Jay-Jay's POV
I'm pinned.
Not actually—not the way people imagine when they hear the word—but close enough that my back is pressed to the wall and Keifer is a problem I cannot ignore.
One arm braced beside my head.
The other relaxed, casual, like he isn't the reason my heartbeat is trying to escape my chest.
And the worst part?
He smells like soap.
Warm. Clean. Familiar.
I swallow.
"Keifer," I say, forcing calm into my voice. "You're… dripping on my floor."
A pause.
Then his mouth curves into that stupid, devastating smirk.
"Wow," he says lightly. "That's your concern right now?"
I glare at him. Or try to.
It comes out weaker than intended.
"You just took a bath," I add. "You're literally—"
"Wet?" he finishes, tilting his head. "Yeah. That happens when water is involved."
"Don't get smart with me."
"I'm always smart with you."
He leans in just a fraction.
Not enough to touch.
Enough to remind me he could.
My breath hitches before I can stop it.
He notices.
Of course he does.
His eyes darken—not in a dangerous way, but in that knowing, infuriating way that says I still know you better than you think.
"Relax," he murmurs. "I'm not going to eat you."
"I didn't say you would."
"You didn't have to."
I press my palm flat against his chest—solid, warm, annoyingly real—and push.
"Move."
He does.
Well.
He steps back half a step.
Which somehow makes it worse.
The space between us is now intentional.
Water drips from his hair, sliding down his neck, disappearing beneath the collar of his pants. The towel around his neck is doing absolutely nothing to help my focus.
I look away.
Immediately.
Keifer exhales a quiet laugh.
There it is.
That sound.
Soft. Familiar. Too intimate.
"You still forget how to breathe around me," he says gently. "Cute."
I snap my gaze back to him.
"I do not."
"You just did."
"That was—" I gesture vaguely. "That was humidity."
He raises an eyebrow.
"Right. The emotional kind?"
"Keifer."
"Yes, my queen?"
I hate that nickname.
I love that nickname.
"Stop flirting in my house."
He glances around slowly, deliberately.
"Still looks like the same Jay space I remember," he says. "Same walls. Same lighting."
Then his eyes flick back to me.
"Same reactions."
My chest tightens.
"That's not fair."
He sobers.
"I know."
For a moment, the teasing fades.
He studies me—really studies me—and something old and careful settles in his expression.
"You haven't changed," he says quietly.
I cross my arms, defensive.
"People don't freeze in time, Keifer."
"No," he agrees. "But habits linger."
I scoff. "You came here to shower, remember?"
"Oh, I remember," he says. "I just didn't expect the bonus scene."
"Bonus scene?"
"You flustered. Me shirtless." A pause. "Classic."
I throw a pillow at him.
He catches it easily, laughing.
"See?" he says. "That too."
I bite my lip to keep from smiling.
Damn him.
Keifer's POV
She's still the same.
Not in the shallow way people say it—same face, same voice—but in the quiet, dangerous ways.
The way she squares her shoulders when she's cornered.
The way she pretends she's unaffected when she absolutely is.
The way her hands curl into fists when she doesn't want to admit something matters.
My Queen, My Jasper Jean Mariano Watson hasn't forgotten me.
And worse?
Her body hasn't either.
I step another half-step back, giving her space.
Because if I don't, I won't.
"You okay?" I ask, softer now.
She nods too quickly.
"I'm fine."
"Liar."
She rolls her eyes. "You always say that."
"Because you always lie the same way."
She opens her mouth, then closes it.
I grin.
Old habits.
Dangerous ones.
"I should, uh…" I gesture vaguely. "Get a shirt."
"Yes," she says immediately. "That would be great. For society."
I chuckle, turning toward the guest room.
"But just so you know," I add over my shoulder, "you started this."
She splutters. "I did NOT."
"You let me in."
"I was being polite!"
"Exactly."
I disappear down the hall, her protests echoing behind me, heart lighter than it's been in years.
Because one thing is painfully clear—
No matter how much time passed.
No matter how far we ran.
We still orbit each other the same way.
And that?
That scares me.
Jay-Jay's POV
The door closes behind him.
Click.
Silence rushes in so fast it makes my ears ring.
I exhale like I've been holding my breath since he walked in dripping water all over my floor and my sanity.
"…Finally," I mutter, pressing my palm to my chest.
My heart is still racing. Annoying. Ridiculous. Very Keifer-coded.
I turn toward my room, determined to sleep this off—
—and then my stupid brain betrays me.
