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“Sa totoo lang? Matulog,” was Karl’s answer when, two months ago, Vlad asked what he wanted to do for his birthday.
Karl has never spoken outright about it, but he has noticed over the years how Vlad seems to take Karl’s birthday more seriously than his own. From surprise parties and sudden road trips, fancy five-course home-cooked meals to even flights overseas—you name it, Vlad has done it. His surprises would just escalate and escalate, despite Karl repeatedly saying a casual meal would be enough—Vlad’s mere presence would be enough.
“I don’t think you realize how you made me feel that day, when I woke up on my birthday and you were there,” Vlad had confessed one night three years ago after four bottles of beer. He didn’t elaborate—and he didn’t have to. Karl knew him better by then, to hear what Vlad leaves unsaid.
And Karl knows him all the more better now.
He knows, that Vlad is still trying to measure up to what Karl had done all those years ago during their brief stint as housemates. That Vlad is, in his own way, still trying to give to Karl what Karl himself had given to Vlad then—a sense of belonging, and home. Of acceptance. Of a reminder that on today of all days he deserves to have a big smile on his face and be happy and feel that there’s at least one person in the world that genuinely cares about him.
Karl’s better now at articulating what he feels—at what Vlad constantly makes him feel, and he’s made sure countless times that Vlad knows he doesn’t need to make all these grand gestures for Karl to know that Vlad loves him, for Karl to love him.
Vlad’s enough. He’s more than enough. He has given more of himself—and continues to do so—more than he ever should have. He doesn’t need to prove himself to anyone, least of all to Karl.
Then again, it’s too deep-seated an insecurity to ever really fully heal.
But it’s fun too, seeing how giddy Vlad becomes during the weeks leading up to Karl’s birthday. He’s terrible at keeping secrets, and more often than not Karl gets an inkling for what Vlad has planned days before the actual date. It makes Vlad happy, constantly surprising Karl.
He is good at that, surprises. Even that very first one, with all the fairy lights and cheesy music and last minute video editing—time and distance has made Karl become overly fond of that memory. Regardless of what happened after.
(Vlad on the other hand still calls it his Peak Moment of Smitten Fragility.)
It’s a different story this year.
Karl’s in the middle of writing the second season of his mainstream tv serye and a stage play and the movie adaptation of his first novel. (He is never doing something this crazy again. He doesn’t know what normal sleep is at this point.)
Meanwhile, Vlad has been away the past month shooting in various locations, like this one whole trek going north. He's in Baguio right now—or have they gone up to Sagada? No, Vlad would have mentioned it if they were changing locations already. They should have, but their original schedule had changed so many times the past two weeks it was stressing even Karl.
Point is, it’s the first time in years that Karl is spending his actual birthday alone. He’d met with his parents two days ago already. Birthday dinners with friends were spread throughout the upcoming weekend. Sure he could call up Joan—and maybe Chomskie too if he were in the city—for dinner tomorrow, but he could, technically, just do nothing.
That could be his gift to himself: doing nothing.
A single day not thinking about all these characters—fifteen main characters total at last count, christ—that have been living together in his head for the past three months. A day free from all the looming deadlines and the unending emails and persistent texts from naggy producers. A day away from his drafts and scripts and manuscripts.
A day for himself.
Karl groans, and collapses face down on the bed. He twists and turns to pull the covers from under him and leaves it draped over his waist. He checks his phone for any new messages. It’s not even eleven in the evening, but already birthday messages are pouring in; he ignores them all for mass replying tomorrow night instead.
One text from Vlad: shooting all night :( happy birthday karl. mamahalin, lagi’t-lagi.
Karl sends a reply: Minamahal, sa tuwina. Ingat ka, Vlad.
He's asleep even before the phone's screen turns off automatically.
***
Karl can't remember the last time he actually dreamed. Which is a pity, really—he used to have the most interesting dreams, with complex plots and detailed conversations. More vivid than most he knows. He's even used some of them as a jumping point for his actual writing projects.
He's usually conscious of the fact that he is dreaming too, and mostly tries to stir the narrative his way.
His dream right now? Is very, very much welcome.
That's Vlad, standing at the doorway and carefully shutting the door behind him. It's bright enough in the room—ah, Karl must've left the lamp on the whole night—that he can see Vlad frowning because of the creaking hinges. Vlad stands at that usual spot of his a few steps away from the door and starts stripping.
So it's that kind of dream then. Nice.
Off goes the thick, hooded sweatshirt. Then the pink shirt. Vlad unbuckles his belt, and shoves his pants down. Socks off too. He kicks the pile so they're much nearer to the hamper.
Karl squints. He can't even make dream!Vlad place his dirty clothes inside the basket directly. Stubborn dream!Vlad.
Vlad nearly trips over something. Cute.
"Hi mahal," Karl says fondly. He loves this dream already. They've been video-calling almost every day, true but seeing Vlad in person—at least in his dreams—still hits a different way.
Vlad pauses, then glances behind him. He looks guilty. Very cute.
"Mahal," Vlad echoes. Oh this really is better than seeing him on a tiny screen. Now he has an actual Vlad—clad only in boxers!—walking closer and sitting at the edge of the bed. That's a cool hand stroking his hair and lips kissing his forehead.
"Lalandiin mo ba 'ko," Karl asks in the middle of a yawn. He sighs in contentment as Vlad's fingers find that spot behind his neck that always gets sore.
Vlad laughs, quiet and a bit muffled. "Baka sa umaga na lang."
Karl huffs in protest. But he's easily appeased when his hand easily lands on Vlad's chest. So warm. So firm. And so close. He yawns again. "Ayoko sa umaga," he grumbles.
