Onyx's POV
It was already late night when Jace and I retreated to my room, the house quieting into that familiar hush that came after dinner—when the dishes were washed, the lights dimmed, and even the walls seemed ready to sleep.
I was prepared to unroll my mattress on the floor like I had done the past few nights.
Except it was not there.
Again.
I stood in the middle of my room, blinking at the empty space where it was supposed to be, as if it might materialize out of guilt.
It did not.
I stepped back out and found Pa.
"Where's my mattress? I thought it would be dry by now?" I asked.
"I don't know," he replied, scratching the back of his head. "For some reason it still hasn't dried. I was sure I left it under the sun, but when I checked, it was damp. Did it rain without me noticing? Maybe just sleep on the bed with Jace again tonight. I'll keep the fan on it overnight and make sure it dries properly."
It did not rain.
I was certain of that.
But I only sighed and nodded, because arguing would not magically dry the thin mattress.
When I returned to my room, Jace was already on my bed, lying on his side like some prince occupying borrowed territory. His elbow was propped against the mattress, his hand supporting his head. He looked entirely too comfortable for someone who technically did not own the bed.
He smirked when he saw me and patted the space beside him, casual and confident.
"Come on. There's enough space for the two of us," he said coolly. "I'm pretty sure you can't sleep on that extra mattress yet."
"What can I do? Pa said it's still wet," I replied. "It didn't even rain. Did you do something to it?"
"Me? No," he said, shaking his head with exaggerated innocence. "Maybe it just needs more sun. Maybe the sun wasn't enough."
He added that last part with a smirk that made me narrow my eyes at him.
Suspicious.
Highly suspicious.
I gave him a sideways glare, but I climbed onto the bed anyway. What choice did I have?
As usual, I positioned myself stiffly on my back, hands placed neatly over my chest, as if I were rehearsing for a very disciplined funeral. If someone walked in, they would assume I had already accepted my fate.
The room settled into silence.
Outside, crickets hummed in the darkness. The air was still. The ceiling fan rotated lazily above us, slicing through the quiet.
I could feel his gaze.
I refused to look.
"Since when did you get close to that girl with annoying fringe?" Jace asked suddenly.
I blinked at the ceiling. "Who? Melody?"
"Yeah. How did you two meet?"
"Why are you asking?"
"Nothing," he said lightly, though there was a deliberate sharpness beneath it. "I just figured you had that permanent loner aura. The kind that comes with a 'Do Not Disturb' sign permanently installed on your forehead."
He tilted his head slightly, watching me in a way that felt far too observant.
"Or maybe," he continued, voice dropping just enough to suggest he enjoyed this, "you actually liked her and decided she was worth making an exception for."
A brief pause.
"She's the one you kept staring at that day," he added casually. "The loud group of girls at the study corner. The one who couldn't stop talking."
I turned my head slightly to look at him.
"You still remember that?"
He didn't answer immediately. He just held my gaze, steady and unblinking.
"I notice everything," he said quietly. "So... do you like her?"
I swallowed and shifted my eyes back to the ceiling.
"No. I don't like her," I said at once.
"Not now," he replied. "But in the future?"
I exhaled slowly.
"Why does that matter?"
"Because you said relationships aren't your priority," he said. "So I'm just asking—when it does become your priority, does she have a chance? Would you like her?"
"Does she have a chance?" I repeated. "Would I like her?"
"Stop repeating the question."
"Then stop interrogating me," I shot back. "And why are you so annoyed about it?"
"I'm not annoyed," he said. "You said we should plan. Planning prevents mistakes. Melody is a mistake. So we should plan on getting rid of her. A mistake that isn't worth it."
I let out a small laugh.
"How did Melody become a mistake?" I asked, unable to hold back my amusement.
"I don't know," he said with a shrug that looked far too deliberate to be casual. "Maybe it's because her voice and fringe is too annoying."
He glanced at me from the corner of his eye, the faintest curve tugging at his lips, as if he enjoyed pretending he didn't care.
"Anyway," he added, brushing it off with forced indifference, "just answer the question."
A beat passed.
"Would you like her?"
