All About You

Twelve

I wake up to Ria shaking my shoulders violently

“What the hell?”

“Finally you’re awake! Your boyfriend is downstairs. He’s been waiting for you for the past half an hour,” Ria looms over me and for a second I’m certain I don’t hear her correctly.

“My boyfriend?”

Ria groans, rolling her eyes.

“Marlon!”

Marlon? His name is like a static shock, and I jolt upwards, blinking the grunk from my eyes. Why would Marlon be here?

That’s when the events of last night come rushing back at me like a tidal wave. Meeting up with Marlon at the city, writing up rules. Our ruse. I glance at the time on my phone. 7.30am. I usually leave the house at 8.

“Shit.”

Pushing Ria out of the way, I scramble toward my bathroom and gurgle the morning rust out of my mouth. Not bothering to fix my hair, I stumble downstairs. I spot Marlon at the breakfast nook by the window. There’s a half-drunk mug of coffee in front of him. Mum sits beside him, with a smile so wide her face looks like it’s about to burst. Dad is in the kitchen, and the smell of eggs wafts through the room.

Once I reach the last couple of steps, Marlon glances up. Surprise flickers through his features, before settling into quiet amusement.

“Hi Jas ,” he says in a tone that’s an attempt at mock affection, “Aren’t you a gorgeous sight in the morning.”

I push away the strands of my hair stuck to my lips, as I glare at him. Mum greets me too, her face more one of light disappointment.

It’s way too early in the morning for me to put on an act.

Mum directs me to the breakfast - eggs, pork tocino and rice. Yum, fuel.

She gathers her work bag from atop the kitchen counter and bids us all goodbye, before heading to the front door. I quickly grab my breakfast serving and sit myself beside Marlon. After I pop a spoonful into my mouth, I point the utensil at him.

“Why are you here?” I hiss.

“Mum forced me,” he hisses back, eyes flicking to the hallway where my parents went.

“What?”

“When I got home yesterday, I told Mum that I’m…courting you.”

His lips curl around the world, like he’d eaten something sour. I just roll my eyes.

“So she told me that whenever I have uni, and you have uni, I should take you to the station. Of course, she found out that you and I have uni on a Tuesday too…”

“How did she find out?”

“She asked your mum, obviously.”

I sigh. Already, our small, petite act from yesterday has created a big wave. Dad comes down the hallway and his eyes flicker between Marlon and I.

“You both drive safely to the station this morning, okay?” he says.

Marlon smiles at him, the type of smile that deepens the dimples in his cheeks. Everything about his face, his expression, and his composure looks the part of a harmless puppy. An angel.

His hair isn't as ragged as usual too.

“I will, Tito,” Marlon responds.

It’s only when Dad ascends the stairs that his stare fixes on mine, and he shoots me a mischievous wink.

“I’m winning them over already,” he boasts.

I narrow my eyes. “They’re easy to win over, don’t think it’s so hard to do so.”

We’re out of the house on time, much to my surprise. I personally think I set a record for quickest speed in eating breakfast, and getting ready for the day.

I settle my tote bag atop my legs once we’re both seated in his car. An Astroboy bobblehead rests on his dashboard, and a rosary is curled around the visor. I didn’t notice these little things last night. Also, his car actually smells nice.

Tropical, almost.

“What’s this?” Marlon asks, as he reaches forward, his fingers toying with the dangling photocard keychain hanging from my bag that showcases the kpop idol Mingyu from Seventeen.

It’s a fun little tradition in the fandom culture to collect and bring an idol photocard out with you, often inserted into a photocard holder that you can attach to your bag as a cute piece of decor. I’m fully aware that to the outside eye, others may find it somewhat strange, though I’m not sure why. How it’s any different from collecting sporting cards, or pokemon cards, is beyond me.

Either way, I pull the photocard back defensively.

“It’s nothing, just an idol from a kpop group I like,” I say.

“Oh, which one? I’ve had some pop up on my playlist here and there.”

I didn’t know that. I glance at Marlon, “Seventeen.”

Marlon’s bottom lip puckers out, as if in thought.

“Hmm, noted. I’ll check them out.”

He starts the car engine without anything further to say on the topic, no comments shaming me for this hobby, unlike how I’ve seen others react online. A blanket of warmth settles over my chest.

As we drive off, his speakers play tunes from his phone. A vaguely familiar Japanese song sounds.

“What song is this?” I ask, reaching forward to turn the volume up the slightest.

