Chapter Text
Summer of 1906
La Trinidad, Philippines.
When it came to freedom, that was the furthest thing any Filipino could imagine, even at the height of the new year. When the Spaniards left, and the Americans entered in their wake, it was like nothing had changed. The system continued; it never collapsed, no matter how many revolutionary forces tried to say so.
It was bittersweet how the country was still held by a leash, once its new owner sold it to another. Nothing good came out of it, and now new wars were raging in Europe.
Piri, in his endless pursuit of curiosity, chose to read all of the banned texts and letters that he acquired using unsavory methods. He was just a farmer, a slave to the Spaniards who were still running some parts of the country. Those who refused to back down from their crimes.
And what was a powerless boy supposed to do when in times like these? It was to do whatever it took to understand why the government still chose to put his fellow men as bait for the foreigners.
“Pien, what do you think?” Piri asked his little friend, perched on top of his shoulder. Currently narrowing its little beady eyes towards wanting to eat its owner or eat the crumbled-up parchment as sustenance.
English to Piri was a flawed language; the way it rolled off his tongue roughly, he concluded that relearning English was a mistake in and of itself. It didn’t flow smoothly as his native tongue of Cebuano and Tagalog did, nor did it feel as nice as Spanish.
His little friend didn’t care nor didn’t mind about his qualms towards the linguistic aspect of it all. All Pien cared about was staying on Piri’s shoulder, like a parrot, and gnawing at his sleeve, begging for food to eat.
Piri was brought back to reality, as he soon realized he was sitting on the hill of the farmland. Neglecting his work, and in his hands were government secrets that could have him hanged or executed in no time. Standing up with a groan, Pien squeaked in his ear, demanding to be fed at that second. No time to spare for leisure. Piri couldn’t help but playfully sigh when Pien continued trying to annoy him for food.
"Sampaguita gentil, qué halagas. Con tu aroma mi filipina…" He sang under his breath, the song’s lyrics coming back to him, like a blanket protecting him from his own thoughts.
It definitely wasn’t entirely uncommon for Piri to get caught up in farmwork, ignoring anything else other than these darned weeds. Humming under his breath, feeling the harsh sun of the tropical island hit against his already tanned skin. It was scalding, but to Piri it was the best type of pain, to endure and to survive. That has always been what he lived for.
♫ Sampaguita Flor peregrina ¡Ay! que en tus trenzas bordando estás… ♫
He picked up his rusted sundang, already feeling the sweat above his brows, and he never registered that he had been sitting under the sun for so long. All he wanted to do was take advantage of the light when it was still high and bright above him.
Piri has never gotten used to not being under the watchful eye of the Encargados. It was such a day where it was just him working in the field; he could see other farmers from a distance, but the boundaries set between each land were set.
"These Kastila, huh? Sino namang nagsasabi na meron kaming ginagawang masama?” (Who said we were doing something bad anyway?) He sighed heavily, running his fingers through his disheveled hair.
Piri tried to see the beauty in all of this. Whatever was left of the beauty of his country, that's what. He wasn't even allowed to learn the language of the Spaniards, but Piri could tell what they were talking about based on a few familiar words.
♫ Tú que en breve collar prendida Dulce besas su ardiente seno, ♫
"Who knew that someone making a language that borrowed way too many loan words would be helpful one day?" Piri chuckled to himself as he listened from afar. Hearing was essential for gathering information and, of course, to amuse oneself with people's privacy.
Piri did adore his language, but it wasn’t his fault that he grew up during the Spanish Colonial Period. With the way he was brought up, by his adoptive Spanish Father, he grew more comfortable with the language.
“How dangerous it must be to work under such extreme conditions. Being an informant in the resistance is tough work. How do they do that day after day?” He poked at the compost pile, carabaos walking by, Piri thought about the insects that often try to eat the crops.
Hearing noises from above, he looks up to see the birds fly over him, the wind picking up. The clouds started to grow darker as the sky began to rumble.
