Original subtitles

I'M HERE, SIR. I ARRIVED A BIT EARLY.

Are you alone, sir?

No. I'm…

I'm with someone.

Thank you.

I knew it was you. I could hear your bell the moment you walked in.

How are you, Sir Eric?

Is this yours?

Yes, sir.

You own a motorbike now?

No, I just borrowed my cousin's.

May I?

Badass. Just like the helmet of…

Daft Punk?

Exactly.

I really looked for it, sir.

It's not really my style, but after watching their farewell video,

I fell in love with that silver helmet.

Have you seen it?

Man, I was crying my eyes out!

I wonder if they are quitting for good.

I think one of them died.

I think that's what the video implies.

Have you heard about the urban legend, sir?

They have been dead for 22 years! In fact, their discovery album was created by…

Robots!

Before, I understood the lyrics wrong.

Which one?

"If love is the answer, you're home"?

I thought it was, "If love is the answer, you're wrong."

Come to think of it, you might be right.

Right? I mean…

Ready to order, sir?

Are you new here? Where is Alex?

He's in quarantine, sir. He tested positive for COVID.

We just reopened recently.

Is he getting better?

Yes, sir, but he still has colds.

Have you decided what to get, Lance? Try the steak. It's good here.

I know, sir.

You've been here before?

I read it on TripAdvisor.

Well, I'll have the eggs Benedict with extra greens, please.

Why won't you have steak?

It's not really my favorite.

It's expensive.

My treat.

Again?

You'll have your turn once you land a job.

Try our rib eye, sir. It's delicious.

All right. Well done.

- Rice or mashed potato, sir? - Just the steak.

It's part of the order, sir.

- I'm cutting down on carbs. - I can have the mashed potato.

Alright then.

How about your drinks?

- Coke. - I'll just have water.

And sir, by the way, you can dine for a maximum of 90 minutes.

But why?

We need to sanitize the place for the next customers.

You only have a few customers.

It's the protocol, sir.

And you have a lot of space for more guests.

Lance.

- We're good. Thank you. - Thank you, sir.

What's wrong?

Sorry, sir.

I'm just getting tired of all these stupid policies. They are useless.

Moody? Did you have another fight with your mom?

I'm not living with her, sir.

I'm staying with my aunt temporarily.

Here. Before I forget.

There's a leak in your bathroom ceiling, sir.

I tried to have it repaired before I left. Just check it.

You may come back. No one's using my condo, anyway.

I'm embarrassed, sir.

And I feel guilty.

But why? What happened wasn't your fault.

I was worried about you.

I really wanted to know how you're doing, but…

I needed to settle a lot of things.

It's okay, sir. I understand. I'm not your responsibility.

I made a promise to you, right?

You were drunk back then, sir.

No, I wasn't.

When I told you that I'd take care of you, I was serious.

But why, sir?

What do you mean?

I don't understand why you're so kind to me.

People always leave me once they get to know me.

They leave only because they give up easily.

You're smart. You're one of my brilliant students.

You only need one person to believe in you.

That person is me.

I'm not asking for anything in return.

I don't like you, if that's what you're thinking.

No, sir. It never crossed my mind.

Well, let me reassure you.

I'm only here as your friend.

I know it's odd.

I mean, I'm a 40-year-old gay guy building a close friendship with

- a 20-year-old man. - I don't think it's unusual… sir.

I just really want to help you, Lance.

And I'm not about to stop myself from helping you

just because of what other people might say or think.

The whole department is talking about us.

I know.

I guess social distancing won't prevent people from spreading rumors.

They're saying I'm manipulating you.

They were wondering why I would attend an online class

with bruises on my face.

They think I faked those instances

to get your attention

and bait you to rescue me.

Somebody even said I studied on YouTube how to create fake bruises.

Man, this pandemic.

I thought it would teach us to be kinder,

but we've become more anti-social.

Everyone knew your stepfather was beating you up and yet

no one did anything to help you.

Except for you, sir.

If it wasn't for you,

he could have killed me.

Or I could have killed him.

Or I could have killed myself.

Good thing I left.

You barely knew me then, but you gave me a place to stay.

But people do not know that.

And even if they don't know the story, they judge us. So, to hell with them.

But sir, I don't want you to lose your job.

Why?

We're not doing anything wrong. We're not hurting anybody.

You think, sir?

I'm sure of it.

What about Sir Marcus, sir?

Your order, sir.

Thank you.

- Thanks. - Eggs Benedict, sir.

Do you have Worcestershire sauce?

Yes, sir.

I find it hard to pronounce.

Which one?

The worst-ever-sauce… how?

Worcestershire.

- Worcester… - Say "stershire" quickly.

- Worcestershire. - There you go.

- Worcestershire. - Close enough.

See? A teacher can also learn something from his student.

Here, sir.

Try it on your eggs Benedict.

- Really? - It's the best.

Let's see.

How is it?

It's good.