I shook my head slowly.
"So no? You won't like her in the future? I just want to set things straight."
"I don't know," I admitted. "Maybe I will. Maybe I won't. We can't predict the future."
He groaned softly, the sound low and frustrated.
I decided to change the topic before he drafted a five-year strategic plan against Melody.
"Anyway," I said, "I was surprised earlier. You actually knew a lot about the exoplanet we were discussing. Do you really read about that stuff? You don't look like the type who would enjoy it."
He shifted slightly, and I felt his warm breath brush against my cheek.
"There are still a lot of things you don't know about me," he murmured. "So going back—will you like Melody in the future?"
Unbelievable.
"I won't," I said firmly, just to end it.
"Okay. I'll remember that," he replied.
"Why does I feel like you hate her?" I asked, barely suppressing a laugh.
"She's ruining our time," he said, then paused.
I turned my head to look at him.
"Our time doing the project," he clarified. "She's an inconvenience. A disturbance. An external force designed to destroy productivity."
That did it. I laughed outright.
"You make it sound like she's some kind of villain."
"Nuisance," he corrected. "That's the word."
"She's not that bad," I said. "She's nice."
"I don't like her presence at all."
I glanced at him. His eyes were closed now, but the faint crease between his brows betrayed him.
"You need sleep," I said lightly. "You're overthinking."
"Alright, Boss," he replied, a grin tugging at his lips. "But don't let her call you that—I'm the only one who gets to."
I chuckled and shook my head.
He shifted properly onto his back, scooting a little further to the side to give me more space—an action he pretended was effortless and unintentional.
"Good night, Boss," he said. "After class tomorrow, I'll have to leave again. I've got something to do."
So he was working again.
"Whatever your busy thing is, that's up to you," I replied. "Good night."
Silence followed.
I did not close my eyes immediately. I wasn't sleepy yet. My hands drifted down from my chest and rested flat on the mattress, palms facing downward. I stared at the darkness above me, letting late-night thoughts swirl quietly in my head—the kind that only appear when the world is finally quiet.
Then I heard a shift in his breathing.
A deeper exhale.
I turned my head slightly.
Was he already asleep?
I studied his face in the dim light. Calm. Relaxed. Lips parted just slightly.
And then—
His hand moved.
Not dramatically. Not deliberately.
It slid across the sheet, as if guided by gravity or unconscious instinct, and landed on top of mine.
My breath stalled.
This time, it wasn't just his fingers brushing against mine.
It was his entire hand.
Warm. Solid. Resting fully over my own.
Should I move?
Should I tell him?
Was he even asleep?
The pressure wasn't firm enough to feel intentional. It wasn't a grip. It wasn't a hold. It was simply there—like something that had accidentally fallen into place.
Then I felt it—a slight twitch of his fingers, subtle and involuntary. My heartbeat responded immediately, louder than necessary, disrupting the stillness.
I couldn't determine whether I wanted to withdraw or allow the contact to remain, nor could I justify why I hadn't already acted. But I didn't move. I let my hand stay beneath his and closed my eyes, deliberately quieting my thoughts.
The bed was small—too small to avoid contact—so this was inevitable. That was all. That had to be the explanation.
* * *
Morning came quietly.
My consciousness surfaced before my alarm had the chance to ruin the peace. I opened my eyes slowly, the ceiling above me still tinted with early sunlight.
The first thing I did was look at my hand.
His hand was not on top of mine this time.
Instead, our pinky fingers were barely touching—just the softest brush at the sides. Close. Almost aligned. As if even in sleep, our hands had drifted toward the same direction but stopped at the last second.
I turned my head slightly.
Jace was still asleep, breathing slow and steady, completely unaware of the microscopic war happening inside my chest over something as trivial as two pinky fingers touching.
I carefully sat up, making sure not to disturb him, and grabbed my phone before heading to the bathroom.
And then came the shower.
You know that strange mental space you enter when you stand under running water? When the world blurs into white noise and every single thought decides it is the perfect time to line up for inspection?
That was where I was.
Water streamed down from my head, over my shoulders, down my spine. I stared at the tiles without really seeing them.