"There must be a storm tonight, great, hopefully my house stands till then." When he went back to picking up weeds from the field, he heard a quaint little chirp. He went under his straw hat, and his little friend started chirping aggressively. The little guy wanted food again.
Piri still had his little luxuries, like his little friend Pien, a tarsier he nursed back to health who now stays on his person whenever possible. He sat back by the field, feeling the day's burden brush against his shoulders.
He turned to see that the sun was beginning to set; he had to go to his house or else the owner of the field…
"These Kastilas are going to be the death of me, I tell you that, Pien." Piri mumbled in Tagalog, "I wonder if there comes a day when I won't be doing all of this field work. Imagine that I would be able to walk through the streets, smile without someone insulting my class." He laughed to himself, as he so often does.
♫ Por verte así, así cual tú y morir… ♫
"¡Oye! ¡Tú, chico! ¡No te pago para que te pases el día cantando y holgazaneando como un perro!" (Oy! You boy! I don't pay you to sing and sit around like a dog!) Screamed the Landowner. Piri sighed and went back to work diligently.
If there was another life out there for Piri, he’d rather have that than this one he’s living right now. Having to follow orders as if he were nothing but a vessel for working, Piri even regarded himself as a puppet held by a handful of strings as each official kept giving his body away.
To work, and work, and work…
By some miracle, he was finally let go, with a few coins of silver. Piri left the field and walked to his little house not so far away. It was where he lived for a long time, ever since his foster family moved far away from him; he thought that he never needed anyone else ever again.
When he made it to his home, it was already dark, and the sky had already given him a light shower of rain. Piri saw an inconspicuous letter on the floor in front of his makeshift door. Piri was confused, baffled even, he didn’t have any family or any friends in the area, even if you counted Pien as someone he talked to.
But there was one person who would take the time to send him a letter even if he was a thousand miles away.
“If it really is Papa, what will he do to me? I haven’t done anything wrong, have I?” He asked his little friend, Pien, who merely chewed on a dead lizard he found somewhere. Piri tried to make his hair neat and his clothes semi-clean; a farmer only had working clothes after all.
Piri had mapped out the forest ever since he was a young boy. A few days after he had gotten used to the farm, he didn’t hesitate to memorize every tree and road in his wake.
Using the old parchment, he labeled and drew himself, and he realized how messy his handwriting was. He felt bad for his younger self, who had to rush to map out the landmarks just so he could remember how to escape his cageless confinement.
He didn’t manage to reach the midway point of the forest without having the rain try to drown him or let him slip down. Holding on to the trees and their branches with one hand and the other covering his shirt pocket, which had Pien sleeping soundly inside of it.
The walk to the location mentioned in the letter was a few hours away; the rain didn’t help, as fog surrounded the road and the forest. The location, being the central point of the country, also didn’t help,
“I should’ve known better than to expect him to make this easier for me,” Piri grumbled, holding Pien in his hand as he walked through the slippery rocky roads.
The forest was not a safe place to be, but Piri was anything but resilient. He grabbed onto the trunks of the trees so he wouldn’t lose his balance. The road was at an angle, and he could feel the trickle of rain landing on his hair, his face, his arms, and even Pien complained from Piri’s shirt pocket.
“I think we need to take a break, Pien. 'Lest I strain my eyes from navigating in the dark.” He took shelter under a fallen tree, he sat by the trunk and pulled his legs close to his chest, feeling so small in the rain.
Piri didn't know anything else; it was like something was ringing in his ears. He had never felt more alone than he was at that moment.
“Ugh…”
Piri held his breath. He thought he was alone; was he hearing voices now? That was impossible, seeing Pien was real and in his shirt pocket, shivering like he was. Piri stood up and looked around. It was as difficult as you’d imagine, the fog blurring his vision. But Piri stood his ground, searching in the dark for anything that would’ve made that sound. He wasn’t fearless by any chance; his heart was pounding as loud as a drum. Under the rainy sky, Piri saw a large, solid shadow just a few feet away from where he was sitting. Piri thought it was a dead animal, as there often was.