His wet hair.
The towel around his neck.
The way water traced lines down his chest like it had a personal agenda.
Adult Keifer is unfair.
Not just handsome.
Weaponized.
He's broader now. Sharper jaw. Confidence sitting in his shoulders like he owns every room he enters.
And the worst part?
His teasing hasn't changed.
Still shameless. Still playful. Still knows exactly how to get under my skin.
Still makes me feel sixteen and eighteen and foolish all at once.
I groan, dragging a hand down my face.
"I need help," I whisper to absolutely no one.
Just as I take one step toward my room—
DING DONG.
I freeze.
…No.
Please no.
I stare at the door like it personally offended me.
DING DONG.
I march to it, yanking it open with irritation ready on my tongue.
"What now—"
I stop.
Keifer stands there.
Hands in his pockets. Hair slightly damp again like he didn't fully dry it. Calm. Smiling. Entirely too pleased with himself.
My soul sighs in resignation.
"…Why are you here?" I ask flatly.
Keifer tilts his head, pretending to think.
"You know," he says casually, "I was walking back to my condo and realized something."
I cross my arms. "What."
"I live very far away from you."
I blink.
"…You literally bought the condo next door."
He nods seriously. "Exactly."
"That is not far."
"It is," he insists. "Emotionally."
I stare at him.
He grins wider.
"You know what," he continues smoothly, stepping inside without waiting for permission, "I've decided I'll live here with you."
My brain short-circuits.
"…What."
Keifer turns, pointing at me like he just solved a math problem.
"Yeah. I'll stay here. With you."
My voice climbs an octave. "KEIFER."
"So I can see you every day," he continues, completely unfazed, "every hour, every minute, every second."
Each word lands heavier than the last.
My cheeks heat traitorously.
He notices.
Of course he does.
"And you don't have a choice," he adds lightly. "Because if you say no—"
I narrow my eyes. "You'll what."
"I'll tell all our friends and family you're living here."
My stomach drops.
"They'll come," he continues pleasantly, "and once they do, you won't escape their questions."
I groan, rubbing my temples.
"You're evil."
He beams. "Strategic."
I sigh deeply. "…Fine. But you won't tell them my location."
He raises two fingers. "Promise, my Queen."
And then—just to make my life harder—
he winks.
I hate that it still works.
Keifer's POV
She still folds exactly the same way when she gives in.
Shoulders slump. Chin lifts stubbornly. Eyes avoid mine.
God.
I missed this.
I move around her apartment like it's muscle memory.
Because it is.
I open a cabinet and pull out a towel.
Jay freezes.
"How do you—"
"Top shelf," I say easily. "Left side. You hate bending."
Her eyes widen.
I reach for a mug without looking.
"Don't use the floral ones," I add. "They make your tea taste weird."
She swallows.
I scoop sugar into the cup.
"Two and a half spoons," I murmur. "Never honey."
Her voice comes out quiet. "…Stop doing that."
I turn to face her.
"Doing what?"
"Remembering me like this."
I hold her gaze.
"I never forgot."
Silence stretches between us—heavy but not uncomfortable.
She exhales shakily.
"You're not supposed to remember," she says.
I step closer—not touching. Not yet.
"I remember everything," I say softly. "How you hum when you're nervous. How you avoid eye contact when you're overwhelmed. How you pretend you're fine when you're not."
Her lips part slightly.
"And," I add, smirking gently, "how you still forget how to breathe around me."
She snaps, "I do not—"
She inhales too fast.
I grin.
"Cute."
She throws a pillow at me.
I catch it easily.
Yeah.
She hasn't changed.
And neither have I.
Jay-Jay's POV
The problem with letting Keifer stay—
No.
The real problem is that he fits.
Too easily.
He's sitting across from me at the small dining table like he never left, long legs stretched out, sleeves rolled up, watching me like he's memorizing something he already knows by heart.
I busy myself with the kettle.
Because if I look at him too long, I'll remember everything.
The way he used to sit exactly like this.
The way he'd pretend not to stare—
and fail.
I pour the hot water.
Two cups.
Without asking.
I don't even realize what I've done until I turn around and he's already smiling.
That slow, knowing smile.
Keifer:
"You still make mine stronger."
I freeze.
"…Habit," I mutter, pushing the cup toward him.
His fingers brush mine.
Just for a second.
Too short to be an accident.
Too deliberate to be innocent.
Keifer:
"And you still don't look at me when you're pretending you don't care."
I finally meet his eyes.
Jay:
"You talk too much."
