KEIFER'S POV — WHEN THE MORNING LINGERS
Breakfast was louder than it needed to be.
Cin had recovered just enough energy to be insufferable. Felix was living off sarcasm and toast. Rory looked human again.
Edrix pretended he hadn't witnessed half of what he absolutely had. David cooked eggs like he was trying to redeem the night.
Jay sat curled at the counter, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, mug of coffee cradled like it was life support.
And she was getting destroyed.
"So," Cin said cheerfully, stabbing a piece of toast. "Do you usually collect men's hoodies or is Keifer a limited edition?"
Jay didn't look up. "I will end you."
Felix grinned. "You already did something. We're just waiting to find out what."
She shot him a look. "I was drunk."
David slid a plate toward her. "You were functional. Mostly."
Her eyes narrowed. "That's not comforting."
I stayed quiet.
Which somehow made it worse.
Jay glanced at me—quick, sharp—then immediately looked back at her plate.
"…Did I embarrass myself?" she asked, too casual.
Cin leaned in. "Define embarrass."
She groaned. "I hate you."
Felix laughed. "You loved us last night."
"That was a medical emergency," she muttered.
David cleared his throat, mercifully. "Eat. You'll feel better."
She did. Slowly. The headache dulled. The edge softened. But the question lingered in her eyes every time they flicked toward me.
When breakfast wound down, Jay stood, tugging the hoodie tighter around herself.
"I need to go home before my tita senses I'm missing," she said. "Cin. David. Ride?"
Cin grabbed his keys instantly. "Shotgun."
David nodded. "Let's go."
Jay hesitated—just a second—then looked at me.
"Thanks," she said quietly. "For… everything."
I met her gaze. "Anytime."
She left with them without looking back.
---
The house felt emptier after.
Quieter.
I cleaned up without thinking, muscle memory taking over. Dishes. Counters. Normal things.
Around noon, my phone buzzed.
Jay:
Okay be honest.
I stared at the screen.
Me:
About what?
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Jay:
Did I do anything… stupid?
I leaned back against the counter.
Me:
Everyone was drunk.
A pause.
Jay:
That's not an answer.
Me:
You were fine.
Another pause.
Longer this time.
Jay:
Define fine.
I exhaled.
Me:
You fell asleep. I made sure you got water. That's it.
Which was true.
Just… not complete.
Jay:
Okay.
A beat.
Jay:
Thanks again. I owe you coffee.
I smiled despite myself.
Me:
You already paid.
No reply.
I figured that was that.
---
Jay didn't go home.Directly.....
She snuck back into her room instead—quiet, careful, sliding the window shut behind her like nothing had happened.
Like she hadn't spent the night somewhere she felt safe enough to forget herself.
She kicked off her shoes, peeled out of my hoodie, folded it neatly, and hid it under her pillow like it was a secret she wasn't ready to face.
Then she lay back, staring at the ceiling.
Trying to remember.
Trying not to.
And somewhere between those two things—
Something settled.
Not certainty.
Not denial.
Just the quiet knowledge that whatever happened last night hadn't stayed there.
It had followed her home.
And it was going to matter....
---
KEIFER'S POV — THE WEEK AFTER, WHEN GAPS SCREAM LOUDER THAN MEMORY
Jay remembered the party.
That much was obvious.
She joked about Felix's dancing.
Mocked Cin for losing a shoe.
Complained about the headache like it was a badge of honor.
What she didn't remember—
She never said out loud.
But I knew.
Because she kept circling it.
Monday, she dropped into the seat beside mine during free period, spinning her pen between her fingers.
"I blacked out after the second shot," she said casually. Too casually. "Which is rude, honestly. I wanted the full experience."
I didn't look at her. "You didn't miss much."
She hummed. "That's not what everyone says."
I felt it then—that subtle shift. The way she watched my face instead of my notes.
"Cin said I was 'menace-level drunk,'" she continued. "Felix refuses to elaborate. Yuri won't even look at me."
She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes.
"And you," she added softly, "won't meet my gaze."
I forced myself to turn.
Her eyes were sharp. Intelligent. Searching.
"You took care of me, didn't you?"
The question wasn't accusatory.
It was careful.
"Yes," I said.
She nodded. "I figured."
Then, quieter: "Did I cry?"
"No."
"Did I say anything embarrassing?"
"No."
A pause.
"Did I… flirt?"
The word landed heavier than it should have.
I kept my voice even. "You flirt with everyone."
Her lips twitched. "True. Okay—"
She hesitated.
Just enough to matter.
"Did anything happen that I should know about?"
There it was.
