KEIFER'S POV — WHEN THE FUTURE THREATENS TO STEAL HER
December 30th
The text came in at 9:47 p.m.
Yuri:
We need to talk. In person. Please.
No emojis.
No softness.
That alone should've warned me.
I almost didn't go.
Something in my chest tightened the moment I read it—like my body already knew what my brain was refusing to consider.
But avoidance has never saved anyone.
So I grabbed my jacket and told myself it was probably about exams, or Jay, or some overthinking spiral Yuri was prone to.
I was wrong.
We met near the old bleachers behind the gym—the place nobody went unless they wanted privacy or confrontation. Cold air cut through my clothes. The lights overhead buzzed faintly, flickering like they couldn't decide whether to stay on or give up.
Yuri was already there.
Standing straight. Hands clenched. Face calm in a way that wasn't calm at all.
"You sounded serious," I said lightly, forcing a half-smile. "What's up?"
He didn't smile back.
That's when it hit me.
My laugh came out automatic. Defensive. "What, did you fail chem or something?"
"Keifer," he said. Quiet. Firm. "I love Jay."
The words landed wrong. Like a punch that didn't hurt until a second later.
I laughed again. Louder this time. "Okay. And?"
Yuri didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Didn't laugh.
The sound died in my throat.
"…You're serious," I said.
"Yes."
The air felt thinner. Sharper.
"So?" I shrugged, still clinging to disbelief. "You want advice? Permission? Because I don't—"
"I'm proposing to her tomorrow."
Everything stopped.
My brain short-circuited. The world tilted just enough to make me dizzy.
"…What?" I breathed.
"Tomorrow," he repeated. "New Year's Eve. My birthday. The Hanamitchi family flew in this morning. Everyone's here."
I stared at him like he'd just spoken another language.
Marriage?
Jay?
Tomorrow?
"You're joking," I said, laughing weakly. "You have to be joking."
Still nothing.
No smile. No irritation. Just resolve.
Something inside me cracked.
"Why?" I asked finally. "She's—she's still healing. This isn't—why now?"
"Because I can't keep watching you hurt her."
That did it.
My jaw clenched. "I've never hurt her."
"Not physically," Yuri said. "But you're not safe, Keifer. Not emotionally. Not long-term."
My hands curled into fists. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"I do," he said sharply. "I've watched you. I've watched her. I've watched the way she looks at you like you're gravity—and the way you pull away every time it gets real."
I turned my face away.
Silence stretched.
"Do you feel something for her?" Yuri asked.
The question shouldn't have been hard.
It was.
My throat burned. I stared at the ground, jaw tight, chest aching like it was collapsing inward.
"…Yes," I said quietly.
The word felt like a confession and a crime.
Yuri exhaled. "Then this ends now."
I snapped back. "What?"
"You feel something, and that's exactly why I won't let this continue."
"Let?" My voice rose. "You don't get to decide—"
"I do," he cut in, eyes flashing. "Because you're broken."
The word sliced clean.
"You come from violence," he continued, relentless now. "From rage. From a man who destroyed your mother and called it love."
My blood went cold.
"You think you're different," he said. "But I've seen it. The anger you bury. The way you shut down. The way you'd rather disappear than communicate."
"Stop," I said hoarsely.
"You will hurt her," he said. "Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But you will. Because men like you always do."
That's when I shoved past him.
Hard.
I didn't hear what he said after that. Didn't care. I walked until my lungs burned and my vision blurred, until I was back home with the door slamming shut behind me like punctuation.
---
KEIFER'S POV — WHEN FEAR WINS
My room was dark.
Too quiet.
I paced. Ran a hand through my hair. Kicked my shoes off without remembering doing it. My heart wouldn't slow down. Yuri's words echoed over and over, layering themselves onto memories I'd spent years trying to suffocate.
My father's voice.
My mother crying.
The sound of glass breaking.
The night she didn't wake up.
Men like you.
What if he was right?
What if all this—this gentleness with Jay, this restraint—was temporary?
What if one day I snapped?
What if I raised my voice and saw fear in her eyes?
What if I hurt her the way my father hurt my mother?
The thought made me nauseous.
I slid down against my bed, hands shaking, breath coming apart.
Jay's laugh filled my head.
Her quiet curses.
The way she leaned into me without thinking.
The way she trusted me.
Trust is fragile.
And I—
I was a loaded gun pretending to be safe.
A sob tore out of me before I could stop it.
Then another.
I curled inward, pressing my fist against my mouth to muffle the sound, tears soaking into my sleeve as everything I'd been holding back came crashing down.
"I'd never hurt you," I whispered to the empty room.
But the ghost of my father laughed in my head.
Neither did I, he used to say.
