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( 🎧 ) — somewhere between blankets and trips to sm baguio and lava cake, blair realised he’d never been outside of love, only surrounded by it.

tags: beau ahn/taejun song, minor or background relationship(s), taejun song, blair kim, beau ahn, sanguk kim, anthony han, milo rhee, cassius cho, shiloh li, found family, proposal planning, domestic fluff, everyone loves everyone, gc shit, blair has feelings, love is in the small things, comfort no hurt

blair had witnessed love.

it really wasn't like the over-romanticised kind people wrote about in songs or in the films he loved bingewatching. it wasn't always kisses under the rain or handwritten letters in mailboxes. but in blair's twenty-six years, he’d seen love in forms that stayed with him longer than most declarations ever could.

he’d seen it in his mother’s hands as she wiped sweat from his father’s forehead during those final months. she never once complained. she never once asked for help, even when her back ached and her eyes were swollen from sleepless nights. she brought him food he barely touched, warmed his medicines between her palms like it could make them work better. she read the news aloud to him sometimes, even when she knew he was too far gone to hear.

he’d seen it in the way the neighbourhood kids used what was left of their baon to buy sachets of dog food, splitting it between all the strays around town. they named the cats, argued over whose turn it was to feed which one, and sat beside them like they were lifelong companions.

he’d seen it in anthony’s breakfasts. those heaping servings of longganisa and sinangag made with a lot of garlic because shiloh liked them that way. he always made too much. “in case someone’s hungry,” he’d shrug, waving them all over like he hadn’t made enough for sixteen when there were only eight of them. love was eggs cooked until the edges crisped and rice generously packed into tupperware.

he’d seen it in the way beau’s grandfather used to pack more food—extra rice, boiled eggs, leftover adobo—for recess. not because beau asked, but because lolo ahn knew blair and anthony always hovered whenever beau opened his lunchbox.

and then there were the tourists. the honeymooners who held hands and the old couples who argued about which trail to take and ended up holding each other’s waists the entire walk anyway. the younger sweethearts who giggled while they fed each other food. he remembered them all—those fleeting visitors who carried love on their backs like it was luggage they refused to lose.

up until the universe had given him sanguk, blair didn’t know much about being in love, but he did know what it looked like. love wasn’t taking, it wasn’t demanding. it didn’t need to be loud or boastful. real love was offering. opening yourself up not because you were promised anything in return, but because something in you simply wanted to give. just because.

it had been a normal tuesday morning. nothing out of the ordinary. just the sun, the sound of cars and tricycles passing outside, and blair fumbling with the register at exactly 8:55 am. he had just turned the sign on the door to “open” when his phone buzzed against the countertop.

at first, he didn’t think much of it. he assumed it was beau checking in from baguio—he’d left before sunrise, off to talk to some of their regular merchants and suppliers, most likely already halfway through a negotiation. but when blair checked his phone after a while, he paused.

blair’s hand flew to his mouth as if he could physically keep the squeal from escaping. it didn’t work. he laughed. loudly, startling a customer halfway through browsing necklaces. and judging by how fast anthony spammed the chat with cat gifs and heart-eyed emojis, blair wasn’t the only one feeling unreasonably giddy.

blair’s thumbs were flying across the screen while trying to ring someone up. multitasking had never felt this joyful.

the rest of the day passed in a blur. customers came and went, coins were exchanged, but blair’s brain was stuck on one loop: tj’s going to propose. and he’s trusting us to help make it perfect. blair barely looked up from his phone. he kept it beside the register, checking the notifications every few minutes like he was waiting for news from a friend in labour. people asking about keychain prices, postcard bundles, if they had any stock left of the hand-painted mugs. and all the while, blair’s mind was somewhere else entirely.

and he couldn’t stop smiling.

the messages came slowly at first. scattered ideas. vague things like:

“ano tawag dun sa mga maliliit na ilaw na estetik?” “fairy lights?” “kahit siguro isang kaserola ng chorizo ok na. hehehe JOKE LANG WAG NIYO AKONG I-KICK”

but then the details started filling in, piece by piece.

the one thing tj was dead-set on—non-negotiable, no matter what—was that it had to happen on their hill. the one that had witnessed them grow from something tentative into something real. and if tj was going to ask beau to spend the rest of his life with him, then of course it had to be there. the one place that had seen every version of beau and tj—before, during, after.

it had always been their place.

tj didn’t say how he was going to propose, didn’t mention speeches or rings or what he might say. but the details were meticulous. by the time the sky outside the shop had turned purple, tj was delegating tasks like he was directing a movie and they were his production crew. anthony and milo were assigned to the food, the rest of them were in charge of the set-up: lightning, the arrangement, the ambience. cassius, in particular, was given one very specific, very crucial role: keep anthony from spilling. cass replied with a salute emoji. ant sent a bunch of sad emojis in retaliation. sanguk asked if they needed a playlist. shiloh said he could bring extra pillows.

they mapped out the next few days with more seriousness than they ever gave school projects. how to carry everything up to the hill, what time the sun would set, how to light the path just enough, but not too much. on blair’s day off, he, cassius, shiloh, and sanguk all crammed into shiloh’s car and headed down to baguio together to shop for decor.

they spent the whole afternoon bouncing from one store to another. sanguk found a nice tent, one with canvas walls and a collapsible frame, easy enough to carry up the hill. shiloh found a picnic basket, the classic kind with wicker weave and leather straps. they picked up soft throw pillows, fairy lights, and battery-powered lanterns into their haul, just in case.

on the way home, anthony texted:

“taste test 2nite!! bring your pretty mouths 👄”

so they drove straight to anthony’s kitchen, where the table was already packed with small portions of what would eventually become the menu. blair took one bite of the lava cake and sighed dreamily. they voted on what to keep, what to ditch. sanguk nixed the spicy wings. cass approved the liempo.

in the days that followed, the plans moved from blueprint to execution. shiloh and sanguk took charge of the music—curating a playlist of mellow love songs with soft acoustic guitar. songs you could fall asleep to, songs you could propose under. blair sketched out a loose diagram of how they’d lay things out on the hill. the tent would go near the top, just under the trees. the picnic blanket would spread at the centre, with lights strung from trunk to trunk in pretty, glowing arcs. the lanterns would line the path upward. it was going to be perfect.

then came the day itself.

they all met early—blair, cassius, shiloh, sanguk, milo, and ant, buzzing with nervous energy like they were the ones proposing. tj was already gone. he’d taken beau out to baguio, told him it was just a casual trip. so while tj dragged beau through crowded cafés and antique stalls, trying to tire him out with food and errands and long walks, the rest of them climbed the hill.

the weather was good. the wind was light.

they worked fast but careful: they rolled out the blankets, fluffed the pillows, set some of the food into the picnic basket and laid out the plates like a page from a magazine. by the time tj finally texted—“we’re on our way. twenty minutes max.”—they had just finished setting the last touches.

the hill looked like something out of a dream. the wooden table and chairs were perfect for two. it wasn’t extravagant, just a white linen cloth that fluttered a little in the breeze, plates arranged in pairs, the napkins were folded by hand. mason jars filled with tiny, flickering tea lights lined the edge of the blanket, and in the middle sat all of the delicious food.

the tent was set up just slightly off-centre on the hill. milo and shiloh had spent the better part of an hour adjusting its placement, making sure the ground beneath it was even. they’d driven the pegs deep into the earth, pulled the ropes taut. inside, they’d piled the floor with blankets—thick, comforting ones. there was more than enough space to lie down, to stretch out, to fall asleep tangled in each other's warmth.

just outside the tent, right on the open patch of grass facing the sky, was a blanket blair had chosen himself. tj had specifically asked for it, one laid out so they could stargaze.

it was sanguk who spotted the car first.

