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It was the first snowfall Ken had ever experienced.
As someone who grew up in the tropical mountains, snow had always been something out of a postcard. He’d imagined it to be magical, soft, quiet and comforting in its own way. It’s supposed to be enjoyed over a book and a warm cup of hot chocolate.
But New York’s version was nothing like that.
The air was biting, the streets chaotic. He rubbed his hands together, trying to summon warmth through his gloves, but the cold bit straight through the fabric. The sidewalks were crowded with people rushing past, voices overlapping in irritation and laughter. The pavement was slippery with melted ice. Taxis blared their horns, street vendors shouted over each other, and that strange smell of smoke, coffee, and garbage filled the air.
It wasn’t quite the white Christmas he had in mind.
He was only supposed to be here for three days, a brief layover before heading home. But then the storm came, swallowing the skyline in white, and his flight was cancelled indefinitely. Now he wandered the streets with no destination, a stranger in a city too big to care.
The longer he walked, the lonelier it felt. It was snowing and it was his first time to witness the phenomenon, but he had no one to share the moment with. He briefly remembered to video call his parents, but he only had 5% of battery left in his phone. It was a helpless case.
So he did what could only distract him, he moved passed the overwhelming crowd and he walked. He walked ‘til his feet burned, and until his leg felt warm.
After several blocks, Ken ducked into the first café he saw, a small, fogged-up place squeezed between a laundromat and a souvenir shop. The smell of roasted coffee and cinnamon hit him instantly, comforting his senses.
He took off his gloves and blew into his hands as he stepped toward the counter, waiting for the barista to notice him. That’s when he heard a distinct voice.
“Nakakaurat talaga ‘tong mga kano! Urgh!”
The voice came from behind the counter. A waiter, balancing two trays, muttered the words under his breath. His nameplate read Paulo.
Ken froze.
Paulo.
It couldn’t be.
But then Paulo turned, his brow furrowed in mild irritation as he set the trays down. His hair was shorter now; gone were his long black hair that he used to love. There were fine lines by his eyes, warmth replaced by tiredness, buried beneath the years.
“Paulo?” Ken’s voice came out quieter than intended
Paulo blinked, startled. His eyes flicked up to meet Ken’s, and for a moment, he didn’t react. Then, slowly, recognition dawned.
“Ken?”
Ken laughed softly, unsure what else to do. “Ikaw pala talaga.”
Paulo stared for a second longer before breaking into a disbelieving smile. “Wow, ikaw pala talaga. Anong ginagawa mo rito?! Sa New York?!”
“Got stuck,” Ken said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Na-cancel flight ko dahil sa snowstorm.”
“Of course,” Paulo chuckled. “Ang gulo ng ciudad. Mas magulo, more than the usual!”
Then, an awkward pause as they stared at each other. The noise around them fell away and they were both stuck in a silent bubble, staring down at each other. Unsure of what to say.
The silence stretched between two people who used to know each other so well, and they suddenly both realized too much time has passed to pretend that they still know each other.
Ken gestured to the empty table by the window. “Can I—?”
“Yeah,” Paulo nodded quickly. “Upo ka. Dalhan kita ng kape. My treat.”
Ken watched him walk away, weaving through the tables with practiced ease. As he waited he panned his eyes around the café finally noticing the small crown of patrons. The café was small but alive — couples sharing desserts, friends laughing, the scent of fresh pastries wafting from the kitchen.
For the first time since he landed in the city that never sleeps, Ken could breathe and relax. Finally, someone familiar that he can talk to. While he waited he’d practice how he could start their conversation, he’d never been good with one.
Then his thoughts progressed to the possibilities of how Paulo came here, if he had settled in America for some time; if he finally achieved his dreams of becoming an artist, or if he’s here to start a new life, and a family? Did he have one?
His chest ached for a second, then he buried it deep when he saw his ex-lover approaching their table again.
When Paulo returned with two mugs of coffee, his hands trembled slightly as he set them down. “House blend lang ‘to. Sure ako hindi kasing sarap ng gawa mo.”
Ken looked up, smiling faintly. “You remember.”