"Bakit naman?"
"Gising na ako sa umaga, e. Wala ka na. Binawi ka na uli ng Baguio."
Ironically, it's a kiss on the lips that sends Karl back into dreamless sleep.
***
The first thing Karl becomes aware of when he wakes up again is that his arm is draped over a bare waist.
He opens his eyes to the welcome sight of Vlad’s abdomen.
(What’s not so welcome though, is how it’s immediately obvious that Vlad has lost some weight.)
He glances up. Oh. A perk nipple. Still half-asleep, Karl reaches up and flicks said nipple with his finger. Vlad startles.
Vlad also doesn’t disappear.
“Huh. Nakauwi ka pala talaga.”
Vlad captures his hand and kisses his knuckles as he laughs. “Yes. Umuwi ako. Hi Karl. Good morning. Happy birthday.”
Another kiss lands on his forehead. Karl notices that Vlad has been holding his phone up so the light from the screen wouldn’t disturb Karl. He types out a message one-handed before he deposits the phone back on the nightstand.
“Anong oras na?” None of Vlad is near enough to kiss—not said waist, not even an arm. Karl will have to move to reach him. Unfair.
“Early. We can go back to sleep.”
The curtains that Karl normally keeps partly drawn open to let the sun in during the mornings have been fully closed. He and Vlad have drastically different definitions of the word early, and now there’s no way to estimate the time.
But it’s his birthday today.
He really can just go back to sleep, even if it’s just for today.
“Akala ko pa-Sagada ka na,” Karl mumbles as Vlad lies down properly again. His chest is finally near enough—Karl is able to sneak in some kisses that are more like soft exhales really, as he snuggles into that embrace that he has so sorely missed. It’s been a while, hasn’t it, that their limbs have tangled together this close, arms around each other, and with his hand buried in those soft, soft curls that are getting too long again. There’s just something about Vlad’s solid arms holding him that grounds him like no other. He feels steady. Secure. His mind is immediately at ease.
“Na-move bukas. So I kiiiinda have to take the bus back later this evening.”
Karl tightens his embrace, just because. “Ikaw talaga. ‘Di ka na dapat tumakas.”
“Uy ha, ‘di ako tumakas. We ended early yesterday, and today’s a free day. Kasi ‘yun—may rally. May reception. May lamay. Lahat na ata nang pwedeng i-schedule sa locations namin, naka-schedule na for today.”
Vlad’s collarbones are just there. Karl plants a kiss and breathes in. “Inaway mo nanaman si Pat, ano.”
Vlad huffs. His thumb circles along Karl's lower back. It's soothing, it's hypnotizing. The weight that has seemingly taken up permanent residence on Karl's shoulders lessens with every exhale. “We didn’t fight naman. Everyone’s just—frustrated. The delays keep piling up.”
It’s barely a hardship to kiss Vlad somewhere higher—he lands near that stubbled chin. Vlad’s answer is a soft peppering of kisses that start from the bridge of his nose until they find his lips. The kiss is gentle, languid—unexpecting. It ends too soon when Karl pulls away to direct a yawn at Vlad’s chest.
“Sleep, Arki.” A forehead kiss again, and there really must be something about Vlad’s kisses today, because they keep lulling Karl back to sleep.
***
Karl wakes for a third time because of his stomach rumbling.
The curtains are still closed, and both their phones are nowhere within easy reach. He has no idea what time it is. He has a feeling it’s much closer to lunch though. Maybe even past that.
That’s at least a solid twelve hour sleep. With a few interruptions yes, but those don’t count.
And right now, aside from Karl being so hungry he feels like he could eat an entire bilao of pancit, well—
He also can’t breathe.
Because Vlad is crushing him again.
It really is kind of funny how no matter what position they end up sleeping in, 7 times out of 10 Karl will wake up with Vlad slumped over his chest as though he were Vlad’s personal pillow, or plush toy even. It’s been a decade of being together and sleeping together and still they haven’t found a solution for this. Vlad still clings like a barnacle in his sleep, and Karl still feels reluctant escaping from it, every single time.
Not that it’s such a big issue.
It’s just—Karl would like being able to get up from bed effortlessly, that’s all.
Plus, he’s starving.
“Vlad, gising.”
Miracle upon miracles, Vlad stirs immediately. He looks disoriented for a second as he blinks repeatedly before he focuses on Karl. Then he smiles, all bright and childlike and so endearingly familiar that Karl can’t help but smile back.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
“Happy birthday, mahal.”
“Thank you. I love you. I’m glad you’re here.” Karl’s smile turns softer, more affectionate. He gently wipes away the sleep dust gathered at Vlad’s eyes, and traces the shadows forming underneath. “Idlip ka pa, order lang ako ng makakain natin. Gisingin kita pag dumating na yung delivery.” It’s his turn this time to kiss Vlad on the forehead. Then on the tip of his nose. Then on the lips.
Vlad smiles into the kiss. It’s still cute, it still never gets old, how easy that red flush forms on his cheeks.
Even after all this time.
Vlad rubs his eyes and rolls to his side with a grunt. Now free, Karl immediately reaches for his phone to open the food delivery app. It’s twenty minutes to one in the afternoon. He settles for their old favourites: Pancit. Bistek. Laing too. And tinola, because Vlad needs soup when he's tired from traveling. An entire yema cake.
Vlad yawns loudly behind him. Karl settles down again and hugs Vlad from behind, fingers splaying over his abdomen. A kiss, on Vlad’s shoulder. Then on his nape, as Karl snuggles in. Their legs tangle. Vlad finds his hand to twine them together. Their rings clink upon meeting.
Karl smiles as Vlad begins to snore.