“it’s them,” he said, quietly but firmly, loud enough for the rest of them to freeze where they stood. blair turned sharply, and sure enough, tj’s familiar car was crawling up the narrow dirt path that led to the hill, headlights low, tyres crunching softly over gravel.

blair could feel it immediately—the shift in the air.

“go, go, go!” cass hissed, already nudging them towards the treeline.

they scrambled in the half-dark, ducking low as they slipped down the side of the hill and towards milo’s waiting van. cass gathered the last of the bags, and shiloh tripped over a log but caught himself before anyone had to catch him. they all climbed in as fast as they could, trying not to laugh, trying to be quiet—but their hearts were loud.

blair paused at the edge for a second, turned around.

tj and beau had just stepped out of the car. he couldn’t hear what was being said, couldn’t make out the words. but he saw the way beau stopped walking. the way he blinked like he didn’t understand what he was seeing.

and then—he saw tj look up.

right toward them.

a single look across distance and trees and fairy light shadows.

tj smiled. a grateful one. there was a hint of nerves in it—his shoulders a little tense, one hand twitching at his side. but his eyes were bright.

blair grinned back. felt warmth fill his whole body.

milo waved, a simple gesture from the van window. anthony raised a thumbs up like a proud dad. shiloh said, “tara na, baka makita pa tayo ni beau.”

so they did. they didn’t linger, didn’t peek or hover, didn’t try to witness the moment that wasn’t theirs to see. they just drove away, laughter in the backseat, warmth still in their hands from the lights they’d strung, from the picnic they’d laid out, from the love they’d helped build like it was a shelter.

this was tj and beau’s moment now.

and tomorrow, or maybe the next shift they shared, beau would gush, show off his ring. blair would lean against the counter and listen to every detail. maybe tease him a little, maybe cry.

so, yeah.

blair had witnessed love.

not just in tj and beau—in their gentle orbit around each other, but in everything that had led up to that moment. the planning, the weeks of preparation, the groupchat that never stopped buzzing. the errands, the calls, the last-minute adjustments, the details. he had witnessed love in the effort.

because that’s what it was, wasn’t it? love was commitment. it looked like six boys giving up weekends and days off just to make something special happen. the kind of love that meant no one second-guessed tj when he asked for help—they just jumped in, willing to do anything. this wasn’t obligation. this wasn’t helping out of politeness or boredom. this is the we know what this means to both of you, so it means something to us too kind of love.

blair had also seen love in five separate taste-testing sessions—because milo and ant refused to let the menu be just fine. they’d show up with tupperware and ask for their thoughts like it was a michelin tasting, hovering over their shoulders. milo would tweak the spices, remake entire batches just because “it didn’t feel right yet.” and none of them minded.

he’d seen love in sm city baguio, in aisles full of fairy lights and cutesy trinkets and pastel cutlery. all of them—cass, sanguk, shiloh, and himself—moving like a pack of indecisive interior decorators.

he’d seen love in the little things, too. in how tj had clearly thought this through, even requesting a blanket outside the tent, just so they could lie under the stars. in how he never said much about what he’d say, but everything about how he wanted beau to feel.

and love bloomed everywhere around that. in sanguk always carrying blair’s shopping bags without a word, even the heavy ones. in how ant always served cassius first during every tasting. in how milo always saved the front seat of the van for shiloh. those small kindnesses, those unconscious gestures, they meant more than flowers ever could.

blair looked at them sometimes—this group of boys who bickered, who teased each other mercilessly, who shared playlists and inside jokes and the kind of loyalty that couldn’t be manufactured—and he realised: this was love.

this was family; not family you’re born into, but the family you choose. they didn’t say i love you out loud. not often. but they didn’t need to. blair had seen it in how cass reached for ant’s hand under the table. how shiloh texted milo good morning without fail. how sanguk always waited for blair to finish locking up the shop, even when he said “you don’t have to wait.” blair hadn’t just witnessed love. he was living it, too.