Onyx's POV
By the time we were halfway to Harrington University, the world outside the windshield looked painfully normal.
Morning traffic crawled in obedient lines. Office workers clutched their coffee cups like lifelines. Students crossed intersections with half-awake expressions. The sky was clear. The sun was gentle. The radio hummed softly in the background, some mellow track playing like nothing in the universe was shifting.
Inside the car, however, the air-conditioning was turned up to an almost aggressive level—as if Jace was trying to freeze something that refused to stay still.
He said nothing.
He drove with both hands steady on the wheel, eyes forward, jaw set in that calm, careless expression he wore whenever he did not want to be questioned. The music filled the silence. The engine purred smoothly. Everything looked composed.
Too composed.
I glanced at him, then let my gaze wander around the interior of the car.
It was clean. Impeccable, actually. The leather seats showed no cracks. The dashboard gleamed. The stitching on the doors was still firm and elegant. Even the faint scent inside—subtle, expensive—felt permanent.
Would he really sell this?
I did not know when he bought it. I did not know if this was something recent or something he had kept for years. But you could tell—it was not just a car. It was maintained with intention.
If it were mine, I would not let it go so easily.
Without thinking, I ran my fingers lightly over the fabric near the door handle, tracing the texture absently.
"What are you doing?" he asked suddenly, amusement in his voice. He chuckled under his breath. "Are you trying to feel the fabric? It's addictive, right? The texture."
"Yeah," I replied, keeping my tone casual. "Have you owned this for a long time?"
I wanted to know. Not because I was curious about cars.
Because I was curious about what he was willing to lose.
"Yeah," he said, eyes still on the road. "This was my first car. My mom bought it for me when I turned eighteen."
My hand stilled.
So that was it.
This car carried memory. A birthday. His mother. A version of him that probably still believed everything in his life would remain intact.
Why would he sell something like that?
If he sold this car, it would not just mean he needed money.
It would mean he was ready to detach from whatever was left of before. I do feel bad already just by thinking about it.
"I thought it was brand new," I said quietly. "You took care of it properly."
He shrugged as if it meant nothing.
"When something is important to me, I take care of it too much," he said.
The way he said it lingered in the air longer than it should have.
I wanted to ask him why he would even consider selling it. I wanted to ask what he was really planning. But I could not. He knew I knew nothing about his situation. I was not supposed to pry.
"Then keep it," I said instead, brushing my fingers over the compartment in front of me. "It still carries your mom's value."
He exhaled slowly.
No reply.
Just that quiet sigh that sounded like a thought he did not want to voice.
He was hesitating.
"I was thinking of buying a motorbike instead," he said after a moment. "Easier to bring around. Less maintenance. And parking won't be a nightmare."
"So you're planning to sell this?" I asked, carefully neutral, as if the question had nothing to do with anything deeper.
"I'm still thinking about it," he replied. "I might."
"If I were you, I'd keep it," I said firmly, finally turning to look at him.
The car slowed to a stop at a red light.
He glanced at me.
Then, with that familiar teasing glint in his eyes, he said, "You can buy it from me. At least I'd know it's in good hands."
I blinked.
Was he serious?
"How much are you selling it for?" I asked cautiously.
He tilted his head slightly. "How much are you willing to pay?"
"I don't know. I'm not good with cars. I might ask Pa about it. You'd probably scam me," I said.
A small smile curved at the corner of his mouth.
"I don't even know how to drive," I added. "So what's the point?"
"I'll teach you," he said casually, as the light turned green and the car moved forward again.
I paused.
"You'll teach me?"
"Yeah."
I leaned back slightly, considering it. "Come to think of it, I did want to learn before. Back when we still had a car. Before Pa sold it."
There was a brief silence at that.
"Okay," he said. "I'll teach you."
"When?"
He looked at me for half a second—just enough to see the curiosity on my face—and laughed softly.
"What?" I frowned.
