JAY JAY POV
The next morning, I walked into the Section E classroom expecting the usual loud-mouthed chaos, but instead, I was met with a scene straight out of a horror movie.
The room was pitch black. Even though it was broad daylight outside, the heavy shutters were drawn tight. It was so quiet I could hear the blood rushing in my ears.
"What the hell happened?" I whispered, but my voice felt like it was being swallowed by the shadows. "Ci-N? Felix? David? Calix? Yuri? Keifer? Someone answer me!"
Nothing. No giggling, no chair-scraping, no snoring. Just a cold, heavy silence that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. My mind immediately went to worst-case scenarios. Did Keifer do something? Did they all move to another room?
I fumbled through the dark, my hands grazing the edge of the desks until I reached the window. I needed light. I needed to see that I wasn't the only person left in this school. I reached for the latch of the shutters, ready to yank them open and let the sun burn away this creepy atmosphere.
But just as my fingers touched the cold metal, a hand clamped onto mine.
It was a pale, bone-white hand that felt like ice against my skin.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" I screamed, the sound echoing off the walls like a siren. My London-bred composure didn't just leave the chat; it jumped out the window. "GHOST! BLOODY HELL, A GHOST!"
The figure didn't let go. It started moving closer, its silhouette looming over me in the darkness. I couldn't see a face—just the terrifying outline of a person who shouldn't be standing there in complete silence.
"Stay back! I'm warning you! I know karate! I know people!" I yelled, my heart doing a frantic, terrified sprint.
The figure kept coming. I didn't wait for it to reveal its true form (or its dental records). I did the only thing that made sense to my panicked brain.
I pulled back my fist and delivered a solid, high-voltage punch straight at where I assumed the ghost's face was.
THWACK.
"OOF!"
The ghost didn't vanish into a cloud of smoke. It stumbled back, tripping over a desk with a very loud, very human-sounding crash.
"DARN IT, JAY-JAY! THAT REALLY HURT!"
Wait. That voice.
I turned back to the window and finally wrenched the shutters open. A flood of golden morning light poured into the room, illuminating the "ghost" who was currently sprawled on the floor, clutching his nose.
"Ci-N?!" I gasped, my eyes widening.
The ghost was indeed Ci-N, wearing a ridiculous white sheet over his head that had two uneven eye-holes cut into it. Behind him, the rest of the gang—Felix, David, and Calix—emerged from under their desks, looking disappointed.
"You ruined the surprise!" Ci-N whined, his voice muffled by the sheet. "We were trying to give you a Welcome Back scare to show there's no hard feelings about the blacklist!"
"A scare?!" I shouted, my heart still trying to exit through my throat. "I almost had a literal heart attack! I thought I was about to be the first victim in a HVIS slasher movie!"
"To be fair," David said, leaning against a desk with a grin. "Your punch is still top-tier, Jay-Jay. Even through a bedsheet, that was a solid hit."
I looked over at the back of the room. Keifer was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. He wasn't wearing a sheet, and he hadn't jumped out at me, but he had that dark, amused glint in his eyes that told me he'd watched the whole thing play out.
"Sixteen," Keifer murmured, his voice a low, gravelly vibration.
I blinked, my face starting to heat up. "What?"
"That's sixteen profanities and one physical assault in under two minutes," he said, pulling that stupid notepad from his pocket and making a slow, deliberate mark. "The blacklist is getting very crowded, Mrs. Watson. I think it's time we discuss the interest rates on these penalties."
"You... you megalomaniac!" I hissed, pointing a finger at him.
"Seventeen," he replied, his smirk widening as he looked at me. "Keep going. I've got all day."
I grabbed a textbook nearby and launched it at Keifer with everything I had.
"Jay!" Keifer barked, ducking with the predatory reflexes of someone who spent way too much time in street fights.
The book sailed over his head, but it didn't hit the wall. Instead, it connected with something—or rather, someone—standing right in the doorway.
"ARGHHHHH!"
Zane stumbled back, clutching his chest where the massive Calculus tome had just made a very unceremonious landing.
