Jay's pov:
"It was 11 pm and that rascal haven't even text me still. Oh god I am tired of missing him now. I am now going to sleep." I said to myself but still I take time to sleep but finally I slept.
I was floating between sleep and consciousness when I felt it—warm arms sliding around my waist, pulling me closer. My cheek pressed against a firm chest that smelled like rain and cigarette–free cologne. Someone breathed against my neck, slow and teasing.
"Wifey."
That voice. Low. Smirking. Keifer.
My lips curled in the dream, still half–asleep. "Hmm? What, hubby?" I murmured, voice soft like melted honey.
He chuckled, fingers tracing patterns over my hip. "Oh? So now you admit it? Finally making it official, ha?"
I swatted his chest weakly. "Shut up. It's a dream. Anything can happen in dreams."
His hand lifted my chin, thumb brushing my lower lip. "So in dreams you call me hubby… and in real life, you pretend I'm just your boyfriend?"
I could see him clearly now—hair messy, eyes heavy with sleep, that stupid smirk that made me want to punch him and kiss him at the same time.
He leaned in, noses almost touching.
"Say it properly. Say I'm your husband."
I rolled my eyes dramatically. "In your dreams—"
He tapped my forehead gently. "This is your dream, wifey."
We were suddenly in a kitchen—my brain doing its nonsense dream transitions—with him sitting on the counter, me standing between his knees. He hooked a finger under my chin.
"Oy. Repeat after me."
He cleared his throat theatrically. "My husband, Keifer Watson, is the most handsome man in the universe."
I snorted. "My husband, Keifer Watson, is the most delusional man in the universe."
He gasped like I stabbed him. "How dare you insult your own husband?"
He slid off the counter, trapping me against it. His palms braced on either side of me, caging me in.
"You know, wifey… husbands have rights."
My heart hammered. "Rights like what?"
He bent to my ear. "The right… to morning kisses."
I pushed at his chest, flustered. "No! I didn't brush my teeth—"
He laughed, tilting my chin anyway. "I don't care. I want my kiss."
I turned my face away stubbornly. "No."
He instantly turned dramatic—dropping to one knee, grabbing my hand like he was proposing.
"Fine. Then let's do it properly. Jay…" He looked up at me with mock seriousness. "Will you marry me in this dream so I can collect my morning kiss?"
My face burned. "This is ridiculous—"
"Say yes."
His voice dipped lower. Less teasing. More… real.
Something twisted in my chest—warm and terrifying.
I whispered, "Yes."
He stood in one smooth movement, arms wrapping around my waist, lifting me slightly like I weighed nothing.
"Then let me have my first married kiss."
His forehead pressed to mine—breaths mixing—just, just about to kiss me—
I jolted awake.
Jay's POV — Reality
My arms were wrapped around someone. And someone's arms were wrapped around me. Tight. Warm. Breath on my neck.
For a split horrifying second, I swear the dream felt real. I could still smell him.
I yanked myself away, heart pounding. The bed was empty.
Just pillows.
"What the hell…" I muttered, running a shaky hand through my hair. "Stupid Keifer. Even in my dreams you annoy me."
I pushed up, stomped toward the bathroom like the floor killed my ancestors.
A hot shower. That's what I needed.
After shower
I stepped out, wrapped in a towel, hair dripping down my back. I looked in the mirror and pointed at myself.
"If he didn't call or text, I swear I'll—"
I threw my phone on the bed. Nothing. No messages. Not even a missed call.
"Ugh! I hate him! I hope London swallowed him! I hope a pigeon pooped—"
"Profanity."
My breath froze.
That voice.
Behind me.
I turned slowly.
He leaned against the door frame—arms crossed, smirking like sin itself.
Keifer. Here.
My towel slipped a little and I clutched it tighter.
My heart did a stupid somersault.
"You're in a towel," he said, eyes unapologetically tracing me head to toe.
His smirk deepened. "Dreaming about me, calling me hubby… but in real life, not letting your hubby do what husbands do."
I threw a lotion bottle at him. "Shut up!"
He dodged easily, strolling forward.
"Hmm. So shy? Didn't seem shy when you married me in that dream."
He kept walking. I kept stepping back.
He reached out, tugged gently on the edge of my towel—not enough to pull it, just to tease.
I was still glaring at him for suddenly appearing when his hand slid around my waist—smooth, confident, claiming.
He tugged me closer by the towel knot, warm breath brushing my cheek.
"Come here," he murmured.
My heart betrayed me, skipping like a broken record.
His fingers pressed into my waist gently, like he was relearning me.
