THE NEXT DAY
JAY'S POV :
I tapped the digital lock one more time like a nervous surgeon checking a stitch. The smooth matte panel blinked a satisfied amber, and the bolt slid home with a soft mechanical sigh. Sleek, efficient, and impossibly satisfying. I'd programmed my fingerprint and a simple four-digit code, 2902 — Keifer's birthday. No one would guess that. It made me smile.
My room was exactly the way I wanted it. Photos crouched on every flat surface: Keifer face-first in a muddy puddle, Keifer mid-laugh with his cheekbones catching the sun, Keifer with a cheeky smudge of cake on his lip. I had arranged them like constellations — if I blinked, I'd still see him. I'd gathered every picture I could find — I wanted him here, in every corner.
I lay back on the bed and let the quiet hum of the condo sink into my bones. The clock read 4:45 p.m. I sighed and closed my eyes.
Dring.
The doorbell stabbed through my little peace like someone throwing confetti at a funeral. I padded to the main door, slid it open, and nearly dropped the frame on my foot from surprise.
Section E had arrived: a human tide of noise and sneakers, all of them crowding my doorway like weeds. Keifer stood at the front, exactly where heat and trouble conspired, hands shoved in his pockets and a slow, dangerous smirk parked on his face. If smugness were a cat, Keifer would be the sort that knocks over your plant and looks pleased about it.
Ci-N barreled in first, announcing himself with the kind of embrace that should have required a waiver.
"JAAY!" he crowed, and crushed me like a human hug machine.
"Ci…ci…ge…get off!" I wheezed, lungs folding in.
He didn't hear me; he was too busy squeezing all the air out of my lungs. Keifer reached over, tugged him back with languid ease, and I suddenly had air again.
"You're hurting her, Ci," Keifer said — not mean, not gentle — just the kind of comment that made everyone pause because it sounded like possession dressed as concern.
Ci-N blinked.
"I'm sorry. I just missed you," he said, mild as a confession.
I managed a small smile and hugged him. He hugged me back like I was the center of everything. A few of them cleared their throats.
"Are we gonna come in, or just stand here?" Calix asked, patient as ever.
I stepped aside and let the chaos sweep into my condo. They fanned in like a chaotic bloom, pockets of laughter erupting, shoes slung like trophies, turning my neat new space into a touring ground. My pristine condo — and by pristine I meant the one day I'd achieved zen-level tidiness — was being lovingly wrecked. Section E and chaos were married, I decided — wherever they went, neither stayed tidy for long.
"Guys!" I tried to get their attention.
They ignored me.
"Guys!"
Ignored again.
"GUYS!" I shouted.
Heads turned like a particularly theatrical flock. They obeyed me as though I'd just flipped a switch.
"Sit down."
Their movement was instant and ridiculous. They dropped like obedient ducks. Keifer lingered against the wall, arms folded, watching me with amusement at my attempt to govern a stadium.
"First," I said, pacing like I'd practiced authority in an empty room, "how did you all know I'm here? And second, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU ALL DOING HERE?"
Rory fumbled like a man who'd been given a riddle and then handed a firecracker.
"Well… Keifer told us you live here. And—" He stopped, eyes darting, like a sentence caught on a wire.
"Finish that damn sentence!" I barked.
Who can be more patient than this? Never me.
"Ci-N suggested we have a party here," Rory blurted. "Because he said you got your 'freedom' from Angelo, so he wanted to celebrate your 'Independence Day.' It was entirely his idea. We were forced to accept," Rory said in one breath.
"Hey, I did not say that!" Ci-N protested when everyone turned accusing looks on him.
"You absolutely did," Felix said, like a gavel.
"No, I didn't." Ci-N stuck to his denial.
"You did," they chorused until Ci-N stopped defending himself and started grinning like a man only half-surprised he'd been caught.
"Maybe…but I did not force anyone. They accepted the moment I suggested," he said.
I raised an eyebrow at them.
"Seriously? My 'Independence Day'?" I said incredulously.
