(Hey guys!
Sorry for making you wait so long 🥺 I've been a little caught up with family stuff and some university docs , so things got a bit hectic.
Also… I won't lie I hit a bit of a writing block 😅 Every time I tried to write, nothing felt right. But I'm slowly getting back into it, and I really appreciate your patience and support through it all 🫶)
Keifer's POV
Jay was panicking.
It was early—way too early and the only thing louder than the birds chirping outside was the sound of her phone buzzing over and over. She had 30 missed calls.
From Angelo.
I watched her pace across the room like a startled kitten, eyes wide, phone gripped tight in her hand. My heart squeezed a little. She looked like she was about to cry, and not in the cute way either.
"Darling" I called out softly, still half-tucked in bed. "Come here."
"I—I think I should go," she mumbled instead, not even glancing at me. She looked pale. Restless. Her fingers trembled.
I got up and crossed the room to her in three long strides. Gently, I took her phone from her and turned off the screen. "I'll talk to Angelo, Aries and maybe Percy if he cares to call right now. Well Angelo, He's definitely gonna kill me, but at least he won't call again and ruin my morning with you."
Her lips parted like she was about to protest, but no sound came out. She just nodded slowly and walked off.
Tomorrow was our graduation. One last goodbye to the other-section clowns, and then we were done. I wanted to spend the whole damn day basking in that thought with her not chasing panic attacks or ghosting her brothers.
I requested the kitchen staff to prepare breakfast something nice. Soft, warm food Jay loved. I even specifically asked for extra cheese rolls and sweet silog. If anything could fix her mood, it was food.
But ten minutes passed. Then fifteen. Still no Jay.
I frowned.
She didn't respond when I called out, so I went upstairs. The bedroom door was cracked open, and from inside I heard the faint sound of water running. Bathroom.
I knocked gently. "Jay?"
No answer.
I waited, tapping my fingers against the doorframe nervously. When she finally came out, her face was unreadable. Her hair was slightly damp, cheeks pale, and she just… didn't say anything. Like she had switched off completely.
At breakfast, she sat across from me, fork in hand, poking at her food but barely eating. I watched every shift in her expression, every uncomfortable glance, every time her hand pressed subtly against her hip or abdomen.
Something was wrong.
"Jay," I said quietly, reaching for her hand. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," she muttered, brushing it off and flashing me that fake smile she used when she didn't want to talk. But her fingers curled tighter around her fork, knuckles whitening.
Then, suddenly, she got up—fast.
She looked terrified.
Without a word, she rushed back upstairs and slammed the bathroom door shut.
Panic sparked in my chest. I waited. Waited. And waited. Until I couldn't take it anymore.
I went up and knocked on the bathroom door again. "Jay, please open up. What's going on?"
Still silence.
I leaned against the door. "Jay. Please."
After a long pause, I heard a shuffle. The door cracked open slightly, barely enough for her face to peek through. And when she looked at me—God—she looked so defeated.
Sad eyes. Pink nose. Hair messy and damp from sweat or tears—I wasn't sure.
"I… maybe I should just leave," she whispered.
"Did I do something wrong?" I asked instantly, voice low.
She shook her head. "No. You didn't. It's not… it's not you."
"Then tell me."
"You won't get it," she said, clutching her lower stomach with one hand.
And that—that—was when it clicked.
"Oh," I breathed. I blinked. "Wait one sec."
I sprinted down the hall like my life depended on it. Found one of the maids and asked, probably way too awkwardly, "Do we have any, uh, pads? Sanitary stuff? Urgent. Like now."
Bless her heart, she nodded like she knew this moment would come eventually. She handed me a clean pouch with everything inside.
I took the stairs two at a time and returned to the bathroom door, tapping lightly.
"Jay," I said softly, "I got you something."
I reached in through the cracked door and offered the pouch. "You could've just told me."
There was a beat of silence. Then a small, muffled gasp. And finally, she took it from me.
When she emerged ten minutes later, freshly changed and still pink-faced from embarrassment, I was ready.
Blankets: check. Pillows: check. Chocolate, ice cream, and a heat pack: double check.
And most importantly: me.
Yes, I was a walking, talking comfort package and Jay was about to get the full VIP treatment.
She looked stunned, her eyes bouncing from the goodies to me like I was some kind of dream. But then she smiled soft and genuine. And it was the kind of smile that made my knees weak.
She snuggled into my arms on the couch, her legs pulled over mine, a pint of rocky road ice cream in one hand, spoon in the other. Her head rested against my chest like it belonged there.
And definitely it did.