“How could I forget?” Paulo’s voice softened. “Love language mo ata ang paggawa ng kape.”
Ken laughed quietly, eyes flickering to the window, where the snow kept falling, slower now, gentler. “Ganun pa rin naman hanggang ngayon.”
For a moment, neither spoke. The world outside was muffled by snow, and the café’s soft hum wrapped around them and settled.
Paulo finally slid into the seat across from him, his movements tentative at first, but he settled in with more comfort.
His smile was small, carrying the same gentleness Ken remembered.
Ken couldn’t quite believe it. After all these years, here they were – sitting across the same table again, in a foreign city that suddenly didn’t feel so lonely.
The sight of Paulo, older now but achingly familiar, stirred forgotten emotions he thought were long buried deep in his chest.
He shook his head with a quiet laugh. Maybe the blizzard wasn’t an accident.
He turned back to Paulo, his smile brighter, with the warmth returning to him. “So… kumusta ka, Pau?”
***
PAULO’S POV
Paulo wasn’t sure how all of this happened.
One moment he had been moving through the city the way he always did, mind already halfway to his next shift—and the next, he was standing across a café counter from the one person he had spent years teaching himself not to think about.
And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he had offered Ken temporary company. A place to pass the storm. A few hours of warmth.
He still wasn’t sure whether it came from longing for something familiar, or from sheer exhaustion that made him careless with his heart.
Either way, it felt unreal.
Ken moved through New York like a child in wonder. Eyes lifted, breath shallow, wonder threaded with overwhelm. Paulo found himself unconsciously adjusting his pace for him, slowing down, pointing things out, stepping slightly ahead whenever the sidewalk narrowed.
“Dahan-dahan diyan,” he said when Ken shuffled uncertainly at a stretch of ice. “Madulas ’yan.”
Ken tried one careful step. Slipped anyway.
His laugh burst out loud and unguarded, echoing off the storefronts. “Akala ko exaggerated lang ’yung mga nadudulas sa movies!”
Paulo laughed too, even though something inside him twisted. The sound was the same was all too familiar, it almost made him want to reach out.
They walked like tourists in each other’s memory.
Paulo teaching Ken where to step, when to slow, which streets stayed warmer because of underground vents. Ken listening like everything was a discovery, eyes wide at things Paulo had learned to ignore years ago.
The city was dressed for the season with Christmas lights blinking above narrow streets, shop windows fogged with warmth, garlands sagging under new snow. Everything glowed softly, despite the harsh cold weather.
“Uy, dito tayo,” Paulo said suddenly, steering Ken toward a narrow café with amber light spilling from its windows. “Masarap hot chocolate dito.”
Ken blinked at it. “Dito ka ba madalas?”
“Minsan lang,” Paulo admitted as the bell chimed above them. “Mahal dito lahat sa New York. Pero kapag gusto kong magkunwaring may extra ako, dito ako pumupunta.”
Ken brushed snow from his coat, smiling. “Akala ko ayaw mo ng matamis.”
Paulo shrugged lightly. “Nakasanayan na lang.”
Inside, heat wrapped around them fast. Paulo ordered automatically, muscle memory guiding him through the menu. While they waited, he found himself glancing at Ken without meaning to, and then not stopping.
Ken stood by the fogged-up window, watching the snow with quiet fascination, as if he were afraid it might disappear if he blinked.
Paulo had forgotten this about him. How he always looked at things like he was deeply engraving them to his memory.
His cheeks burned, remembering how he was the subject of those intense stares many years ago.
When he took their drinks from the counter and handed one over, their fingers brushed. Paulo felt his pulse react as if it had been waiting all this time for permission.
They talked about safe things.
About food that they missed in Manila. About how the biting cold brough a different kind of pain, far from the comfort of the sun. About old friends they haven’t seen in a while. About his travels throughout the world. About Ken’s business trips and his start up company.
Anything, and everything that they could think of.
Yet they danced carefully around the hollow space, all familiar, but nothing too personal.
