The morning light crept through the curtains, soft but intrusive, as if it knew exactly how heavy the air between them was.
Jay sat at the breakfast table, arms crossed, tapping her fingers against the ceramic cup. Her eyes were sharp, restless, searching for reasons to be upset.
Keifer walked in, perfectly calm as ever, though his jaw was tight. He had already noticed the mood yesterday, and the day before, but this… this was different.
"Morning," he said, voice careful, low.
"Morning," Jay replied, short and clipped. Her gaze didn't meet his.
And just like that, the first spark of the day's argument lit.
Keifer sighed. "Is this going to be a fight again?"
Jay's lips pressed into a thin line. "Maybe. I don't know."
That was enough. Enough for the tension to thicken the air.
They argued over things that didn't matter — the toast, the temperature of the coffee, who had left the closet door open. Each word sharper than the last, each glance holding the weight of weeks unspoken.
And yet, in every fight, Keifer's patience was unwavering. He didn't raise his voice, didn't throw words like weapons. He only tried to reach her. And each time she shot him a glare, each time she snapped, part of him hurt.
He loved her.
He always had.
Jay, meanwhile, felt a strange mix of fury and guilt. Every harsh word left a bitter taste, but she couldn't stop herself. She didn't even know why she picked these fights. Maybe it was fear, maybe it was pride, maybe it was the way she felt so deeply for him that anger was the only way she could express it without trembling.
Days turned into nights. Their arguments became ritualistic, endless, exhausting. Yet beneath the barbs, the touches that lingered a second too long, the way Keifer's eyes softened when she finally looked at him, betrayed the truth: they were still hopelessly tethered to each other.
Jay would storm out. Keifer would stay silent, watching her go, wishing he could hold her without breaking the fragile barrier she'd built around them.
And sometimes, in the quiet moments after the fight, when Jay finally let herself breathe, she would notice the faint scent of his cologne lingering on her sweater, the way his laugh echoed in her mind, the way the bed felt empty without him at night.
But the next morning, the cycle began again.
Because she didn't realize… yet… that every fight was a thread tying her to the one person she could never truly live without.