"Nothing," he said. "You look like a kid who just found out he's getting a toy car."
"I do not."
"But seriously," he continued, tone easing. "I'll teach you when I have free time."
"When is that free time?" I asked.
"Not sure yet," he admitted. "I'm going to be busy for a while. So I can't promise when."
Busy.
That word again.
"Okay," I said, turning back toward the window. "Just tell me when."
Outside, the city blurred past us in streaks of glass and concrete.
I took a breath.
"By the way, I adjusted our project timeline," I said.
"What do you mean, Boss?" he asked lightly.
"I sent the revised version to your email," I explained. "You don't have to show task progress twice a week anymore. Just once. And I transferred some of your tasks to mine."
He shot me a quick look.
"Why? You think I can't handle it?"
"No," I said quickly. "It's just that some of the tasks I assigned to you overlap with mine. I didn't want to get confused. So I took them. That way, you can focus on the presentation you're proud of."
"Don't do that," he said. "Keep it the way it is."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. Do you think I don't prioritize our project?"
"I didn't say that," I replied carefully. "I just figured you might be busy after class. With that... thing you mentioned."
"That 'thing'?" he repeated.
"You said you were busy," I clarified. "I don't know what it is. So I thought adjusting the timeline would help."
He smirked slightly.
"You're worrying about me?"
"Professionally concerned," I corrected. "That's more accurate."
"I hate professionalism," he muttered. Then he added, almost as an afterthought, "By the way, I have to leave right after our Database Management class today. I can't stay to work on the project."
"See?" I said. "And you still don't want me to take some of your tasks."
"I can handle it," he said firmly. "All of it."
"Okay," I replied, lifting a shoulder. "If that's what you say."
Silence returned.
But it was not empty.
It was loaded.
What kind of job required secrecy?
He had said it was legal. Then why wouldn't he tell even his friends?
I turned my head slightly and studied him.
His profile was calm. Focused. Controlled.
Too controlled.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked suddenly, catching me.
I looked away immediately, focusing on the window as if the passing buildings were fascinating.
"Nothing," I said.
But my heart was beating just a little faster.
Because something was shifting.
And I did not know whether I was ready to see what he was willing to give up next.
* * *
By the time our Database Management class began, the room had fallen into that familiar academic rhythm—keyboards clicking, chairs shifting, quiet murmurs of discussion floating between paired seats. Our professor, unusually generous, had given us the entire session to work on our Capstone project.
Around me, partnerships locked in. Heads leaned close together. Screens were angled conspiratorially. Everyone looked busy. Productive. Focused.
Everyone except my partner.
Jace sat beside me, his laptop open, screen glowing obediently in front of him—while his head rested on his folded arms.
He was asleep.
Not even pretending. Fully surrendered.
I released a quiet sigh.
He must have been exhausted. The kind of exhaustion that seeps into your bones and makes you forget pride, posture, and public image. He probably had not slept properly. Probably spent the night thinking about money. About work. About decisions he did not want to make.
The professor was too occupied answering questions at the far end of the room to notice. For once, luck was on his side.
I did not wake him.
He had somewhere to be after this. His so-called "work." Whatever that was.
So I let him sleep.
My fingers continued typing, adjusting code, reviewing documentation—while, against my better judgment, my eyes drifted toward him.
He looked... peaceful.
His lashes rested against his cheeks. His breathing was steady. The arrogant lines of his expression were softened into something almost gentle.
Dangerously gentle.
Before I could look away, his eyelids fluttered.
And then he saw me.
I immediately turned back to my screen.
Too late.
"Why are you watching me sleep, huh?" he asked lazily, voice still heavy with drowsiness.
"I was about to wake you up," I said evenly. "The professor might scold you."
He sighed, but did not sit up. His head remained resting on his arms.
"I haven't done my part today," he murmured quietly.
"I told you," I replied and looked at him this time, "I'll take it."
He smiled faintly—slow, tired—and blinked as if the effort alone drained him.