It was no animal, for in that space lay a man, barely conscious, barely alive, with a wound to his stomach. Piri could see the wet blond hair messy against the soil, his pale face marred by cuts and bruises. The farmer’s heart sank when he finally snapped back into reality.
Tearing up his white sleeve, he quickly unzipped the man’s coat. The man winced as Piri put pressure on his wound. Panicking, Piri started talking to the man in hushed whispers. Piri placed the man on his side; it was a miracle that the man was still breathing, for however long he’d been wounded.
“Hold on for me, okay? Please, please, please don’t die…” He whispered; he didn’t know if that comfort was for him or for the wounded man. Piri liked to think he was nice enough to pour all of that relief onto the latter.
Piri knew he didn’t have enough medical knowledge, but he at least had to try something. Piri made sure there were no obstructions near the man’s face, working to take off his aviator hat to make sure he didn’t get any wounds on his head other than his face.
From what was left of his memories, he didn’t hesitate to tighten the cheap bandage, made of the cleanest part of Piri’s sleeves.
Piri had a half day’s worth of water in his leather pack, which was supposed to be for him, but in desperate times, the water serves a greater purpose.
“I’m sorry, kuya, I don’t have anything that can help you with your wound, but I can try to make sure it doesn’t get infected in the meantime.” He whispered, placing a shaking hand on the man’s face, “Hopefully, there are some plants here that could help you.” He paused.
Piri’s shock came back; he was supposed to meet the man. But now he had a new errand to finish; he had to find a way to get this man to his home, for safety and to treat his wounds better.
“Kuya… kuya, I need you to wake up, please…”
“What’s a kuya?”
Piri fell back against a tree in shock once more. The now conscious man groaned as he sat up and looked around for where he was. He takes a few deep breaths and sees that his wound has been stabilized, badly, but the bleeding has stopped for a while now.
“Did you do this?” The man asked, and Piri nodded in response; he was still scared that the man was dangerous or anything. The man let out a chuckle; it was carefree, although he had been shot and had fallen unconscious just minutes earlier.
Piri thought, ‘Is this man…part of the military? Is that why he got shot?’ The farmer didn’t have any positive things to say about the military, local or foreign ones; he thought that war wasn’t needed since it only hurts the people they were supposed to be fighting for.
That rebellious idea was what got Piri demoted to being a farmer; he refused to fight and fought for his rights and was stripped of all his worth. Living near the fields, rationing food, and being accosted by Spaniards who see him as prey. It wasn’t peaceful living; it was similar to fighting in a war.
That’s what he’d like to tell himself, to give himself justice for what his Father decided when it was time for him to go back to Spain and leave Piri alone in the Philippines. Piri believed wholeheartedly that his Father was disappointed in him wanting to join the military, one of their many arguments borne from that single dream.
Piri came back to reality when the man tried to sit up.
“Hala! Wait— Ay Nako… What are you doing? Aren’t you supposed to be lying down? What about your wound?” Piri worried. Patting the man’s shoulder to get him to listen and stay down.
“It’s alright,” He was absolutely not alright as he coughed. “You speak English?” He asked, Piri raised an eyebrow, and actually thought about it even though he was talking in English just seconds ago.
“Uh.. yeah, I read some books here, and there, someone taught me how to do conversational English more, though…” Piri didn’t know why he was embarrassed about talking about it. It may be because the man was looking at him, blue eyes locked on Piri’s.
Piri has never had a close encounter with a foreigner before. He didn’t count the Spaniards he had lived with all of his life, nor did he count his adoptive older brother, who was proudly Italian. He never failed to remind Piri that he was Italian, but he did teach Piri curse words, so he was a good brother in that regard.
Piri mustered up all of his remaining energy, “Kuya— errr.. Mister? Are you sure you’re alright?” Piri’s shoulders slumped as he fidgeted with his fingers. Pien was quiet as a mouse this entire time, looking up at Piri worriedly.
The man clicked his tongue. He removed Piri’s bloodied, torn sleeve and placed it in Piri’s hands. “I’m fine, I'm used to these things by now,” he pats Piri’s head, Piri blushes at the contact and moves away.
