Keifer walked beside Jay every day after that.
Not possessively.
Not obviously.
Just close enough.
Close enough that their shoulders almost brushed. Close enough that if she slowed, he slowed too. Close enough that people started noticing without being able to name why.
Jay felt it—the difference.
Her steps were steadier. Her head stayed up. Her eyes didn't dart anymore.
Until Cyrus stepped into the path.
It was the middle of campus. Noon. Crowded. Voices everywhere. Laughter, phones out, backpacks slung low.
Public.
Safe—supposedly.
"Jay," Cyrus called, loud enough for people to hear.
She stopped despite herself.
Keifer stopped too.
Cyrus walked up to them, smiling like this was casual, like nothing was wrong. His eyes flicked to Keifer's hand hovering near Jay's elbow—not touching, just there.
"So this is how it is now?" Cyrus said, laughing lightly. "You don't even answer my messages."
Jay swallowed. "I asked you to stop contacting me."
"Privately," he replied. "You never said we were done."
A few students slowed, curious.
Keifer shifted slightly, closer—but didn't speak.
Cyrus took that as permission.
"You don't get to rewrite things like this," he continued. "You don't get to pretend we didn't have something."
Jay felt heat crawl up her neck. "This isn't the place."
"You made it the place when you started avoiding me," he snapped—then caught himself, lowering his voice. "I've been patient. Don't make me look like the bad guy."
Keifer's jaw tightened.
Jay shook her head. "You're crossing a line."
Cyrus scoffed. "By talking? By wanting answers? Don't act like I hurt you."
That did it.
Jay's hands clenched at her sides. Her voice came out steadier than she felt.
"You don't get to decide what hurt me."
Cyrus stepped closer—too close.
Keifer moved then.
Not aggressively. Not dramatically.
He simply placed himself half a step in front of Jay.
"That's enough," Keifer said.
Cyrus laughed sharply. "Oh, so now you speak?"
Keifer didn't rise to it. "She told you to stop."
Cyrus' smile vanished. "This doesn't concern you."
"It does," Keifer replied calmly, "when you won't listen to her."
People were watching now.
Cyrus' irritation flared, leaking through his control. "You think walking her around like this makes you some kind of hero?"
"I don't," Keifer said. "I'm just here."
Jay felt it then—something solid, unmoving, right in front of her.
Cyrus turned back to her. "You're really okay with this? Letting him speak for you?"
Jay stepped forward.
Past Keifer's shoulder.
"No," she said clearly. "I'm speaking for myself."
The crowd went quiet.
"I don't want you to talk to me," she continued. "I don't want explanations. I don't want apologies. I don't want you near me."
Cyrus stared at her, stunned.
"You don't mean that," he said.
"I do," she replied. "And this is the last time I'll say it."
For a moment, it looked like he might argue again.
Then he smiled—tight, humiliated, angry.
"Fine," he muttered. "Don't come back when you realize what you're throwing away."
Jay didn't flinch.
Keifer didn't move.
Cyrus turned and walked off, shoulders rigid, disappearing into the noise he'd drawn so much attention from.
Jay stood there, heart racing.
Keifer looked at her. "You okay?"
She nodded. "Yeah."
This time, she meant it.
They started walking again—side by side, unhurried.
Jay didn't cling to him.
She didn't need to.
Because everyone had seen it now.
Cyrus hadn't lost her because of Keifer.
He'd lost her because she stood her ground.
And Keifer—quiet, steady, present—had simply stayed.