KEIFER'S POV — WHEN EVERYTHING HITS AT ONCE
I woke up to silence.
Not the empty kind.
The wrong kind.
My arm was wrapped around a pillow that still held her warmth, my sheets twisted like they'd been fought with. For half a second, I thought she'd just gone to the bathroom. That she'd be back. That I could pull her in again and pretend the world hadn't caught up to us yet.
Then I saw the note.
White hotel paper. Her handwriting.
I'll be back.
Not goodbye.
Never goodbye.
My chest tightened so hard it hurt.
"Jay," I muttered, sitting up too fast, head pounding. The room smelled like rain and her—something clean, something real. The memories hit in waves: the elevator, the rain, the way she'd said my name like a truth she'd finally stopped denying.
I love you.
She'd said it like it was inevitable.
Like it had always been there, waiting for us to stop lying.
I dragged a hand down my face, laughing once under my breath—short, disbelieving. "You really did it," I told the empty room. "You really walked out."
But she hadn't run.
That was the thing.
Jay never ran unless she was running toward something.
I showered fast, dressed faster, keys in my hand before my head had caught up with my body. The drive home blurred past me—red lights, honking, the city waking up like nothing monumental had happened overnight.
Everything felt different anyway.
Because I loved her.
I'd known it long before the rain made it impossible to deny. Knew it every time she challenged me, every time she looked at me like I was more than my last name, my past, my father's shadow.
And she loved me back.
That should've been enough.
Except it wasn't.
Because there was still the plan.
The thing I hadn't told her yet.
I gripped the steering wheel tighter, jaw locking. I'd convinced myself I was protecting her by waiting. That once things settled, once the timing was right, I'd explain everything—how close I'd come to burning bridges to keep her out of the fire.
But timing had a way of turning into cowardice if you let it.
My phone buzzed.
I didn't need to look to know it was her.
I still did.
Jay:
Café Noir. 11:30. Don't be late.
I exhaled slowly, something between relief and dread cutting through me.
A café.
Public.
Intentional.
She wasn't hiding.
She was facing things head-on—like she always did.
"Okay," I said quietly, starting the engine again. "Okay, Jay. I'm coming."
I thought about how I'd tell her.
About the plan I'd been part of before I let myself fall.
About the line I'd crossed the moment I chose her over control.
I didn't know how she'd react.
But I knew one thing with absolute certainty as I turned toward the café—
If she asked me to choose again,
I would.
Every time.
At the cafe.....
I saw her before she saw me.
Of course I did.
Jay was sitting near the window, sunlight cutting through the café glass and catching in her hair like it had every right to be there. Freshened up. Clean. Composed.
Dangerous.
She looked like someone who had just finished a war and was already planning the next one.
I slowed without meaning to.
My heart didn't.
I barely made it three steps inside—
When she looked up.
And everything after that happened too fast to think.
She stood.
Chair scraping back.
And then she was running.
Straight at me.
I didn't even get to say her name.
Her hands fisted in my jacket, and her mouth crashed into mine right there in the middle of Café Noir—no hesitation, no audience awareness, no fear.
Just her.
Kissing me like the night hadn't ended.
Like the morning hadn't tried to pull us apart.
Like she'd made a decision and dared the world to argue.
I froze for half a heartbeat—
Then kissed her back.
Hard.
Real.
My hands came up automatically, holding her like if I didn't, gravity might take her away. The café disappeared—people, clinking cups, soft music—all of it faded under the certainty of her mouth, the way she smiled against my lips like she'd won something.
She pulled back first.
Eyes bright.
Unapologetic.
"Good morning," she said, breathless.
I laughed—low, stunned. "You don't believe in easing into things, do you?"
"Nope." She grinned, grabbed my hand, and tugged me toward the table. "C'mon. Breakfast?"
Just like that.
As if she hadn't just rearranged my soul in public.
We sat.
She reached across the table immediately, fingers lacing with mine like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like there hadn't been questions eating at me all morning. Like there wasn't still something I needed to tell her.
She scanned the menu, completely unfazed. "You look like hell," she added casually.
"I woke up alone," I said.
She glanced up, softened for half a second. "I know."
That was all she said.
The waitress came. Orders were placed. Coffee appeared between us, steam curling like a fragile truce.
Jay finally leaned back, studying me.
"So," she said lightly, "you were thinking too hard again, weren't you?"
I exhaled through my nose. "You always know."
"Because you get that look," she replied. "Like you're about to protect me from something I didn't ask to be protected from."
There it was.
My chest tightened.
I squeezed her hand. "Jay… there's something I need to tell you."
She didn't pull away.
Didn't tense.
Just nodded once. "Okay."
No fear.
Just trust.
And that—that was what scared me most.
Because whatever came next would test it.
And for the first time in my life—
I didn't want to lie my way out.