The Man looked him up and down, even through those broken glasses, his blue eyes still shone. Piri was fascinated by the color of his eyes, wanting to lean in closer just so he could touch them in morbid curiosity.
“Are you a soldier by any chance?” The Man asked, his tone sounding like he didn’t want to play any games, and Piri was good; he was someone who obeyed his authority.
“No, Sir,” Piri said, shaking his head.
“Go figure, but having minimal first aid knowledge and taking care of a stranger is really courageous of you. Are you sure you’re not from the military?”
Piri gave him an affirmative nod; nothing more needed to be said, he was just a farmer.
“But you’re still bad at it, though.” The man lets out another laugh. Piri was now blushing furiously, holding his tongue. Why was this man so infuriating? Piri couldn’t see his face since the mud and the fog were not helping his case.
“If there is no need for any further assistance, then I shall take my leave—” Piri tried to stand, but his legs failed him and left him to fall on the man’s chest.
“Whoa! Ya, good there?” Without asking, he held Piri safely. Piri wanted to die right then and there; if Pien could speak, he’d say the same, too.
Piri couldn’t see well, but he moved away from the man after realizing he had landed on the side of the man’s injury. The man had some inaudible whispering before leaving the matter alone.
“Are you leaving as soon as this rain is done and the sun rises?” The man asked, and Piri couldn’t help but hear a slight tone of hope in his words. Piri had errands to run. Why should he stay behind anymore?
“Can you… Stay at least until the morning?” The man asked. Piri sighed. He rolled over, and the man was on his side, but Piri pushed him to face the other side.
“I know you military guys were trained with pain and all of that, but I won’t allow you to lie on your wound, Sir.” Piri grits his teeth.
The hours passed, and Piri awoke as he usually did before the sun started to rise. The clouds were still as gloomy as ever. Piri sat up and rubbed his temples. The night before had given him so much anxiety that he had ever felt in his life.
He wasn’t used to doing anything other than his normal routine, but then he had a chance encounter with a foreigner, and now here he was, a farmer who slept in the muddy soil under trees with a wounded soldier by his side.
Piri finally had the chance to see the face of this loquacious soldier. He turned his gaze to the still sleeping soldier and was annoyed by the mud on his face.
“Honestly, what did you even do to be this dirty, Kuya…” Piri gently wiped off the mud on the latter’s face, slowly revealing what he actually looked like. Piri was not surprised at all.
“Just a normal-looking foreigner, it’s best to leave him be for now.” Piri went to stand up, but a hand caught his own.
“Is my face really that bad for you to say it’s ‘normal-looking?’” Piri thought that the man would be angry, but he had a grin on his bruised face. “I apologize for anything I said. Now, let me go, Sir.” And to Piri’s surprise, he did.
The man zipped up his jacket after making sure his wound wouldn’t bleed out again, and Piri watched him do so. Putting on his aviator cap, he continued the conversation.
“Where were you heading in the first place, Farmer?” He leaned against the tree, and Piri supported his other side instead.
“I was supposed to meet someone in the next city over, but… I don’t think I can do that anymore.” The man frowned. Piri could feel the guilt crawling up his spine.
“I’m heading over to the main city… the one outside… Intramuros was it?” Piri knew where that was; that’s where the man was, too, but Piri didn’t know to trust this foreign soldier just yet.
Even though they slept next to each other the night before. Piri felt a sense of responsibility when the man leaned on him.
“What’s your name, kind stranger?” The man asked, and without any follow-up questions, he answered his own question first. “Name’s Alfred.” He coughed, “A young up-and-coming nation-loved Aviator, I swear by it!” He lets out another hearty chuckle once more.
“I’m called Piri, if you don’t mind.” Alfred shook his head.
“It’s good enough that I get your name, oftentimes I get kicked out of houses.” He huffed childishly, “They say it’s because I eat too much of the food, but it’s not my fault, it’s delicious!” Alfred pouted, and Piri shook his head in disbelief, but it wasn’t surprising.