That night, back at his apartment, Ken sleeps on the couch. Paulo lies awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the quiet building sounds: pipes settling, distant sirens, the low hum of a city that never really rests.
He thinks of who he was when he left. He thinks of who he is now. He thinks of how the day went and how he missed Ken all these years.
But he thinks also of the days when he worked so hard to reach the life where he is now. And how Ken has traversed a different path. They only grew farther apart because they both learned how to grow alone.
***
The following day, the snowfall had softened. It tamed into something gentler, drifting in thin, lazy sheets that settled easily on shoulders and hair before melting into nothing. The city felt quieter because of it.
Ken and Paulo stepped back into the cold together, scarves pulled up, hands buried deep into their pockets as they wandered without urgency.
The streets were still wet with half-frozen slush glistening faintly under pale daylight. Their footsteps made soft, uneven sounds along the pavement, and Paulo found himself unconsciously matching Ken’s pace again, slower than his usual city-walk.
Today, Ken looked different.
Despite the cold biting at his nose and the red blooming along his cheeks, there was a lightness to him that hadn’t been there yesterday. He walked with more ease. He’s tilting his head in quiet fascination at the way snow gathered on fire escapes and street signs. With Paulo beside him, the city no longer looked endless and overwhelming. It looked… lived in and human.
Central Park opened before them like a wide, white pause in the middle of steel and concrete buildings.
In winter, it was stripped bare of color—trees reduced to dark veins against a pale sky, their branches thin and reaching. The grass lay hidden beneath uneven sheets of snow, trampled in some places, untouched in others. Ponds were skinned over with ice, cracked and clouded, reflecting only pale shadows of movement.
It should have felt bleak. And yet, to Ken, it didn’t.
He pointed out how the snow clung to the trees like quiet celebration, outlining every branch in silver. He stared at couples passed with scarves tied between them. And he pointed out the children skidding clumsily across frozen paths, their laughter sharp and sudden. The park was subdued but it’s entirely not dead.
Ken slowed in the middle of the path. “Parang… ang tahimik,” he said softly.
Paulo followed his gaze. The city’s roar felt distant here, softened by the wide stretch of white. “Dito lang ’yan sa loob,” he replied. “Paglabas mo ulit, magulo na naman.”
Ken smiled faintly. “Mas gusto ko ’to.”
Paulo watched the way Ken tipped his face toward the sky, letting a few snowflakes land on his eyelashes before blinking them away.
The way his mouth curved with quiet wonder, like he was storing this moment carefully somewhere inside him.
For a second, Paulo forgot how many winters had passed without him.
They walked deeper into the park, their shoulders brushing once when the path narrowed. The cold no longer felt like something to fight, it felt like something to move through together.
And when Paulo heard Ken laughing again, his heart caved in a little; everything feels dangerously familiar like he wanted to reach and just snuggle in his arms next.
But he shakes the thoughts out of his head and he walks ahead, pretending to look for a way out of the park.
By the time their feet began to protest and the cold had worked its way through even the thickest layers of clothing, Ken was the first to slow down.
“Libre ko na lunch,” he said, a little breathless but smiling. “May gusto ka bang kainan?”
Paulo almost laughed.
For a split second, the absurd answer hovered on his tongue—some fine dining place he once passed on the way to work, all glass windows and white tablecloths and prices he pretended not to see.
He could already imagine Ken taking it seriously, waving off the cost like it was nothing, insisting because that had always been his way when he wanted to make a moment special.
Paulo swallowed the thought before it could become real. Knowing Ken, he would have splurged. And Paulo didn’t want that kind of weight between them.
So he tilted his head toward the corner instead. “May diner dito sa kanto. Kung okay lang sa’yo.”
Ken’s grin widened. “Mas okay ’yon. Gutom na gutom na ako.”
The bell above the diner door chimed when they stepped inside, the warmth rushing at them all at once. The place smelled like oil and something vaguely sweet. Vinyl booths lined the walls, cracked from years of use. A jukebox hummed softly in the corner, playing a song Paulo didn’t quite recognize. They slid into a booth by the window.
Ken looked around the space, curious and delighted. “Parang sa movies,” he murmured.