I met her gaze this time and didn't look away.
"No," I said.
It wasn't a lie.
It just wasn't the whole truth.
She studied my face like a problem she couldn't solve.
Then she leaned back, exhaling. "Okay. Good."
Good.
That word sat wrong in my chest all day.
By Wednesday, the gap started haunting her.
Not visibly.
Subtly.
She'd trail off mid-sentence.
Frown when someone laughed at an inside joke she wasn't part of.
Touch her lips absently when she thought no one was watching.
Once, during lunch, Cin said, "Man, Jay was wild that night."
Jay looked up sharply. "Define wild."
Cin opened his mouth.
Yuri kicked his chair—hard.
"Drunk dancing," Cin recovered. "A lot of drunk dancing."
Jay laughed, but it was hollow. "That tracks."
Her gaze flicked to me.
Stayed.
I looked away.
Friday was the worst.
She cornered me outside the library, late afternoon light slanting low and gold.
"You're hiding something," she said bluntly.
I crossed my arms. "About what?"
"About me," she replied.
I waited.
She took a step closer. "I don't remember the end of that night. And everyone acts like I should be grateful I don't."
"That doesn't mean—"
"I know," she cut in. "I'm not accusing you."
Her voice softened.
"I just need to know if I crossed a line. With anyone. Said something. Did something."
Her eyes searched mine, not for guilt—
For reassurance.
I swallowed.
"You didn't cross any lines," I said. "I wouldn't let you."
That made her pause.
"…You wouldn't?"
"No."
Something shifted then.
Not tension.
Gravity.
She nodded slowly. "Okay."
Then she smiled—small, sincere.
"Thank you. For being safe."
Safe.
The word burned.
Because she didn't remember how she leaned into me. How her fingers curled into my shirt. How her mouth found mine like it already knew the way.
And I didn't tell her.
Because memory, when returned wrong—
Can destroy something before it's named.
She walked away lighter.
I stayed rooted to the spot.
Because she trusted me with the parts of herself she couldn't remember.
And I was carrying the weight of remembering for both of us.
And sooner or later—
That weight was going to demand a price....
---
JAY'S POV — MONDAY MORNING,
I woke up to my alarm at exactly 6:30.
Not late.
Not groggy.
Just… awake.
The ceiling fan spun lazily above me as I lay there for a moment, staring up at nothing in particular. Monday. Another week. Another routine.
I got up, showered, tied my hair neatly back. No drama. No rushing.
School uniform. Crisp. Clean. Buttoned properly.
Skirt smoothed down.
Shoes polished enough not to get comments.
I checked myself in the mirror—looked normal. Boring, even.
Good.
Downstairs, breakfast was already on the table.
Kuya Angelo sat scrolling through his phone, coffee in hand.
"Morning," he said without looking up.
"Morning."
I grabbed a piece of toast, poured myself juice, ate standing up because sitting felt like commitment.
"You driving?" he asked.
"Yeah."
He nodded. "Text me when you reach."
"I always do."
He hummed, unconvinced.
Nothing felt off.
That should've been the warning.
---
The drive to school was quiet. Traffic behaved. Signals worked. The universe didn't glitch.
I parked in my usual spot—third row, left side, under the half-dead tree that never gave shade but somehow always had birds.
I cut the engine, grabbed my bag, stepped out.
The air smelled like dust and morning heat. Students walked past in clusters, laughing, complaining, existing.
Normal.
I locked my car.
Adjusted my bag strap.
Started toward the school gate.
That's when it happened.
Something smashed into the side of my head.
Hard.
No warning. No sound before it.
Just impact.
My vision exploded into white, then fractured—edges warping, ground tilting violently. My body pitched forward.
I didn't even have time to scream.
My knees hit the pavement first. Pain shot up my legs, sharp and blinding. My palms scraped concrete. My bag slid away.
I tried to push myself up.
Failed.
A second blow landed—heavier this time.
Everything rang.
Footsteps rushed in—fast, coordinated. Not panicked. Not sloppy.
Efficient.
A voice cut through the static in my ears.
"We got her."
Hands grabbed my arms, dragging me backward.
I tried to fight.
Tried to kick.
Tried to yell.
My body didn't cooperate.
My skull throbbed like it was splitting open. The sky above me blurred—blue bleeding into gray.
I caught a glimpse of the school gate.
So close.
So normal.
Someone covered my mouth.
The world narrowed.
My last clear thought wasn't fear.
It was disbelief.
Because I'd followed every rule.
Done everything right.
Started the day exactly like I was supposed to.
And still—
Darkness slammed down.
Hard.
Final.