"Sorry," I said, though my voice lacked even a shred of genuine remorse.
"Not sorry," Keifer corrected, straightening up. He didn't even look at me; his eyes were locked on Zane, a slow, lethal smirk spreading across his face. He looked absolutely delighted that my bad aim had resulted in a direct hit on his rival.
"For fuck's sake, Jay! Why did you even throw it?!" Zane snapped, his posh accent sounding strained as he tried to regain his dignity. He looked between the heavy book on the floor and my flushed face
I crossed my arms, lifting my chin
I thought I'd throw a textbook because words can never hurt, right? Apparently, they don't, but heavy binding and six hundred pages of derivatives do."
"Apparently they do for Zane," Calix teased from the side, a mischievous glat in his eyes.
"Come on, man up, man," Felix added, leaning back in his chair and gesturing toward the front of the room. "Even Ci-N is fine, and he actually got a solid punch to the face from Jay-Jay earlier."
Ci-N, who was still half-tangled in his ghost sheet, nodded solemnly while rubbing his bruised nose. "It's true. Her right hook is much more dangerous than her aim with a book. You got off easy, New Guy."
Zane's jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with a mix of humiliation and lingering obsession as he slinked toward the back of the room. Sir Alvin's entrance finally put an end to the textbook toss drama, and we all scrambled back to our seats.
As I sat down, I could feel the heat radiating off the seat next to me. Keifer wasn't even pretending to look at the chalkboard. He was leaning back, his dark eyes fixed on the side of my face with an intensity that felt like a physical touch.
I mean, who could blame the guy?
It's been a whole two weeks since I last actually talked to him. Two weeks of the Cold War
He's been at my house every single morning, leaning against his car with that brooding, "I'm-suffering" look, but I've walked past him like he was a piece of street furniture. He tries to intercept me in the hallways, but I've become an expert at the 'ninja-vanish' move. Every attempt he's made to break the silence has failed miserably.
Suddenly, a small, familiar clink sounded on my desk.
I didn't even have to look. He'd slid a bar of my favorite imported milk chocolate onto the corner of my notebook. It was the third one this week. His "peace offerings" were piling up in my bag like a sugary shrine to his guilt.
I stared at the chocolate for a long, agonizing second. The high-quality gold foil sparkled under the fluorescent classroom lights, mocking my resolve. Two weeks of silence is a long time for anyone, but for a girl addicted to imported Milk chocolate, it's an eternity of self-torture.
Slowly, deliberately, I reached out and slid the bar back onto my desk.
Keifer's entire posture shifted. I didn't have to look at him to know he was holding his breath. I unwrapped a corner, the familiar, rich scent of cocoa hitting me instantly. I snapped off a square and popped it into my mouth, letting the sweetness melt on my tongue.
Beside me, I heard a soft, exhaled breath. Keifer smiled. It wasn't one of his usual arrogant smirks or his "I-won-the-game" grins. It was small, genuine, and laced with so much relief that I actually felt a little bad for making him crawl for fourteen days.
Almost.
I chewed slowly, then finally turned my head to look at him. For the first time in two weeks, I let our eyes lock. The dark intensity was still there, but there was a softness to him now—a vulnerability that showed through the cracks of his King of Section E persona.
I felt a corner of my mouth twitch. I couldn't help it. I smiled at him.
It was a small smile, and maybe a little bit tired, but it was the white flag he'd been dying to see. Seeing the way his eyes lit up—real, unfiltered relief washing away that brooding tension—I realized that maybe he'd had enough of this torture.
Two weeks. Fourteen days of him standing in the rain, eighteen hours a day of him looking at me like he was a starving man and I was the only meal in the world.
He hurt me, yes. There's no erasing the fact that he used me as a piece on his board. But as I chewed on the chocolate, a quiet, rational voice in my head started to speak up. He did save me from finding out on my own. He stopped the game before it went too far.
