KEIFER'S POV
The one thing I hate is when someone forces me to do stuff...
I didn't want to but
Cin begged.
Not directly—Cin never did anything directly—but he sent voice notes at three in the morning, rambling and half-asleep, talking about cake flavors and stupid decorations and how it wouldn't be the same if I wasn't there.
"I know you're busy," he'd said, trying to sound grown. "And you don't have to stay long. Just… show up? Please?"
I listened to that message twice.
By the third time, I'd already booked the flight.
I told myself it was just for him.
That I could handle one day. One party. One room where her name wouldn't be spoken.
I was wrong about the last part.
---
The house was already glowing when I arrived—lights warm and excessive, laughter spilling out through open doors. Childish banners. Balloons. The kind of joy that doesn't ask permission.
Cin's kind of joy.
I paused at the entrance longer than necessary, adjusting my cuffs, steadying my breathing. London had sharpened me—arguments with elders, clipped conversations with Clyde, long nights where sleep felt like a liability. I'd learned how to hold my face still. How to bury things.
Tonight wasn't about me.
I stepped inside.
The noise hit first.
Music. Shouting. Laughter that bounced off walls and ceilings. Kids running around like gravity didn't apply to them yet. It felt surreal—like stepping into a life I wasn't sure I deserved to touch.
Then I saw him.
Cin stood near the center, arguing loudly with Felix over something trivial, cake already smeared on his cheek. He looked younger than fifteen somehow. Happier.
Good.
That was the point.
I went straight to him before I could think better of it.
"Happy birthday," I said, and held out the folder.
He frowned, confused. "What's this?"
"Open it later."
He didn't listen.
He never does.
The moment he saw the documents, his breath hitched.
"…Keifer," he whispered. "Is this real?"
"Yes."
His hands shook as he looked up at me. "You didn't have to—"
"I wanted to," I said simply.
He laughed—short and disbelieving—and then crashed into me, hugging me so hard it knocked the air out of my lungs.
"Thank you," he said into my shoulder. "You came."
I hugged him back.
For a second, I let myself pretend everything was normal.
Then I pulled away.
And saw them.
Section E sat together at a long table, loud and familiar and dangerous in the way only people you love can be. Felix noticed me first. His grin faltered. Rory stiffened. Blaster crossed his arms.
Yuri just watched me.
His gaze flicked to the empty seat.
Hers.
My chest tightened.
I walked over anyway.
"I owe you an explanation," I said.
They went quiet.
"I left because London caught up to me," I continued. "Because my family found out I had something they could leverage."
Felix concerned. "You mean Jay."
I didn't deny it.
"They don't know her name," I said. "But they know enough. And if I stayed, they would've found her."
Rory's jaw clenched. "So you broke her instead?"
The words landed like a punch.
"Yes," I said.
Silence.
"I did something unforgivable," I went on, voice steady even as something inside me splintered. "But I did it knowing she'd survive it. Knowing she's stronger than any of us."
Cin stood up beside me. "He didn't leave because he stopped caring," he said quietly. "I know that."
I looked at him, surprised.
He met my gaze, unwavering. "I begged him to come today. That's all."
Yuri nodded once.
"We'll protect her," he said.
Not dramatic. Not loud.
Final.
Relief hit me so hard I almost staggered.
"Thank you," I said. I meant it with everything I had left.
The doors opened.
I felt it before I saw her.
The room changed temperature.
Jay walked in like she owned the air—soft dress, calm steps, gift in her hands. No armor. No rage.
She didn't look at me.
She went straight to Cin.
She hugged him. Smiled. Handed him a gift that made his eyes fill with tears.
Family.
That word echoed in my head.
Then she turned.
Our eyes met.
Just for a moment.
I braced myself for hatred.
For coldness.
For nothing.
She gave me a polite nod.
Not forgiveness.
Not rejection.
Acknowledgment.
And then she looked away.
It shouldn't have hurt more than hate.
But it did.
I stayed until the candles were blown out.
Until Cin was laughing too hard to notice the cracks.
Then I left quietly.
Because loving her meant knowing when not to reach.
And tonight—
Tonight was one of those times.
JAY'S POV
I almost didn't go.
I stood in front of the mirror longer than necessary, fingers resting on the edge of the sink, watching a version of myself that looked composed enough to pass. The dress was soft. Too soft for the things living under my skin. But Cin liked soft things. He liked color and noise and warmth.
So I went.
The house was loud before I even stepped inside—music spilling into the night, laughter ricocheting off glass and marble. A childish party, expensive and bright and unapologetically alive. Fifteen candles. Balloons that brushed the ceiling. The kind of celebration that didn't know how close the world could come to breaking you.
I held my gift tighter.