“How do you say something is delicious in your language?” He looked up at Piri, who blinked a few times before answering,
“We say ‘Masarap’ wherein it just means delicious, just say ‘Masarap ang pagkain’ and they’ll let you slide.” Alfred hummed approvingly.
“That’s helpful, thank you!” Piri blushed once more,
“It’s not a big deal…”
The journey to the main city was not as interesting as Piri had hoped it would be.
Piri's eyes looked around warily. It wasn't his first time in the general area of the main city, but this place, Extramuros, was too near the famed walled city that his foster father had warned him against.
He was always told to never even go near this place, even when he was a young child, before he was taken by the Kastilas for years and years.
“Are you sure that it's fine for me to be here?” Piri whispered, his hand holding onto Alfred’s arm reflexively, the only place he knew that felt safe as of that moment was by Alfred’s side. The eyes of soldiers, American or otherwise, terrified him.
In the countryside, he never had to deal with anyone else but the Spaniards.
They were bad enough to deal with, as their moods were difficult to handle, and now he had to deal with more foreigners.
Piri had never hated the War more than he did at that moment.
“I've never felt more ostracized in my entire life, Mister.” Piri felt Pian claw his tiny claws at him. Piri understood this as Pien wanting food now that they had arrived in the city’s markets.
Piri never tried to request any food, but his stomach made a low rumbling noise that brought back the red in his cheeks as Alfred chuckled in response.
“There’s no need to be so shy, Piri! You’re my friend now. Friends treat each other to food.” Alfred puts on his best smile, and Piri feels like he was blinded again.
Piri didn’t feel very confident that he could fit in with the city folk. Especially since Alfred was leaning on him for support.
It felt like eyes were on him constantly, like they were a spectacle. Piri appreciated that Alfred didn’t look at him that way. “Come on, little farmer, the hostel is a few blocks away. You can rest up with me for the time being.”
Piri felt like Alfred’s generosity was most definitely suspicious. One can be skeptical when a handsome soldier offers you a room to rest in.
‘Why was he so charitable? There was no need to expend resources on a poor farmer like him.’ The farmer wondered, clicking his tongue in annoyance,
‘It wasn’t bad to be kind, of course— but if he had any ulterior motive, why not take advantage of him already?’ Piri huffed.
In Piri’s eyes, it was better for something to happen than to wait for a future incident. He did not have the luxury to think about the dangers of trusting a soldier; all he was was a working-class man.
Alfred started leading them to the inn when he caught Piri zoning out into space. He wondered if this was a normal occurrence from then on, or if Piri was still affected by what happened the other night.
The pilot made sure that his balance was stable before putting Piri down in his, Afred’s, bed. The poor boy was tired beyond relief; it wasn’t even a second more, and Piri’s eyes closed as he lost himself to sleep.
It wasn’t anything new that Alfred would get himself into serious situations. He wasn’t the Military’s best Soldier if he died the first time he got himself in danger.
Alfred just knew he was special; he was stronger than most can account for, he used that strength to help his country, and now,
His eyes drifted off to the farmer boy who helped him even when he had nothing to gain from it. The tired boy had a little friend squeaking and chirping somewhere on his person.
“Maybe I have something else I'd like to fight for.” His fingers gently brushed the hair over Piri’s sleeping eyes. Alfred could assess that Piri was the same age as him, but genetics made him shorter than Alfred. The American wondered if Piri was eligible to even fight for his country, too.
Alfred shook his head at the absurd thought, not everyone wanted to fight in a war they didn’t start.
The pilot knew he had to go back to the other soldiers soon; they needed to regroup to reintroduce some new changes to their plans or accept new soldiers.
He drafted a quick note to his new friend and left it on the table with a couple of coins for him. If ever Piri decides to wake up and leave, then he’ll have enough money to do so.
“Unfortunately, I can't stay with you for now, but I'll be back, that’s a soldier’s promise.” He gave the sleeping farmer a two-finger salute before heading out, as if he never bled dry, as if he was never saved by a kind boy, As if he never showed that he too had vulnerabilities.