You said that was Sir Marcus' specialty.

He made an effort to learn how to make eggs Benedict for you,

even though he didn't like eggs.

I'm sorry, sir.

I'll stop talking about him.

No, it's… fine.

But it's hard.

I still can't believe that he is gone.

Is it true, sir?

He died from overdose?

He was going through a lot.

We were going through a lot.

But he had it worse.

Being a writer, maybe he was more emotional.

He was really spiraling downwards.

Even more so during the pandemic.

It didn't help that his publisher and mentor died of COVID.

Several weeks before he did what he did,

it just seemed like he was sinking on quicksand, and there was…

There was nothing I could do to… to help him. I didn't know how.

I really love his novel Song of a Burning Boy.

Fuck, it was intense.

I don't want to be dramatic,

but it really kind of saved my life.

I finished the last chapter of it in one sitting.

I was bawling like a fool.

When he became my instructor in Fiction 1,

I was just so starstruck.

I couldn't even ask him to sign my copy of his novel.

I know. He told me about you.

Who could forget your name? Lancelot. Like the Knight of the Round Table.

He also said you were cute. Six out ten.

Only six, sir?

Admit it. You were so skinny then.

Now, you've leveled up. Maybe you're…

A seven now. Or 7.5.

Good thing I'm cute. Otherwise, he would have flunked me.

Being cute wouldn't get you a good grade from Marcus.

He saw something in you. If not, he would have flunked you.

I don't believe that, sir.

He was so critical of my short stories.

That was probably me.

What do you mean, sir?

Whenever Marcus was busy writing,

he'd ask me to critique his students' work.

Seriously, sir?

Lance, do you think Marcus had superpowers?

How could he publish 14 novels,

five nonfiction books,

and more than 100 short stories before the age of 45

without anyone helping him?

I really thought the edit notes came from Sir Marcus.

Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you.

They were just from me. I hope you don't feel less valued because of that.

What's wrong?

Nothing, sir.

I just couldn't believe it.

All this time, I remembered it differently.

Lance, you're still young.

As you grow older, you'll realize most of our memories are false.

Or worse,

lies we tell ourselves.

How sad.

Only if you let it get to you.

If you keep telling lies to yourself, you'll believe them to be true.

People are so smart that they can turn lies

into truths.

I guess lying makes life a little more…

Interesting.

Sir Eric.

We're friends, right?

Absolutely.

I want to ask you something. Please be honest with me.

What is it?

Did I have something to do with Sir Marcus' death?

What made you say that?

Did you break up because of me?

Where are you getting these ideas?

Everyone knows he didn't die in your house, sir.

I saw the police report being shared on messaging groups.

His body was found in a hotel room. He was alone when he died.

Rumors say that you broke up because of me.

Dammit! Why do you care what others say!

We have so much in common, Lance.

Our taste in music. Our being critical and funny at the same time.

In this pandemic…

You're like a long-lost friend I just couldn't wait to meet up with again.

But now that Marcus is gone,

I've come to realize you're so much more like a younger version of him.

He's probably the only person I know who's apathetic to music.

But Marcus is strong-willed. And smart.

And stubborn.

Like you.

That look you're giving me now, that's so Marcus.

You just know when there's something on his mind.

And he never backs down from an argument.

We were having dinner in this very restaurant

a few days before Christmas last year.

We had a big fight. About you.

Although it's not really about you.

True to form, before we started arguing,

he cleaned his glasses first before putting them on.

I knew a big fight was coming because

he didn't look at me before he started talking.

I knew it was really serious

because he didn't call me by my nickname.

Ericson.

Lancelot is your student, for crying out loud.

How can you not see anything wrong with this?

We're just friends!

You've been going out on dates with him.

Those weren't dates. They were more like counseling sessions.

Excuse me?

Since when did you become a guidance counselor?

The boy has been reporting to class with bruises on his face.

Am I supposed to ignore that?

First of all, he's not a boy.

He's 22-fucking-years-old, Eric.

Secondly, if you really want to help, then do it the proper way.

File a report at the Students' Affairs Office.

You can even call the police for all I care,

but please stop meeting with him.

Okay, yes, it's not crossing the line, but it's bordering on being inappropriate.

We're not doing anything wrong.

I didn't say you are.

But people might misinterpret what you are doing.

I don't care!

Why?

Whenever we fight,

I stop myself from saying anything because

you might take it the wrong way.

Just tell me the truth.

Eric, please?

I promised him that I will always take care of him.

What?

Look.

He has opened up and we found so many similarities…

Are you in love with him?

- No! - Infatuated with him?

My…

Marcus, it's platonic.

He's like a son to me. Why do you always think the worst of me?

I'm just asking to be clear.

No judgment, Ericson.

We've talked about this before. I told you

I would understand if you wanted to sleep with someone else.

We've been together for 17 years.

Our sex life is practically non-existent.

So, it's fine

if you want to hook up with other people. Just not with your students.