"Guys, I moved here yesterday."
"Exactly," someone said, and I wanted to punch the abstract "they" in the face.
"I unpacked yesterday."
"Exactly."
"I cleaned yesterday."
"Exac—" The interruption stopped when I glared hard enough to make a grown man swallow.
"I don't want my house to be a mess the day after I clean it," I said, sharper than intended.
"Jaay…" someone began, tentative.
"No," I said flatly.
"Jaayy—"
"Not gonna happen."
"We will clean," Eren offered, because there's always one saint in the group.
All eyes swung to him, then to me. Eren smiled like he'd volunteered for the worst kind of punishment.
"What? We don't have a choice. She's not gonna accept otherwise," he defended.
"Fine," I said. "But don't break anything."
"Aye aye, captain," Felix saluted, ridiculous and sincere.
I rolled my eyes and, inexplicably, smiled.
Eman commandeered the kitchen and started cooking like a wizard with spices. The apartment smelled like frying garlic, something sweet, and the faint metallic tang from too many plastic bottles on a coffee table. People dispersed: couch, TV, floor, random corners. I was halfway to settling when Ci-N came up to my locked bedroom door and cocked an eyebrow.
"Why does only this room have a digital lock?" he asked, pointing like someone reading a very private menu.
"Because it's my room," I said, as if that covered everything.
"Okay, but why does only this need this level of privacy? Even your main door doesn't have it," he persisted.
"Because I value my privacy. I don't like people in my room," I said, like a declarative sentence should close the conversation.
The teasing started like a ripple.
"Wow. She literally said we're strangers."
"Our warrior has secrets."
"She indirectly said, fuck off."
"What's the number?" Ci-N pushed, curiosity flush on his face.
"I'll say it in your dreams," I shot, because secrets are mine to keep.
"Please," they begged in unison, which is a terrible strategy unless you're funding an infomercial.
"No."
"Tell us."
"Please, Jay." Felix went for the puppy eyes. It was dangerous and nearly effective.
"No."
Their groans had a musical quality. Yuri and Keifer, however, said nothing. They stood together like a weather front in slow motion. Keifer's smirk sharpened when he saw I'd flinched at the topic. He has a glow that's part smug, part feral curiosity. He leaned toward me and his breath warmed my ear.
They walked over and leaned in like conspirators. Yuri tried.
"Jay, aren't you even gonna tell me?"
"No."
"Jay, we're best friends."
"For that? No." I teased him, and he pretended to pout.
Keifer remained quiet, his smirk sharpened when he saw I'd flinched at the topic. He has a glow that's part smug, part feral curiosity. He leaned toward me and his breath warmed my ear.
"In Section E, no secret lasts long," he murmured. "One day everything comes out."
"I'm not letting that day be today, Watson," I said, offering a smirk of my own.
He didn't respond with words. He just studied me, eyes amused and unreadable. I warned him again, half-joking:
"Don't try cracking my passcode with your stupid hackers. If you do, I'm throwing you out."
The night slid by in small, bright moments: jokes flung like confetti, snacks eaten with the sort of enthusiasm reserved for teenagers, and the constant fizz of mild, affectionate chaos. I sat between Ci-N and Keifer on the couch, and felt the closeness like a burn. Keifer's shoulder nudged mine; his arm slipped behind me and his thigh warmed mine. My body registered these as physics, my mind as a possible disaster. I did not move away. This is relevant.
"Do you want a drink?" Ci-N asked, offering me a bottle.
"Yes," I said and accepted it. My fingers brushed his briefly. The room erupted into mock surprise that I drank it all.
"You drink," Felix repeated as if the concept were newly discovered gold.
"What kind of question is that? Of course."
"How old were you when you started?" David asked, a stupid and precise question.
My jaw did a small, mechanical thing of memories — news clippings, quiet midnight crying, the hush of things that were never explained — or the only explanations we had. The number crept out of me like a guilty thing.
"…nine."
