Onyx's POV
It was already two in the morning, and sleep still refused to visit me.
The entire room was silent except for the faint hum of the A.C. and the distant, occasional bark of a stray dog somewhere down the street. Moonlight slipped through the thin curtains and spilled across the floor, climbing slowly up the edge of the bed like a quiet intruder.
My mind, however, would not quiet down.
It ran in circles—possibilities, future scenarios, contingency plans. What would happen when everything changed?
I exhaled softly and turned my head.
Jace lay beside me, sprawled in careless comfort as if the world owed him peaceful sleep. One arm was draped over his stomach, his breathing steady, deep, infuriatingly calm.
I almost smirked.
How could he carry so much and still look like he carried nothing at all?
Even when his life was slowly cracking beneath the surface, he wore that same arrogant, confident mask. That effortless grin. That lazy, untouchable composure.
As if nothing could ever shake him.
As if he did not feel things the way normal people did.
"How can you be so strong?" I whispered into the dark.
The words were barely sound—more breath than voice.
Jace inhaled deeply.
I froze.
Did I wake him up?
I watched him carefully. His eyelids did not flutter. His expression did not change. Perhaps it was only a shift in his breathing pattern. Perhaps it was nothing.
Then my gaze drifted lower.
His hand rested above his stomach.
It should have been on mine already.
That had become the routine.
My own hand lay flat against the mattress between us, palm facing upward.
Waiting.
I swallowed at the realization.
Then it happened.
His hand moved slightly, loose and unguarded, as if gravity itself had decided his fate. It slipped down and landed directly onto my palm.
His palm faced downward. Mine faced upward.
Perfect alignment.
I stopped breathing.
My eyes slowly returned to the ceiling, staring at the faint cracks in the paint as if they could explain what was happening.
Why did it feel like I had been anticipating this?
Why did it feel like relief?
His hand did not tighten. It did not curl around mine.
It simply rested there.
Warm.
Heavy.
Certain.
In my head, alarms rang faintly.
Is this still normal?
He was asleep. I was certain of that. Which meant he had no idea that for three consecutive nights, his hand had found mine in the dark.
He did not know.
But I did.
And I never moved it away.
I think I waited for it.
What did that mean?
Before my thoughts could spiral further, he shifted again. This time, his body turned away from me. His hand slipped off mine, abandoning it completely.
Suddenly, my palm felt cold.
Empty.
I slowly lifted it in front of my face, examining it in the pale moonlight. The faint veins. The lines across my skin. The ghost of warmth still lingering there.
I curled my fingers gently into a fist and exhaled.
Then I looked at Jace's back.
My hand moved without permission.
It hovered inches away from him.
Should I touch him back?
Just lightly.
Just once.
My fingertips were so close to the fabric of his shirt that I could almost feel the heat radiating from him.
And then—
I stopped.
I shook my head and turned to face the opposite direction.
No, Onyx.
You are overthinking.
Don't complicate something that isn't complicated.
* * *
I was alone in the cafeteria after our Database Management class. Jace had already left for his job—still keeping it a secret as if it were classified information.
I chose a corner seat, back against the wall, laptop open in front of me. From this angle, no one could see my screen.
Safe, isolated, and controlled.
I inhaled deeply, fingers hovering over the keyboard.
Am I really about to do this?
Am I actually going to rely on strangers?
Because that was exactly what I was planning to do.
Our university had an anonymous confession page—students posted stories, dilemmas, secrets. The admin filtered them and shared them without revealing identities.
It was impulsive.
It was reckless.
It was very unlike me.
I glanced around first.
What if Jace saw it?
What if I worded something carelessly and he recognized us?
I would never hear the end of it.
I had to be discreet.
Precise.
Strategic.
"Okay," I muttered under my breath. "Here it goes."
And I began to type...
* * *
Hi guys, I wanted to share something and I hope you could help me understand what I am experiencing right now.
