After that night, something settled back into place.
Jay returned to herself.
Not the guarded, quiet version.
Not the one who held back.
But the Jay who belonged.
She was loud again.
Chaotic.
Comfortable.
She draped herself over Keifer's shoulder without asking.
Stole his phone.
Sat too close.
Laughed too freely.
Like before.
Keifer noticed immediately.
And he smiled more.
A lot more.
He waited for her between classes again.
Saved her seat without thinking.
Turned toward her every time she spoke.
When she talked, he listened.
When she laughed, his eyes followed.
Jay clung to him like it was instinct, fingers curling into his sleeve, head falling against his shoulder during long lectures.
He never moved away.
Instead, he leaned in.
"You're in a good mood," he murmured one afternoon.
Jay grinned. "Missed me like this?"
He laughed softly. "Always."
Their closeness became effortless again.
Comforting.
Familiar.
Undeniable.
And Ivy saw it.
At first, she told herself she was imagining things.
But she wasn't.
Jay walked into rooms like she belonged there—like she owned the space beside Keifer.
And Keifer let her.
No—
He welcomed it.
Ivy noticed how his voice softened with Jay.
How his body angled toward her without conscious thought.
How he smiled at Jay before anyone else.
One day, Ivy sat across from them in the cafeteria.
Jay stole food from Keifer's plate without asking.
"Hey," he protested half-heartedly.
"You weren't eating it," she said smugly.
He shook his head, smiling. "You're impossible."
"And you love me," she replied easily.
He didn't deny it.
Ivy's chest tightened.
Jay leaned closer to Keifer, whispering something that made him laugh out loud. The sound was unguarded, intimate.
Too intimate.
Ivy forced a smile, but something inside her sank.
She saw it now.
This wasn't new.
This was old.
Years old.
Later, Ivy found herself watching them from a distance.
Jay tugging Keifer's hand, dragging him somewhere without explanation.
Keifer following without question.
Like it was natural.
Like it was always supposed to be this way.
Ivy swallowed hard.
She wasn't being pushed away.
She was simply never in the space to begin with.
That night, Ivy sat alone, replaying moments she had ignored before.
Jay knowing Keifer's moods before he spoke.
Keifer calming only when Jay was near.
Their laughter fitting together too easily.
It hurt.
But it also made sense.
Because no matter how much Ivy felt for Keifer—
There was something between him and Jay that couldn't be interrupted.
Something lived-in.
Something deep.
Something unspoken.