Drive-Thru

midnights

Note:  If Karl and Axel would have their own novel, then probably this would be their own prologue. And I promise, I'll post other stories other than these two soon.

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Midnights remind me when I was still in college.

It reminds me of when I was nineteen—young and carefree—and summer nights feel an escape to the heat.

It reminds me of moments of happiness and glee. I was free to smile and laugh.

Most of all, midnights remember me of you, Karl.

It reminds me whenever I'd call you for some ice cream, and you will always come to me in your pajamas. And then I'd talk about my day and how I ended up being annoyed by my friends, or my organization, or everything around me.

But you were never the reason why.

It reminds me whenever we would watch episodes of Friends over and over again, and debate who's the better character. We'd always be on your bed side by side, eating a bowl of chips, drinking my own juice concoction. And we'd fall asleep while the show's still running. You fall asleep on my shoulder. I never told you this, but it feels wonderful.

Midnights make me reminisce the days that I still have you.

Up to this date, I still hesitate to dial your number, even though my fingers never forgot the feeling when I'd hold my arm up and we'll talk all night. Mostly we talk about the things we're afraid people would judge us. I told you everything except for one.

Deep inside I'm still afraid to tell you that.

I sit on the asphalt under the light of the street lamp, crossing my knees and holding my jacket tightly whenever the wind blows harder. I imagine you're at my side, your arms hugging your knees. I see you stealing glances from me, just like I do to you. I guess I still couldn't look at you in the eye. Not because I'm uncomfortable with you. Never.

And then, when we feel cramps on our thighs, we stand up and walk together on Kalye Tiago, where stars shine the best when all the lights have been put out. We raise our heads and watch the starry night. You'd usually talk that you wouldn't trade anything for this scenery. I do too.

Before.

The clouds hide the stars tonight.

That midnight I was nineteen, and you were eighteen. We were walking down to my apartment when I called you to fetch me at Rudy's, where I drank an entire bottle of Emperador. You carried me on your shoulder, and I don't remember much of what you said or what I said.

But I hear you whisper my name like it was a rhythm that kept ringing inside of your mind. I still hear it in my sleep. And I wish for the moment you call my name again.

I never had the courage to tell you that I wanted you too.

Midnights make me regret that I didn't tell that to you, Karl.

I wish I did.