We're not hooking up. He'll never have sex with me. He's straight.

That's not the point.

As educators, we have a code of conduct that we must live and work by.

And as LGBT+ people, it is incumbent upon us

to guard ourselves and watch for any scandal

that can be used to discredit us and our community.

It is incumbent upon us?

What the fuck is this? Ratification of the Philippine Constitution?

You're making a big deal out of it.

You're too concerned with what other people say.

How about what I feel?

I'm telling you to stay out of trouble. How hard is that?

Can't you do it for me?

Are you jealous of Lance?

No!

This is not about Lance. Keep him out of this.

This concerns only the two of us.

I am asking you to avoid him.

Do you even know what you're asking from me?

I am not happy anymore!

Now, you're asking me to give up on the only thing,

the only person that's making me happy nowadays.

Don't I make you happy?

Not for the longest time.

But I love you.

I love you even if I'm not happy anymore.

This is the first time I'm doing something for myself.

Marcus, don't make me hate you.

In all our 17 years,

not once did you ever give me even a single flower.

What does that have to do with this?

Everything.

I'm always the one taking care of you.

I'm always the one adjusting to your needs.

You couldn't care less about me.

You only care about your novels and your writing workshops.

Those workshops that you schedule on Valentine's Day.

Yes, I know you're not a sentimental person.

I know you're not fond of flowers.

That's why I don't demand. But did you ever hear me complain?

Yes, right now.

When you're mad,

you turn off your phone or turn off the lights

or turn away from me and shut the door.

You threw away our wedding ring so many times.

I'm always the one chasing you, trying to understand you,

but I also get tired!

Eric.

Eric, I'm sorry.

Eric, I'm sorry.

I've been going through some of my own shit

since this pandemic happened.

I knew you were going through something.

I just didn't know you were suffering so much too.

So, the boy makes me happy, and not in a romantic way.

Why is it an issue for you?

Because it represents everything that goes against my value system.

You're in a position of power. He's your student.

How can you not see what I'm seeing?

I'm not doing anything…

Wrong.

Yes, I heard you the first time.

We're going nowhere.

Without you…

There's nothing I like about myself.

You know that, right?

Marcus, love, I'm still here. I'm not leaving.

No.

I feel like I lost you already.

Is there something you don't understand?

Is that possible?

What is?

How can you love him if you're not happy with him?

It's not just about him. It's so many things.

Like this pandemic.

Do you know how stressful it is to adjust and adapt to online classes?

We were working like crazy. We were perpetually overwhelmed.

I'm just trying to imagine what Sir Marcus must have felt.

You were together for so long.

And then one day, you just come up to him and you tell him

that you promised this young man,

whom you've met only recently,

that you're going to take care of him.

Yeah, it's not romantic,

but he makes you happy more than you've been in months.

Of course, he's going to take it personally, sir.

But it's the truth. Should I have lied?

Sometimes…

Feelings are more important than the truth.

Have you always told him the truth, sir?

I'm no saint, Lance.

Of course, I don't get to tell him everything.

You never told him you allowed me to live in your condo, sir?

If I did, we would only end up fighting.

Seems like you're judging me.

No, sir.

Look, he didn't trust me anymore.

That was the problem. Nothing I did was right.

I wanted to tell him that your stepfather almost killed you

and you had nowhere to go,

but he wouldn't understand.

And besides, in my head, it's my condo.

I can do whatever I want with it, right?

I have had other friends stay there.

But to him, it's just a place to store his books.

Well, thank God for that.

I was able to read all of his novels.

Even his nonfiction books.

It's sad.

His death is a monumental loss to Philippine literature.

I know.

Imagine having that kind of talent.

Is it true that he wrote Song Of A Burning Boy

in just a month?

Three weeks.

One month because I proofread it.

Amazing.

Among all of his novels,

Song Of A Burning Boy is his most autobiographical.

And favorite. And I would agree with him.

Penguin Random House is planning to reprint it

for distribution across Southeast Asia

at the end of this year.

- Wow! - He was so excited about it.

He was looking forward to it.

And for a time, it helped him.

It kept him out of his depression.

And it's also my favorite Filipino novel in English, sir.

Well, next to Nick Joaquin's The Woman Who Had Two Navels.

I wish I had Sir Marcus' mastery of language.

Did he try writing in Filipino?

Well, that's the dream.

He wanted to write the next great novel in Filipino.

The last time we met,

you said he was working on something.

Really?

I don't think so.

Marcus was so insecure to write in Filipino,

in our language.

Maybe he tried to write something, but he probably threw it away.

Maybe he left a manuscript somewhere…

No.

But imagine, sir, if years from now,

you discover the unpublished manuscript…

Then it will remain unpublished.

I know Marcus.

He will never publish anything until I have proofread it.

It's unimaginable. It would make him turn in his grave.

How was your food, sir?

It was great, thank you.

Care for dessert?