Not with her...
The word okay sat between us like a fragile thing.
Jay didn't rush me.
Didn't demand answers.
She just held my hand across the table, thumb brushing slow, grounding circles against my skin while the café hummed around us like a world that had no idea what it had interrupted last night.
I opened my mouth—
And then she froze.
Not stiff.
Alert.
Her fingers tightened once around mine.
Then she leaned forward suddenly and said, very calmly, "Don't move."
Before I could ask what the hell that meant—
She grabbed my collar and yanked.
I barely had time to register the scrape of the chair before I was dragged down and shoved under the table with her.
"What the fu—"
She clapped a hand over my mouth.
"Shhh," she whispered, eyes sharp now. "Trust me."
My heart slammed against my ribs as my back hit the booth seat, knees folding awkwardly. Jay crouched beside me, close enough that I could feel her breath against my cheek, smell her shampoo, feel the warmth of her thigh pressed against mine.
This was not helping my pulse.
Through the gap between tablecloth and floor, I saw shoes.
Familiar ones.
Cin.
Felix.
Rory.
Section E.
They walked in laughing, loud, completely unaware that my entire world was currently crouched beside me under a café table like a wanted criminal.
I stared at Jay.
She met my eyes.
And shook her head—just once.
Don't.
I swallowed whatever protest I had and stayed still.
Cin's voice drifted closer. "Bro, I swear this place has the best waffles—"
"—nah, it's overrated," Felix argued.
They passed our table.
Jay didn't relax until the door chimed again and their voices faded outside.
Only then did she exhale.
I blinked at her. "You wanna explain why I just lived through the weirdest sixty seconds of my life?"
She hesitated.
That was new.
Jay didn't hesitate often.
She slid back into her seat smoothly, smoothing her hair like she hadn't just tackled me under furniture, then looked at me—really looked at me.
"I don't want them to know," she said quietly.
"Know what?" I asked.
Her gaze flickered—not guilty, not secretive.
Careful.
"Us," she said.
The word hit harder than I expected.
"Why?" I asked, keeping my voice steady even though my chest tightened.
She leaned forward, elbows on the table, fingers wrapping around her coffee cup like it anchored her.
"Because every time something like this becomes public in section e," she said slowly, "it turns into sides. Opinions. History."
Her jaw tightened slightly.
"And I'm tired of people I care about getting caught in the middle."
I frowned. "You think they'd have a problem with me?"
"No," she said immediately. "I think they'd have a problem with us because now some of them think I am involved with...yuri."
That stopped me.
She met my eyes again.
"You've had enough tension with them in the past," she continued. "Misunderstandings. Loyalty tests. Things that didn't need to be battles but became ones anyway."
I knew exactly what she meant.
Every sharp look.
Every unspoken rivalry.
Every time something small escalated because pride got involved.
"I don't want that again," she said softly. "Not now. Not with you."
Something in my chest loosened.
Not fear.
Protection.
"You're trying to keep the peace," I said.
She nodded. "Until things settle. Until I'm sure nothing about this hurts you."
I let out a slow breath.
"You do realize," I said carefully, "that pulling me under a table is not the universal symbol for 'healthy communication.'"
Her lips twitched. "It worked, didn't it?"
I shook my head, a smile breaking through despite myself.
Then it hit me.
She'd said us.
I reached across the table and took her hand again, this time deliberately.
"Jay," I said quietly.
She looked up.
No walls.
No armor.
Just her.
"If you're doing this because you think I'd regret choosing you—don't."
Her fingers tightened around mine.
"And if you're doing this because you're not sure where we stand," I continued, heart pounding now, "then let me be clear."
I swallowed.
"I'm not confused."
Her breath caught.
"I don't know everything you went through last night," I admitted. "I know you said yes to him. I know that nearly destroyed me. And I know you're here with me now."
I leaned forward slightly.
"And I'm choosing this."
Silence stretched.
The café noise blurred.
"Jay," I said, voice steady despite the storm in my chest, "if keeping this quiet for now is what you need—I'm okay with that."
She searched my face like she was looking for a crack.
Didn't find one.
"But," I added, squeezing her hand gently, "I'm not temporary. I won't be hidden out of shame."
Her eyes softened immediately.
"I know," she said. "That's not what this is."
"Then let me ask properly," I said.
Her breath stilled.
I smiled—small, sincere, terrified.
"Will you be my girlfriend?"
No games.
No theatrics.
Just truth.
Her answer was instant.
"Yes."
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Certain.
The word settled into me like something clicking into place.
I exhaled a laugh I hadn't realized I was holding.
She smiled back—real this time.
We ate breakfast after that.
Like normal people.
Like nothing else in the world was on fire.
And for those few minutes—
I let myself believe that maybe…
We were allowed something good...