Jayjay's POV
Being on a date at the SDR with Keifer Watson should be illegal.
That was my first thought as I sat across from him, watching the soft lights reflect on his face. The decorations I worked myself to exhaustion for now felt… unreal. Like a dream that decided to be kind to me for once.
Breathe, Jayjay. It's just your anniversary. Just your boyfriend. Just the love of your life.
Yeah. Just that.
Keifer leaned forward slightly, resting his chin on his hand, eyes fixed on me like I was the only thing in the room.
"You're staring," I said, trying to sound normal.
"I'm appreciating," he corrected smoothly.
My heart did a very unnecessary flip.
The SDR was quiet—closed to the public, just for us. Soft music played in the background, the kind that makes you want to confess secrets you swore you'd take to your grave. Candles flickered gently, and for a moment, everything felt slow. Safe.
"I still can't believe you did all this," Keifer said softly. "No wonder you were always tired."
I shrugged, pretending it was no big deal. "I had to keep you distracted. You're annoyingly observant."
He smiled. That smile.
The one that ruins my ability to think.
"You know," he said, reaching across the table and taking my hand, "even if it was just bread and water… I'd still be happy. As long as it's with you."
Oh no.
He's being serious-serious.
My inner voice screamed, SAY SOMETHING COOL. SAY SOMETHING ROMANTIC. DON'T MALFUNCTION.
Instead, what came out was, "Good. Because if you ever leave me, I'm haunting you."
He laughed—full, warm, real—and squeezed my hand. "Noted."
Dinner passed in soft teasing, shared memories, and quiet laughter. We talked about the first time we met, the first fight, the first apology, the first time we realized this wasn't just a crush.
This was us.
After dessert, Keifer stood and held his hand out to me. "Come."
"Where?"
"Just trust me."
That sentence alone should come with a warning label.
We stepped into a quieter corner of the SDR. The lights were dimmer here, the world smaller. Keifer stopped in front of me, suddenly serious.
"Jayjay," he said, voice low, steady. "This years with you… it changed me."
My chest tightened.
"I don't say it enough," he continued, brushing a strand of hair away from my face, "but thank you. For choosing me. For staying."
I swallowed. "I'd choose you again. Every time."
That was all it took.
He leaned in slowly, giving me time to pull away—but I didn't. I never do. His lips met mine gently at first, like he was afraid to break the moment. Then deeper. Stronger. Like he meant it.
Like he always does.
My hands found his jacket, gripping it as if letting go would end everything. The kiss wasn't rushed. It was warm. Familiar. Safe. The kind of kiss that says home without using words.
When we finally pulled apart, our foreheads rested together.
"Happy anniversary, my Jayjay," he whispered.
I smiled, heart full, voice soft.
"Happy anniversary, Keifer Watson."
And for the first time in a long while, I knew—
no matter what came next…
Tonight was ours.
After everything—the laughter, the pictures, the kisses, the quiet—I thought the night would end softly.
Turns out, it ended… dangerously.
Keifer decided to drop me at my dorm himself. No arguments. No negotiations. Just that calm, boyfriend tone that means I care and I'm not backing down.
When we arrived, I stared at the gate.
Locked.
I blinked. "Wow."
Keifer frowned. "Why is it locked?"
"Because the universe hates romance," I replied calmly.
He sighed, then looked at me. "You can stay at my place for the weekend."
I froze.
Stay… at his place?
My brain short-circuited. My heart sprinted. My common sense grabbed the steering wheel last minute.
"I'll just climb," I said, already unbuckling.
Keifer's eyes widened. "Jayjay, no—"
Too late.
I climbed the gate like my life depended on it. Which it did.
Because halfway through, my foot slipped.
I gasped.
The world tilted.
And then—arms.
Strong. Steady. Keifer caught me before I could even scream.
"Are you insane?" he snapped, panic thick in his voice as he held me close.
I laughed nervously. "A little?"
He didn't say another word. Just carried me straight back to the car, opened the door, and sat me down like I was something fragile.
"That's it," he said. "You're coming home with me."
I wanted to argue.
I didn't.