Keifer:
"You listen too well."
I hate that he's right.
We drink in silence.
But it's not awkward.
It's heavy.
Like the air is waiting for one of us to say something that can't be taken back.
Keifer leans back slightly, studying me.
Keifer:
"You're doing it again."
Jay:
"Doing what?"
Keifer:
"Taking care of me before yourself."
I scoff.
Jay:
"You're imagining things."
But my hands are shaking.
Just a little.
And of course—
He notices.
He always does.
Keifer's voice softens.
Keifer:
"Jay… you don't have to pretend with me."
That's the danger.
Not his touch.
Not his teasing.
It's the way he makes me feel safe enough to stop pretending.
I stand abruptly.
Jay:
"I'm going to my room."
Keifer:
"Running?"
I glare at him.
Jay:
"Strategic retreat."
He grins.
Keifer:
"Still bad at those."
I pause at the doorway.
Jay:
"And you're still annoying."
Keifer:
"Yet here I am. Still tolerated."
I hate that my lips twitch.
I hate that my heart feels full and tight at the same time.
I disappear into my room before he can see my expression soften.
Keifer's POV
She still runs when it gets real.
Different city.
Different life.
Same Jay.
I watch her door close and exhale slowly.
God.
This is harder than I expected.
Not because she's cold.
Because she isn't.
She's warm in all the same ways.
Still makes my tea right.
Still reacts before thinking.
Still cares even when she's pretending she doesn't.
I lean my head back against the chair.
Keifer (to himself):
"You're in trouble, Watson."
I get up and wander the apartment—not invading, just… existing.
And every corner confirms it.
She lives exactly the way she always did.
Minimal.
Neat.
Controlled.
But small things give her away.
A blanket folded on the couch because she likes pressure when she sleeps.
A notebook on the counter with half-written lists.
A pen chewed at the end.
She's still anxious.
Still strong.
Still mine—
No.
Always mine, but not right now
But still—
I hear her door open.
I turn.
She's leaning against the frame, arms crossed.
Jay:
"Stop snooping."
Keifer:
"I'm appreciating."
Jay:
"You're impossible."
Keifer:
"And yet you let me stay."
She rolls her eyes.
Jay:
"Don't flatter yourself."
I step closer—but keep my distance.
That's new.
Restraint.
Keifer:
"You've changed."
Jay:
"So have you."
I smirk.
Keifer:
"Upgrades."
She snorts despite herself.
Jay:
"Your ego definitely got one."
I tilt my head.
Keifer:
"You like it."
Jay:
"I tolerate it."
Keifer:
"You enjoy it."
Jay:
"Push it and I'll kick you out."
I hold up my hands.
Keifer:
"Threat noted."
But my voice drops.
Keifer:
"Jay… I know you're still in love with me."
She stiffens.
Jay:
"You don't know that."
Keifer:
"I do."
Jay:
"You're arrogant."
Keifer:
"I'm observant."
She looks away.
Jay:
"…So what if I am?"
My chest tightens.
Keifer:
"Then we're both in danger."
She looks back at me.
Jay:
"From what?"
I step just a little closer.
Keifer:
"From forgetting why we built walls in the first place."
Silence.
Her voice is quiet when she speaks.
Jay:
"And what if the walls were the mistake?"
God.
She always did know how to destroy me with words.
I smile—soft, real.
Keifer:
"Then I'll be the first to walk through."
She laughs weakly.
Jay:
"You're unbelievable."
Keifer:
"You still love that about me."
She doesn't deny it.
That's my answer.
And my warning.
Because the real danger isn't crossing boundaries—
It's how natural it feels not to.
It's past midnight.
That hour where the world feels like it's holding its breath, and every sound becomes too loud—
the ticking clock,
the hum of the fridge,
the way Jay exhales when she thinks I'm not watching.
She's sitting on the couch, knees tucked in, mug cradled in her hands like it's armor.
She always does that when she's overwhelmed.
Some things never leave.
"I remember," I say quietly.
She looks up.
"What?"
I don't smile this time. I don't tease. I don't flirt.
"I remember your routines."
Her brows knit together, confusion flickering across her face.
I push on anyway, because once the truth starts, it doesn't stop.
"You used to wake up before everyone else," I say. "Even when you were exhausted. You'd sit by the window. Drink your tea too hot. Burn your tongue. Then complain about it."
Her lips part slightly.
"You hummed when you were nervous," I continue. "Always off-key. Always the same tune. You never noticed."
She swallows.
