Jay-Jay 's POV
"I—"
The word barely makes it past my lips.
It doesn't belong to any sentence.
It just hangs there, fragile and unfinished, before collapsing under the weight of everything I've never said.
My chest tightens.
Not the sharp kind of pain.
The suffocating kind—the kind that comes when the truth has been waiting too long.
Keifer doesn't rush me.
That's the worst part.
He stands there in front of me, eyes locked onto mine, jaw tight but calm, hands clenched at his sides like he's holding himself together by sheer will. He looks… steady.
Like he's giving me space to either save myself or ruin us.
Tears blur my vision before I can stop them.
I swallow hard.
I can't do this.
I can't lie anymore.
Not to him.
Not to myself.
So instead of forcing the words out—
Instead of letting fear speak first—
I step forward.
And I kiss him.
It's not dramatic.
It's not perfect.
It's soft. Shaky. Honest.
My lips barely press against his, trembling like I'm afraid he'll disappear if I pull away.
For half a second, he freezes.
And in that heartbeat, I almost panic.
Then his hands come up—slow, careful—resting against my back as he kisses me back.
Not rough.
Not rushed.
Like he's afraid to break me.
Like he's been waiting for this moment just as long as I have.
The world disappears.
No guilt.
No fear.
No past.
Just this.
We part slowly, foreheads nearly touching, both of us breathing hard like we just ran a mile instead of crossed a decade.
Keifer searches my face like he's trying to read something written between my tears.
His voice comes out low. Stunned.
"Jay… what does that mean?"
I let out a shaky laugh, wiping my cheeks with the back of my hand.
"Gago," I whisper, voice breaking. "It means I love you too."
Something shifts in his expression.
Not relief.
Not victory.
Something softer.
Something undone.
His lips curve into a smile that looks almost unreal—like he doesn't trust it yet.
He leans in slowly, close enough that I can feel his breath against my ear.
And then he whispers—
"Damn."
My breath catches instantly.
Because I remember.
Our rule.
My eyes widen just a little.
He notices.
Of course he does.
A smirk tugs at his lips.
"Rule's a rule," he murmurs.
And then he kisses me again.
This one is different.
Still gentle.
But certain.
Like he knows now.
Like he's not afraid anymore.
When we pull back, our foreheads rest together, noses brushing, breaths syncing without effort.
"I've waited a long time to hear that," he says quietly.
My throat tightens all over again.
Before I can respond, he pulls me into a hug.
Not desperate.
Not clinging.
The kind of hug that says you're here, and I'm not letting go.
I press my face against his chest, my hands gripping the back of his shirt like it's the only thing keeping me upright.
For the first time in ten years—
I feel like I'm home.
Keifer exhales softly above my head.
"You know," he adds, voice teasing but warm, "this is not how I imagined you confessing."
I huff out a laugh against him. "Oh? And how did you imagine it?"
He tilts his head, pretending to think. "Dramatic speech. Tears. Maybe you kneeling."
I pull back just enough to glare at him. "You are impossible."
He grins. "And yet—you kissed me."
I shove his chest lightly. "Don't get smug."
"Too late," he says, eyes sparkling. "I already won."
"You didn't win anything."
"Oh, I absolutely did," he replies, leaning in again just enough to make my heart stutter. "I got you back."
My voice softens. "You never lost me."
His teasing fades at that.
Something unspoken passes between us.
His thumb brushes against my hand, absentminded, familiar.
"So," he says lightly, though his eyes are anything but. "We're really doing this again?"
I swallow. Then nod.
"Yes."
His smile this time is slow. Dangerous.
"Good," he says. "Because I have approximately ten years' worth of teasing to catch up on."
I groan. "I take it back."
"Too late," he repeats, already amused. "Rule number one—"
He leans closer.
"—no more running."
I meet his gaze.
"…Okay."
And for the first time in a long time—
The future doesn't feel terrifying.
It feels possible.
We don't move right away.
Not because we can't—
but because neither of us wants to be the first to let go.