The room reacted like I'd announced I could fly. They staged a mock faint, which would have been funnier if it wasn't carved from the truth. Keifer went still for a heartbeat, a small tightening at the corner of his mouth. Then he was his usual, infuriatingly unreadable self.
"We never knew," someone accused.
"You didn't get caught?"
"I was careful," I said simply.
They showered me with ridiculous admiration — "expert," "legal prodigy of hiding things" — and the room lightened. Keifer stayed close and quiet.
We made jokes to keep the air from tipping into pity. Laughter is a discipline; we practiced it well.
Eventually, Ci-N suggested a game. "Truth or Dare," he announced. A prickle of dread ran down my spine.
"No way," I said, because some corners of my life I keep sealed.
"Please," they begged, and I love how they think begging is a strategy.
"Fine. But no one asks about that room." My voice was small but fierce.
They acted shocked. I felt like a queen declaring a law in a crowded tavern.
They all nodded suspiciously.
"Whoever refuses drinks the 'kitchen special'," Ci-N added, and the threat was a laughable kitchen mix of mystery liquids in a jar on the coffee table.
We circled on the floor with the empty chow area as our stage. The bottle spin chose targets like a roulette wheel; we prodded and teased and bared silly confessions.
It landed on Eren, who confidently said "truth," and I asked for all the phone numbers of his girlfriends because apparently my curiosity was a blunt instrument that night. Ci-N boldly proposed to Rakki on video call and got a blushing "not yet" before the call was cut. Josh owned up to a secret girlfriend. Yuri confessed a crush but wouldn't tell who, though I know it. We made fools of ourselves in good company.
When the bottle clicked and pointed at me, I chose "truth."
"How many exes?" Felix asked, grinning.
I looked at Keifer, who was looking at me like he'd memorize my face for archaeology, and I lied on a whim because secrets are currency and I liked the exchange.
"Three."
"Oh my god," they gasped in chorus.
It was theatrical. It was stupid. It was protective.
Later the spinner landed on Keifer. He chose truth. Because I am a terrible person who loves fireworks, I asked,
"Who was your first kiss? On the lips."
I wanted to see if memory trembled the way mine did.
He looked at me — just looked — and said,
"You."
Time turned over like a coin. The room erupted in teasing, horned and ecstatic. My insides ran hot, foolish, jumpy. Did he remember? Did he mean it? My brain demanded proof and my heart filed for extension.
When the bottle came back to me, Ci-N grinned. "Dare."
"…dance to 'Shape of You' with Keifer," he said, like a man inventing trouble.
I refused. For thirty-two seconds. Then someone threatened the kitchen special — a jar of blended horrors that smelled like a chemistry experiment and regret — and suddenly I was an adult with reasonable standards.
"Fine," I said.
Keifer's smirk widened, pleased like a cat who'd caught a mouse. He stood and extended his hand with mock gallantry. My heart thudded as I took it.
We moved into a clear patch of floor. The opening beat was like a cue to everything else to hush. The song started and I felt my body tighten in sympathetic protest. The first steps were clumsy and practiced, the sort of choreography two people who've been quietly orbiting each other improvise. Keifer led; I followed. His hand at my waist was perfectly placed, an anchor. The rest of the room dissolved into background noise: muffled laughter, someone whooping once, the hiss of the kettle in the kitchen. Section E watched like an audience at a gladiator match, energy taut and expectant.
We did the routine — hip rolls, a dip here and there — the kind of moves that let you touch someone with the excuse of rhythm. Keifer pressed close in the chorus, his breath warm against my neck. The world shrank to the friction of our bodies and the sound of the music. My footwear slid against the floor; our hands found the sort of second names you only say in a silence where confessions are allowed.
At a turn near the end he dipped me low, steady as a promise. I felt his breath hit my face. The move finished like a breath exhaled too soon, and the room exploded into applause like a storm breaking. They hooted, they called us "Jayfer" in a blend of mockery and blessing, they named us a ship and I wanted to throw something at them for being so right.