To start off, there's this "friend." A guy.
Hypothetically speaking, we sleep in the same room, same bed, because of circumstances. Nothing strange about that. Two guys. Same space. It happens.
But for three nights now, when he's asleep, his hand somehow ends up on mine. He doesn't know. I'm sure he doesn't.
But I do.
And I don't move it.
That's the problem.
I don't move it.
The first night, I thought it was an accident. The second night, coincidence. The third night... I think I was waiting for it.
Is that still normal?
If someone touches your hand in their sleep and you let it stay—what does that mean?
Because here's the thing. I was planning to cut this person off eventually. I already told myself it's temporary. After that, we go our separate ways. Clean. Practical. Logical.
But lately, the thought of him leaving feels... wrong.
Not dramatic. Just wrong.
And I don't understand why. I don't know if this is attachment. Dependency. Habit. Or something else.
If this is "romantic love," then I'm in trouble—because I don't even know what love feels like.
I grew up without truly experiencing it. I understand the concept—at least in theory—but not how it manifests in actual human behavior. So how am I supposed to recognize it now?
Is it normal to want someone to stay when you were the one preparing to leave first?
Is it normal to look at your own hand after it's been empty and feel like something is missing?
I'm not asking for fairytale answers. I just want to know what's happening to me. Because for someone who always has a plan—
I suddenly don't have one for this.
We are also both guys, I already mentioned it earlier, if that matters, so it's a bit strange.
Yours truly,
Mr. Loner
P.S. Please hide my identity, admin. I don't want this "friend" of mine to realize it's actually him. He will definitely tease me for the rest of my life.
* * *
I stared at the screen long after I finished typing.
The glow of the laptop reflected faintly against my face, turning the dark display into a blurred mirror. I could see myself there—distorted, hesitant, almost unfamiliar.
For someone who prided himself on logic and preparation—I had just typed a confession about feelings I could not even define.
And that terrified me more than anything.
I read it three times.
Neutral.
Safe.
No names.
No identifying details.
Just a "friend."
I scanned every line again, hunting for mistakes the way I would debug a faulty code. No timestamps. No locations. No inside jokes. Nothing that could betray me.
My finger hovered over the submit button.
This was ridiculous.
It was only a post. A harmless, anonymous post.
But it felt like I was about to jump off a cliff without calculating the height.
I hesitated.
One second.
Two.
Then I clicked it.
The screen refreshed immediately, as if the internet had swallowed my secret without hesitation. My confession disappeared into the void, now waiting for the page admin to approve and post it.
Gone.
No taking it back.
I leaned back slowly in my chair, staring at the now-empty submission page.
For the first time in a long while—I had admitted something.
Even if no one knew it was me.
Even if he would never know.
My hand twitched slightly against the wooden table. As if it were still waiting for something to land on it.
"Hi, Onyx!"
I nearly jumped out of my skin.
Melody appeared at my side like an unexpected jump scare in a horror film. I flinched so hard that I snapped my laptop shut in one sharp motion.
"Oh?" she said, giggling. "Did I scare you?"
I stared at her with wide eyes, heart still pounding like I had been caught committing a crime.
"No," I said quickly, forcing my voice into something steady. "I just didn't expect you."
She tilted her head, clearly amused. "Why did you suddenly close your laptop? Are you hiding something?"
"Nope. Nothing," I said, placing my hand firmly on top of the closed device as if guarding classified information.
She narrowed her eyes playfully. "Are you sure? Then why are you seated in the corner like you're doing something secret where no one can see?"
I exhaled slowly, trying to compose myself.
"Really, it's nothing," I said. "You're just making assumptions. This is my usual spot whenever I go to this cafeteria."
"Okay, okay," she said with a giggle. "I won't tease you anymore. Can I sit with you?"
"Yeah, sure."
She didn't sit across from me this time.
She sat beside me.
Too close.