He did not argue further.
Within seconds, he had drifted off again.
I shook my head.
Under normal circumstances, I would have scolded him. Lectured him about responsibility. About deadlines.
But I knew why he was tired.
So I held back.
"Don't erase my name from the project, okay?" he mumbled suddenly, eyes still closed. "I'll do my part."
I let out a soft chuckle.
"Just make sure you submit your progress to me on time," I said.
"I will, Boss. Trust me," he replied.
Boss.
The name he had given me.
The name that sounded ridiculous coming from anyone else—but somehow, from him, felt... natural.
I returned to my screen, pretending the word did not linger longer than it should have.
* * *
After class ended, Jace left almost immediately.
No lingering. No teasing remarks. Just a brief wave and gone.
I was left alone.
So I relocated to the study corner, determined to drown myself in productivity.
Apparently, fate had other plans.
"Hello, Onyx! Good morning!"
I looked up.
Melody.
She sat down across from me without waiting for permission, her energy bright and immediate. She sighed dramatically, resting her chin on both hands.
"You look stressed," I observed.
She nodded, pouting.
Why did everyone around me seem to be fighting a battle lately?
"I have so many exams this week," she groaned. "I don't even know which unit to review first. I feel like I'll mix everything up and fail."
Her distress was genuine.
"Make a timeline," I said calmly. "Start with the unit that has the closest exam date. Don't overcomplicate it. Planning keeps things organized."
She blinked at me.
"You make it sound so easy," she said. "Have you ever failed an exam?"
"No," I answered simply. "I never intended to fail. I always made sure I passed."
She adjusted her fringe and sighed.
"You're lucky," she muttered. "Just thinking about reviewing makes me tired already."
"Then give yourself a reward," I suggested. "Something that will motivate you to push harder."
"A reward?" She tapped a finger dramatically against her chin. "What kind?"
A few seconds passed.
Then her eyes lit up.
"I know!" she exclaimed. "After this hell week, I want to try that new popular restaurant everyone's talking about. The one near the seaside. They say the food is amazing. I want to eat everything there."
"That's good motivation," I said, nodding.
Then she hesitated.
"Is it okay if you come with me?"
I blinked.
"Me?"
She nodded rapidly, grin widening.
"I think it's better if you bring your friends instead," I suggested quickly. "It'll be more fun. I'm boring."
"They all have plans," she said. "Some are on a diet. So it's just me. And since you've been helping me a lot... I want to treat you."
"Sorry," I said politely. "I'll have to refuse."
"Please!" she insisted, clasping her hands together in exaggerated pleading. "We have things to talk about! We share interests. It won't be boring. I promise."
I sighed.
She was not backing down.
"When?" I asked finally. "What time? How long? Where exactly? I need to plan properly so it doesn't interfere with my project timeline."
She froze.
"Wait. Does that mean you're coming?" she asked, eyes widening.
I nodded slowly.
"This Saturday. Around twelve noon. Lunch. Maybe one hour and thirty minutes?" she said quickly. "The restaurant is called Seafood by the Bay. It's near the seaside. You eat seafood, right?"
"Yes."
"Yes!" she said triumphantly. "We can just meet there!"
"I usually arrive fifteen minutes early," I said automatically. "So if you come at 11:45 a.m., I'll already be there."
"Sure! That way we can spend more time together," she said cheerfully.
More time together.
The words settled strangely in my chest.
She looked thrilled.
I, on the other hand, felt... unsettled.
This would be the first time I was going out like this.
With a girl.
"I can't wait until Saturday!" she said brightly. "Now I'm more motivated to review!"
At least I had helped her, and that should have been simple enough to categorize.
It was just lunch—an hour and thirty minutes, nothing more. A controlled variable. A contained interaction.
And I would not let her pay for everything. I would cover my share. That part, at least, remained predictable.
Still, as I returned to my screen, a faint thought began to settle in—quiet, persistent, difficult to ignore.