It took Piri a few hours to feel well-rested. Minutes before he woke up, he could sense that Alfred wasn’t in the room with him anymore.
‘How odd… It feels as though I’ve managed to recognize him by his scent alone…’ Piri contemplated. He didn’t necessarily hate the idea, but it was odd nonetheless.
Piri stood up and had a second look around. It was nighttime already, and Alfred wasn’t back yet. He noticed that there was a letter for him. Written in English, a miracle Piri can read, Alfred left him some money behind and reassured him that he’d be back.
Piri looked over the balcony, feeling the wind hit his face, and he started scanning the area under the moonlight’s glow.
He wondered if his family was still in the area or had left him completely.
They weren’t always the nicest to him, especially since he didn’t know their first language. In the midst of his mind, he remembers a memory of when his family was still whole. He was brought back into a little corner of his mind that he never thought he’d have to revisit.
Nor did he want to go back to that time.
In that little house on the hill, before any war happened, before his foster father had to leave to serve the country. It was just Piri, his foster father, and his foster brother, but Piri never considered his brother as a brother anyway.
In a quaint living room of the humble home, Little Piri sat next to a low table singing songs under his breath; his foster father wasn’t amused by Piri’s use of his native language.
“Mi hijo (my child), you should pick up on your Spanish as your older brother has—”
In Piri’s perspective, that was up for debate. His kuya always complained about having to use Spanish in daily life and refusing to speak any of it. His kuya taught him more English than any other language, though. His favorite pastime was listening to his kuya playing the guitar badly, cursing under his breath after every wrong strum of a chord.
Piri wondered if it was entertaining or torture, but his kuya never pushed him away to be left alone, so he stayed.
“Do you like the guitar?” He questioned, fingers gently brushing along the body of the guitar, dust powder on his fingers.
The older raised an eyebrow, strumming the guitar to signify his annoyance, “Of course I like it, if only that maledetto bastardo (damn bastard) would get off my case and teach me how to use it.” He growled.
“No matter what he says, he’s still our papa, I don’t think you can say any of that…” Piri mumbled, eyes looking everywhere but at his kuya.
“Whatever, he can die for all I care, and he’d still be irrelevant in my life; I don’t even consider him a father.” His kuya ended the conversation. They had a moment of silence before Piri laid his head on his shoulder, wanting to savor the moment.
His kuya sighed and pulled him closer, his arm wrapped around the younger’s shoulder. It was almost the day that his Kuya and Foster Father were going back to Spain.
They were only here temporarily as their Guardian had business with the military; it was only a matter of time before Piri would have to wait for them again, however long it takes.
“Torneremo presto, non devi preoccuparti di restare da solo troppo a lungo." (We'll be back soon; you don't need to worry about being left on your own for too long)
His older brother kissed Piri’s forehead, marking a solemn promise.
Piri didn’t know what those words meant, but he could tell there was heart in there. He kept these words close to his chest. Whenever he felt sad or lonely, he could always remember what his foster brother said to him.
The farmer blinked, and he was back in the present. It was odd remembering all of that. He missed his family dearly, but even he knew they had their faults. He hoped that Alfred would be back from wherever he was and accompany him.
Pien jumped out of his pocket and demanded food. Piri sighed and pointed to the random dead lizard on the floor, and Pien jumped over and gobbled it all up.
“I didn’t teach you to eat like that, Pien.” Piri shook his head. The tarsier didn’t mind his words and kept eating anyway.
The door opened, and in came Alfred, drunk off his ass as he stumbled upon the table. Piri moved to support him and could smell the scent of alcohol on him.
“Eh? Is that hic you, P-Piri? That’s funny, hic I thought you would’ve left by now?” Alfred snuggled up against Piri’s shoulder, “What’re hic you still doing here? Didn’t you hic have unfinished business to take care of?”
Pien crawled up in Piri’s pocket, giving a disapproving nod at the American, before hiding away until the next morning.