He lowered his forehead to mine, noses touching—his lips hovering so close I could taste his breath.
"You kissed me first in the dream," he said. "Fairness says I get one now."
He leaned in.
I slipped out of his hold at the last second, dodging like a mischievous cat.
His eyes widened.
"You little—"
I smirked, backing away. "Catch me first, hubby."
That word hit him like gasoline on fire.
He lunged.
I squealed—actually squealed—and dashed across the room, holding my towel with one hand and pushing him away with the other.
He wasn't even trying full speed, just enough to chase, enough to let me think I was winning.
"You're in a towel," he called, amused. "If that drops, I'm not looking away."
"You better or I'll kill you!" I shouted, laughing.
He caught me by the waist from behind, spinning me.
My feet tangled with his.
We toppled.
We fell onto the bed, bouncing.
His arms cushioned the impact around me, caging me safely beneath him.
His weight didn't crush—just pressed, grounding, warm.
His hair tickled my face as he looked down.
My breath hitched.
He braced himself on his forearms so his chest hovered above mine, muscles tense with restraint.
One of his hands slid from the mattress to my cheek, thumb brushing a water droplet from my jawline.
"All this running…" he whispered, voice deep and smug. "Just to end up under me anyway?"
I swallowed so loudly I'm sure he heard it.
He leaned to my ear, lips grazing my skin but not quite kissing.
"You know what husbands do when their wives run away?"
"Wh-what?"
"They… take what they're owed."
He pulled back just enough to watch my reaction.
His eyes softened when he saw the nervous flicker.
He tucked a strand of wet hair behind my ear.
"I'll wait," he murmured. "As long as you need. Always. I'll never take more than you give."
God.
Why did that feel more intimate than anything?
My hand lifted on instinct, fingers curling into his shirt.
"I didn't say no," I whispered.
A spark burst in his eyes.
His hand slid to my waist, fingers splaying over bare skin but not going lower.
He lowered himself—slowly, like giving me time to stop him.
This time I didn't move.
Our lips met—finally.
Not rushed.
Not forced.
Soft at first, just pressure, breath, warmth.
Then deeper—a little more hunger, a little more claiming—his thumb stroking my cheek, guiding me like I'd break.
He kissed me like I was real and not a dream.
When he pulled back, barely an inch, he whispered against my mouth:
"Good morning, wife."
My brain short–circuited.
"You're— you're impossible," I breathed, cheeks burning.
"And you," he grinned, resting his forehead against mine, "are stuck with me."
I shoved him lightly. "Get off, you heavy gorilla— I need to get ready for school."
He rolled us so now I was on top, towel still secure, his arms still around me.
"No. Five more minutes," he said, voice raspy.
"Five minutes of holding my wife."
"…Fine. Five."
"Ten," he bargained instantly.
I smiled. "Okay. Ten."
He kissed my forehead this time.
Slow.
Meaningful.
For the first time in a long time, I felt home.
I came out of the room, ready to complain some more, only to stop dead in the doorway.
Keifer was already in the kitchen.
Hair damp from a fresh shower, sleeves rolled, apron on—my apron, which looked illegal on him because how dare it make him look that good.
He was chopping vegetables like a professional chef, pan sizzling beside him.
"Good morning," he said without turning, like he could sense me.
"How—why are you cooking?" I mumbled, confused.
He raised an eyebrow. "Because I've seen you cook. I'd like to live past forty."
I crossed my arms. "I can cook."
He didn't even look up. "Jay… u nearly burned the whole villa on island."
"That was one time."
"You set off the fire alarm."
"…the stove betrayed me."
He placed scrambled eggs on a plate and turned to me.
"Sit," he said gently.
My body obeyed before my brain decided to.
He leaned down, kissed my forehead, and set breakfast in front of me.
I blinked at it suspiciously.
"What if you poisoned it?"
He sat across from me. "Then die with compliments. Eat."
I took a bite.
My eyes widened.
It was good. Like… café good.
Keifer smirked. "You like it?"
I swallowed, cheeks puffed. "No."
He raised an eyebrow.
"It's edible," I added.
He chuckled, shaking his head.
After a few bites, he looked up.
"It's cute how bad you are at lying."
"Shut up."
"You're welcome."
"I didn't thank you."
"You did. Internally. Very loudly."
He reached over, thumb brushing a crumb off my lip.
Heat rushed up my neck.
"You don't have to know how to cook," he murmured.
"I'll cook. You just sit there and look at me like that."
I tried to help him clean up, but I dropped a plate.
He caught it.
And me.
His hand slid to my waist, steady, warm.
"You break everything you touch," he said fondly.
"Not everything," I whispered.