If someone asked me later how my Saturday went, why did it already feel like something more than it should have been?
Something... complicated.
* * *
It was already dinner time when Pa and I settled into our usual positions in the living room. The house carried the comforting scent of home-cooked food, warm and inviting, the kind that clung to the air and made everything feel steadier than it really was.
"Where's Jace?" Pa asked casually. "Is he coming tonight? I cooked for him."
I blinked.
"I'm not sure," I answered honestly.
Pa's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Onyx..." he said slowly. "Did you fight with him again?"
I almost choked.
"Me?" I asked, genuinely offended. "I didn't even do anything. I haven't said or done anything bad to your new son."
"Message him," Pa insisted. "Ask if he's staying tonight."
"Now?" I asked, hesitating.
"Of course now!"
"Okay..." I muttered, pulling out my phone.
I typed quickly.
Me:
Are you coming to stay tonight?
Pa is asking. He cooked dinner for you as well.
Sent: 7:30 p.m.
The reply came almost instantly.
Jace:
Just in time. I was about to knock. I'm outside.
Sent: 7:30 p.m.
I stood up immediately and walked toward the door. When I opened it, there he was—standing under the dim porch light, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed as if he owned the place.
Confident. Effortless. Infuriating.
"You smell like candy," I said the moment he stepped closer—something soft and sweet clinging to him, almost distracting.
"Do I?" he asked, lifting his arm and sniffing the sleeve of his fitted black shirt.
"Come, Jace! Dinner's ready!" Pa called from inside, his voice bright.
"This is exactly what I've been waiting for!" Jace declared enthusiastically, walking in as if the house belonged to him.
I closed the door behind him.
He took his usual seat at the dining table without hesitation. I followed, slightly slower.
"Smells really good," he said, closing his eyes briefly as if savoring the aroma alone was enough.
"Eat as much as you want," Pa said with a proud grin.
I frowned slightly as the two of them began serving each other food like long-lost relatives reunited. Meanwhile, I quietly helped myself.
I wasn't that hungry.
But Jace was.
He ate faster than usual—not messy, not rude—but purposeful. Focused. Like someone who had been running on fumes.
"You like it?" Pa asked.
"Yeah! I do!" Jace answered while chewing, barely hiding how hungry he seemed.
I watched him.
Is this because of that job?
What exactly was he doing?
He said it was legal. But why did he look like someone pushing himself too hard for it?
* * *
After dinner, we retreated to my room.
As expected, Jace claimed the bed first.
He lay down comfortably, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling like a king reviewing his kingdom.
"So," I said from my desk, "are you planning to skip the Capstone project? Tell me now if you can't do it."
"I will," he said lazily. "Later. Just give me fifteen minute. I'll take a nap first."
He set an alarm on his phone and placed it beside him.
Fifteen minutes later, the alarm rang.
And he did not move.
Not even a twitch.
He had fallen into a deep, unbothered sleep.
I sighed.
Standing up, I walked over quietly and grabbed his phone to silence the alarm. He did not stir.
Clearly, he needed the rest.
I placed the phone back where it had been and returned to my desk.
I had already anticipated this.
That was why I had started doing his tasks earlier. Even if he insisted he would handle them, I preferred having a backup plan. Just in case.
A few hours passed in quiet concentration.
Eventually, my eyes grew heavy.
I decided it was time to sleep.
Usually, when Jace stayed over, I slept on the extra mattress. Not because I volunteered.
Because Pa volunteered me.
Jace, apparently, had to sleep on the bed, because he was the favorite "son".
However, when I looked around—
The mattress was gone.
I frowned and walked to Pa's room.
"Pa, where's the extra mattress?" I asked. "Did you remove it?"
"I washed the cover," he replied. "It hasn't dried yet. Just sleep on your bed tonight. You're both boys anyway. It's fine."
I stared at him.