I cried myself to sleep that night with fear wrapped around my chest like barbed wire—because for the first time, loving someone didn't feel like hope.
It felt like a threat.
And somewhere out there, the clock was ticking toward tomorrow.
Toward a ring.
Toward the possibility that I might lose her—
Not because I didn't love her.
But because loving her might be the most dangerous thing I could ever do.
JAY'S POV — WHEN THE MORNING FEELS WRONG
I woke up with that feeling.
The one that doesn't scream danger—but hums it. Soft. Persistent. Like something nudging the back of your skull and refusing to explain itself.
The house was already awake.
That alone was strange.
Lola usually slept in on holidays, and Angelo hated mornings with a passion. Yet when I padded downstairs, the smell of brewed coffee and toasted bread met me halfway, warm and familiar.
Too familiar.
Lola sat at the dining table, shawl draped neatly over her shoulders, rosary resting beside her cup. She smiled when she saw me, eyes soft in that knowing way that always made me feel five years old again.
"Good morning, Jay," she said.
"Morning, Lola," I replied, bending to kiss her cheek.
That's when I noticed them.
Kuya Angelo stood near the window, arms crossed, jaw tense in a way that had nothing to do with work stress.
Across from him was Tita Gema—perfect posture, composed expression, fingers wrapped tightly around her mug like she needed the warmth to stay grounded.
They were mid-conversation.
And they stopped the second they saw me.
Not subtly.
Not casually.
Like someone had pressed pause.
Angelo's eyes flicked to Tita Gema.
Tita Gema inhaled.
Uh-oh.
That was my first real warning.
"Why do you both look like you just got caught planning a crime?" I asked lightly, trying to shake the sudden prickle crawling up my spine.
Tita Gema smiled—polite, warm, practiced.
"Jay," she said, walking toward me. "Good timing."
She reached out and placed a small rectangular box in my hands.
Wrapped. White ribbon. Expensive paper.
"A gift?" I blinked. "Did I miss a birthday?"
"Just open it," she said.
I did.
Inside was a dress.
White. Off-shoulder. Elegant without trying too hard. The fabric looked soft, structured just enough to fall beautifully. Not flashy. Not revealing. Formal—but still me.
My breath caught despite myself.
It was… stunning.
I looked up, genuinely touched. "Tita, this is beautiful."
Her smile faltered just a fraction.
"What's the occasion?" I asked.
The air shifted.
Angelo cleared his throat.
Tita Gema's eyes flicked—just once—toward him.
They exchanged a look.
Not a casual one.
A loaded one.
My stomach tightened.
Angelo finally spoke. "We're attending a party tonight."
"Oh," I said. "Who's 'we'?"
"You," he replied smoothly. "Me. Tita Gema. Aries. And Lola."
Lola nodded serenely, like this was perfectly normal and not at all suspicious.
"A party," I repeated slowly.
"Yes," Angelo said. "Formal."
Something cold slid down my spine.
I forced a smile anyway. "Okay. Sounds… fun."
No one elaborated.
No one explained.
And for reasons I couldn't articulate, I didn't push.
I took the box upstairs, every step heavier than the last.
---
In my room, I set the dress on the bed and stared at it.
It looked innocent enough.
But the feeling wouldn't leave.
The hum grew louder.
I pressed a hand to my chest, exhaled, then reached for my phone.
Damian picked up on the third ring.
"Morning, demon," he yawned. "Why do I feel like you're about to tell me something insane?"
"I might be," I said. "Can I send you a picture?"
"Already bracing."
I snapped a photo of the dress and sent it.
Three seconds passed.
Then—
Damian:
…okay first of all wow.
Me:
Right??
Damian:
Second of all why does that look like a 'life-changing event' dress and not a 'casual party' dress?
My fingers froze.
Me:
That's exactly what I was thinking.
Damian:
Who gave it to you?
Me:
Tita Gema.
Damian:
Oh.
Just—oh.
My chest tightened.
"You feel it too, don't you?" I muttered aloud.
I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the dress like it might blink first.
Nothing about today felt wrong on the surface.
But everything underneath felt… tilted.
Like the universe had taken a deep breath and was waiting to exhale.
I typed one last message.
Me:
I don't know why but I feel like something bad is about to happen.
Damian didn't reply immediately.
When he did, it was slower. Careful.
Damian:
Trust that feeling, Jay. And don't go anywhere tonight without knowing why. Let me look into it okay..?
I locked my phone and lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
For some reason—completely uninvited—Keifer's face crossed my mind.
His quiet eyes.
His restraint.
The way he always seemed like he was standing at the edge of something.
My chest ached.
"Please," I whispered to no one, "let me be wrong."
But deep down—
I already knew.
Tonight wasn't just a party.
It was a turning point...