Keifer's arms are around me, firm and warm, one hand resting at the small of my back like it's always known that spot belonged to him. My cheek is pressed against his chest, right over his heartbeat.
It's fast.
Just like mine.
We breathe together for a moment, syncing without trying. The world feels quieter here, like everything loud and painful has finally stepped aside.
"You're shaking," he murmurs.
I don't deny it.
"I know."
His hand moves up my back slowly, grounding, not demanding. Just there.
"I've got you," he says. "You can breathe."
I do.
And that's when the weight hits me.
The kind that doesn't crush—
but makes your knees weak.
"I didn't think you would still…" My voice trails off, too fragile to finish the sentence.
Still what?
Still love me?
Still wait?
Keifer shifts slightly, just enough to look down at me. His thumb brushes under my eye, wiping away a tear I didn't realize escaped.
"Jay," he says quietly, "I already know."
I blink. "…Know what?"
"Why you left."
My breath stutters.
"You… you do?"
He nods once. Calm. Certain.
"I always did."
My chest tightens painfully this time.
"You never asked," I whisper.
"I didn't need to," he replies. "I knew if you were running, it wasn't because you stopped caring."
I pull back just enough to look at him. "But I hurted everyone. I hurted her."
"Yes," he says honestly. "You did."
The truth doesn't feel like a knife.
It feels like air finally reaching a wound.
"But I never blamed you," he continues. "And I never hated you for it."
My eyes burn.
"You looked for me," I say softly. "You tried."
"I did," he admits. "For a long time."
My voice cracks. "And I wasn't there."
He cups my face with both hands now, steadying me when my knees threaten to give in.
"Hey," he says firmly but gently. "Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Turn this into punishment."
Tears spill over before I can stop them.
"I left everyone," I whisper. "I left you. And the guilt—Keifer, it almost broke me."
His forehead rests against mine.
"I know."
The way he says it—
not accusing, not questioning—
just knowing—
undoes me.
"I kept thinking," I continue shakily, "that maybe if I suffered enough, it would make it right."
His grip tightens just a little.
"You don't get to sentence yourself forever," he says. "Especially not when no one ever asked you to."
I shake my head. "You don't understand how heavy it was."
He exhales, almost a laugh—soft, sad.
"Oh, Jay," he says. "You think I didn't carry it too?"
I freeze.
"You carried it," I whisper.
"Every day," he replies. "But not as anger. As understanding."
I search his eyes. "How?"
He smiles faintly. "Because loving you was never conditional."
That breaks something open inside me.
"I never stopped loving you," I confess, voice barely holding together.
There it is.
The truth I've been circling around for ten years.
Keifer doesn't look surprised.
He doesn't hesitate.
"I know," he says simply.
I laugh through tears. "You're too confident."
He smirks, some of his teasing slipping back in. "Please. I'm irresistible. Trauma included."
I snort despite myself. "You're unbelievable."
"And yet," he says, leaning in closer, eyes warm, "you're still here."
I rest my forehead against his again. "…I am."
Keifer's POV
She looks lighter when she finally says it.
Not relieved—
free.
Jay has always carried her emotions like armor, convincing herself that if she felt enough guilt, it meant she still cared.
I hated that.
I hated watching her punish herself in silence.
"You don't have to be strong with me," I tell her quietly.
She looks up. "I don't know how to stop."
I brush my thumb over her cheek. "Then don't. I'll hold the weight with you."
Her lips tremble. "You always say things like that."
I grin. "I know. It's my charm. Very annoying. Very effective."
She laughs softly, leaning into my chest again.
"Just so we're clear," I add casually, "you confess your undying love and expect me to act normal?"
She groans. "Don't start."
"Oh, I'm absolutely starting," I say. "This is a big day. I'm emotionally vulnerable and smug."
She pokes my side. "You're impossible."
"And you love me."
"…Unfortunately."
I smile, pressing a kiss to the top of her head—gentle, grounding.
"Jay," I say softly, "you don't have to carry the past alone anymore."
She nods against me.
