The Boy with the Golden Hands
[Jay's POV]
The world didn't usually stop for me. Usually, if I tripped, the world just kept spinning, and I was expected to get back up, dust off my knees, and apologize for denting the floor. That was the rule of my life: Don't be a nuisance. Don't cost money. Don't take up space.
But as I looked up into the eyes of the guy who had just saved me from a cracked skull, the world wasn't spinning. It was perfectly, terrifyingly still.
His hands were still on my waist. They were warm—unbelievably warm—seeping through the thin fabric of my thrift-store t-shirt. I could feel the strength in his fingers, a firm grip that didn't feel like a trap, but like a literal anchor. For a second, I forgot how to breathe. He was... beautiful. Not just "college-guy" handsome, but the kind of effortless, polished gold that made me feel like a smudge of charcoal beside him.
"You're not a burden," he had said.
The words echoed in my head, mocking the voice of my mother that usually lived there. "You're such a burden, Jay. Why can't you just be useful for once?"
I scrambled to my feet, my face burning so hot I was sure I was glowing. "I... I can do it. I'm sorry about your coffee," I stammered, looking down at the brown splash on the pavement. That coffee probably cost more than my lunch for the next three days. "I'll pay you back. I promise. I just... I don't have it on me right now."
The guy—Keifer, he said his name was—just laughed. It wasn't a mean laugh. It was a soft, airy sound that made my heart do a weird little flip-flop.
"Forget the coffee, Jay," he said, already kneeling to pick up my scattered textbooks. He picked up my battered copy of Advanced Economic Theory like it was made of glass. "This box is heavy. Are you trying to carry the entire library to your room in one go?"
"I don't like making two trips," I whispered, kneeling next to him. My fingers brushed his as we both reached for my worn-out hoodie. A spark of static electricity shot up my arm, and I jumped.
He grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "The universe is literally telling us there's a spark here, and you're still trying to run away."
I felt my heart hammer against my ribs. "I'm not running. I'm just... busy."
"Busy being a one-woman moving company?" Keifer stood up, effortlessly hoisting my heavy box as if it weighed nothing at all. He didn't hand it back. Instead, he tucked it under one arm and gestured toward the dorm entrance with his free hand. "Which floor?"
"Fourth," I said, my voice small. "But really, you don't have to. You probably have people waiting for you. Your parents? Your friends?"
He started walking, forcing me to hurry to keep up with his long strides. "My parents are probably halfway to a beach by now. They're pretty chill. And as for friends... well, I think I just met a new one. Unless you're going to keep apologizing for existing?"
I went quiet as we entered the elevator. I watched our reflections in the mirrored doors. He looked like he belonged in a commercial—expensive hoodie, messy hair that looked perfectly styled, and an aura of complete confidence. I looked like a ghost. Pale, tired, and wearing clothes that had seen better decades.
"Why are you helping me?" I asked as the elevator dinged.
Keifer turned to look at me, his expression softening. The playfulness left his eyes for a moment, replaced by something steady and sincere. "Because you looked like you were about to collapse, and because I wanted to. Is it that hard to believe?"
"In my experience? Yeah," I admitted.
We stepped out into the hallway of the fourth floor. The air smelled like floor wax and cheap perfume. I led him toward the very end of the hall, toward the corner room that was the smallest on the floor—the only one my scholarship would fully cover.
"Here," I said, stopping in front of Room 412. I reached into my pocket, fumbling for my key.
Keifer stopped, but he didn't look at my door. He was looking at the door directly across the hall. Room 411. A slow, mischievous smirk spread across his face.
"No way," he chuckled.
"What?" I asked, finally catching my key and turning the lock.
He pointed a thumb at the door behind him. "That's my room. 411. My dad insisted on the 'corner suite' because he said I'd need the extra space for all the trouble I'd get into."
I froze, my hand on the doorknob. He was living right across from me? The guy who looked like a prince, who had caught me by the waist, who made me feel like I wasn't a "burden" for five minutes... was going to be the person I saw every morning?
"Looks like you're stuck with me, neighbor," Keifer said, leaning against his own doorframe while still holding my box. "Which means I can make sure you don't fall down the stairs tomorrow."
I looked at him—really looked at him—and for the first time in months, the weight on my chest felt a little lighter. "I might hold you to that, Keifer."
"Please do, Jay," he replied, his voice dropping to a warm hum. "Please do."