- Do you have apple pie? - Yes, sir, we do.

- I'll have coffee, please. - How about you, sir?

- Just a glass of water. - I'll just clear your table, sir.

- Yes, please. Thank you. - Thank you.

Excuse me, sir.

Don't you ever tire of apple pie?

No, sir. I can eat it every day,

morning, noon, night.

I was excited every time you came

to the condo and brought McDonald's.

Just so you know,

not all McDonald's stores serve apple pie for breakfast.

I had to drive to another branch.

For real, sir?

But it's fine.

To be honest, I'm not a breakfast person.

But we ate breakfast almost every day.

I was too shy to tell you.

Besides, you always brought apple pie,

so it's okay.

Lance, you have to be more honest with me.

You don't have to do anything you don't like.

It's not a big deal, sir.

- Are you sure? - Yes, sir.

I thought I finally found my breakfast buddy.

Sorry, sir.

But how about Sir Marcus?

He only drinks water for breakfast

and eats at 3 p.m.

Me too.

I can't believe you were forcing yourself to have breakfast.

Sir, I wasn't forcing myself.

Besides, it wasn't the breakfast that I enjoyed.

It was your company.

Flattery won't get you anywhere.

It's true, sir.

Nobody understands me like you do.

I'm sorry that I caused so many problems for you.

But I'm certainly not sorry that we became friends.

Here's your apple pie, sir.

- Thank you. - And your coffee, sir.

Thank you.

How is it?

McDonald's is better, sir.

All right. I'll bring you one tomorrow.

Come back to the condo.

I don't understand why you had to leave.

I can't stay there, sir.

Not after what happened to Sir Marcus.

Piles of his novels are in every corner of the room,

surrounding me.

They keep reminding me

that I might have something to do with his death.

I already said that you have nothing to do with it.

Marcus never blamed you for anything.

If anyone's to blame, it's me.

After lunch, I'm going to the condo to remove his books.

No need, sir.

I'm not really comfortable staying there.

Besides, my aunt is good to me.

Are you sure?

Okay.

But we can have breakfast at McDonald's anytime.

Just let me know, sir.

Sure.

I'm thinking of transferring to the Filipino department.

Why?

I enrolled in the English Department because Sir Marcus encouraged me

after he got the short story I submitted for his workshop.

But over time,

I've been getting this urge to write in Filipino.

I might discover my voice if I write in our language.

You left my condo.

Now you're leaving the English Department.

Are you avoiding me?

No, sir.

We're both smart, Lance.

You're hiding something from me.

Why are you staying with your aunt now,

when she wasn't even an option when you ran away?

You had nowhere to go, that's why I offered you my place.

And don't use Marcus' books in the condo as an excuse.

That's ridiculously stupid. It's too contrived.

You're a writer, you should know.

A few days before he killed himself,

Sir Marcus went to the condo.

He had a spare key.

He went to get some copies of his novel.

We were both taken by surprise.

I told him why I was staying there. I explained to him that

there's nothing going on between us.

I don't know if he believed me.

But I will never forget that look

on his face.

He was just in shock and he couldn't say a word for a long time.

I felt really bad for him.

I couldn't do anything but hug him.

You should have told me this before.

Sir, he made me promise not to say anything

until he talked to you.

I didn't want to make the situation worse.

But maybe I should have told you immediately.

I might have prevented his death.

Don't blame yourself, Lance.

The truth is, that wasn't the first time.

I spent much of our relationship

trying to stop him from hurting himself,

but there's only so much you can do for another person.

But you were able to stop him before.

Until I came into the picture.

It's not your fault.

I know.

We both know that we didn't do anything wrong.

But we still can't help but feel guilty.

I guess it's just something we have to live with.

That's why I can't go back there.

It's just upsetting.

Okay.

I need to tell you something else.

What is it?

I've always said that

Song Of A Burning Boy is my favorite.

But I never told you why.

The boy in that story was raped by a priest.

And that, for much of his young life,

made it difficult for him

to come to terms with his sexuality.

I identified with him

because…

I pretty much went through the same thing.

Lance,

- you don't have to tell me anything. - I'm sharing this with you, sir,

because I want to be more self-aware

and honor my truth.

I was ten years old when my dad left us for another woman.

We had nowhere to go.

At that time,

my mom, she didn't have a job or money.

It was her best friend who helped us.

She gave us a room in this big compound owned by her grandpa,

who was a pastor.

He was kind and gentle.

Definitely not the kind of man you would expect to molest kids.

But that's what he did to me.

Repeatedly.

And you know what the crazy part about that story is, sir?

My mom knew.

She knew,

but she didn't do anything about it.

It only stopped when she found a boyfriend

and we transferred house.

I'm so sorry you had to go through that.

I'm queer, sir.

God, it feels so good to finally say it.

It's been hard to admit because

I associated being queer with being a predator.

And I didn't want to be a monster

like that old man who molested me.

You're a good person, Lance.

You will never be like him.