I mean, imagine if he hadn't? Imagine if we actually got married, and then I found out he had been using me the whole time? That would have been a death blow. By coming clean now, even if it was messy and even if it nearly broke us, he gave me a choice. He gave me back my agency.
He chose me over the plan. And for a guy like Keifer Watson, that's like a king abdicated his throne for a peasant girl.
"Jay-Jay?" he whispered, his voice snapping me out of my thoughts. He was looking at me with such hope it actually made my chest ache.
I sighed, leaning my head on my hand as I looked at him. "You look like you haven't slept in a month, Keifer."
"I haven't," he admitted, his voice rough. "Every time I close my eyes, I just see the back of your head as you walk away from me. It's a nightmare, Mrs. Watson. Truly."
"And the chocolate? Was that a bribe or a genuine gesture?"
"Both," he said, reaching out tentatively to brush a stray hair from my forehead. I didn't pull away. His fingers were warm, and I could feel a faint tremor in them. "I'd buy every chocolate factory in the world if it meant I could see you smile like that again."
I rolled my eyes, though my heart was doing that annoying, fluttery thing again. "You're so dramatic. It's embarrassing."
"I'm desperate," he corrected, his gaze becoming heavy and serious. "I'm desperate for you to forgive me. Not because I deserve it, but because I can't breathe when you're mad at me."
I went quiet for a second, looking at the faded mark on his jaw. He had taken everything I threw at him—punches, textbooks, silence—and he was still standing here.
I looked at the mark on his jaw, a fading blue reminder of how much anger I'd vented on him. He'd taken the punch, the books, and two weeks of my icy silence without flinching.
"Jay," Keifer whispered, his voice cutting through my thoughts.
"What?" I asked, trying to sound annoyed, though the chocolate had successfully softened my edges.
"I need a kiss. Please."
My heart skipped a beat, and I could feel my face flaring up in a high-grade blush
"what!?"
"A kiss," he repeated. He didn't sound like the terrifying King of Section E or the master strategist right then. He sounded like a kid—vulnerable, desperate, and completely at my mercy.
"Not now," I hissed, glancing at Sir Alvin, who was busy writing on the chalkboard.
"When?"
"Not now," I repeated, my voice tight.
"Then when?" he persisted, leaning closer until I could smell the faint scent of mint and leather.
"Can you two please stay quiet?" Zane snapped from behind us, his voice dripping with irritation. He'd clearly had enough of our whispered negotiations.
"Mind your own business, London," Keifer shot back without even looking at him, his tone instantly switching back to that cold, territorial warning.
Ringgggg!
The bell saved us—or maybe it doomed me. I didn't say a word; I just grabbed Keifer's hand and dragged him out of the room. I lead him straight to our usual spot: the music room. Keifer didn't resist. In fact, he was grinning the entire time, looking like he'd just won the lottery.
The second we were inside, I slammed the door shut. But before I could even turn around to lecture him about his behavior in class, he had me pinned against the wood. His hands were on either side of my head, his body a solid, warm wall of muscle.
"Keifer," I breathed, the air suddenly feeling very thin.
"Jay-Jay," he mimicked, his voice dropping into that deep, gravelly register that always made my knees go weak. He leaned down, burying his face in the crook of my neck and kissing my jawline with a slow, agonizing intensity.
"I missed you so fucking much," he rasped against my skin. "The last two weeks have been hell. Don't ever go silent on me like that again. I'd rather you punch me every day for the rest of my life than have you not talk to me."
His lips moved to the sensitive spot just below my ear, sending a jolt of electricity straight to my toes. I reached up, my fingers tangling in the messy hair at the nape of his neck. I should probably still be mad, but as he held me there, possessive and desperate, the last of my silver-plated defenses finally crumbled.
"You're an idiot, Watson," I whispered, pulling his face up so I could look him in the eye.
"I'm your idiot," he corrected, his dark eyes searching mine for permission. "Always."
He didn't wait for me to say anything else. He leaned in and captured my lips in a kiss that wasn't about games or plans—it was just about us. And for the first time in a long time, the world outside that door didn't matter at all.
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