Then I looked at my right hand.
Without thinking, I placed my left hand over it—mimicking the position from last night—and just stood there, watching the contact.
Why does it bother me?
It was unintentional.
It had to be.
But whenever it happened, my heart reacted first—faster than logic, faster than reason. It beat erratically, like it had misread a signal.
It had been the second night we shared the bed when he did it.
If it happened again tonight... then what?
Was it really accidental?
Or was he doing it on purpose?
I exhaled and let the water fall harder against my face.
My extra mattress should be dry tonight anyway. I would be back on the floor. Back to normal. Back to space and distance and sanity.
Maybe that was better.
I had other things to think about.
Not his hand.
* * *
Jace left as soon as our Database Management class ended. No explanation. No indication of where he was going. That was consistent with him.
But I already knew.
He was going to work. The specifics, as usual, remained undisclosed.
So here I was again, alone at the study corner, surrounded by the quiet hum of students pretending to be productive.
And like clockwork—
"Hi, Mr. Onyx! Good morning!" Melody greeted brightly.
"Hello," I replied with a faint smile.
"Your friend isn't here today?" she asked, scanning the empty seat around me.
"Who? Jace? He left already," I said.
She visibly relaxed as she dropped into the bench across from me.
"Finally, he's not here," she said, pressing a hand dramatically to her chest. "I actually don't like him. He's too intimidating. I feel like he hates me."
I chuckled.
"I guess he hates everyone," she continued with a pout. "Well... except you."
"No," I corrected lightly. "He has other friends. He likes them. It's not just me. He likes my father too much."
"Wait." She tilted her head. "Your father? So you two are really that close?"
"I suppose," I answered.
"Wasn't he supposed to graduate already? He's one year ahead, right? So you became friends when he was still a senior and you were in third year? Or even before that?"
"No. We only became friends at the start of this semester when I became a senior," I explained. "We're partners in one of the unit he attends. That's how it started."
"Ohh..." She nodded thoughtfully. "Still, don't tell him I said I don't like him. He might punch me or something."
"Don't worry. I won't tell him. And I won't let that happen."
She leaned forward slightly.
"I noticed he calls you 'Boss,'" she said.
I paused.
"I remember you told me not to call you that because it was unnecessary."
"Ah. That," I replied. "I just didn't want everyone calling me Boss. One person is enough. And if you knew him better, you'd realize you can't stop him from doing whatever he wants. So I let him."
"So..." she said slowly, eyes glinting with mischief, "is it okay if I call you Boss too? Since you can't stop me?"
I sighed deeply.
"I'm kidding," she said quickly, laughing.
I only smiled.
"Oh! Don't forget—our date. I mean, our plan on Saturday," she corrected herself.
"Yes," I said. "It's already on my schedule. Twelve noon to one-thirty. After that, I go home."
"But if you don't have plans after one-thirty that noon," she continued enthusiastically, "we could walk by the seaside. Or wait for the sunset! They say the sunset there is the best. I'm not forcing you. Just if you're free."
"Let me check," I said, pulling out my personal phone.
I opened my schedule.
Saturday:
7:30 a.m. — Wake up
7:45 a.m. — Breakfast with Pa and Jace
8:15 a.m. — Help clean the house
8:45 a.m. — Clean my room (Jace said he would help, but only fix the bed because he has to leave)
9:15 a.m. — Start Capstone Project
11:15 a.m. — Shower
11:30 a.m. — Leave for seaside
11:45 a.m. — Arrive at seaside
12:00 noon — Meet Melody
1:30 p.m. — Lunch done, go home
1:45 p.m. — Requirements for other units/Client requests
3:00 p.m. — Nap
4:00 p.m. — Snack with Pa
4:30 p.m. — Check Jace's Capstone Project
7:30 p.m. — Dinner with Pa and Jace
8:00 p.m. — Cleaning
8:30 p.m. — Discuss Capstone with Jace (tentative, he might say he's tired)
9:30 p.m. — Sleep
I had already revised this once because Jace was staying at our house.
"I have one time slot where I might be free," I said.
"Really?" Melody's eyes widened instantly.