"And you hated bending down. That's why you kept everything you needed on the top shelf. People thought it was strange."
I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.
"It wasn't strange. It was you."
Silence crashes between us.
Not awkward.
Heavy.
Jay-Jay's POV
I don't know how to breathe.
My fingers tighten around the mug.
"You… held onto that?" I ask softly.
My voice barely makes it across the space between us.
Keifer nods.
"I held onto you."
Something in my chest cracks.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just enough to hurt.
"That doesn't make sense," I whisper. "I left."
"You disappeared," he corrects gently. "But you never stopped existing."
I look away.
"Keifer, don't."
"Don't what?"
"Say things that make it hard for me to pretend I'm fine."
He leans back slightly, giving me space — and somehow that makes it worse.
"I remembered your routines because they kept me grounded," he says. "When everything else felt like it was spinning."
I laugh weakly.
"That's stupid."
He smiles faintly.
"Yeah. I was pretty stupid back then."
I glance at him.
He isn't smirking.
Isn't teasing.
He looks… honest.
And that scares me.
"You shouldn't remember me like that," I say. "It's not healthy."
Keifer tilts his head.
"Funny," he murmurs. "Being around you again feels like muscle memory."
My breath catches.
"Like my body knows where it belongs before my brain can stop it."
I shift uncomfortably.
"That's not—"
"I know," he interrupts softly. "I'm not saying it means anything."
He pauses.
"I'm saying it feels natural."
My heart pounds.
I should push him away.
I should tell him to stop.
Instead, I stay silent.
Keifer's POV
She doesn't tell me to stop.
That's the most dangerous part.
I sit there, hands relaxed on my knees, every instinct screaming to reach for her — and forcing myself not to.
Because if I touch her right now?
I don't know if I'll survive pulling away.
"You know what the worst part is?" I ask quietly.
She shakes her head.
"I don't miss the big moments," I say. "Not the fights. Not the drama. Not even the love."
She looks at me then.
I meet her gaze.
"I miss the small things," I admit. "The way you always checked if everyone ate. The way you remembered everyone's preferences. The way you took care of me without realizing it."
Her throat bobs.
"I was never special," she says.
I scoff softly.
"You were everything."
The words hang between us.
Electric.
Untouched.
I lean forward just slightly — not enough to close the distance.
"Tell me to stop," I say.
Jay-Jay's POV
I should.
I really should.
But when I look at him — sitting there, hands clenched like he's holding himself back, eyes dark and honest — I realize something terrifying.
The danger isn't Keifer touching me.
It's how safe I feel when he doesn't.
"I can't," I whisper.
He inhales sharply.
"Jay…"
"I don't trust myself to mean it."
That confession tastes like surrender.
He doesn't move.
Doesn't touch me.
Just holds my gaze like it's sacred.
"I won't cross a line you don't draw," he says.
A beat.
Then, softer:
"But don't pretend the line isn't already shaking."
My chest aches.
"Why are you like this?" I murmur.
He smirks faintly — a ghost of his old teasing self.
"You always liked my worst habits."
I huff a laugh despite myself.
"You're impossible."
"And you're still in love with me," he says gently.
The room stills.
I don't deny it.
That's answer enough.
We sit there, inches apart, the space between us screaming louder than any kiss ever could.
Nothing happens.
And somehow—
That's worse.
I don't remember when my head ended up against his shoulder.
One second, we're sitting too close on the couch, the room dim except for the city lights bleeding in through the window. The next, my temple is resting there—warm, familiar, dangerous.
Too natural.
Too easy.
My breath stutters the moment I realize it.
Keifer freezes.
I feel it—his shoulder going rigid beneath my cheek, the sharp inhale he tries to control. For a heartbeat, neither of us moves, like the world might shatter if we do.
Then he exhales slowly.
Softly.
Like he's surrendering to something he's been fighting since the moment he walked back into my life.
"You always did this," he murmurs, voice low, almost reverent. "When you felt safe."
My chest tightens.
That word.
Safe.
I pull back instinctively—but not far enough to pretend it didn't happen. Just enough that the air between us hums, stretched thin and trembling.
"This is dangerous," I say, trying for steady. Failing.
He turns his head slightly, not touching me, but close enough that I feel the warmth of him anyway.
"So were we," he replies quietly.
A pause.
"Still are."
I swallow.
Of course he would say that. Of course he would turn something simple into something that feels like a confession and a warning all at once.
I try to scoff. "You're dramatic."