And then I noticed it—the soft scent of melon perfume drifting toward me. Fresh. Clean. Like someone who had just stepped out of a shower and into a shampoo commercial.
"How have you been lately, Onyx?" she asked. "Are you doing fine?"
"Yeah," I replied. "Why are you asking?"
I turned to look at her, and she was already looking at me—directly into my eyes.
Too directly.
"I just want to make sure you're okay," she said gently. "You push yourself too much with academics. I'm worried you might forget to take care of your wellbeing."
I blinked.
That was... unexpectedly sincere.
"It's all good, Melody," I said, nodding slightly. "Thanks for bringing it up."
She smiled, satisfied. "All right! And don't forget—tomorrow is Saturday. We have lunch by the seaside."
"Yup. I haven't forgotten."
"I'm so excited!" she said brightly. "How about you?"
"I'm not that excited," I answered honestly, "but I'm looking forward to it."
She giggled. "Then I'll make it super exciting so you'll have fun."
It's just lunch.
What kind of "fun" was she planning?
"You think I should get a haircut for tomorrow?" she asked suddenly. "I feel like I need one."
"I don't think so," I said after a brief assessment. "You look fine with your hair."
"But I think my fringe is getting too long. It's about to cover my eyes already," she said, blowing her bangs upward in frustration.
The movement made them flutter and fall right back into place.
Those fringes.
For some reason, I remembered the exact expression Jace wore the last time he complained about them—brows slightly furrowed, lips pressed thin, looking personally offended by a hairstyle like it was a national issue.
"Why are you suddenly in deep thought and smiling, Onyx?" Melody asked, tilting her head at me.
I blinked quickly, heat rising to my ears.
"Sorry," I muttered, shaking my head as if I could physically dislodge the memory. "It's nothing."
I cleared my throat and forced my expression back into something neutral.
"No need to cut your hair," I added calmly.
"Then I won't cut it," she declared decisively. "Oh! I have to go. I'm heading to the mall to buy new clothes."
"Okay."
"I won't disturb you anymore, Onyx! I just came to remind you about our lunch. See you tomorrow!"
I nodded and gave her a small smile.
And finally—She left.
The cafeteria noise returned to normal volume.
The melon scent faded.
I waited a few seconds, just to be safe, before slowly lifting my laptop lid again.
The screen blinked back to life.
And immediately, I refreshed the university confession page.
My breath caught.
There it was, my confession, posted six minutes ago.
Anonymous. Clean. No edits.
Alias: Mr. Loner.
There were already dozens of replies. Students I didn't know. Names I had never seen. All reacting to something I had written barely minutes ago.
I scrolled up.
My stomach dropped.
And beneath it—
Comments.
Too many comments.
My pulse began to climb as I scrolled downward, each flick of the trackpad feeling heavier than the last.
What were they thinking?
What were they going to say?
I had asked strangers to define something I couldn't.
And now—
They were answering.
Rianne M. (@softchaos):
Bro that's not "normal friend behavior." That's emotional attachment slowly forming. You're already waiting for it. That's the giveaway.
Jolo_1999 (@sleepdeprivedking):
Three nights??? My guy that's a slow-burn romance arc and you're still calling it hypothetical. I wanna cry!
Avery Cruz (@clinicaloverthinker):
The fact that you planned to leave but now don't want him to? That's not habit. That's fear of losing someone important. Might not be love yet, but it's definitely something.
MarkyDoesMath (@logicfirst)
As another guy, I'm telling you: if he keeps landing on your hand, either he subconsciously seeks comfort or you're just coincidentally aligned sleepers. BUT the real issue is you waiting for it.
Trish Flowers (@romcom_addict):
"Is it normal to look at your own hand after it's empty and feel like something is missing?"
Sir... respectfully... you are in madly in love.
Kyle M. (@no_filter_kyle):
Two guys sleeping together and touching hands for three nights straight and you're asking if it's strange?? Be serious T.T
Lia Santos (@quietobserver):
You grew up not understanding love. Maybe this is the first time you're feeling safe with someone. That can be confusing. It doesn't have to be labeled immediately.