Paulo chuckled. “Mas masarap ’to sa movies, kasi di na need i-imagine.”
They ordered without much thought. Pizza for the table. A burger each. Fries in the middle. It felt excessive but Ken didn’t mind.
When the food arrived, steam rose between them like a fragile barrier. Ken picked up a slice of pizza and laughed under his breath. “Iba talaga dito. Ang lalaki ng lahat.”
“Pati problema,” Paulo said lightly.
Ken snorted. They ate with the quiet relief of people who had spent all morning out in the cold. Grease on fingers. Salt on lips. Heat slowly returning to frozen hands.
For a while, they didn’t talk. They didn’t need to.
Paulo watched the way Ken leaned back after the first few bites, eyes closing briefly in contentment. Watched the way he instinctively offered the last fry before even thinking about it. Some habits never asked for permission to survive.
“You still do that,” Paulo said before he could stop himself.
Ken blinked. “Do what?”
“’Yung… lagi mong binibigay ’yung huling piraso,” Paulo said softly.
Ken glanced at the fries, then at him. A slow smile tugged at his lips. “Ikaw lang naman binibigyan ko ng ganun dati.”
He grins and pushed the plate further to him.
Outside the window, snow drifted past like a slow curtain. Inside the diner, everything felt suspended in warm yellow light and the illusion of forever.
“Alam mo, never kong naimagine na makikita kita ulit, sa New York pa talaga!”
“Masaya lang naman dito pag bumibisita, pero mahirap din.”
“Bakit pala New York?”
“I dunno, it felt like it could challenge me in ways that I wouldn’t imagine. It feels chaotic here, and sometimes too much, but I like it here, mahirap pero parang puno ng posibilidad.”
“Bakit parang gusto mong mahirapan, Pau?” Ken stares at him fully, the food already forgotten.
Paulo smiles, “Hindi naman. Hinanap ko sarili ko, tapos masaya naman, mahirap pero masaya.”
“Hindi ka naging masaya nung nasa Pinas ka?” And there it was, their tumultuous past unraveling, wrapped in a carefully disguised simple question.
If this was him in the past, he’d answer as vaguely as the question. But he learned a thing or two from the locals, and that it’s best to be direct. Paulo reached for his drink, grounding himself in the cold condensation of the glass.
“Don’t get me wrong Ken, I was happy with you. But I was losing myself way too much because I couldn’t recognize myself anymore.”
“Kahit ngayon nga oh, napapansin ko pa rin yung mga dati mong ginagawa. My attention has always been with you that sometimes, I forget myself.”
“But I was taking care of you too?”
“It’s different.”
“How?”
Paulo hesitated, the word how settling between them like something fragile.
He traced the rim of his glass with his thumb before answering. “You took care of me,” he said gently. “Pero ako, Ken… I stopped taking care of myself kasi lahat ng attention ko, buhos sayo.”
Ken frowned slightly. “Hindi ko gets.”
“You were loud with your love,” Paulo continued. “Malaki. Ramdam ng lahat. And I loved that about you. Mahal kita dahil doon.” He swallowed. “Pero habang minamahal mo ako nang ganun, ako naman… unti-unti kong binigay lahat ng sarili ko sa’yo. Hindi ko napansin na nauubos na pala ako.”
Ken’s jaw tightened. “So kasalanan ko?”
Paulo shook his head. “Hindi. Walang may kasalanan. It just didn’t feel right along the way.”
The silence that followed was heavy, pressing down between them, like a blanket of snow has suddenly avalanched between them. The hum of the diner filled the gap, with people’s soft murmurs, but Ken broke it first.
“Akala ko kasi masaya tayo.”
Paulo met his eyes. “Naging masaya naman tayo.” Ken’s throat bobbed, and when he spoke again, his voice was quieter. “I’m sorry for not loving you the right way.”
Paulo grimace, “Don’t make it sound like you didn’t do your best, Ken. Don’t get me wrong, you loved me the best way you know how. Pero ako ‘tong may hinahanap pa. And I’m sorry for that. Tingin ko kasi, may kulang pa sa sarili ko. I need balance. I need to learn something, kung ano man yun.”
