Jay-Jay's POV
The office hummed with its usual post-lunch lethargy—keyboards tapping, muted phones ringing, and the low murmur of colleagues settling into tasks. I tried to focus on the spreadsheets before me, the numbers blurring under the weight of my own thoughts. But the memory of Keifer's presence lingered like a ghost just beyond the glass walls of SE Corp.
"You're distracted," Coel's voice pulled me back. He leaned casually against the edge of my desk, smirk teasing. "Or is it that 'investor guy' again?"
I shot him a glare, tight-lipped. "I'm not distracted."
Samy snorted from her seat beside me. "Oh, come on, Jay-Jay. Everyone can see it. You've been fidgeting since he arrived. We practically have a front-row seat to your meltdown."
I rolled my eyes but couldn't hide the flicker of warmth in my chest. They didn't know the half of it. How could they?
I remembered that day in Section E, my eighteen birthday—so much simpler, yet so heavy with emotion. The laughter of my classmates, the way Ci-N, so small and serious, had struggled with the extra-large cake he insisted on carrying to the front of the room. Yuri had been unusually silent that day, but his teasing glint in the corner of his eyes made me laugh. Drew, Edrix, Rory, Felix, Calix, Eman, Baster—they had all been there, filling the room with energy, with life, with the kind of moments that become impossible to forget. Even Mayo and Kit had tried to hide their jokes behind perfect smiles.
I sighed, shaking my head as if to push away the past.
And then there was him—Keifer. Mark Keifer Watson. Not a Hanamitchi. Not some distant memory. Just him, standing at the edge of my mind, challenging, teasing, probing the soft parts I tried to hide.
A knock on the glass made me look up. He was there. Leaning casually against the wall near the entrance, watching. Observing. Waiting. My pulse stuttered. My breath hitched.
I stood too quickly, aware that Coel and Samy were behind me, smirking.
"I need to—" I started, but Coel's teasing smile stopped me. "Careful, Jay-Jay. Don't trip over your own courage. Or lack of it."
Samy chimed in, "Or maybe just admit it—he's here because he matters to you. Like, really matters."
I flushed, the heat of embarrassment mingling with something I hadn't fully named. Before I could answer, Keifer's voice broke through the subtle tension.
"Mr. Watson?" I said automatically, heart racing, the formality a shield I tried to maintain.
He raised an eyebrow, lips curling slightly in that familiar, infuriating smirk. "Mr. Watson," he corrected gently, letting the amusement linger. "You haven't forgotten, have you?"
I flinched slightly, and he noticed. Of course he noticed. That was always the difference with Keifer. He didn't miss a thing.
He stepped closer, just enough that I felt the warmth radiating from him. "You can lie to everyone else, Jay-Jay. But not to me."
The words hit harder than I expected. My chest tightened, throat dry. "I—I don't know what you mean," I mumbled, trying to retreat behind professionalism.
His hands, steady and confident, caught my wrists. "Don't move yet. I need you to answer me honestly."
I yanked slightly, but he held firm. His gaze was soft, yet unyielding. "If you don't care," he said quietly, almost tenderly, "then why do you still wear my bracelet? The one I gave you on your eighteenth birthday?"
My breath caught. It wasn't just the bracelet. It was everything it symbolized—those stolen moments in a world that had changed so quickly, moments that were mine and his alone. I turned my eyes away, unwilling to admit that the memory of him still mattered as much as it did, even after all these years.
"You don't get to—" I started, my voice breaking slightly, "—you don't get to just waltz in and—"
"Jay-Jay," he interrupted softly, but firmly. "Let me finish."
Before I could respond, he guided me toward the rooftop garden, his hands still holding mine. The city stretched beneath us, an endless sea of lights and shadows, but all I could see was him.
We stopped at the edge, overlooking the skyline. He finally let go of my wrists, but his presence was undeniable. "I want to talk," he said. "Truly talk. Not boardrooms, not schedules, not numbers. Just us."
"I can't," I whispered, looking away.
"Then why do you still think about me, Jay-Jay?" he asked, voice low, teasing, and aching all at once. "Why do I find you in every memory, every thought, if I didn't matter?"
I opened my mouth, closed it, swallowed hard. The wind tugged at my hair, and I felt the weight of our shared past pressing in. "I… don't—"
"Don't what?" he prompted gently, leaning closer. "Don't care? Don't feel? Or don't want to admit it?"
I snapped, frustration and fear and longing all mingling. "Stop!" I shouted, my voice echoing in the open air. "Stop making me relive this! Stop pretending you understand!"
He flinched at the edge of my anger, his expression flickering, but he didn't back down. "I know I can't understand everything, Jay-Jay. But I know enough. I know you've carried this, that you've kept a part of us locked away. I want you to trust me, even if just a little."
I felt my composure unraveling. Memories of Section E—the laughter, the jokes, the fights, the friendships—collided with my present reality. Ci-N's childish insistence on perfection, Yuri's teasing silence, Drew's careful words, Edrix and Freya's unspoken understanding, Rory and Felix's endless bickering, Calix's sarcasm, Eman and Baster's loyalty—all of them flickered through my mind. And Keifer… always Keifer, threading through every moment.
"I can't—" I whispered, tears threatening.
He reached for my hands again, but gently this time, as if bridging the gap without forcing it. "You still care, Jay-Jay. You might try to hide it, push it away, run from it—but it's here. It's always been here."
I choked on a breath, unable to meet his eyes. "I… I do not," I said, voice shaky. "I… don't—"
"You do," he said softly. "I can see it. I've always known."
The words echoed in me, resonating deeper than I wanted to admit. I wanted to scream, to cry, to laugh, to run—but instead, I only nodded slightly, a small admission that didn't need to be spoken aloud.
Coel and Samy appeared then, having quietly followed to the rooftop, sensing the tension without intruding. Coel gave me a small, knowing smile, while Samy's gaze was soft and concerned. Neither spoke—they knew some things didn't need words.
Keifer watched me, expression unreadable but his eyes betraying the ache, the recognition of all I had carried, all I had hidden.
In that quiet, suspended moment, the city around us faded. It was just him, just me, and the weight of everything we had been through.
And as I turned slightly to leave, he caught my wrist—not tightly, just enough to anchor me. "If you truly don't care," he said, voice low, teasing, and devastating all at once, "then why do you still wear my bracelet?"
I swallowed hard, cheeks burning. I could only look away.
He let me go silently, but the ache in his chest remained. Watching her walk away, hearing her faint denial, he realized just how much she had held back, and how much she had carried alone.
And in that moment, he understood fully: no matter the years, no matter the distance, no matter the walls she had built, she still belonged to the moments they had shared. Still belonged to him.
Keifer's POV
Watching her disappear into the distance, I felt every memory, every stolen laugh, every quiet confession of the past pressing down on me. She had carried all of it with her, and somehow, all this time, she had still kept a piece of me.
I had missed too much before. I had been too late. But now… now I had her here. Here, alive, vibrant, more herself than she had been in years. And I would not let her go again.
Even if it meant breaking all the rules, even if it meant challenging every boundary she had built. She was mine—always had been, always would be.
And that knowledge, that aching, quiet certainty, was enough to make the world stop around me, just for a heartbeat, just for her.