Chapter: "Stay"
Jay's POV
My head felt heavy when I woke up again.
Not dizzy.
Just… tired.
Like I cried out years of silence.
I didn't open my eyes immediately.
Because I knew.
If I opened them, I'd have to face everyone.
The memory of crying like that in front of them—
It made my chest tighten again.
I moved slightly.
And felt warmth.
A hand.
Holding mine.
Firm.
Careful.
I slowly opened my eyes.
Keif was sitting beside the bed.
Still there.
Same position.
Like he never moved.
His eyes were red.
Not from crying loudly.
But from staying awake.
"Hey," he whispered the moment he saw me awake.
His voice was softer than I've ever heard.
I didn't answer.
I just looked at him.
Trying to understand something.
Why he stayed.
Why he didn't look annoyed.
Why he didn't look overwhelmed.
Just… concerned.
"Do you remember?" he asked gently.
I nodded slightly.
Kitchen.
Flashback.
Screaming.
Crying.
Clinging to him like I would fall apart.
Embarrassment crawled up my throat.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
His expression changed immediately.
"Don't."
"I made a scene."
"You had a breakdown," he corrected quietly.
"That's worse."
"No," he said firmly. "That's human."
My eyes burned again.
I turned my face away.
"I don't like when people see me like that."
"Like what?"
"Weak."
He was silent for a second.
Then he leaned closer.
"You think crying makes you weak?"
"I couldn't even control it."
"You weren't supposed to."
His hand tightened slightly around mine.
"Jay… you've been controlling everything since you were fourteen."
That hit.
Hard.
My throat closed.
"I'm used to it," I whispered.
"I know."
Silence filled the room.
Not uncomfortable.
Just heavy.
"I hate that someone made you feel that scared," he said quietly.
His voice wasn't loud.
But it carried something sharp.
Not anger at me.
Anger at the past.
I swallowed.
"It wasn't even about me," I said. "It was about my mom."
He waited.
Didn't interrupt.
"That night…" I stared at the ceiling. "He was shouting at her. I tried to stop him."
My fingers tightened unconsciously.
"I thought if I stood in front, he wouldn't…"
My voice broke.
Keif moved closer instantly.
"You don't have to finish that sentence," he said softly.
"I couldn't protect her," I whispered.
"That wasn't your job."
"But I tried."
"I know."
"And last night… when Kiko grabbed my hand… it felt the same."
That fear.
That loss of control.
That smallness.
"I hate feeling small," I admitted.
"You're not small," he said immediately.
"I was."
His voice lowered.
"You were a child."
That word did something.
Child.
Not weak.
Not useless.
Child.
Tears slipped down again.
Not loud like before.
Just quiet ones.
"I'm tired of pretending I'm okay," I whispered.
"Then stop pretending."
"It's not that easy."
"I'll sit through it," he said.
I looked at him.
"What?"
"Whatever version of you shows up. Angry. Loud. Crying. Quiet. I'll sit through it."
My chest tightened painfully.
"You say that now."
"I said I'm not leaving."
His tone wasn't dramatic.
It wasn't possessive.
It was steady.
"And I don't repeat things I don't mean."
Silence again.
But softer now.
I slowly sat up.
My body still weak.
He immediately adjusted the pillow behind me without asking.
Small things.
Gentle things.
"Does Aries know?" I asked quietly.
"He knows you're hurting."
"I don't want him blaming himself."
"He doesn't."
"He will."
Keif sighed softly.
"He's angry at the situation. Not at you."
I closed my eyes briefly.
"I feel broken."
His hand moved to my face gently.
"You're not broken."
"I scream at people. I push people away. I overreact."
"That's defense."
"I almost pushed you away too."
"You did."
That made me look at him.
"But I stayed," he added.
Something inside me softened.
"You stayed."
"Yes."
Another silence.
Then I whispered the thing I didn't say before.
"I was scared you'd see me like this and think I'm too much."
He didn't even hesitate.
"You are too much."
My heart dropped slightly.
"For anyone who can't handle you."
His thumb brushed away a tear.
"But I can."
That steadiness again.
That grounded presence.
It made something inside me unclench.
"I don't want to go back there," I admitted quietly.
"Then don't."
"I mean… mentally."
He understood.
"Then when it starts… you tell me."
"What if I can't?"
"Then I'll remind you where you are."
He leaned slightly closer.
"You're here. In my house. In my room. In my present. Not your past."
My breathing steadied slowly.
"You really didn't sleep?" I asked.
He shrugged lightly.
"I've had worse nights."
"You look tired."
"I was scared."
That confession hit differently.
"You were?"
"I thought you were drowning in something I couldn't see."
My hand moved without thinking.
I touched his cheek lightly.
"I'm sorry."
He shook his head.
"Don't apologize for surviving."
That sentence.
That one sentence.
It made my chest ache in a different way.
Safer.
Warmer.
I leaned forward slowly.
Not dramatic.
Not desperate.
Just needing closeness.
He didn't hesitate.
He wrapped his arms around me carefully.
Not too tight.
Just enough.
"I'm not that fourteen-year-old girl anymore," I whispered into his shoulder.
"No."
"I'm here."
"Yes."
"And you're here."
"Yes."
His hand rested on the back of my head gently.
"I'm here."
And this time—
When I breathed in—
It didn't feel like fear.
It felt like safety.