Unknown_User47 (@probablynotyourfriend):
Mr. Loner? More like Mr. Attached.
Also if your "friend" reads this, I hope he teases you.
Devon (@nightshiftgrind):
If you were ready to cut him off but now you can't, maybe he already became part of your routine. And routines are hard to lose.
I leaned back slowly in my chair, trying to put some distance between myself and the screen, but the warmth creeping up my ears refused to fade.
Madly in love? Attached? Slow-burn romance arc? Be serious?
I dragged a hand down my face, exhaling sharply as if that would somehow reset my entire existence.
This was a mistake. An absolute mistake.
I had voluntarily handed my private confusion to a crowd of strangers, and now they were dissecting me like I was some psychology case study in the middle of a lecture hall.
And the worst part?
None of them were completely wrong.
My hand twitched lightly over the trackpad, hesitating—
until a new comment suddenly appeared, and my heartbeat spiked all over again.
MidnightDriver (@noonespecial):
Mr. Loner, huh? Funny how you keep calling it accidental when you never once pulled away. Hypothetically speaking... if the "friend" noticed you weren't moving and still kept doing it, maybe he wasn't asleep either. Just saying.
He might've been waiting to see if you'd pull back.
Then, a lot of students replied on his comment.
Alyssa Rae (@cloudysundays):
Why does this sound like you're the actual friend in the confession of Mr. Loner???
Darren Lim (@overanalyzethis):
"Maybe he wasn't asleep either" is way too specific. Sir MidnightDriver. Explain yourself.
Camille V. (@secondleadenergy):
The confidence in his comment is suspicious. Are we witnessing a live confession in the replies?
Ethan Cole (@brutallyhonest_21):
That's not advice. That's insider information 😭
Mika Torres (@psychmajorish):
If you're the friend and you're testing him, that's lowkey evil. Just communicate, man.
I swallowed.
Wait? Don't tell me MidnightDriver is Jace? But, it can't be. He's too busy working right now, and he had no time to read my confession for sure.
But I have to make sure first if it is really him.
I grabbed my personal phone, and I messaged him.
Me:
Can we talk?
Sent: 10:46 a.m.
I waited for a few minutes.
Jace:
What is it? Sorry, I couldn't reply right away, boss. Doing something really busy. Just message me and I will reply back once I can.
Sent: 10:48 a.m.
See?
With that reply, he was probably working.
Busy.
Occupied.
There was no way he was casually lurking on the confession page while balancing work. It was impossible for him to be MidnightDriver.
...Right?
Maybe my confession just hit close to home for someone else too.
I exhaled and turned my attention back to the screen.
More notifications.
More comments.
They kept multiplying, stacking on top of each other like my thoughts. I didn't even know which one to read first.
This was supposed to help me.
Instead, it felt like I had invited an entire audience into the most private part of my head.
Maybe, instead of finding answers, I had only complicated things further—dragging strangers into something I didn't even understand myself.
Good thing this was anonymous.
Then—
A new comment appeared.
And this one made my pulse stutter.
Reese Navarro (@tryitonce):
Okay but here's a practical solution, Mr. Loner: next time, you move first. When he's "asleep," let your hand fall on his instead. Don't overthink it. Just notice what you feel—and see if he pulls away. If he doesn't? That tells you more than any comment section ever will.
I stared at the screen, rereading the suggestion again and again.
Me?
Holding his hand first?
The idea alone made my stomach twist.
I was the one who stayed still. The one who waited. The one who let things happen without claiming responsibility for them. Moving first meant admitting something—even if only to myself.
I swallowed.
This was getting ridiculous.
And yet... I couldn't stop thinking about it.
Thankfully, the page allowed anonymous replies. I could change my display name, hide my profile, erase any trace that led back to me.