For the first time since she came back—
she isn't running.
And neither am I.
Jay-Jay's POV
Home feels different this time.
Not heavier.
Not haunted.
Just… quiet.
The door closes behind us with a soft click, and for a second we simply stand there—still too aware of each other, still buzzing from everything we said, everything we didn't.
The lights are dim, warm, casting familiar shadows on the walls. The living room smells faintly like coffee and old books and something unmistakably him.
Keifer drops his keys on the table, then turns to look at me.
Not rushed.
Not nervous.
Just… taking me in.
"You okay?" he asks.
I nod. "Yeah. I think so."
He raises an eyebrow. "Think so is not very convincing."
I shrug. "My emotions are still buffering."
He snorts. "Typical."
I kick off my shoes, curling my toes against the cool floor. He watches me like it's the most interesting thing in the world.
"You're staring," I point out.
"Can you blame me?" he replies. "I just got my girl back."
My heart flips. "You're very confident for someone who almost cried an hour ago."
He grins. "Excuse you. I did cry. Masculinely."
I laugh, the sound echoing softly in the room.
We move around each other easily, instinctively—like no time passed at all. I place my bag on the couch, shrugging off my jacket.
That's when I notice him go still.
Completely still.
The air changes.
I turn—and see his eyes fixed on my hand.
My left hand.
My breath catches.
The ring.
The simple silver band. Slightly worn. Familiar in a way that aches.
The London ring.
His voice comes out quieter than I've ever heard it.
"…You kept it."
I don't answer right away.
Because saying it out loud makes it real.
"Yes," I finally whisper.
He steps closer, slowly, like he's afraid the moment will disappear if he moves too fast.
"You kept it," he repeats, disbelief threaded through every syllable.
"I never took it off for long," I say, forcing myself to meet his eyes. "Sometimes I hid it. Sometimes I told myself I didn't deserve to wear it."
He swallows.
"But I could never let it go."
His fingers hover near my hand, not touching yet. Like he's asking permission without words.
"May I?" he asks softly.
I nod.
He takes my hand in his, turning it gently, thumb brushing over the ring like it might vanish.
His voice cracks just a little. "I looked for this."
I smile sadly. "I know."
"Thought maybe you'd thrown it away," he admits. "Or buried it somewhere dramatic."
"Please," I say. "I'm not that poetic."
He lets out a breath that's half laugh, half something dangerously close to tears.
"Jay," he murmurs.
I squeeze his hand. "Didn't I tell you?"
He looks up.
"I never stopped loving you."
Silence.
The good kind.
Keifer laughs softly, shaking his head like he can't believe his luck. "So let me get this straight."
Uh-oh.
"You disappeared for ten years," he continues, eyes gleaming with mischief, "but kept my ring?"
I cringe. "When you say it like that—"
"So," he goes on, clearly enjoying himself, "you were emotionally married to me this whole time?"
My cheeks burn. "That is not—"
He grins wider. "Wow. Commitment. I should be flattered."
"You're insufferable."
"And yet," he says, stepping closer, "you're smiling."
I am.
He lifts my chin gently. "You know what this means, right?"
I raise an eyebrow. "What?"
He lowers his voice. "I win."
"At what?"
"At loving you longer."
I scoff. "Absolutely not."
"Oh, come on," he teases. "I even gave you jewelry. That's practically a legal advantage."
I laugh, shaking my head. "You're impossible."
"But you kept it," he says again, softer now. "You kept me."
Something in his expression makes my chest ache.
"I did," I whisper.
He leans in then—not rushed, not desperate.
Slow.
Certain.
Our lips meet in a kiss that feels like a promise finally kept.
Not fireworks.
Not urgency.
Just warmth.
His hand rests at my waist, steady and familiar. Mine curl into his shirt, grounding myself in the reality of him.
When we pull back, our foreheads touch.
Keifer exhales. "You have no idea how badly I wanted this."
I smile. "I think I do."
He tilts his head, eyes dancing. "Careful. I might start saying things that the readers will not be able to tolerate."