I don't know, sir. My life is a mess.

You have no idea about the things I've done.

What do you mean?

Never mind.

I thought we were friends?

You might find me repulsive.

Don't you trust me?

Two years ago,

I started selling masturbation videos online.

I knew it. I shouldn't have told you.

No, it's not that. I'm…

I'm just trying to process.

You started selling masturbation videos online.

Where do you get them?

Me, sir.

I record myself and then I sell the videos on Twitter.

I have an alter account.

Alter account?

Dummy account. I have several, actually.

It's usually taken down due to nude content.

You post them on your alter account?

Just teasers, sir.

To give my clients an idea of what they are buying.

So, people can see you?

I always wear a mask, sir.

Do you want to see it?

Maybe. I really can't understand what you're talking about.

That's your account?

May I?

Sir…

I don't want to see it.

You still do that?

Sometimes, sir. It's hard to make ends meet.

I'll provide for your allowance. Just stop doing it.

What if someone recognizes you?

I am extra-careful, sir.

You're putting your life at risk. Delete that account.

Why?

You've already helped me a lot.

I don't want to trouble you with my allowance.

Did I say it's for free?

Once you graduate and land a job, you may start paying me back.

It will take a long time, sir.

Do you prefer doing that?

Then, delete it.

Sir.

Why can't you delete it?

I already have 96,000 followers, sir.

Are you hearing yourself, Lance?

Do you know how utterly stupid that sounds?

Delete the account. Now.

Have you deleted it?

You don't have to show me.

I'm sure you know what's good for you.

Yes, sir.

Are you done with your apple pie?

I'll just take it home.

Bill out, sir?

Yes. We'll take out the apple pie. Please add another slice.

No need, sir.

You might get hungry.

- That would be all. - Okay, sir.

What else do you want?

Are you mad at me for making you delete your account?

I am older than you. I know what's best for you.

We can't do everything we want.

I understand, sir.

So, now I'm curious.

Did you ever meet with anyone through that?

I'm sure some people won't be satisfied with just watching your videos.

Am I right?

I'm very selective. They have to earn my trust first.

Twitter has a lot of posers.

You know, user who pretend to be someone else

by using other people's photos and videos.

So, how do they earn your trust?

Through private conversations, sir.

Everyone is anonymous.

So, being able to trust each other is really important.

I ask first where they went to school.

You can already gauge the quality of your conversation

just by knowing where they went to school.

What if they are out-of-school? You won't talk to them?

Probably not. We have nothing to talk about.

Isn't that some form of bigotry?

Bigotry?

I'm just choosy.

You're judging someone on something they have no control over.

It's not his fault if he was born poor.

I have no ill intention. Things are different in the alter world.

You can't waste your time with men who have nothing to say but

"fuck me". That's why you have to be very selective.

"Fuck me"?

Yes. No "hi" or "hello". Straight to the point.

But some are quite sensible. I think most of them are just lonely.

Okay. So, when you trust them, what happens next?

I'd ask if he is willing to share his Facebook account.

That's how you'd know if he is being honest with you.

It means that he also trusts you enough

to be a little vulnerable by revealing himself.

Plus, you can get a lot of information from Facebook.

You'll be able to decide if he's worth taking it to the next level.

By "next level", you mean…

Exchanging phone numbers. Meet up in person. You know.

Do you go to their place?

Sometimes.

Or we do it in a hotel.

Or we just do car fun.

Car fun?

We have sex inside the car.

Even during this pandemic?

COVID cannot stop a horny guy, sir.

COVID doesn't care if you're horny. What if you get infected?

Sometimes I wear a facemask.

And I don't kiss.

But you don't observe physical distancing.

It's not full-blown sex, sir.

Sometimes I just let them suck me

or jerk me off.

Do you suck them too?

Sometimes.

Sir, you know what?

In time, I befriended someone in alter.

He studies in UST.

At first, I thought it was you, sir.

Did he start the chat with "fuck me"?

No, sir!

But he is sensible.

And it's so uncanny

because when I asked him if he was gay or straight,

he answered back, "What is straight?

A line can be straight.

Or a street."

"But the human heart? Oh no."

"It's curved like a road through mountains."

Your favorite line from Tennessee William's play,

A Streetcar Named Desire.

Sir, sorry. Our cash register malfunctioned.

It's OK.

Thank you.

The extra slice of apple pie will take ten minutes because it's freshly baked.

- Okay, thank you. - Thank you, sir.

Tell me his name.

Who?

This Tennessee-UST-Williams-guy you thought was me.

Ryan.

- So, you already saw him? - Yes, sir.

Regularly?

He had to fly to Hawaii a few months ago.

His mom got COVID. But she's okay now.

So you keep in touch?

Sometimes.

Well, I see. It seems to me you like this guy.

Maybe. But he's way out of my league anyway.

Why?

I don't think he sees me other than a fuck buddy.

Fuck buddy.