He huffs a breath. "Says the woman who just claimed leaning on a shoulder is a life-threatening activity."
I glare at him. "You're impossible."
"And yet," he says lightly, eyes glinting, "you leaned on me anyway."
I open my mouth to argue—then close it.
Damn him.
We lapse into silence again, but it's different now. Thicker. Charged. Like the room is holding its breath with us.
My hands are folded in my lap, fingers twisting together. I can feel him watching them. Watching me.
He always watches.
"You're doing that thing," he says after a moment.
I stiffen. "What thing?"
"The pretending-you're-not-spiraling thing."
I shoot him a look. "I am not spiraling."
He raises a brow. "Jay, your fingers are tied in knots. If you twist them any harder, you'll start a fire."
I yank my hands apart, offended. "I am perfectly calm."
"Mm," he hums. "Terrifyingly convincing."
I roll my eyes, but my lips betray me by twitching.
God.
I hate how easy this still is.
"How do you do that?" I mutter.
"Do what?"
"Make me forget I'm supposed to be guarded."
His teasing fades—not completely, but enough.
"I'm not making you do anything," he says gently. "You've always let me see you like this."
That shouldn't feel like a compliment.
It does.
I stand abruptly. Too abruptly.
"I need water."
He smirks. "You already had—"
"I need more water," I cut in, pointing at him. "And don't say anything."
He raises both hands in surrender. "I would never."
Liar.
I walk to the kitchen, heart racing, back straight, dignity barely intact. I can feel his gaze on me the entire time, heavy and unashamed.
I grab a glass, fill it, drink too fast.
Idiot.
Behind me, his voice drifts in, casual but edged with something else.
"You know," he says, "you still pace when you're overwhelmed."
I choke slightly. "Stop observing me like a case study."
"Can't help it," he replies. "You're my favorite subject."
I turn, glass in hand. "That's creepy."
He grins. "You love it."
I don't answer.
Because the terrifying part is—I might.
I head back to the couch, deliberately sitting at a safer distance this time. He notices. Of course he does.
Doesn't comment.
That somehow makes it worse.
The clock ticks loudly on the wall. Midnight creeps closer. The city outside hums, unaware that my entire sense of balance is hanging by a thread.
"Jay," he says suddenly.
"Yes?"
"Look at me."
My heart skips.
I don't.
Silence stretches.
He doesn't push. Doesn't tease. Doesn't say my name again.
And that—that—is what breaks me.
Because Keifer has always known when to fight… and when to wait.
"Why won't you?" he asks quietly.
I stare at the floor. "Because if I do—"
"If you do?" he prompts softly.
I shake my head. "Don't."
"Jay."
That voice.
Lower now. Bare. Stripped of humor.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
Because if I look at him, I won't see the man who left. Or the boy I lost. Or the past I survived.
I'll see him.
The one who still knows where I keep my towels.
The one who remembers how I take my tea.
The one whose shoulder still feels like home.
"I can't," I whisper.
He doesn't move.
Doesn't touch me.
But when he speaks, it lands anyway.
"Then don't," he says. "Not tonight."
I open my eyes, startled.
He's watching me—not hurt, not angry.
Patient.
"Take your time," he adds quietly. "I'm not going anywhere."
That makes my chest ache in a way I don't have words for.
Before I can respond—
Buzz.
My phone vibrates on the table between us.
Both of us tense instantly.
I stare at the screen like it might explode.
Keifer glances at it, then back at me, his jaw tightening just slightly. Jealousy? Concern? Something else?
"Are you going to answer it?" he asks.
"I—" I hesitate.
The moment shatters.
Not completely.
But enough.
I grab my phone, standing again, suddenly hyper-aware of everything—distance, choices, consequences.
"I should… take this," I murmur.
He nods slowly, masking whatever crossed his face a second ago.
"Of course."
I walk toward my room, heart pounding, phone clutched in my hand.
At the doorway, I pause.
Don't turn around, I tell myself.
Don't look.
Behind me, his voice follows—soft, steady, inevitable.
"Old habits don't fade, Jay," he says.
"They wait."
I close the door gently behind me.
And for the first time since he came back into my life—
I avoid his eyes.
I don't realize I'm holding my breath until the silence becomes too loud.
The door closes behind me with a soft click, and only then do my lungs remember how to work.
I lean my back against the door for a second—just a second—eyes closed, heart still doing that annoying sprint it's been on ever since Keifer walked back into my life like he never left. Like time was just a badly edited chapter we skipped.
"Get it together," I mutter to myself.