"But it might be too late for sunset," I added. "Possibly eight-thirty at night."
She deflated slightly.
"Aw, that's too late. I guess you're a very busy person."
I stared at the schedule again.
It did look busy.
I nodded.
Yes.
Very busy.
"Well, I guess lunch will do. We can watch the sunset some other time," Melody said, grinning. "Oh, by the way, remember the planet-themed graham balls? I'll bring them on Saturday!"
She looked dangerously pleased with herself.
"Ah, sure," I said. "You don't have to prioritize it that much. I might not even eat it. I might just... look at it."
She gasped in mock offense. "Then make it a display," she said, giggling.
I was about to say something when my phone buzzed in my hand. The vibration was sharp—too sharp for something so small. I glanced down.
Jace:
Is that annoying fringe girl with you again?
Sent: 10:30 a.m.
I blinked. Was he referring to Melody?
Me:
Yes. Why?
Sent: 10:30 a.m.
The typing bubble did not appear.
Nothing.
Just silence.
"Is something up, Onyx?" Melody asked suddenly.
I looked up at her. She had that curious tilt to her head again—the one that made her look like she was already halfway into my thoughts.
"Nope," I said. "It's just Jace who messaged me."
I looked back at my phone.
Still nothing.
What was he thinking?
Why ask if he wasn't going to say anything else?
* * *
By the time evening arrived, the sky outside our house had dimmed into that soft blue that made everything feel slower. Pa and I were already seated at the carpet. Dinner was ready, steam curling lazily from the dishes.
We were waiting.
Because Jace said he was on his way home.
"Onyx..." Pa said.
I looked up.
"About your mattress... you might not be able to sleep on it again."
I frowned. "Why?"
"It smells bad," he said quietly, almost embarrassed. "I'm not sure why. I thought I used the right detergent—the one that doesn't leave a smell when you dry it inside." He glanced at me. "You can't sleep on that. I'll wash it again."
I nodded. "It's okay."
It really wasn't a big deal.
Or maybe it was. I just refused to acknowledge it.
"You're okay sleeping with Jace on the bed?" Pa asked carefully. "You're not resisting anymore?"
I rolled my eyes slightly. "He doesn't move around when he sleeps," I said. "The bed is small, sure. But he gives enough space."
Pa smiled faintly. "That's good. I thought you two would fight about it."
"If we fight," I said dryly, "I'll be the one apologizing—even if he's the wrong one. Correct?"
Pa burst out laughing.
"Are you saying I favor him more than you?" he asked.
I nodded without hesitation.
He shook his head, still smiling. "I just don't want you to lose him as a friend."
The words lingered.
I exhaled slowly.
"And what if I cut ties with him after this semester?" I asked.
The room quieted.
"No," Pa said immediately. "Please don't do that. I worry about you."
I frowned. "Worry about what?"
He looked at the table for a moment. His smile softened—almost fragile.
"I think it's about time I told you something," he said. "I've been wanting to for a while. I just didn't know when or how."
My chest tightened.
Before I could respond, my phone buzzed again.
Jace:
I'll be a bit late, Boss. You can start eating. Don't worry about me. Tell Pa as well.
Sent: 7:28 p.m.
Me:
Okay. Get home safely.
Food is waiting for you.
Sent: 7:28 p.m.
Jace:
Sure, Boss. ;-)
Sent: 7:28 p.m.
That stupid winking emoji.
Why was he winking?
I looked up at Pa. "Jace will be a bit late," I said. "He just messaged."
"I see," Pa said, nodding slowly. "Then while he's not here... it's best to tell you this. I've just been too embarrassed. I've been trying to gather the courage."
My stomach dropped.
"What is it?" I asked. "Tell me everything—just not you going back to gambling. If that's what this is, don't say it."
My voice had sharpened without permission.
"No, it's not that," Pa said quickly. He pouted slightly before straightening. This time, his expression was more serious than I had seen in a while.
That scared me more than anything.
"I'm concerned now," I admitted.
The house felt too quiet.
Too still.
Like something was about to change—and whatever it was, it wouldn't be small.
End of Chapter 24