“Specialz,” he informs. He turns his head to me, “From the anime Jujitsu Kaisen. Have you heard of it?”

“I’ve seen a few episodes,” I tell him, remembering some of the plotline and characters. “Gojo is an icon.”

That’s when Marlon holds a finger up to me.

“Yes he is, and he’s mine ,” he interjects, wiggling his finger.

I quirk a brow, lips twisting in amusement.

“Marlon Salvador with good music choice, brownie points to you, my friend,” is all I say, as I bop my head up and down to the tune.

He gasps, “It hurts that you doubted me for a second, Garcia.”

It’s only day one of the ruse, and he’s already full of surprises.

Marlon and I are luckily able to secure our own seats on the train, despite it being peak hour. More commuters crowd onto the train, filling up the aisles beside me. I shuffle a little, my shoulders brushing Marlon’s more than I want, and he eases away from me.

“You’re invading my bubble, Garcia, this isn’t part of the contract,” Marlon says in a sing-song voice.

A hard nudge to his ribs is all he gets for a reply. The train begins its venture, and I sit back, trying my hardest not to press myself up against him any further. It’s a little hard, though. Commuters really have no shame when trying to fit on the train, and soon a businessman in the aisle beside me has his briefcase pressed against my arm. I shift uncomfortably toward Marlon.

“So…tell me about your boyfriend,” he says, after a moment.

My cheeks heat as Rafayel’s face crosses my vision.

How much should I tell Marlon? I just know he’s going to laugh at me once he finds out that Rafayel is a ‘love-at-first-sight’ tale, and ultimately just a stranger I’ve only really spoken to three times. Yet, if he’s going to help me out with Rafayel, he is going to need all the details, right?

“First, don’t say boyfriend. We don’t know if it’ll get to that point yet,” I say, mostly because my own delusions were high enough without adding Marlon’s commentary to the mix, “But anyways, he’s this worker at a bookstore. I met him…a week ago.”

My voice falters on the last few words, and I can sense Marlon waiting for me to continue. When I don’t, he releases an exasperated sigh.

“Is that it?”

“Well, we’ve spoken three times.”

Marlon throws his hands up.

“You’ve given me a lot to work with Garcia. It would help if you were friends with this person already, I could analyse the way he texts you, but now…”

I quash down the queasiness that rises in my chest. Marlon’s words were just confirming my own insecurities over how ridiculous it is that I’m pining over a stranger. I’m well aware about it, yet what’s life without living with a little hope? In my situation, to be living a little hopelessly .

“Are you saying that this will be a hard challenge for you Marlon? You’ve never been one to back down from anything,” I tease.

In all my years I’ve known Marlon, which is practically my entire life, I’d come to learn he’s not one to admit defeat. Whenever he’s presented with anything remotely challenging, he’s determined to prove that it’s nothing to him. Everytime I beat him in Mario Kart back when we used to play as kids, he’d always insist on playing more rounds until he came out on top. He never did.

Just as expected, Marlon’s jaw tenses the slightest. A tick in his behaviour that only I can pick up on.

“I’m not saying it’ll be hard, Garcia,” he says my name as though he’s sharpening it, and I resist the urge to smirk with satisfaction. I love how easy it is to get under his skin, “But you’ve just put way more work than I expected. Whatever. When can I meet him?”

Marlon meeting Rafayel? God - that’s an image I never want to see. Ever .

So I tell him, “Not for a long time.”

He gasps, scandalised.

“I’m sorry but the rules state that I must help you out with your love life, and this is me helping you out. I demand to meet him.”

I shake my head, once, twice, and a couple more times after that to really drill into Marlon that under no circumstances, will they be meeting anytime soon.

“ Garcia ,” he whines, and the sound of it is like nails on a chalkboard.

“Stop it,” I hiss, because now commuters around us are glancing over with a quiet frustration. I didn’t realise how loud we were. Marlon thankfully stops pushing it, but the cheeky smile on his face suggests he isn’t done.

That’s when I pinch at his arm, “But what about you. Tell me about how you’ve been going with Christine.”

At the mention of her name, Marlon’s body grows slightly rigid. Enough for me to notice.

“Maybe later. Another time when we aren’t all squashed together onto this carriage,” he says.

I could say something snarky over how he’s suddenly not in the mood to speak, yet I sense that when it comes to Christine, it seems to be a soft spot for him.

More than I realise. I let it go, not wanting to push it. But if our families and their ridiculous delusions had anything to do with their break up, it just made me all the more driven to set us both free.