And he has a girlfriend. Things are complicated.

Why not? You've seen each other a couple of times.

Obviously, he's also attracted to you.

Maybe when he's horny.

You think so little of yourself.

You're a smart guy.

And I know you know that you're good-looking.

So, what's not to like?

A lot, sir.

You don't mean that.

I only like myself when I'm with you.

You calm me down.

I stop being self-destructive when you're around.

No one else can make me delete my alter account.

Only you.

But it's nothing romantic, sir.

Of course not.

I don't know why. You just seem to have this positive effect on me.

I'm glad to hear that.

Why?

Those were also the exact words of Sir Marcus.

I don't understand.

That night, when he went to the condo,

we had a long talk.

I told him how I looked up to you as a father,

as a mentor, and advisor.

I also told him how you were a man with great integrity.

That you always treated me with kindness

and never expected anything in return.

He seemed comforted by my words,

as if he needed me to say them out loud.

Then he smiled and said,

"I'm glad to hear that."

When was this exactly?

A day after my birthday. March 10.

That's the day he said he's going to Bulacan to see his mom.

He didn't go home until the next day.

He slept in the condo, sir.

What?

It seemed like he didn't want to leave.

He said he wanted to have a drink, so I bought him a beer.

Marcus doesn't drink.

Yes. He got drunk in no time.

That's why he couldn't go home that night.

He gets crazy when he drinks.

Yes, sir.

Why? What happened?

Nothing, sir.

No, you just agreed with me that he gets crazy when he drinks, so what happened?

He was just…

He was just loud.

He just kept screaming,

"I want pork."

And then I realized those were the lyrics to the Radioactive Sago Project song.

You should've informed me right away.

I made a promise to him, sir.

So, he never told you

about what happened?

No, this is the first time I'm hearing about this.

Did he have anything to say about me?

No, sir. He talked about himself. A lot, actually.

That's Marcus, all right.

And then he started to talk about my writing.

I was actually surprised he remembered my first work of short fiction.

Really?

Yeah. He said it was pretentious.

Maybe he was already drunk by then.

No, sir.

He dissected my work while eating the apple pie you brought me.

He went on to say that my prose lacked depth.

That I was trying too hard to impress.

And he also said that my story was derivative.

Don't let it affect you.

Marcus can be full of himself sometimes.

Sir.

He's the Nick Joaquin of his generation.

Of course, he's allowed to be full of himself.

When I told him that I might transfer to the Filipino Department,

he just laughed at me.

He said my problem wasn't language

but talent.

I'm sure Marcus said those hurtful things to you because he was jealous of you.

He would never admit it, but he was extremely jealous of you,

and it was eating him up inside.

We won't get him to admit anything now, sir.

He's gone.

Whether he was jealous or not,

I think his criticisms of my writing

were made in the service of factual truth.

Here you go, sir.

Your take-out, sir.

Oh, wait.

Thank you, Marcus.

Thank you for the tip, sir.

I made up my mind about transferring to the Filipino Department.

One of the requirements is to submit an original literary work in Filipino.

Are you really sure about this?

I mean, you have potential as a good Filipino writer in English.

Something's telling me I'm making the right decision.

And I've never been more inspired.

I finished writing a novel in Filipino, sir.

Wow. We didn't see each other for two months

and now you have a novel?

I actually started writing it over a year ago.

Can you read it and give me your honest opinion on it?

Of course. I'll start reading it tonight.

Thank you, sir.

Oh, so, you're ready to go?

Before we go, can I just make a quick run to the toilet?

It's alright. Take your time.

Oh my God. You started reading it.

I'm embarrassed.

Teorya Ng Mga Tanong.

You don't like the title?

I like it.

But this is the title of the novel that Marcus wrote.

Even the story is the same.

The only thing you changed is his name. You replaced it with yours.

What the hell are you doing, Lance?

Answer me.

Are you being serious?

Do I look like I'm kidding?

Sir, that's my novel you're holding in your hands.

Besides, Marcus has never written anything in Filipino.

You said it yourself.

He was insecure to write in Filipino.

I only said that because I don't want people to know

that he wrote something in Filipino.

I burned the only manuscript we had in the house.

Where did you get this?

I really don't know what you're accusing me of.

You are stealing Marcus' novel.

That's what I am accusing you of!

Okay.

Okay. I will admit that I did not write that novel.

Nevertheless, it's still mine.

What the hell are you talking about?

Are you planning to publish this? Are you out of your mind?

Do you know the humiliation this will bring us?

This story is about the three of us.

Marcus may have changed a few details here and there,

but it's us.

Instead of writers, he turns us into lawyers.

There's you, the unsuspecting, sexually ambiguous law student

who forms a bond with a closet gay lawyer teaching at the university.

That's clearly me.

And then there's Marcus,

who projects himself into the protagonist of his novel.

The lawyer's partner, both in business and in life.

And like Marcus,

he is alarmed at the growing friendship between his boyfriend and his student.

