I'm with you in the collapse ❤️‍🩹

What if you just can't pretend everything's fine anymore?Some days, the body speaks louder than pride. And when you spend weeks pretending everything is under control, when it clearly isn't, the universe finds a way to cradle you and whisper: that's enough.

Friday, the day after the kiss scene. Yes, the scene. But if you had seen Ash that morning, you'd understand she wasn't thinking about that at all.

She arrived at Viva One studios with a polite smile, foundation slightly paler than usual, and a discreet pharmacy bag hidden in her purse. Andres, who knew that look like no one else, was already certain: something was wrong.

In the first few hours of filming, she did what she always did: greeted everyone, read the script quietly in her corner, forced a smile when Rabin mentioned she looked tired.

During the Section E shoot, Ash ran on autopilot. Between scenes, she'd subtly lean on Andres, as if his closeness was the only relief her body could process. At one moment, she simply laid her head on his lap. She said nothing. Neither did he. He just ran his fingers through her hair in gentle silence.

Yayan and AJ exchanged looks. Kurt whispered to Charles, "She's not okay, is she?"

But Ash stayed. Filmed everything. Until the end of the day.

Andres offered to take her home, and for the first time in days, she agreed without a word. But once they reached her building's entrance, the inevitable happened.

Ash tried to smile, even with lips pale, as she unbuckled her seatbelt. "Thanks for driving me," she said, voice far too soft for someone who usually spoke with a sparkle in her eyes. Andres gave a slight nod, but his eyes were fixed on her. She was trembling. The sweat on her forehead didn't match the mild evening air.

And then, as she took the first step out of the car, the world seemed to slip.

- "Ash?"

She stumbled.

Time froze.

Andres leapt from the car, heart pounding. In a moment that felt endless, he saw her knees buckle, her body giving in to the weight of her own effort. Her eyes shut, and all he could do was rush to her.

With precise instinct, he caught her before she hit the ground, arms firm and a muffled cry stuck in his throat.

- "Ash. Ash. Ash."

She didn't respond.

He cradled her as if they were on a movie set, and it was the most important scene of his life. But there was no camera, no audience, no second take, just the raw panic in his eyes.

Without hesitation, he took off his jacket, covered her frail body, lowered his cap, and held her close to his chest. His lungs gasped for air and his mind silently pleaded: stay with me, Ash. Please, just stay.

In the backseat, he laid her down carefully, adjusting her head. Her forehead was damp and hot. Her face far too pale. He eyed the headlights, shifted the gears, and sped off into Manila's night traffic.

Every red light felt like an enemy. Every brake, a torment.

- "Hang in there, Ash. You'll be alright."

He spoke softly, almost as if whispering her through a nightmare. The hazard light's ticking matched his rising anxiety.

At the Manila Doctors Hospital, Andres parked, rushed out, and carried her fragile body into his arms again.

He stormed through the automatic doors.

- "She fainted. She needs help," he said firmly, voice shaking.

The receptionist's widened eyes instantly recognized him, but his face, gripped by pure anguish, quieted any fandom reaction. A nurse came rushing with a wheelchair, but he refused.

- "I'll carry her. I'm not letting go."

And he didn't.

He climbed with her in his arms to the premium ward, following directions through hallways and elevators. Only after the medical team confirmed they'd treat her urgently did he gently place her in the hospital bed.

Still, he stayed by her side, holding her hand through the preliminary exams, answering every question:

- Her full name? - Ashtine Joniean Osabel Olviga. - Allergies? - None that I know of. - Emergency contact? - You can list my name, Andres Muhlach. I'll take responsibility.

Only when the doctor came out with the diagnosis, acute exhaustion, collapse from physical and mental overload, did he finally exhale. Ash was stable. She would be monitored. She needed rest.

But she'd be okay.

He collapsed onto the suite's couch, too drained to speak or think. Just watched her lying there, unconscious, a reflection of everything she'd been trying to hide.

It was nearly 1 a.m. when a nurse approached with a blanket.

- "Would you like to rest? We'll let you know if she wakes."

- "No, thank you," he replied, eyes locked on Ash. "I'll stay."

And he did.

Watched her breath steady. Brushed aside a lock of hair from her forehead. Then leaned back, eyes wide open, as if keeping vigil was the only way to ensure she stayed there, alive, with him.