I snort. "Behave."
"I am behaving," he says innocently. "I'm just… thinking loudly."
I push him lightly. "You're terrible."
"And you're still wearing my ring."
He kisses me again—shorter this time, teasing.
"This seals it," he murmurs. "Past. Present. Future."
I rest my head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat.
Steady.
Real.
Safe.
And for the first time in ten years—
I don't feel like I'm carrying this alone anymore.
The exhaustion doesn't hit all at once.
It creeps in quietly—slipping into my bones, loosening the tight knots I didn't even realize I was holding.
Everything feels… heavier now that I don't have to run anymore.
Keifer notices before I do.
"You're swaying," he says, amusement threaded with concern.
"I am not," I argue weakly.
He tilts his head. "Jay. You just blinked for three seconds."
"That was a long blink," I mutter.
He laughs softly and reaches for my hand. "Come on. Bed. Before you fall asleep standing and I have to pretend I planned it."
"I would never give you that satisfaction."
"Oh, I'd take it," he says easily. "I thrive on your chaos."
The bedroom is dim, lit only by the lamp near the window. The city hums faintly outside, distant and unimportant.
We don't rush.
No awkwardness.
No nerves.
Just two people finally allowed to rest.
I kick off my shoes and sit on the edge of the bed, rubbing my eyes. Keifer moves around me, calm and familiar, like this has always been where we end up.
"You okay?" he asks again, quieter this time.
I nod. "Just… tired. In a good way."
He smiles. "Emotionally concussed?"
"Exactly."
We lie down side by side, the mattress dipping beneath our combined weight. For a moment, there's space between us.
Then I roll toward him without thinking.
My forehead presses into his chest. My hand curls into his shirt.
It feels natural.
Like muscle memory.
Keifer stiffens for half a second—then relaxes completely. His arm comes around me, strong and warm, pulling me closer until there's no space left to question.
His hand settles at my back.
Not wandering.
Not demanding.
Just there.
My chest tightens.
I'm safe.
The thought comes so suddenly it almost hurts.
He shifts slightly, tucking me in closer, his chin resting lightly against my hair.
"You always did this," he murmurs.
"Did what?"
"Fit right here," he says, tapping his chest gently. "Like you were custom-made to steal my body heat."
I huff. "Rude. I run cold."
"Convenient excuse."
I smile against him. "You don't seem to mind."
"Oh, I mind," he says solemnly. "I will absolutely complain while refusing to let go."
I laugh softly, my fingers tracing the fabric of his shirt. "You're very dramatic."
"You love it."
I do.
His thumb brushes slow circles against my arm, absent-minded, soothing. The room grows quieter, the world shrinking down to the sound of his breathing and the steady beat beneath my ear.
"You okay?" he whispers, barely audible.
"Yes," I breathe. "I really am."
"Good," he says. "Because if you weren't, I'd have to start punching emotions, and I don't think that's productive."
I snort. "You'd lose."
"Rude. I bench press unresolved trauma."
I tilt my head up just enough to look at him. His eyes are half-lidded, soft in the low light.
"You're teasing again," I say.
"Habit," he replies. "Also defense mechanism."
"Against what?"
"Against how much I want to just… keep you here forever."
My throat tightens.
He notices instantly.
"Hey," he murmurs, lifting my chin gently. "Too much?"
I shake my head. "No. Just… a lot."
He nods, understanding. "Yeah. Same."
He leans down and presses a kiss to my hair—slow, careful, like he's afraid of waking something fragile.
"I've got you," he whispers.
Something in my chest finally unclenches.
We settle back into the pillows, my leg draped loosely over his, his arm firm around my waist. His hand flexes once, instinctive, protective.
"Keifer?" I murmur, sleep already tugging at my words.
"Hmm?"
"Don't disappear in the morning."
He chuckles softly. "I'm not the one with a track record of vanishing."
"Still," I say. "Promise."
He tightens his arm just a little. "I promise."
Silence settles again, thick and comfortable.