My heart was pounding. Like violently. Titanic-hitting-the-iceberg level pounding.
How do I explain to this girl that she is my whole damn world? That if she left, my entire universe would go black?
My skin was burning. My fingers tingled. My mind kept repeating her name like a prayer.
Then… she looked up at me.
Her big brown eyes met mine, and I completely lost it.
My body reacted on instinct. I swallowed hard.
She touched my face.
Holy shit.
SHE TOUCHED MY FACE.
Every nerve in my body snapped to attention. My heart? Gone. My thoughts? Absolute chaos.
She leaned closer, eyes flickering to my lips, like she knew. Like she was fully aware of the effect she had on me.
Her scent filled my lungs. Her lips were just inches from mine.
I was melting. Dying. Floating.
Then she winked.
SHE. WINKED.
That was it. That was the last straw.
I grabbed her, pulled her into me, and kissed her—hard. Like my life depended on it. Like she was the air I needed to survive.
She gasped softly against my lips before melting into the kiss, her hands sliding up my chest, curling into my hair, her body pressing closer until she was sitting fully on my lap.
I held her hips, grounding her, deepening the kiss as our breaths tangled together. I couldn't stop. Didn't want to stop.
We finally pulled apart, barely, and she looked dazed.
"Sorry," she murmured, cheeks flushed.
"For what?" I asked, brushing a finger against her cheek.
"For sitting on your lap for so long…"
I laughed quietly, pulling her even closer. "My love, you can sit on me forever. I want you to. I'm all yours."
Her eyes widened a little.
"You can do whatever you want with me," I continued. "Kiss me. Hit me. Fuck me. Marry me. Be my wife. Bear my kids. Be mine."
She stared, stunned into silence, before breaking into the cutest giggle ever—soft, warm, and so Jay.
"You're all mine, Mr. Watson," she said. "Only mine."
And then she kissed me again, sealing it with a sweet, lingering press of her lips.
Later, she pulled back, eyes twinkling. "I want cookies."
I grinned. "Let's make some, my future wife."
We ran to the kitchen, laughing like little kids. I grabbed flour, sugar, eggs, vanilla—the works. Jay tied her hair into a messy bun and put on one of my oversized aprons, which she promptly managed to trip over twice.
She was chaos.
But she was my chaos.
She had flour on her nose, her cheek, and half on the shirt. I leaned in and wiped her face gently, fingers tracing her skin like porcelain.
"You missed a spot," she grinned, then shoved both her flour-covered hands against my face.
"Oh, it's war now," I muttered, lunging for her as she squealed and ran through the kitchen, across the dining room.
We laughed. We screamed. We crashed into chairs and knocked over a bowl. And finally, I caught her.
"Gotcha," I whispered, pinning her gently against the fridge and smearing flour across her forehead.
"You're a menace," she laughed breathlessly.
"And you're beautiful," I said, leaning in.
When we finally made it back to the cookies, she was already tasting the cookie dough like it was heaven.
"Try some," she offered, mouth still glistening with a little batter.
"Don't mind if I do," I smirked and leaned forward to lick the dough from the corner of her mouth, sneaking in a soft bite to her bottom lip.
She squeaked and turned away, hiding her face behind her hands.
I just laughed, pulled her up onto the counter by her hips, and tilted her chin up to kiss her again—slow, teasing, addictive.
By the time the cookies were baked, we had already devoured each other with kisses.
The cookies were inhaled in under five minutes.
Time slipped by too fast. When we glanced at the clock, it was almost 6 p.m.
"I should probably go home," Jay murmured, brushing her fingers over the hem of my shirt she stole from me.
"I'll drive you," I said, already moving. I grabbed her prom dress, shoes, and packed them into the car.
She paused, then looked down. "I'm still wearing your clothes."
I cupped her face. "Whatever's mine is yours."
Then, I held her hand, guided her to the front seat, and quietly reached into the glovebox. I pulled out the small velvet box I'd been holding onto for days from her birthday.
"Jay," I whispered. "This is yours too."
Her eyes widened.
Inside was again the ring I made for her long back. Nothing fancy. Just ours.
She stared at it, then looked at me.
And kissed me.
"Yes," she whispered.
"Wait—yes to the ring this time?"
"Yes. But… I'm not going to wear it yet."
My brows furrowed. "What are you going to do with it then?"
She smirked and leaned in, tugging my shirt collar down to her level. Her breath was warm against my lips. "You'll see soon, King of Ulupongs."
I groaned. "Jay…"
"Now drive me home," she teased, poking my chest. "Before my brothers show up and murder you for keeping me too long."