paused, feeling the weight of my own words settle in my chest. At first, I thought I could just help him. I thought I could just make him feel he wasn’t alone. But while doing all of that, I didn’t realize I was the one becoming more afraid—afraid of losing him, afraid of him finding someone else to do the things I was doing for him.

If that day ever came, I knew I wouldn’t just let it happen.

I shook my head at the mess inside my mind. These feelings were new, and I had no idea what to do with them.

In moments like this, there was only one person I was sure could help me. But how could I ask for help when I had been avoiding him?

I straightened up when TJ lifted his head from my shoulder.

I looked at him. “If what you said is true… if my own heart really is going to betray me, then maybe I’ll just let it.”

Before he could reply, I told him I was heading home.

The ride back felt longer than usual. The city lights blurred past the window, but my mind was somewhere else—replaying every word TJ had said. Your own heart will betray you. I used to think it was just an expression. Now it sounded like a prophecy I had been living without realizing.

When I got home, the house was quiet. Mom was already asleep. The only light came from the soft glow in the kitchen. I placed my bag on the table, sat down, and stared at my hands.

Maybe he was right. Love really was complicated. You start by wanting to be someone’s strength, and before you know it, you’re the one depending on them just to feel okay. You tell yourself it’s just care, just friendship, just empathy—until the thought of them smiling at someone else starts to ache in places you didn’t know could hurt.

That scene replayed in my mind again—the way Ethan spoke so softly to Blake, the way he smiled at him. It felt like a stab in the back.

I leaned back and sighed.

When did I start feeling this way? Was it the night I slept at his house? The day I helped him at work? Or maybe it happened in all the small moments in between—the ones I thought meant nothing but actually meant everything.

Funny how love doesn’t ask for permission. It just happens—quietly, naturally, like breathing. You only notice it when you’re already gasping for air.

And for the first time, I didn’t try to deny it. I just sat there, letting the truth sink in. It was heavy, but oddly freeing. Because maybe admitting it—even just to myself—was the first step toward finally understanding what I really felt.