My voice sounds steadier than I feel.
I push away from the door and turn toward the couch, meaning to grab my shawl—the one I always leave there because I'm always cold even when I pretend I'm not.
That's when I see it.
The shawl isn't mine.
It's darker. Heavier. Folded carelessly over the armrest like someone who doesn't overthink things just… dropped it there.
I pick it up.
And immediately, I know.
Coel.
His stupidly neat habit of folding things even when he pretends he's not the responsible one. The faint scent of his cologne—warm, subtle, comforting in a very different way than Keifer's ever was.
I sink down onto the couch, shawl in my hands, thumb brushing over the fabric absently.
Of course it's his.
Of course he forgot it.
My phone buzzes before I can overthink it.
I don't even have to look at the screen.
I smile.
"Speak of the devil," I murmur, answering the call.
"Hey," Coel's voice comes through, familiar and calm. "You wouldn't believe how long I searched for that shawl."
I glance down at it. "Let me guess. Two whole minutes?"
"Hey. That's a long time when you're running late," he says defensively, and I can hear the smile in his voice.
"Uh-huh," I tease. "You left it here."
A pause.
"…You're home?"
"Unfortunately," I say lightly.
Another pause. Longer this time.
"And… you're not alone, are you?"
I close my eyes.
He always knows.
"Work first," I deflect. "You called because?"
He exhales softly, letting me dodge. For now.
"I wanted to check if you sent the revised drafts to the client. The timeline moved up."
"Yes," I say immediately. "Two hours ago. With notes."
"I knew I could trust you," he says warmly.
And there it is.
That quiet, steady reassurance. No drama. No teasing. No chaos.
Safe.
We talk shop for a few minutes—deadlines, edits, meetings I'll complain about later but secretly enjoy because they keep my mind busy.
Then, inevitably, he circles back.
"So," he says casually, too casually. "Keifer's back."
I blink.
There it is.
"You heard fast," I say.
"I hear everything," Coel replies. "Occupational hazard of being your older brother figure."
I smile at that. He always insists on clarifying that.
"Is that what you are now?" I ask lightly. "An official title?"
"Someone has to be," he says. "Especially when certain people resurface."
I fiddle with the shawl.
"We're just… talking," I say. "Catching up."
"Mhm."
That sound. That I don't fully believe you but I'm not pushing yet sound.
"And how do you feel about him being back?" Coel asks gently.
There it is again.
I swallow.
"I don't know," I admit. "It's… complicated."
Silence hums on the other end.
"You still love him," Coel says, not accusing. Just stating.
I don't answer.
I don't have to.
He sighs softly. "Jay…"
"I know," I whisper. "I know it's messy."
"You don't owe me explanations," he says quickly. "I just wanted to make sure you're okay."
I nod, even though he can't see me.
"I am," I say. "Mostly."
"Mostly isn't always enough," he replies.
I smile sadly. "You sound like you're scolding me."
"Someone has to," he says. "And it can't be him."
That makes me laugh. A small, surprised sound.
"Thank you," I say quietly.
"For what?"
"For being… you."
He chuckles. "Anytime. I'll pick up the shawl tomorrow."
"Deal."
We hang up, and I place the phone beside me.
The room feels quieter now.
Heavier.
My gaze drifts toward the hallway—toward where Keifer is sitting right now, probably pretending he's relaxed when I know better.
A thought slips in before I can stop it.
Could it be… that he's jealous of Coel?
I frown slightly.
I mean… it wouldn't be surprising.
Keifer has always had this… habit.
A dangerous, ridiculous, oddly comforting habit.
Getting rid of guys he thinks are getting close to me.
I let out a breath that turns into a quiet laugh.
I always liked it.
Not the possessiveness itself—but the way it made me feel.
Safe.
Protected.
Chosen.
I shake my head, smiling to myself.
But I hope he doesn't do anything to Coel.
That would be… problematic.
I'll tell him.
Eventually.
When he gets secret thoughts of killing him, I add mentally.
The image flashes in my mind—Keifer sitting there, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed, pretending not to care while absolutely caring.
I giggle.
Actually giggle.
"What are you thinking right now, Keifer?" I murmur.
The answer sends a flutter through my chest.
I stand, drape Coel's shawl neatly over the couch, and smooth my hands over my clothes like I need to prepare myself.
Because maybe I do.
I take one last breath.
Then I turn and walk back toward the hall—
Toward him.
Keifer's POV
I don't move when her phone rings.
