Keifer didn't cry.
He didn't even look like he was close to it.
But when he spoke, the control slipped for the first time.
He backed up against the wall, shoulders tense, hands clenched. His voice stayed low, calm… but the words came out like they were too heavy to hold in.
"I didn't think it would hurt this much," he admitted.
Jay stared at him, stunned. Not because he was saying it—because he was saying it at all.
Keifer's eyes were fixed on the floor, like he couldn't bear to look at her while he was admitting he was breaking.
"I thought I was fine," he continued. "I thought I could handle… whatever this was."
He swallowed, jaw working.
"But the truth is," he said quietly, "I'm not fine."
Jay took a step forward, heart pounding.
Keifer lifted his head.
His eyes were glossy, but he blinked hard to keep it together.
"I kept telling myself it was okay," he said, voice shaking now. "That I didn't need you to be close every day. That you were allowed to be busy. That it didn't mean anything."
He paused.
Then, like he couldn't hold it back anymore, he whispered:
"I started losing myself."
Jay's breath caught.
She moved closer. "Keifer…"
He flinched slightly, as if afraid of the closeness.
"I'm sorry," he said suddenly, like he was trying to protect her from the truth. "I shouldn't be like this. I shouldn't be… weak."
Jay's eyes widened.
"Stop saying that," she whispered, voice breaking.
He shook his head once, bitter. "I'm not weak. I'm just—"
He stopped.
He couldn't finish the sentence.
His face tightened. His hands trembled.
And then, for the first time, Keifer did something he never did.
He let himself be vulnerable.
He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around himself, like he was holding himself together.
Jay's voice was soft, almost desperate. "Keifer, please."
He looked up, eyes shining.
"I don't know how to be okay without you," he admitted. "And I don't know how to fix it when you're… distant."
Jay's throat tightened.
She stepped closer, gently taking his hand.
"You don't have to fix it alone," she said.
Keifer's shoulders shook once, like he was fighting tears.
"I don't want to lose you," he said quietly.
Jay swallowed hard.
"I don't want to lose you either," she whispered back, and this time she meant it with everything in her.
She moved closer, slowly, like she didn't want to scare him away.
"Keifer," she said softly, "I didn't mean to push you away. I didn't realize I was doing it."
He stared at her, voice trembling. "Then don't."
Jay nodded, tears slipping down her cheeks. "I won't."
She took both his hands in hers and looked at him like she was seeing him again for the first time.
"I'll come home on time," she promised. "I'll talk to you. I'll stop hiding in work."
Keifer's eyes stayed on hers.
And for the first time in days, he looked like himself again.
Not perfect. Not controlled. Just… real.
"Good," he whispered.
Jay smiled through her tears. "Good."
And for the first time in a long time, the silence between them wasn't empty.
It was safe.
Jay's apology didn't come out clean.
It came out like something she'd been holding in for too long.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, voice shaking. "I didn't mean to… to pull away. I didn't mean to make you feel like I didn't care."
Keifer stood still, quiet. Not angry. Not dismissive. Just… listening.
Jay's eyes stayed on the floor for a moment, and then she looked up at him.
"You were always there," she said, voice cracking. "Even when I didn't notice. Even when I didn't say it."
She swallowed hard, breath catching.
"And I—" she tried to continue, but her words broke.
The control she'd been holding onto all week snapped.
Her shoulders shook once, then again.
Tears spilled over, and Jay couldn't stop them. She tried to blink them away, tried to hold herself together, but it was too late. The pain she'd been burying finally found a way out.
"I'm sorry," she repeated, louder now, as if saying it enough times would make it true. "I'm sorry I made you feel like you weren't important."
Keifer's face softened.
Jay's hands trembled as she reached up, touching her own cheek like she could wipe away the tears with her fingertips.
"I didn't mean to make you feel like you were replaceable," she whispered, voice cracking again. "I didn't mean to make you feel… like you weren't enough."
She shook her head, as if trying to clear her thoughts. "I'm so sorry."
Her body was shaking now. Not with anger, but with the kind of emotional release that comes when you've been strong for too long.
Keifer didn't say anything.
He didn't move.
He just stood there and watched her break.
And for the first time, Jay realized that her distance hadn't only hurt him.
It had hurt her too.
Because she was finally seeing the truth—
She had pushed him away, and it had made her feel empty inside.