Ken leaned back against the booth, breath leaving him in a slow exhale. “Ang sakit no? Loving someone and still not being able to choose them the way you’re supposed to.”
Paulo nodded. “Oo. Nakakapagod din. Pero, no regrets with you Ken. I swear.”
Ken chuckles, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Pampalubag loob na lang ata yan Pau, e.”
A laugh escapes Paulo, despite what he’s seeing, it was slightly awkward but it felt right to be honest, not only for himself but also for Ken.
Outside, the snow kept falling, indifferent to the quiet unraveling inside the diner. After a moment, Ken chuckled weakly. “Grabe. Nag-lunch lang tayo, sabog na agad buhay natin.”
Paulo couldn’t help but smile a little. “Ayan yung walang pinagbago.”
Ken laughed under his breath at that. “Oo nga.”
They sat there longer than necessary after that.
Nothing was fixed. But nothing was hidden anymore, either. They were stuck in a limbo, between the time of the past and the present, lovers to strangers and to something not quite friends, but not quite ghosts either.
“Before I leave Pau, tara photobooth?” Paulo looked up, startled. Of all the things Ken could have asked for, it had to be that. Photobooths were a thing they’ve always done when they were lovers.
He almost said no, but what could hurt, if only they could do it one last time?
***
The photo booth was tucked in a narrow arcade just a few blocks from the diner, half-hidden between a claw machine and a row of blinking game cabinets.
Ken stopped in front of it like it was a dare.
“Eto ’yon,” he said, grinning. “Naalala mo?”
Paulo huffed softly. “Syempre. Ikaw ’yung laging hindi marunong tumingin sa camera.”
“Uy, ikaw kaya ’yung laging kumikilos nang hindi pa tapos ang countdown.”
“Mabagal lang kamo ang mga machine!” Paulo shot back.
Ken laughed again, and as always it did something dangerous to Paulo’s chest; like he wanted to take back everything he said. So he stops himself, and pulled him inside before he could think better of it.
The curtain fell shut.
The space was tight. Their shoulders brushed immediately. Ken smelled faintly of cold air and soap. Paulo became acutely aware of where his own hands rested, too deliberate in his pockets, too careful not to reach out, carefully clinging on to the inner pockets of his denim.
The screen flickered to life.
3… 2… 1…
The first photo caught them unprepared. Ken was mid-laugh, eyes crinkled. Paulo was half-turned toward him without meaning to be.
The second countdown started.
Ken leaned in without thinking this time. “Wait, ngayon sabay tayo tumingin sa camera!”
They did.
For a second, it felt like muscle memory took over, like their faces remembered the distance even if their minds pretended not to. The camera flashed. Their heads were close, too close that he could smell Ken’s faint cologne. And his heart thumped because this was the same fragrance, he gifted the man some years ago. His heart clenched, and his gloved hand fisted on his pockets forcefully.
On the third photo, Ken lifted one brow playfully, lips pressed together in duck face. Paulo shook his head at him, smiling despite himself, the camera caught the silly gesture.
Then there was the last countdown. This was probably the last time they’ll be in this proximity. The last in this lifetime…perhaps?
4…
Ken hesitated.
Paulo saw it this time.
3…
For a heartbeat, the world shrank into the narrow booth, into the hum of the machine and the thin buzz of electricity in the air. Ken’s eyes searched his face, there’s no masked happiness, no practiced smile, no polite gesture. Just open staring, straight out of to his soul. Like he was one of the falling snowflakes outside that he stared at intensely, burning it at the back of his mind.
He remembered how it felt, and now he’s the center of his undivided attention again, he slightly trembled.
2…
And in the same seconds, he was thinking about Ken too, about why did he ever leave the greatest love of his life. Why did he feel empty despite it all? And how he could just reach his face and kiss him endlessly for the last time.
Then, the flash went off, and they blinked out the haze of their own thoughts.
They both exhaled, masked on, and they smiled like nothing had happened. The curtain slid open as the strip of photos printed inside.