Piri knew he shouldn’t have been entertained by this whole debacle, but Alfred was hiccuping, swaying, and snuggling up against him for warmth and comfort; to Piri, that was up for debate. Piri held him close and laid him down on his bed.
“Ano bayan? (What on earth?) Is it all right if I take your jacket off, Alfred?” Piri asked exasperatedly, Alfred gave a noncommittal hum, the farmer making sure that he was as gentle as possible, so as not to disturb the drunk any more than that.
“I was hoping you’d accompany me tomorrow. I felt really lonely, unusually, when you left the room, you know that? Kung gusto mo… (If you want…).” Piri could hear himself, and even he thought that he was going insane and growing too affectionate to this stranger.
Alfred squinted up at him, his ocean blue eyes hazy as he tried to pinpoint where Piri was. He gave a small nod before succumbing to a well-deserved rest. Piri held his breath when Alfred’s hand blindly moved to search for Piri’s hand.
It was an odd feeling, Piri noted, to have someone so strange like this American, and the fact that even in his sleep, he seemed comfortable, it was adorable to Piri. He wasn't used to this sort of response, which was strange, especially since Piri lived in a house where a Spaniard and an Italian taught him that kissing people on the cheeks was more polite.
“Are you ready to sober up, Alfred?” He asked, the American shook his head, and pulled Piri into bed next to him.
Piri was flustered, as one should, he squirmed a bit until Alfred rested his chin on top of Piri’s head, his breathing slowing down, and Piri was slowly warming up to the position that he’s been placed in.
Albeit his heart still pounded in his ears, he hadn’t had this much physical contact with anyone. Piri could feel Pien squirming to get out of this situation, and Piri pulled away to get Pien out, noting how Alfred furrowed his brows at the sudden movement.
“D-don’t leave…” Alfred’s voice was low and hurt, and it made Piri squeak. He decided against doing anything else but staring up at Alfred’s sleeping face. Piri brushed his fingers against Alfred’s cheek, and he smiled.
“Why does he insist on being this close to someone he just met? I could be the one who ends up killing him. Malalaman natin kung alin sa atin ang mas mapanganib. (We’ll know which one of us is more dangerous).” Piri traced circles on Alfred’s muscular arm, “Then again, he’s stronger than me, isn’t he? If I went up against him, then I may as well be better off not doing anything.”
Piri fell asleep soon after that; his dreams were always abstract and incomprehensible.
When he woke up once more the next morning, he found Alfred nursing his hangover with a cup of coffee in an aluminum cup, leaning against the window and looking over at the lively streets.
“Mag— Good morning.” Piri yawned as he sat up. Alfred looked over and shot him a smile, “You’re finally up. Get ready, and we can head out for breakfast.” Piri nods sleepily. Alfred couldn’t help but ruffle Piri’s bed head, the latter huffing in response.
Piri stood up and stopped, looked down at his clothes, and scowled.
“I forgot I don’t have any other clothes…” Piri trailed off, looking up at Alfred, embarrassed.
Alfred tilted his head, his cheeks blushing when he understood the situation. “Ahh… right, the whole not enough money thing I got that…” After scratching his head, he went over to his cabinet and got a regular white shirt, some undergarments, and a pair of pants. After debating with himself, he also got a belt for Piri.
“You can wear this instead, it’s not much, but I have a lot of clothes that I barely use other than this one,” He gestured to his current outfit, another brown jacket with military symbols, and his normal dull green uniform underneath, “this one, and my official military uniform.”
Piri was not surprised to learn that the military had more than one uniform for its soldiers, which only made him realize the riches he had only dreamed of holding.
A few minutes later, he finished changing clothes, looked at himself in the full-length mirror, and was in awe. He’s never had clothes this nice before; it was exhilarating to look at himself in nice clothes for once.
He turned to look at Alfred, who looked away when he did so.
“Shall we go?” Alfred extended his hand towards the farmer. Piri smiled, going over to hold his hand, squeezing it tight.
“Let’s go.”