I don't even pretend not to notice the way her shoulders stiffen for half a second before she stands.
That half-second tells me everything.
She doesn't hesitate.
That's what gets me.
Not the call.
Not the name lighting up her screen.
It's the ease with which she answers it.
"Give me a minute," Jay says softly, already walking away.
A minute.
I lean back on the couch, arms crossed, jaw tight, staring at the dark screen of the TV like it personally offended me.
Late hour.
Private tone.
No hesitation.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
I exhale through my nose and laugh quietly to myself.
Of course I know what she's thinking.
I'm her soulmate after all.
The word comes to me naturally, like muscle memory. Like something I used to say without thinking. Like something I stopped saying out loud but never stopped believing.
She disappears into her room, door half-closed.
Not slammed.
Not locked.
Just… closed enough.
That somehow makes it worse.
I tilt my head back against the couch and stare at the ceiling.
Coel.
I don't need to see the name to know it's him.
I've noticed him before. Noticed the way he positions himself slightly too close to her when we're all in the same space. The way he watches her reactions before speaking. The way she relaxes around him—shoulders down, smile easy, guard lowered.
She's comfortable with him.
That's the problem.
I don't trust anyone I don't know well around Jay. Never have. Probably never will.
People assume protectiveness is about control.
They're wrong.
It's about fear.
Fear that someone else will see what I see.
Fear that someone else will know how to reach her.
Fear that someone else will make her feel safe in a way that used to be mine.
My jaw clenches.
If he ever tried anything—
I stop myself.
No.
I'm not that guy.
I'm not the jealous caveman ready to swing at shadows.
He seems like a decent guy. Calm. Respectful. Older. The type who listens.
Which, somehow, makes it worse.
I trust intentions less than actions.
And I trust familiarity the least of all.
The only guy I've ever been okay with near Jay—really okay—is Ci-N.
Even our other friends don't get the same mental clearance.
Not because Jay isn't capable.
But because people are unpredictable.
And Jay… Jay gives people too much benefit of the doubt.
I rub a hand over my face, sighing.
This is ridiculous.
She's an adult. She has a life. She has relationships that don't revolve around me.
I know that.
I accept that.
I just don't like it.
From the other side of the apartment, her voice carries faintly through the door. Soft. Warm. Familiar.
She laughs at something he says.
A short laugh.
The kind she used to reserve for me.
I scoff quietly. "Wow," I mutter to myself. "So that's how it is."
I imagine her pacing slightly as she talks. Twisting a ring that isn't there anymore. Leaning against the wall with one foot crossed over the other.
I know her habits.
I remember them whether I want to or not.
She probably asked him about work first. She always does that—deflects personal questions by pretending to be practical.
Then he probably asked her how she's doing.
Really doing.
And she probably said, I'm fine, in that tone that means anything but.
I smile despite myself.
God, I know her too well.
That's the dangerous part.
Not jealousy.
Memory.
I straighten when the laughter fades and her voice lowers. Serious now.
She's explaining something. I can hear the cadence even if I can't make out the words.
I don't like that either.
I glance toward her door, then look away.
I don't want to be the guy who listens in.
I want to be the guy she chooses to talk to first.
The call stretches longer than I expect.
Each passing second feels like a test of my patience.
Finally, I hear movement.
Footsteps.
The door opens.
I don't look immediately.
I give myself one last second to collect my thoughts.
Jealousy is ugly.
I won't let it show.
Then she steps back into the hall.
And just like that—
Every thought stops.
Her expression is thoughtful, distant, like she's halfway between worlds. She's biting her lip slightly, brows drawn together.
Thinking.
That's never a good sign.
She looks at me.
I don't smile.
I just watch her.
And suddenly, I'm not thinking about Coel.
I'm thinking about what she's about to say—or not say.
And why my chest feels tight like I'm about to lose something I didn't even know I still had.
The moment hangs.
Unfinished.
Waiting.
Just like us.
Jay-Jay's POV
I sit down on the couch like it's a battlefield.
Not because the couch is dangerous—
but because he's already sitting there.
Relaxed. One arm stretched along the backrest. Legs crossed. Looking entirely too comfortable in my living room.
Keifer glances at me sideways, eyes flicking over my face like he's cataloguing reactions.
"Why are you sitting so far?" he asks casually.
"I'm not," I reply instantly.
"There's enough distance between us to declare a ceasefire treaty," he says. "Come closer before the couch files for abandonment issues."
I roll my eyes.
"Don't flatter yourself."
