LOV doesn't even wait.

She pushes off her chair, stands on her tiptoes, pulls him by the front of his sweater, and plants a short and hard smack on his lips.

Dazed, Gabriel blinks.

He knew she would do it. He knew she'd take the bait and kiss him. Lov acts the most obnoxious when she's either very, very anxious—or not at all.

And he knew that tonight, it was the former.

How can you know everything—only a bit of everything— about a person, but still want to know more, something new, this is new, the things you've only imagined, the things you've guessed but not quite gotten right yet, the things you can only know from experience and participation?

And now Gabriel knows how she tastes. Just for a heartbeat of a moment, a hint, a trace.

Lov's hands are still bunched around his neckline, her eyes wide and horrified, like she can't believe she actually did that, and her cheeks are red, and in this kitchen, they're both aware she just did something unrepairable, there is no going back after this, there is no walking away from this unscathed, that they're both standing here and looking for—where is the line? Is there a line? Has the line been blurred out since the beginning of this Christmas?

Gabriel can't find it. He doesn't want to find it.

"There," she says hoarsely, her voice bouncing off the walls, and her throat moves as she swallows, and her fingers loosen just the tiniest bit and her foot lifts to take a step back. "That didn't—"

Gabriel doesn't let her move away from him.

He grabs her, one hand on her waist, the other on her face, his full hand spanning her neck and his thumb on her cheek, and Lov falls into him, fits herself into his body, and he welcomes her with no hesitation, no indecision, no uncertainty, like he's saying here, baby, you fit right here, love, Love, welcome home.

He thought about being casual about it, like it's not something he's been imagining in vivid detail for the past how many years, the thousand different scenarios in which he might kiss Lov, but Gabriel doesn't do casual. He doesn't do things in halves.

He goes in completely—laying all his cards on the table.

Gabriel brushes their noses together, their faces so close he can feel the flutter of her breath on his lips, he can feel when it hitches and quickens as he rubs his thumb on her cheek, and he hovers there for a long moment, waiting until Lov's eyes slowly close, waiting for him, until she's white-knuckling his sweater to keep from touching his skin, until she's tilting her face just the tiniest bit under his hand.

Then Gabriel closes his eyes and leans forward that last half inch.

He kisses her gently. Slowly.

And he dies.

Not too soft and not too hard, just a lovely, unfurling pressure, her mouth fitting so perfectly against his, their heads angled, their noses aligned.

Gabriel's eyebrows are furrowed, like he's savoring the moment, this moment, like he's choked up and he's been waiting for this, this, and her, beautiful and perfect her, for so long, her lips on his, their breaths mingled.

A few seconds and then Lov pulls back, and before Gabriel can bring her back to him, hindi pa tayo tapos, hindi pa 'yon enough, bumalik ka dito, she surges forward again, one hand coming up to his shoulder under his sweater, fingers curling around his skin, and Gabriel jolts at her touch and when Lov kisses him again, her mouth soft and warm against his own.

He doesn't know how it happens, he backs her up against the wall and pushes firmly, aggressively, obnoxiously, and Lov does the same thing, always the competitive, always keeping up with him, opening her mouth when Gabriel coaxes it open, let me in, let my tongue in, let me taste you.

She squirms under his grip, overwhelmed, heated, needy, all-consuming, and Gabriel holds her steadily even as he feels like he's about to kneel and surrender.

To her and only her.

Don't fuck this up, he tells himself, but maybe that's useless, because maybe it is already fucked up, maybe he wants to fuck it up even more. Fucked up na since the beginning of this Christmas. Maybe it was fucked up then.

Maybe fucked up na no'ng nakatulog sila pareho sa couch pagkatapos nilang panoorin ang favorite movie ni Lov, Footloose,  four Christmases ago, and Gabriel woke up the next morning with her head on his chest, drooling all over him, and he smiled, didn't move, didn't wake her, and she smelled like her expensive shampoo from her shower the night before.

Maybe fucked up no'ng unang beses nilang magkasama not just as family acquaintances but as friends—no'ng unang beses na pinayagan siya ni Lov na tawagin ang sarili niya bilang kaibigan nito, the first time she ever considered him a friend when it was so difficult to be so, to earn that right and access, the first real achievement Gabriel was ecstatic and fulfilled about above all his other achievements that meant so little to him—friends who were planning to just go out and grab something after work for a quick dinner but they ended up lingering in the restaurant, in the Hong Kong cuisine restaurant that didn't taste so good but they ended up there for how many hours anyway, Gabriel ordering for the both of them so she eats some damn vegetables, then grabbing coffee at midnight because neither of them wanted the night to end, and ayaw naman ni Lovi sa mga tao but somehow Gabriel is the exception, he wants to be her only exception, he wants, he needs to be that and more.

Maybe it was fucked up the first time Gabriel saw Lov laugh, her covering her mouth, and he slapped her hand away.

Maybe it's already so fucked up between them that there's nowhere to go but forward.

It's good. It's so good. It's beautiful, it's everything he wants, it's everything he's imagined, he was right with his guess, Lov kisses the way she does things: beautifully with singular focus, with her fingers on his skin, tangled in his hair, keeps making these noises in his mouth, sweet tiny sounds, like yes, this is your effect on me, do you hear it, Gabriel, Gay-bree-uhl? Do you feel it?

Yeah, yes, yes, baby, love, Love, I do—

Then Lov jerks away abruptly, gasping for air.

Gabriel stares at her, her eyes and her soft black hair and her perfect mouth and her beautiful, beautiful.

And she stares back at him, and he doesn't know if she can see some semblance of sanity in his eyes because—because he's not. There's none. He's on the verge of madness, hysteria, senselessness.

And you did this to me, see what you're doing to me?

"Ngayon," he breathes, his voice unfamiliar and strained, "ngayon mo sabihin sa 'kin na wala tayong chemistry."

Wala nang nasabi si Lov. For the first time, she doesn't try to argue.