Inside, the noise hit like a wave. Someone shouted my name. Someone else froze. Conversations bent and re-formed around me.
I didn't look for him.
I looked for Cin.
He stood near the center like a small sun, cheeks flushed, grin wide, surrounded by chaos he loved. When he saw me, his face lit up in a way that made my chest ache.
"Jay!" he yelled, already moving.
I didn't brace myself. I didn't hesitate. I hugged him back when he wrapped his arms around me, small and fierce and real.
"Happy birthday," I said, and handed him the gift.
He opened it immediately, of course. A photo frame—us, all of us, captured mid-laugh—and the letter folded behind it. His eyes filled fast. He didn't try to hide it.
"You came," he said, voice breaking like it mattered more than anything else.
"I wouldn't miss it," I replied. That part was true.
I stayed close to him for a while. Laughed when expected. Smiled when spoken to. Let the noise wash over me like static.
Then I felt it.
That pull.
I looked up.
Keifer stood near the edge of the room.
Not apart—just… contained. Dressed too neatly. Still too controlled. London clung to him like a second shadow.
For a second—just one—I felt the old reflex. The one that wanted to cross the room without thinking. The one that believed love was enough to erase damage.
It passed.
I met his eyes.
He looked… relieved.
That hurt more than anger would have.
I gave him a nod.
Polite. Measured.
The kind you give someone you once loved and survived.
Then I turned away.
The night moved on. Cake was cut. Someone smeared frosting on someone else's face. Felix tried to light candles twice and failed both times. Yuri watched me quietly from across the table, like he knew exactly how much effort this cost.
At some point, Cin pulled me aside.
"Stay," he said softly. "Please."
I smiled at him. "I can't."
He searched my face. "Is it because—"
"No," I interrupted gently. "It's because this is your night. And I don't want to be the thing that changes it."
He hugged me again. Longer this time.
"You're family," he whispered.
I closed my eyes. Let myself feel that. Just for a second.
Then I pulled away.
I didn't say goodbye to everyone.
I didn't look back at Keifer.
I walked out into the night alone.
The air was cool. Quiet. Honest.
I got into my car and sat there for a moment, hands resting on the steering wheel, breathing through something tight and old and finally loosening.
Love doesn't always end with shouting.
Sometimes it ends with restraint.
With choosing not to reach.
I started the engine.
As the house faded behind me, lights shrinking in the mirror, I didn't cry.
I didn't smile either.
I just drove.
And somewhere between the music dying and the road opening up—
I let go.
Monday came too early.
The sky wasn't even awake yet when Damian and I boarded the jet. The runway lights cut through the dark like scars, harsh and unforgiving. Engines hummed low—controlled power, waiting to be unleashed.
Private planes don't feel luxurious at that hour.
They feel like decisions.
I took my seat by the window. Damian didn't ask questions. He never does when he already knows the answers. He moved quietly through the cabin, efficient, respectful, pretending this was just another flight.
It wasn't.
The city lights blurred as we lifted off. I watched them shrink, dissolve into nothing. Home—or whatever that word meant now—disappeared beneath cloud cover.
My phone vibrated once.
Cin.
I stared at the screen longer than necessary.
Then I typed.
> Good morning batang kumag.
I won't be around for a while.
Be good. Or don't. Just don't forget me.
Three dots appeared immediately.
Then vanished.
Then appeared again.
> Jay where are you going
When are you coming back
You promised you'd stay
My chest tightened.
I closed my eyes.
Typed again.
> Some things need distance.
This isn't goodbye.
I didn't send a location.
I didn't say London.
I didn't say why.
That would've made it real in a way I wasn't ready for.
The reply came fast.
> You're lying.
But okay.
Just don't disappear like he did.
That one hurt.
I swallowed.
> I won't.
It wasn't a promise.
It was an intention.
I put the phone down before he could say anything else that would anchor me back to the ground.
Damian glanced over. "You good?"
"Functional," I said.
He nodded, like that was enough.
The plane cut higher, smoother now. Above the clouds, dawn bled slowly into the horizon—thin light slicing open the dark. I pressed my forehead to the glass.
Somewhere behind me was a boy who'd just turned fifteen and believed people stayed if they loved you enough.
Somewhere behind me was a room full of people who had once been my safest place.
And somewhere behind me—
Keifer Watson was learning what restraint costs.
I didn't hate him.
That was the worst part.
Hate would've been easier to carry.
London waited ahead—cold, sharp, inevitable. Family ghosts. Old wars. A name that carried weight whether I wanted it to or not.
JJM.
Kaizer Watson.
My parents.
I flexed my fingers slowly, feeling the old steadiness return. Not calm. Not peace.
Resolve.
The seatbelt sign flicked off.
The plane surged forward.
And just like that—
I was gone....