KEIFER POV
They called us in before sunrise. Again. Same hallway. Same smell. Same dread.
Jay didn't say much. She didn't have to. Her grip on my hand said everything.
Dr. Paralta was already waiting. Clipboard. Gloves. Eyes steady.
"Second dose," she said. Like it was a weather report. Like it wasn't about to tear Jay apart.
They hooked her up. IV in. Monitors on. I sat in the same chair. Same corner. Same helplessness.
Then the drip started.
It hit faster this time. Her body didn't hesitate. It reacted like it remembered the pain and wanted to fight back.
She gasped. Arched. Clenched her fists so hard her knuckles went white.
I stood. Moved closer. Held her hand. She didn't let go.
Her breathing was ragged. Her skin flushed. She looked like she was burning from the inside out.
I wanted to scream. Wanted to yank the IV out and carry her out of there. But I didn't.
Because she didn't ask me to. Because she was still fighting.
She turned her head. Barely. Eyes glassy.
"Keifer," she whispered.
"I'm here," I said. "I've got you."
She nodded. Then, out of nowhere—
"Do you remember that time Percy tried to make pancakes and set off the fire alarm?"
I blinked. "Jay."
She smiled. Barely. "Just… talk about something else."
So I did.
"Okay. Uh. He used mustard instead of oil. And Areis tried to convince him it was a 'regional technique.'"
She laughed. A real one. Sharp. Painful.
But it was there.
"I thought I was dying," she said. "I still might be."
"You're not," I said. "You're here. You're laughing. You're fighting."
She closed her eyes. Tears slipped out anyway.
"I'm scared," she whispered.
"I know," I said. "I am too."
The machine beeped. Her vitals spiked. Then dipped.
Dr. Paralta moved fast. Adjusted something. Didn't speak.
I held Jay's hand tighter. She didn't let go.
This dose was worse. More violent. More cruel.
But she was still here. Still breathing. Still asking for pancake stories in the middle of hell.
And I'd keep telling them. As long as she needed.
Jay was asleep. Not peaceful. Not calm. Just unconscious. Her body too tired to fight anymore.
The second dose had wrecked her. She'd screamed once. Just once. And I swear I'll hear it for the rest of my life.
Her vitals had stabilized. Barely. Dr. Paralta said it was "expected." I wanted to punch the word out of her mouth.
I sat beside her. Watched her chest rise and fall. Counted each breath like it was currency.
Then I stood. Walked out. Didn't say anything.
The hallway was empty. Cold. Too bright.
I leaned against the wall. Slid down. Sat on the floor like gravity had finally won.
And I broke.
Not loud. Not messy. Just… quiet.
Tears came slow. Like they'd been waiting for permission.
I pressed my hands to my face. Tried to breathe. Failed.
She was fighting for her life. And I couldn't do anything. Not really.
I could hold her hand. Tell her jokes. Make her lists.
But I couldn't take the pain. Couldn't trade places. Couldn't fix it.
I hated that. Hated being useless. Hated the way her body shook and the way I just sat there.
I cried until I couldn't. Until my chest stopped heaving and my throat stopped burning.
Then I wiped my face. Stood up. Walked back in.
She was still asleep. Still breathing.
I sat beside her again. Held her hand. Didn't let go.
Because if she was going to keep fighting— So was I.
I didn't hear them coming. Didn't even realize I wasn't alone until I felt someone drop down beside me.
"Hey," Percy said, voice softer than usual. No glitter. No jokes. Just… Percy.
I didn't look up. Didn't trust myself to speak.
A second body settled on my other side. Areis. Of course.
He didn't say anything. Just let out a long, tired sigh like he'd been holding it in for hours.
We sat there. Three of us. Backs against the wall. Like we were waiting for a war to pass.
"She's still breathing," I said. It came out hoarse. Like I'd swallowed gravel.
"Good," Percy said. Then, quieter, "That's good."
I wiped my face with my sleeve. Didn't bother hiding it. They'd seen worse. We all had.
"I hate this," I said. "I hate watching her go through it. I hate that I can't do anything."
Areis finally spoke. "You're doing something."
I laughed. Bitter. "Yeah? What, exactly?"
"You're here," he said. "Every second. Every breath. That counts."
Percy nodded. "Also, you're the only one she lets hold her hand without biting."
I snorted. "High honor."
"Damn right," Percy said. Then nudged my shoulder. "You're allowed to fall apart, you know. Doesn't make you weak."
"I know," I said. But it still felt like failure.
Areis leaned his head back against the wall. "She's fighting. You're fighting. That's the only thing that matters."
We sat there a while longer. No one moved. No one filled the silence with noise.
Eventually, Percy pulled something out of his hoodie pocket. A crumpled granola bar.
"Emergency snack?" he offered.
I took it. Didn't eat it. Just held it.
"Thanks," I said.
He shrugged. "Don't mention it. Literally. I have a reputation to uphold."
I finally looked at them. Both of them. And for the first time in hours, I didn't feel like I was drowning.
They didn't fix anything. Didn't try to. They just showed up.
And sometimes, that's the only thing that matters.
She was asleep again. Not unconscious. Not wrecked. Just… resting. Finally.
Her breathing was steady. Her hand still in mine. Her fingers twitching every now and then like she was dreaming something chaotic.
I didn't want to move. Didn't want to break the moment. But the notebook was right there. Glittery. Ridiculous. Perfect.
I reached for it slowly. Careful not to wake her. Flipped it open to the page she'd been writing on.
Things I Want to Survive For:
Keifer's hoodie (I still owe him one)
Percy's funeral playlist (I need to veto half of it)
Ci-n's vending machine joke (I need to understand it)
Areis pretending not to care (he does)
Jare's eye-rolls (they're comforting now)
Captain Crunchless
The way Keifer looks at me like I'm the sun
The way I want to believe him
Me. Just… me.T
he part of me that still wants to live.
Even when it hurts.
I stared at the page. Read it again. Then again.
My throat tightened at number one. My heart cracked at number seven.
Number ten— That one nearly broke me.
She wanted to live. Even when it hurt. Even when the odds were garbage. Even when her body betrayed her.
She wanted to live.
I closed the notebook gently. Set it back where she left it. Didn't say anything.
Just leaned closer. Brushed her hair back. Whispered, "I believe in you."
She didn't wake. But her fingers curled tighter around mine.