They stood there a second longer than necessary, neither moving, neither speaking, as if stepping out meant admitting the moment had already begun to end. Finally, Ken reached in and pulled the strip free.
They leaned toward it together.
Four images. A timeline of almosts.
The first: laughter.
The second: closeness.
The third: something like pretend.
The last: stillness.
Paulo swallowed.
“Ang weird,” Ken murmured. “Parang… masaya pa rin.”
Paulo nodded. “Masaya naman talaga.” And perhaps that’s were their problem lies. Too many unspoken feelings, forcing happiness where it should be ugly and messy yet still accepting.
Paulo wondered, if there would ever be a right time.
***
They stepped out into the arcade, back into the low noise of machines and passing strangers. The warmth of the booth faded quickly. The cold from outside crept back in through the glass doors.
Ken folded the photo strip carefully and slipped it into his wallet.
“For remembrance,” he said lightly.
Paulo forced a small smile.
They walked out into the evening together. The snow fell again, quiet and patient. The city had begun to glow with early night lights, the sky a pale bruise of blue and gray. Their footsteps matched without effort. They didn’t talk much now. They didn’t need to.
At the corner where their paths would eventually split, Ken slowed.
“Pau,” he said softly.
Paulo stopped too.
“Merry Christmas.”
For a moment, it felt like everything they hadn’t said pressed right up against the surface. All the what-ifs. All the almosts. All the futures they already knew they wouldn’t choose.
Ken smiled still. “Salamat,” he said. “For today. For… all of this.”
Paulo swallowed. “Salamat din, Ken. And Merry Christmas too. I-kumusta mo ako kina tita.”
There was a pause, one that stretched and stretched, like neither of them dared to be the first to truly end it.
Then Ken spoke again, softer.
“Pag bumalik ka sa Pinas… hanapin mo lang ako. Nandun pa rin ako sa same address.”
Paulo’s chest tightened. “Oh,” he said quietly. “You never left?”
Ken’s smile trembled just a bit. “Di na rin. Sayang ’yung bahay.”
Another second passed.
“Friendly hug?” Ken offered too casually for how carefully he was breathing.
Paulo didn’t hesitate this time.
He stepped forward quickly, almost desperately, and wrapped his arms around Ken before doubt could catch up to him. The impact knocked the air from his lungs. Layers of winter clothes pressed between them, thick and clumsy, but it didn’t matter, he still felt the shape of him. The warmth. The familiar weight of a body that once fit against his perfectly.
Ken’s arms tightened around him. For a second, Paulo forgot how to breathe.
The city disappeared. The noise faded. There was only this, snow collecting on their shoulders, melting slowly into cold water, the ache in his chest growing with every heartbeat he couldn’t quiet.
Ken smelled the same, and he briefly thought he’ll never smell him again like this. He almost cried.
They held on longer than what was polite. Longer than what was safe. Long enough for Paulo to feel the truth settle into his bones. This was really it.
When they finally pulled apart, neither of them spoke right away.
Ken’s eyes were bright. So were Paulo’s.
“Una na ’ko, Pau,” Ken whispered. “Be safe.”
“Always,” Paulo answered, his voice unsteady now despite his effort. “Ikaw rin, Ken. Ingat ka palagi.”
They stood there a few seconds more, just staring, memorizing each other’s faces, open and unashamed, memorizing lines, the warmth, the way snow gathered in dark hair. Acceptance hovered at the edge of them both, fragile but unavoidable.
Then Ken stepped back, still staring at him. Intently engraving him in his memory.
One step, then another.
Each one felt like something tearing loose in Paulo’s chest. Then, Ken finally turned and walked straight ahead.
Paulo didn’t follow. He forced himself to not look back. They walked in opposite directions, their footprints slowly filling with snow behind them, the city swallowing the space they had just left behind.
Their hearts felt strangely lighter now, not because it hurt less, but because the truth no longer had to be carried alone. The snowfall was what only remained to accompany them on two separate paths. One shared memory under the busy New York sky. One last goodbye before finally accepting that there’s a love that finally knew when to stop.