Of course he would make the protagonist into someone who is smart and charming…

Well, he may be charming, but he's also a psycho. Right?

Did you see it coming when he murdered the student and decapitated him?

That was crazy.

It sounds like a cheap noir novel, but it's so amazingly written.

I don't care that it's amazingly written.

It's our story. It's not for public consumption.

The characters are now lawyers.

It's not really about us anymore.

Anyone who knows us will instantly recognize the characters are us.

But for those who don't know us,

it's just a story.

Art is art, Eric.

It doesn't matter if it was inspired by some trashy event.

As long as you turn it into something special.

Teorya Ng Mga Tanong is suffering

turned into art.

And what a great art it is.

Who the hell are you?

How come I never saw this before?

To be fair, Eric,

you've only known me for a short time.

And if you really think about it,

Teorya Ng Mga Tanong tells a fairly simple story.

But it's impossible to put down.

It makes you want to read it again and savor it slowly.

Most writers would give everything

just to have one masterpiece to their name.

This is it. This is just the push I needed to become a great writer.

You do not become a great writer by stealing other people's work.

You write. You work hard at it.

I'm not letting you get away with this.

Why are you so afraid of the book coming out?

You didn't even care

about the rumors about us.

Rumors are different from literature.

I refuse to be immortalized like this.

This book makes fun of me.

It reduces me to a pathetic, insecure man

who pushed his lover into committing murder.

Imagine people making stupid analogies.

They'll say that I pushed Marcus to commit suicide.

I'm sorry to break this to you, Eric.

But you're boring…

Compared to your character in the novel.

All of us.

We are nothing compared to our fictional counterparts.

Yes, you may say that the book is so much about us.

But it's not about us as well.

This is not up for discussion.

You have no right over the manuscript.

It will never see the light of day.

And I will make sure of that.

You cannot make that decision for me.

I own the manuscript. It's mine.

Dammit, Lance.

I don't know what game you're playing, but it has to stop.

I didn't steal the novel.

Marcus gave it to me.

Are you kidding me?

Why would Marcus give you his novel?

To keep my silence.

About what?

You've been together for 17 years, right?

So you know how he is when he drinks.

That night,

after just three bottles of beer,

he turned into a psycho.

He was angry. He was hateful.

He was destructive.

All his rage and jealousy exploded.

And he kept screaming at me,

throwing his books at me.

When I tried to leave…

He grabbed me by my neck

and punched me in the head.

Repeatedly.

I kept begging him to stop, but he just wouldn't listen.

He kept hitting me until I lost consciousness.

Well?

Do you want to see what he did to me? I have photos.

I remember that.

But when I asked you who did that to you, you said it was your stepfather,

so why did you not tell me the truth?

Because we already had a deal.

When I came to,

I found him crying in a corner.

He knew he was in trouble,

and now, he was suddenly confronted by what he just did to me.

He kept saying sorry and begging me not to call the police.

He was terrified he could lose everything.

His job at the university.

The career he spent most of his life building.

So, I assured him that I won't go to the police.

But on one condition.

I knew he was writing his Filipino novel

because you mentioned it in passing.

So I asked for the kind of payment that would be most valuable to me.

His art.

He emailed it to me the next day.

And it was just the best thing I've ever read in my life.

THEORY OF QUESTIONS

Then he wanted to meet with me again.

Here, of all places.

He said he had something important to tell me.

I don't know why you told me I reminded you of a younger version of Marcus.

Because we have absolutely nothing in common.

He actually reminds me of you,

but softer.

When he speaks my name,

he sounds just like you.

Except he always called me by my full name.

Lancelot.

Have you read it?

It's your best work yet.

I don't think I can ever write something like that again.

Because it's too personal?

I'm thinking about going away.

Vacation?

Something like that.

So why did you want to see me?

Lancelot, once the book gets out, your life will never be the same.

I know.

And I don't mind being known

as the author of the greatest Filipino novel ever written.

Wil it be everything you've dreamed of? Maybe.

But that book will also destroy you in the long run.

Is that a threat?

Look, I know you were hurt when I told you this, but you need to hear it again.

You are not a writer, Lancelot.

At first, I thought you had potential, but even teachers can be wrong.

You simply don't have the talent.

If you publish this novel under your name,

the insecurity will only gnaw at you until it consumes you

and breaks you and cripples you for life. Do not go where you do not belong.

Fuck you.

You can curse me 'til your mouth bleeds. You are not a writer, Lancelot.

You may be a brilliant writer, sir,

but you're a terrible actor.

I think I know what's happening here.

You can't let go of your novel.

- No. - And you probably thought about it

and you finally realized how powerful Teorya Ng Mga Tanong is.

Powerful does not even begin to describe it. It is my first Filipino novel.

It is nothing short of a masterpiece.

I love the confidence, sir.

I don't need confidence to say that. It's a fact. I'm a gifted writer.