My breathing slows. My thoughts blur.
The last thing I feel is his fingers brushing through my hair, gentle and reverent.
Keifer's POV
She falls asleep first.
She always did.
Her breathing evens out, soft against my chest, fingers still curled into my shirt like she might float away if she lets go.
I don't move.
I don't want to risk it.
I study her face in the dim light—the faint crease between her brows finally smoothed out, her lashes resting against her cheeks.
Peaceful.
Safe.
I kiss her hair again, lingering this time.
"I've got you," I whisper, more promise than words.
And for the first time in years—
I believe it.
We sleep like that.
No past.
No fear.
Just us.
Grounded.
Together.
Jay-Jay's POV
Morning arrives gently.
Not crashing in like it usually does.
Sunlight spills through the curtains in soft gold lines, warming my face, my hands—my thoughts. For a moment, I don't move. I just breathe.
Safe.
Then I realize something very important.
There is an arm around my waist.
A very solid, very familiar arm.
I open one eye.
Keifer.
Still here.
Relief spreads through me before I can stop it.
I shift slightly, trying to stretch without waking him—and that's when his grip tightens.
"Nice try," he mumbles, voice rough with sleep. "You're not escaping."
"I wasn't escaping," I whisper innocently. "I was… adjusting."
"Mmhmm." His chin dips closer to my hair. "That's what you said ten years ago too."
I groan. "Why are you awake."
"Because you breathe weird when you're about to run."
"That is a lie."
"You snort," he adds helpfully.
I elbow him lightly. He chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest.
"Good morning to you too," he says.
I turn in his arms to face him properly. His hair is messy, eyes still heavy with sleep, but there's a softness there that makes my chest ache.
"Morning," I say quietly.
He studies my face like he's checking for cracks. Then his lips curve.
"Well," he says, stretching, "this is significantly better than waking up alone and emotionally damaged."
"You are so romantic."
"I contain multitudes."
I grab a pillow and smack his chest. He laughs and catches it mid-air.
"Oh, violence already?" he says. "And here I was thinking we'd save that for marriage."
"Keifer!"
He grins. "Too early?"
"Too early."
He leans closer, lowering his voice. "Noted. I'll schedule my nonsense for after breakfast."
I roll my eyes, but I'm smiling.
He presses a quick kiss to my forehead—warm, grounding.
"Stay," he murmurs. "Just for a bit."
I nod. "Okay."
We eventually get up, moving around each other in that quiet, domestic way that feels both new and deeply familiar. He hands me a mug. I steal his toast. He pretends to be offended.
"You're committing breakfast crimes," he says.
"You offered emotional safety," I reply. "This comes with toast theft."
"Wow," he says, shaking his head. "So this is how it starts."
"How what starts?"
"You taking everything I own."
I sip my tea. "You love it."
"I really do," he admits.
We sit at the small table, knees brushing, sunlight warming our backs.
"This feels… easy," I say softly.
He nods. "It always was. We just complicated it."
After breakfast, he insists on driving me to work.
At the curb, he stops the car, turns to me, and rests his forehead against mine.
"Hey," he says. "You okay?"
I smile. "Yeah. I am."
He kisses my forehead—lingering.
"Good," he says. "Because I plan on being annoyingly present now."
"I wouldn't expect anything less."
As I step out, I glance back. He's watching me like he always did.
Like I matter.
At the Office
Samy doesn't even wait five minutes.
She leans against my desk, arms crossed, eyes sharp.
"Okay," she says. "Something happened."
I blink. "Good morning to you too."
Coel rolls his chair over. "You're glowing. And not in a 'new skincare' way."
I sigh, then smile. "We're together."
Silence.
Then—
"WHAT?" Samy screeches.
Coel grins. "Finally."
Samy grabs my hands. "I knew it. I knew the tension was illegal."
I laugh, warmth flooding my chest.
As they tease me mercilessly, I realize something.
Some truths are still waiting.
But this one?
This one is finally real.
And I'm not running anymore. 💫