How Did It End? (HamBebe)

LOML deleted Hambebe Special Chapter

Some years ago. Bini Days.

[GWEN's POV]

After the out-of-town trip, my world crumbles in excruciating slow motion, each crack spreading further and deeper with every passing moment. The air between Sheena and I is suffocating, thick with tension. It's not the loud kind of argument but the insidious, silent war—unspoken words and fleeting, fractured glances. It's the kind of fight where nothing is said, yet everything falls apart. And I feel it—she's slipping away, her presence becoming a ghost of what it once was, no matter how desperately I clutch at the remnants of us.

I'm drowning in the ache, gasping for air in a sea of unanswered questions. My chest feels hollow, like a cavern echoing with all the things I'm too afraid to admit. In my desperation, I call Ate Colet. I tell myself it's nothing, just a casual hangout, but deep down, I know it's a desperate bid to escape the suffocating weight of Sheena's absence. Ate Colet has always been there, steady like the tide, offering an anchor when the storms rage. And right now, I'm caught in the fiercest storm of all.

We sit on the couch, a movie droning in the background, though neither of us pays attention. Our words drift between light jokes and heavy confessions, unraveling in the quiet intimacy of shared pain.

"I don't know what to do anymore," I admit, my voice cracking. "It's like I'm trying so hard to hold on, but Sheena's slipping further and further away."

Ate Colet places a hand on my arm, her touch warm and grounding. "I'm sorry, Gwenny. Sheena's going through her own struggles. Maybe she just needs more time."

"Time?" I laugh bitterly, the sound hollow and sharp. "I've given her time. I've given her everything. And still, it feels like it's never enough."

Her gaze softens, her words careful yet piercing. "You're enough, Gwen. You're more than enough. Don't forget that."

Something shatters inside me at her words, a fragile dam giving way to the torrent of emotions I can no longer contain. Before I can think, I close the distance between us, my lips brushing hers in a tentative plea for something more than the aching emptiness. Ate Colet freezes for a heartbeat, her breath catching against mine, but then she responds—slowly at first, as though testing the weight of this unspoken decision. Her hands slide to my waist, steady yet insistent, pulling me closer until the space between us dissolves entirely.

The world blurs as we stumble toward my bedroom, the soft thud of discarded clothes marking the path we leave behind. Each touch is a searchlight cutting through the darkness, each kiss a desperate attempt to chase away the shadows clinging to me. Her fingers trace over my skin, tender and sure, as if she's trying to stitch together the pieces I didn't realize were broken. I lose myself in her warmth, in the fleeting safety of her embrace.

It isn't love. It's raw, unfiltered need—a hunger to feel anything other than the hollowness Sheena has left behind. The room is filled with whispers: soft reassurances, shallow breaths, and the rustle of sheets as we give in to the moment. For a few precious hours, there's no pain, no questions, no Sheena. Only the solace we find in each other's arms, fleeting and bittersweet.

When it's over, we lie side by side, bathed in the pale silver light of the moon seeping through the curtains. The silence is heavy, thick with truths neither of us dare to speak. My voice trembles as I finally break it. "Ate Colet, this doesn't mean anything more, right?"

Colet turns her head toward me, her gaze soft but guarded. "No, it doesn't," she says quietly. "We're just... getting through this together."

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat as guilt and gratitude twist inside me. "Thank you, Ate Colet. For being here."

She brushes a strand of hair from my face, her touch lingering just long enough to leave a sting. "Always, Gwenny," she whispers, her voice filled with a tenderness that both comforts and undoes me.

The next morning, we share a quiet breakfast. Her presence feels both comforting and unbearable, a reminder of what I've done and what I'm still losing. When she leaves, her hug lingers longer than it should, but it doesn't fill the hollow space inside me.

Alone again, the emptiness swallows me whole. I stare at my phone, my fingers hovering over the screen, struggling to find the words I need to say to Sheena. After hours of agonizing over every possible text, I finally type: Can I come over? Usap tayo.

When Sheena opens the door, the tension between us is a living thing, coiling around my throat and squeezing the air from my lungs. Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment, they're filled with guilt and something else—something I can't quite name.

"We need to talk," I say, my voice trembling with the weight of everything I've been holding back.

She nods, her lips pressed tightly together. "I know. I'm sorry, Bebe. I've been so distant, and it's not fair to you."

Her apology cracks me open, spilling everything I've been too afraid to say. "I feel like I'm losing you, Sheena," I choke out, tears blurring my vision. "And I don't know how to stop it."

She reaches for my hand, her grip firm yet tender. "You're not losing me, Bebe. I promise. I've just been caught up in my own head, and I know that's hurt you. But I don't want to lose you either."

Her words bring a glimmer of hope, but they're not enough to wash away the pain. We spend the night untangling the mess we've made, each word a painful admission of how we've let each other down.

"I'll take care of you until the day I die, Bebe," I whisper, my voice breaking under the weight of my promise.

She presses her lips to my temple. "I love you, Bebe."

"I love you, too."

But even as I say it, a cold, bitter truth lodges itself in my chest: love isn't always enough. And as I walk home that night, I realize that no matter how much I love Sheena, I can't keep losing pieces of myself trying to hold onto her.