Nobody's questioning your brilliance.

You're adored by critics and the public in equal measure.

So, is that why you're trying to back out of our agreement?

You're afraid that my novel will eclipse all your work,

that I will be more famous than you.

It is possible that my work

will make you one of the most famous writers in our country.

Famous, yes,

and sadly, still untalented.

It's very typical of your generation.

You all want to be celebrities without working for it.

On the contrary, I shed blood, sweat, and tears to deserve your novel.

Literally.

You nearly killed me, remember?

Lancelot,

what I did to you was terrible and wrong, and I am sorry.

But literary fame and success are meaningless if you did not earn them.

And the reading public nowadays is so demanding.

They're not going to be satisfied with one book, one novel.

And do you even know how it is to be pressured into creating a second book

that stands up and lives up to the high standards of a critically acclaimed debut?

Then maybe I'll make you write another one.

No, I'm not that evil.

Besides, I know a lot of great writers with only one novel.

Emily Bronte, J. D. Salinger, Sylvia Plath.

But they are writers.

They have published poems and short stories to their name.

All you have is your bloated ego.

If I can't have your novel, then say goodbye to your career

- because it's over. - I don't give a fuck about my novel!

I wrote it to vent. I wanted to hurt Eric.

I had to force him to read it. I wanted to see him devastated.

But he just seemed disturbed.

Disturbed and not even surprised.

And that's about the extent of damage that I had caused.

It's quite disappointing, to be honest.

Teorya Ng Mga Tanong is a literary masterpiece,

but it has lost its value to me.

So, do you want my book? You can have it.

Do whatever the fuck you want with it.

Just don't make the mistake of publishing it.

I don't get it.

I don't expect you to get it.

You're still young. Quite naive.

You're playing a game that I used to play when I was your age.

I was quite good-looking in college, still not out of the closet.

So I would low-key seduce people with my sexually ambiguous energy,

like casting a wide net to see who bites back.

I don't know what you're talking about.

Oh, you know exactly what I'm talking about.

Let me tell you something about Eric.

He likes being teased. He likes being dominated, especially in bed.

He would complain to our friends how he suffered in silence

because I always put him second to my work.

And as sick as it may sound, I know he enjoys it.

He's not one to admit, but he's a masochist.

He loves being controlled. So,

if you think that you have gained the upper hand in this game,

Eric has anticipated all of this, and it seems to me

you're the one who landed in his trap.

He is fucking with your mind the way you're fucking with his.

This is probably the last time that you and I are meeting.

So I want you to remember.

You have no future as a writer, Lancelot.

You can write a good sentence or two.

But that's about the extent of your talent.

And I'm not saying this to put you down. I'm saying this to save you.

So, please, let me save you while I can.

To this day,

I'm still trying to figure out what was going through his head.

How was he going to save me if…

He was planning to kill himself all along?

Maybe he killed himself because

there was nobody left to save.

Not even me.

I did not let him.

Eric?

Oh, I knew it was you.

Oh, don't get up.

How are you?

I'm okay, ma'am, considering.

I'm so sorry I wasn't able to go to Marcus' wake.

It's all right.

My husband Manolo got COVID after his first dose.

It's been a scary few weeks, to be honest.

I'm sorry to hear that. How is he?

He's doing better now but still not quite there yet.

At least he got his sense of taste back.

That's why I'm here to pick up his favorite apple pie.

I heard it's to die for. I just haven't really tried it.

By the way, this is Lance, my student.

Good afternoon, ma'am.

I love your novel, The Killing Time.

I hope I could also write a political satire someday.

Thank you. Are you also a writer?

Trying, ma'am. Actually, I just finished writing a novel.

Sir Eric is helping me with it.

But we still have a long way to go.

Wow. A novel. How long did you write it?

A little over a year, ma'am.

Impressive. It took me five years to finish The Killing Time.

You're so lucky to have Eric as a mentor.

Thank you, ma'am.

But anyway, I really have to go. It's so nice bumping into you, Eric.

We'll see each other at the next faculty assembly?

Hopefully, in person this time. When it's safe for us to reopen fully.

- Yes, ma'am. - Okay.

- Nice meeting you. - Take care.

- All right. You too. - Thank you, ma'am.

I guess it's official.

I just told the head of the UP English Department

that I'm writing a novel.

Nobody would believe that you wrote that novel.

Why? Because I'm too young?

Being a genius knows no age, Eric.

Mary Shelley was just 20 when she wrote Frankenstein.

Besides, Prof. Dimalanta just gave me an idea.

I'm going to tell everyone that you're my mentor.

That everything I know about writing, I learned from you.

That I couldn't have written this novel if it weren't for your…

Your unfailing encouragement,

your insightful comments, and extensive editing of my manuscript.

Wouldn't you like that, Eric?

You're not just Marcus' proofreader anymore.

I am giving you the credit that you truly deserve.

I'll guess I'll see you when I see you.

Lance.