He leaned closer, nose brushing mine.
"Right."
His voice dropped.
"Not me."
I stepped back to tease him, sticking my tongue out.
He chased me, fingers brushing the back of my neck, and I squeaked—yes, squeaked—trying to escape.
We tripped over the edge of the rug and fell to the couch in a heap.
His hand caged my head so I didn't hit the armrest.
Our faces were inches apart.
"You run," he breathed, gaze dropping to my lips.
"And you always let me catch you."
He kissed me—slow, intentional.
Warm enough to melt everything I ever feared.
Keifer's car smelled like him—mint, gasoline, danger, and home.
He drove with one hand on the wheel, the other casually resting on my thigh like he owned the rights to it.
I swatted his hand away.
He smirked and put it back.
I swatted again.
He put it back again.
"Keifer," I warned.
"Yes, wife?" He didn't even look at me.
"I am not your wife."
He finally looked at me—with that look.
That stupid, smug, I-will-marry-you-in-my-head-anyway look
.
"Then stop calling me husband in your dreams," he said casually, turning the car left.
My mouth dropped. "I DID NOT—"
He smirked harder. "You did. Multiple times. Last night. Loudly."
I froze.
My brain rebooted.
He laughed, leaning closer for a second. "Hubby, hubby, hubby—"
I slapped his arm. "SHUT UP!"
The car swerved a little.
"See?" he said. "Even the car agrees."
I wanted to throw myself out of the window.
"Anyway," I said, changing the topic before he teased me to death. "Yesterday was… chaos. Elara helped Section E set up Edrix and Freya. Like, a whole dramatic plan. Fake suicide. Shouting. Running. Walls shaking. People crying. And they confessed. They're together now."
Keifer took a turn, completely unfazed.
"I know."
My eyes narrowed. "How. Do. You. Know?"
He shrugged. "edrix texted me while I was on the plane."
"Oh." I deflated a little.
"And Percy," I added, "Percy and Honey are dating now. After Freya and Edrix. And they're happy. Like actually happy. I'm shocked, honestly. I went to see him. He's fine. He moved on."
Keifer hummed a low note, jaw sharp and calm.
"I know," he said again.
I stared. "WHO TOLD YOU?"
"felix."
I threw my hands in the air. "Of course. Of course felix told you.
The guy who speaks four words a day told YOU before ANYONE told ME."
Keifer hid a smile. "He speaks more to me than others."
"WHY?!"
"He fears me," Keifer said simply.
"Wow," I muttered, "must be great being tall, scary, hot, and connected to the underground of gossip."
He leaned closer. "Oh? You think I'm hot?"
I immediately faced the window. "I think you're annoying."
He laughed.
"Also," I continued, determined, "Elara is being normal now. She's helping. She's talking. She isn't suspicious of me anymore."
Keifer nodded. "I know."
My jaw dropped. "OKAY WHAT IS THIS 'I KNOW' ENERGY?! DO YOU HAVE CAMERAS INSTALLED IN MY SOUL?!"
He didn't even blink. "Maybe."
I slapped his shoulder. "KEIFER!"
He grabbed my wrist—gently—and kissed my knuckles.
"I just like hearing you tell me," he said, voice low, eyes soft.
"It's cute. When you tell me things like I don't already know them. Makes me feel… included."
My heartbeat went stupid.
"Oh," I whispered, caught off guard.
He smirked again. "Plus, it pisses you off when I say 'I know.' That's a bonus."
I glared. "I am going to throw you out of your own car."
"You won't," he murmured, leaning in.
"Because you like me too much."
His breath brushed my cheek.
I shoved him away before I melted.
"You're insufferable," I muttered, crossing my arms.
He reached over and unclipped my seatbelt just to clip it back again, brushing his fingers across my collarbone.
"Good thing you love me," he said.
My heart hiccuped.
"I do NOT—"
He cut me off by whispering, "I know."
I SCREECHED.
We reached school.
He parked.
He leaned over, reaching for me like a magnet.
His fingers slid to my waist, pulling me halfway across the seat.
His forehead touched mine.
"Go," he murmured, "before I kiss you and make you late on purpose."
My breath got stuck somewhere in my throat.
"You wouldn't," I challenged.
He tilted his head, lips brushing mine—just enough to set fire, not enough to burn.
"Try me," he whispered.
I scrambled out of the car like a rat escaping a trap.
Keifer leaned on the open window, smirking.
"Have a good day, wife."
"I'M DROPPING OUT OF SCHOOL," I yelled.
"I KNOW," he shouted back.
The audacity.
And still…
My stupid heart smiled.