Her voice lowered to a whisper.
"I don't want to lose you," she admitted, barely audible.
Keifer's eyes held hers.
And Jay's tears kept falling.
Keifer didn't move at first.
He stood there, watching her cry, as if he was trying to understand how to step into this moment without breaking the fragile space around them.
Then he did something Jay didn't expect.
He sat down on the edge of the bed and patted the space beside him.
Not demanding. Not commanding.
Just offering.
Jay hesitated for a second, then sat down slowly, still trembling.
Keifer didn't touch her right away. He waited, giving her the choice.
When she finally leaned slightly toward him, he wrapped one arm around her shoulders—careful, steady, like he was holding a glass that could break.
Jay pressed her face into his shirt, letting the tears fall.
Keifer didn't say anything. He didn't try to fix her. He didn't make speeches. He simply held her.
After a few moments, Jay pulled back just enough to look at him.
"I don't know what I did," she whispered.
Keifer's voice was soft, calm. "You didn't do anything wrong."
Jay shook her head, tears still flowing. "But I did. I pushed you away."
He nodded slowly. "You did. And it hurt."
Jay flinched, as if she expected him to say something harsher.
Keifer continued, voice steady. "But I'm here."
Jay looked up, eyes searching his face.
"I'm not leaving," he added. "Not because you apologized… because you mattered to me even when you were distant."
Jay's breath hitched.
She swallowed hard. "You don't have to say that."
"I know," he replied. "But you needed to hear it."
Jay's tears slowed, but she still looked fragile.
Keifer tightened his arm around her a little, still gentle, still careful.
"You don't have to carry everything alone," he said quietly. "I'm not asking you to be perfect. I'm just asking you to let me be there."
Jay nodded, voice barely audible. "Okay."
Keifer stayed like that, quiet and steady, letting her calm down at her own pace.
No drama. No grand gestures.
Just him.
And for Jay, that was enough.
The days after Jay's breakdown were quiet, but different.
Not because everything was fixed.
Because the tension between them was finally acknowledged, and that alone changed the air.
They didn't try to act like nothing had happened. They didn't force big conversations or dramatic apologies. They didn't need to. They simply started doing small things that meant they were still choosing each other.
It began with the way Jay started coming home earlier again—not because she was forced to, but because she wanted to.
And Keifer noticed.
He didn't make a big deal out of it. He didn't praise her. He didn't even mention it. He just… looked up when she walked in, eyes meeting hers with a calm steadiness that felt like home.
Jay, in turn, began to talk more.
Not about work. Not about the "important" things.
Just about the day.
The little annoyances. The small victories. The things that used to feel normal.
Keifer listened.
Sometimes he answered. Sometimes he hummed. Sometimes he didn't say anything at all.
But the silence wasn't empty anymore.
It was comfortable.
One evening, Jay made dinner.
Keifer didn't help, not because he didn't want to—because he was giving her space, like she'd asked for without ever saying it.
When she set the plates down, she hesitated, then looked at him.
"Thank you," she said quietly.
Keifer glanced up. "For what?"
"For staying," she replied.
He gave her a small nod. "I didn't leave."
Jay smiled softly. "I know."
And that was the kind of reassurance that didn't need to be spoken loudly.
They started doing other small things too:
Keifer began asking her questions again, not just about work, but about how she was feeling.
Jay stopped keeping her phone hidden, and started letting him see when she was busy.
They stopped drifting into separate rooms at night and began sitting together again, even if they weren't talking.
It wasn't perfect.
There were still moments when Jay would get quiet, or when Keifer would drift into work and forget to check in. But now, when those moments happened, they didn't spiral.
They noticed them.
They corrected them.
They were rebuilding, piece by piece.
One night, Jay looked at Keifer while he was reading on the couch, and she felt the urge to say something she hadn't said in a long time.
"Can I ask you something?" she said.
Keifer didn't look up immediately. "Sure."
Jay took a breath. "Why didn't you leave?"
He paused, then finally looked at her.
"Because you were still here," he said simply.
Jay's eyes softened. "Even when I was distant?"
Keifer nodded. "Especially then."
Jay leaned back, a small smile forming. "You're stubborn."
"Maybe," he replied calmly.
But the smile on his face was real.
And for the first time in a long time, Jay felt like they were moving forward—not because the past was gone, but because they were learning how to be together after it.