"Oh, I don't need to," he says smoothly. "You do that every time you look at me."
I scoff.
"In your dreams."
He leans in just slightly.
"Careful, Jay. You already feature in those."
I throw a cushion at him.
He catches it effortlessly, grinning like this is exactly how he wanted the night to go.
"You're loosening up," he says.
"I am not."
"You are. Your insults are getting creative again."
I hate that he notices things like that.
I stand abruptly.
"I'm turning on a movie."
"Excellent choice," he says. "I vote romance."
"Of course you do."
I scroll through the streaming options, finally selecting Minamahal: 100 Bulalak Para Kay Luna.
The opening music fills the room.
Keifer perks up.
"Oh. This one."
"You've seen it?"
"No," he says. "But judging by your expression, I'm about to be emotionally attacked."
I grab snacks from the kitchen—chips, chocolates, popcorn—and come back, placing them between us.
He raises a brow.
"Are these peace offerings?"
"No. These are mine."
"Then why are they in the middle?"
"…Because I'm generous."
He smiles like he knows that's a lie.
I sit.
This time, closer.
Not touching.
But close enough to feel the warmth of him.
Keifer's POV
She doesn't realize it, but she always sits the same way when she's starting to feel safe again.
Shoulders relaxed. Knees tucked slightly inward. Hands busy.
She pretends to focus on the screen, but I catch her glancing at me from the corner of her eye.
I lean back.
"Comfortable?" I ask.
"Yes," she replies too fast.
I turn my head and look at her openly now.
She notices.
"What?" she asks.
"I'm enjoying the view," I say simply.
She frowns.
"The movie just started."
"I wasn't talking about the movie."
Her ears turn pink.
She shrugs like it means nothing.
"Watch properly."
I do—for exactly five seconds.
Then she speaks again.
"You know," she says, nodding at the screen, "Andres Muhlach is really handsome."
Ah.
So that's how tonight's going.
"He's my favorite actor," she continues casually. "Very charming."
I glance at the screen.
Then back at her.
"So," I say lightly, "you have a type."
She smirks.
"Apparently."
"And that type is… not me."
She tilts her head.
"Why? Feeling threatened?"
I scoff.
"Please. I could out-act him with one eyebrow."
She laughs—actually laughs.
"Oh? Someone's jealous."
"I'm not jealous," I say immediately.
"You are."
"I'm observant."
She leans closer.
"You're pouting."
"I do not pout."
She grins.
"You absolutely do."
Fine.
Game on.
I shift my gaze back to the screen just as Ashtine Olviga appears.
I hum appreciatively.
Jay stiffens.
"She's very pretty," I remark. "Graceful. Soft smile. Dangerous eyes."
Jay slowly turns toward me.
"Are you complimenting her… on purpose?"
"Just being honest," I say innocently. "She's captivating."
Jay crosses her arms.
"Huh."
"Great actress too," I add. "Very expressive."
She narrows her eyes.
"Okay. I get it."
I lean closer, whispering,
"Jealous?"
She scoffs.
"Please."
"Your jaw clenched."
"That's my normal jaw."
"Sure it is."
She grabs popcorn aggressively.
We watch in silence for a few minutes—tense but playful.
Then she exhales.
"Truce," she mutters.
I smile.
"Truce."
Jay-Jay's POV
Somewhere between teasing and quiet, my body starts to feel heavy.
The movie plays on, but my eyes blink slower.
Keifer hasn't moved.
He hasn't touched me.
And somehow that makes everything feel louder.
My head tilts.
Before I can stop it, it rests against his shoulder.
I freeze.
But he doesn't move.
He doesn't tease.
He doesn't even breathe differently.
He just… stays.
The movie fades into background noise.
Sleep pulls me under.
Keifer's POV
I feel it immediately.
Her weight.
Her trust.
I glance down at her—eyes closed, lashes resting softly on her cheeks.
Still mine.
Still the same.
I reach for the remote and turn off the TV.
Carefully, I slide one arm beneath her knees, the other around her back.
She murmurs softly but doesn't wake.
I carry her to her room like it's the most natural thing in the world.
Set her gently on the bed.
Adjust the blanket.
Brush her hair away from her face.
I lean down and press a soft kiss to her forehead.
"Good night, my Queen," I whisper.
Then, quietly—honestly—
"I love you till the scientists find the end of the universe."
I turn off the light.
Close the door halfway.
And settle on the couch outside her room.
Close enough to protect her.
Far enough to let her rest.
Because some habits don't die.
They wait.
And I always will.