"Me? Sleeping with him on the same bed?" I protested. "Have you seen how he occupies my bed? I'll sleep on the couch."
"No," Pa said immediately. "Your back will hurt. I tried it before. I don't recommend it."
"It's fine. I'll sleep there."
"Just endure it for one night," he said firmly. "Tomorrow the sheet will be dry."
I scratched my head, frustrated.
"Just sleep there, Onyx," Pa added. "No more arguing. I'm going to bed. Good night."
"Okay. Good night," I muttered.
I went back to my bedroom and stopped dead at the doorway.
Jace was sprawled across my bed like he owned the place.
Not just lying down—sprawled. One arm thrown over his head, one leg slightly bent, blanket twisted around his waist like he had conquered foreign territory and claimed it as his own.
I stared at him.
"So," I said slowly, folding my arms, "where exactly am I supposed to fit myself in?"
He didn't answer.
Of course he didn't.
He was asleep. Peaceful. Completely unbothered. As if this wasn't my room. My bed. My personal space.
I stepped closer, standing beside the mattress, narrowing my eyes at his sleeping face. He looked annoyingly comfortable. The kind of comfortable that made you question whether you were the intruder instead.
I had no other choice.
I was already exhausted. My eyelids felt heavy, my mind tired. Arguing with a sleeping man would only waste the little energy I had left.
"Jace..." I muttered, tapping his shoulder.
He stirred, brows furrowing slightly before his eyelids lifted halfway.
"Is it morning already?" he asked groggily, voice thick with sleep.
"No," I said flatly. "But can you move? I have to sleep on the bed. I can't use the extra mattress. Pa washed the sheets."
His eyes snapped open.
"On this bed? Together?" he asked.
I nodded once.
He grinned.
Not a teasing grin. Not even mischievous.
Just... amused.
Then, without another word, he shifted to the side, dragging the blanket with him in one smooth motion and leaving a narrow—very narrow—but deliberate space beside him.
"Come," he said softly, tapping the empty spot. "Sleep here."
I hesitated for half a second too long.
But I was tired.
So I climbed onto the bed and lay down stiffly, flat on my back, hands pinned straight against my sides like a corpse arranged for burial. I made sure there was space between us. Enough distance to make a statement. Enough to prove I was unaffected.
Jace, on the other hand, looked completely at ease. One arm tucked beneath his head, one leg slightly bent, shoulders relaxed.
"You have enough space there, Boss?" he asked lazily.
"Yes," I answered immediately, not moving an inch.
"Good," he murmured, already drifting. "I don't have the energy left to mess with you tonight. Sorry I couldn't do the project. I'll finish it in class."
I turned my head slightly and found that he was already asleep—just like that, as if the day had simply switched him off without warning.
His breathing had evened out, slow and steady, the kind that came from someone completely unaware of everything around him.
I shifted my gaze back to the ceiling and tried to regulate my own breathing, matching the quiet rhythm in the room.
This was normal. Two guys, one bed—nothing complicated.
That was what I told myself.
But the problem was—
The guy beside me was Jace.
I closed my eyes and let a few seconds pass, willing my thoughts to settle.
Then something warm brushed gently over my fingers.
My eyes opened immediately.
I looked down.
The tips of his fingers rested lightly against mine—not gripping, not holding, just there... as if it had happened without intention.
I swallowed and turned my head toward him.
He was still asleep. Face relaxed. Lips slightly parted. No sign of awareness. No hint of intention.
As if his body had moved on its own.
As if it had searched for something familiar in the dark and simply found it.
His fingers shifted slightly, brushing against mine.
And without meaning to—
My heartbeat quickened.
The drowsiness vanished instantly.
I stared at our hands like they were evidence in a trial.
Why did this feel—
Wrong?
Or... not wrong at all?
I didn't know.
All I knew was that I didn't pull my hand away.
And that terrified me more than the touch itself.
What is happening? This was not part of any system I understood.
End of Chapter 22