Maybe This Time

25

It was a quiet evening at Aiah's condo, a silence she hadn't felt in weeks. After the emotional rollercoaster of the day, she had planned to unwind, hoping to calm the storm brewing between her and MJ. The condo was eerily peaceful—Sheena and Gian had messaged her that they were staying overnight at Gian's brother's house because the kids' party had run late. Aiah agreed, appreciating that Max would be spending more time with them, but it left her alone with her thoughts. And those thoughts were relentlessly consumed by MJ.

She glanced at her phone, hoping for some sort of message from him, but the screen remained empty. A sigh escaped her lips as she began cleaning up the living room, folding Max's scattered toys and tidying up the remnants of a normal day in the life of a mom. She hadn't yet fully processed the weight of their earlier conversation, but something inside her was crumbling. Would MJ ever truly forgive her? Could they ever repair what had been damaged?

As she moved to the kitchen to rinse some dishes, her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. The unexpected noise made her pause, furrowing her brows as she quickly dried her hands and walked to the door.

It was almost midnight. Sino kaya ito? She hesitated for a second, but then cautiously opened the door.

There, leaning heavily against the doorframe, was a very drunk MJ.

"MJ?!" Aiah's eyes widened in surprise. Her heart immediately raced in concern as she took in his disheveled state. His usually sharp, clean-cut appearance was replaced by a man who had clearly been drinking far too much, his hair messier than usual and his shirt untucked and wrinkled.

"Hi..." MJ slurred, his speech barely coherent, his eyes glassy as he struggled to keep his balance.

"MJ, ano ba?!" Aiah reached for his arm, worry lining her voice. "What happened to you? Bakit ka lasing?"

He didn't answer, just swayed forward, almost collapsing into her. She quickly slipped her arm around his waist to support him. "Hala, MJ. Come in," she said, guiding him carefully into the condo.

MJ stumbled, and she could feel how heavy he was as they made their way to the bedroom. Every step was a challenge as he mumbled incoherent words. Aiah's heart tightened at the sight of him like this—vulnerable, broken.

"Sit down muna," Aiah instructed softly, helping him sit on the edge of the bed. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, head hanging low as if he was fighting to stay conscious.

Aiah kneeled in front of him, her fingers gently lifting his chin so their eyes met. "Bakit ka nagkaganyan, MJ?" she whispered, her voice laced with concern. But he only blinked, half-aware, his expression distant.

She sighed, realizing that talking would have to wait. He was too drunk for any meaningful conversation. "Okay, let's get you cleaned up."

Carefully, she began unbuttoning his shirt, her fingers trembling slightly as they brushed against his warm skin. She bit her lip, focusing on getting his shirt off, but her heart was racing for reasons beyond just worry. There was something about taking care of him like this that made her remember all the nights they'd spent together before—when things were simple, and their love was unquestionable.

Once his shirt was off, she grabbed a damp towel and started wiping his chest, trying to cool him down. MJ's eyes were half-closed, his head tilting back slightly, but he was still conscious, still present enough to be aware of her hands on him.

"Salamat," he murmured, his voice hoarse, barely audible. It was the first real word he'd said since arriving.

"Just rest, MJ," Aiah said softly, though her own emotions were starting to stir. She wiped his arms, his neck, and his face gently. As she reached for the towels and water basin, preparing to tidy up, she felt a sudden tug.

In one swift motion, MJ had grabbed her wrist, pulling her on top of him. She gasped, startled by his strength despite his drunken state. She was now straddling his lap, their faces just inches apart.

"M-MJ, wait—" she started, but before she could finish, he flipped their positions, rolling them over so that he was now hovering above her. Aiah's back hit the soft mattress, and her breath caught in her throat as she stared up at him.

His eyes were only half-open, clouded with alcohol, but the intensity in his gaze made her freeze. "Aiah..." he murmured, his voice low and thick with desire. His lips found hers in a deep, passionate kiss that left her breathless. There was a hunger in the way he kissed her—raw, unfiltered emotion that had been suppressed for too long.

Aiah's body responded instinctively, her hands moving to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. The weight of his body pressed against hers, and for the first time in a long time, she felt the walls between them crumbling. Every touch, every kiss ignited something in her that had been buried beneath all their unresolved pain.

"MJ..." she whispered his name against his lips, trying to slow things down, but he was relentless. His hands roamed over her body, gripping her waist as if he was afraid to let her go.

It was chaotic and unplanned, but it was them. It was raw, emotional, and passionate—two people who had been through so much, yet were drawn to each other again and again.

Time seemed to blur as they lost themselves in the heat of the moment. It was a whirlwind of emotions, a desperate need for connection, for something more than just words. The tension between them melted away, replaced by something deeper, something primal.

When it was over, Aiah lay next to him, her heart still racing as she tried to catch her breath. MJ had fallen into a deep sleep almost immediately, his arm draped lazily over her waist. Aiah turned her head to look at him, her fingers brushing the hair from his forehead. There was so much left unsaid between them, but in that moment, she let herself believe that things could get better. That maybe, just maybe, this was a step towards healing.

But when she woke up the next morning, the space beside her was cold and empty. Aiah sat up in bed, blinking in confusion. Where had MJ gone?

She quickly got dressed and padded out to the kitchen. Her heart softened at the sight before her—MJ was sitting at the dining table with Max on his lap, the little boy giggling as MJ tickled him gently.

"Do you want ice cream after lunch, baby boy?" MJ asked, his voice filled with warmth despite the tension in his eyes.

Max's face lit up with excitement, his little hands clapping together. "Yes! Papa J!" he squealed, giggling uncontrollably.

The name hit MJ like a punch to the gut. Aiah saw it in his face—the way his smile faltered for a split second, the way his eyes darkened with pain. But then, just as quickly, MJ forced a smile and kissed Max's forehead. "Okay, buddy," he said softly, his voice strained but trying to sound normal.

Aiah's chest tightened as she watched the exchange. She could see the pain that MJ was trying to hide, the heartbreak that lingered just beneath the surface. She wanted to say something, anything, to make it better, but she didn't know where to begin.

Max wiggled out of MJ's lap, running off to play with his toys, leaving the two adults alone in the kitchen. MJ didn't look at her as he stood up, his hands clenched at his sides.

"MJ..." Aiah started, but the words caught in her throat.

MJ shook his head, his eyes still avoiding hers. "Let's not do this right now, Aiah."

His voice was calm, but she could hear the pain, the frustration, the overwhelming sense of loss in every word.

Before she could respond, he turned and walked towards the door, leaving her standing there, once again unsure of where they stood.