I slumped back onto the couch, flushed and a little dizzy, while they teased us into a frenzy of jokes. Later, they actually cleaned, and began to file out. I checked the time: 9:00 p.m. One by one they left with promises to reconvene tomorrow, to bring more snacks, to solve all the problems we hadn't asked them to fix. Ci-N clung like a puppy who'd found its favorite chew toy.
"I'm going to miss you," he moaned.
"Tomorrow," I promised.
"Tomorrow is a long time."
"If you don't leave me alone, I will—" and he took that threat seriously enough to run for his freedom.
When the crowd noise dwindled into the hush of the stairwell, Keifer lingered. He didn't leave. I wanted to be irritated at his refusal to disappear, but honestly, irritating him would have required moving and he'd just stolen all the energy out of my limbs anyway.
"You won't go?" I asked, head tipped like an accusation turned into a question.
"I don't want to," he said, shrugging like it was an open-and-shut case of preference, "but I have to."
He paused by the door, then turned and offered me that merciless, small smile of his — the one that rearranges expectations.
"Bye, Jay."
I smiled because it seemed like currency, because reciprocation is polite, because the muscle memory of the expression was easier than a full confession.
"Bye."
I locked the door and let my back hit the wood, the apartment suddenly too quiet and too large. I sagged onto the couch like something that needed recharging. The living room hummed with the ghost of laughter. The photos on the dresser stared back, unmoved and perfectly villainous in their innocence.
KEIFER'SPOV:
I'd wanted to kiss her all day — not the polite press of cheeks, not the passing brush of strangers, but the kind that screamed, I remember you, I've been thinking about you, you're mine. Section E's invasion had wrecked every plan to get a corner alone with her. So I improvised, which is a nicer word for "I pulled a small, calculated trick."
I "forgot" my keys. I let it be obvious: pockets checked, a puzzled face, a bit of dramatic pacing on the landing. Then I slipped back upstairs like a thief with a cause.
Jay opened the door before I could finish the gag. Her face registered confusion, then mild annoyance, which was my favorite face after mischief. I didn't give her time to recover. I kissed her.
It was not a gentle first-sip kiss. It was a take-it-or-leave-it, hungry thing. I wanted to close the distance the world had been holding between us and shove it into a pocket. She stumbled backward she pinned to the wall. My hand found drywall and my other palm braced at her waist. I was messy and deliberate and entirely myself.
When we broke away — because reality and basic decency eventually get the last word — I swept my hand at the table, grabbed my keys, and said, with the kind of mischief that earned me a permanent tab in her mental ledger, "I forgot my kiss."
Then I walked away before she could decide whether I'd actually meant to leave or to stay.
JAY'SPOV :
For a long minute I stood there, the echo of his lips still humming on my own.
He'd said "kiss," right? Not "keys"? Did he say both? I checked the table reflexively and found my heart in my throat instead of the keys.
I sat down on the floor and let the day replay like a film stuck on the prettiest frame: Keifer's smirk, our dance, the ridiculous closeness, that abrupt, messy kiss. My carefully constructed privacy — the lock, the photo constellations, the small victories — felt simultaneously secure and suddenly porous. He'd gotten inside even when the door was shut.
I pressed my forehead to the couch and laughed once, a small, incredulous sound. My neat world is a mess — but maybe the mess has its own kind of truth. The photos looked the same, but now they felt like tickets to something I hadn't yet bought. I curled up and let the feeling settle: frightened, thrilled, ridiculous, painfully alive.
~~~~~~~
I'm so so sorry guys. I know you will be writing my name on the death wish by now. I'm so sorry. I was sick. My cold is the worst thing ever. Small climate change, and I would catch cold. Last year, my cold lasted for 2 months. I really hate it. It's really embarrassing. And my voice, it is base and more masculine than my class boys. If I prank call someone through my phone to someone who saved my number, they'll believe it. I promise. I'm so sorry for troubling you guys. I'll try to send next chapter as soon as possible.
Your author,
Cris….