At least I wouldn't embarrass myself publicly.
After a brief hesitation, I adjusted the settings, took a steadying breath, and started typing a reply under his comment.
Mr. Loner (@certifiedloner):
Hypothetically speaking... what if he's actually awake when I hold his hand first? That would be extremely embarrassing. What if he pulls away? He might think I'm weird.
Then, someone just replied to my comment right away.
Kiara Villanueva (@campuswatcher)
OHHH finally Mr. Loner decided to step into his own comment section, we've been waiting.
Reese Navarro (@tryitonce)
If he pulls away, congrats—you got data. If he doesn't? Congrats—you got feelings. Either way, that's a scientific win.
Jana Feliciano (@romcomtheorist)
"He might think I'm weird." Sir. You've been letting him hold your hand for THREE nights. What else can be more weird than that?!
Theo Park (@straightforward_sir)
If he pulls away, just pretend you were sleep-grabbing for emotional support. Blame it on REM cycle.
Mariel Santos (@overdramaticbutright)
Imagine he's awake too and thinking, "What if HE pulls away and thinks I'm weird?"
Two overthinkers. One mattress.
But you didn't pull away. So now, it's time for you to do the move! Hold his hand tonight! Update us what will happen. Okay?
Dale Enriquez (@nochill_dale)
This isn't a hand issue. This is a "who falls first" competition and both of you are losing on purpose.
Then, a new comment again, from that suspicious "MidnightDriver".
MidnightDriver (@noonespecial)
If he pulls away, at least you'll know where you stand.
But if he doesn't... maybe stop pretending you're the only one feeling something. Sometimes people risk reaching out first—not because they're sure, but because they're trying to see if there's a chance. And sometimes they keep holding on because they're hoping you won't be the one to let go.
Kiara Villanueva (@campuswatcher)
??????? EXCUSE ME??????
Theo Park (@straightforward_sir)
BRO JUST CONFESSED.
Mariel Santos (@overdramaticbutright)
CAN YOU JUST TELL US IF YOU ARE ACTUALLY THE "FRIEND" OF MR. LONER!
Dale Enriquez (@nochill_dale)
THIS IS NOT A CONFESSION PAGE ANYMORE THIS IS A LIVE BL DRAMA. (in Miley Cyrus Voice - "Tho Dromooo...")
Jana Feliciano (@romcomtheorist)
"Hoping you won't" ??? SIR PLEASE IDENTIFY YOURSELF.
Ethan Morales (@detectivemodeon)
MidnightDriver is 100% the hand-holder. The confidence?? The timing?? The insider knowledge?? Suspicious. Mr. Loner, your friend already knows your confession. Just talk to him. NOW! Then give us an update.
Alyssa Rae (@cloudysundays)
Mr. Loner and MidnightDriver need to stop playing 4D chess with each other and just HOLD HANDS PROPERLY and PERMANENTLY. USE A SUPER GLUE IF YOU WANT.
Reese Navarro (@tryitonce)
I take back my scientific advice. This is now a mutual overthinking experiment.
Kyle M. (@brutallyhonest_21)
If y'all don't update us after the next sleepover I'm reporting this post.
Mika Torres (@psychmajorish)
I'm seated.
I scratched my head with the comments.
Mr. Loner (@certifiedloner)
Okay. For my own peace of mind (and because this thread is getting out of control), I'll try it tonight. I'll hold his hand first. No dramatic moves. Just... subtle.
If I survive the embarrassment, I'll update.
If I don't update, assume I transferred schools.
Then, my phone buzzed again.
Jace:
What are you about to say, Boss? Sorry, a bit busy.
Sent: 10:57 a.m.
I stared at his message for a long moment, my thumb hovering uselessly above the screen.
I could type something.
I could clarify.
But that would mean saying it.
And I wasn't ready for that.
"I won't say it," I murmured under my breath, locking my phone and setting it down beside me.
My gaze drifted to my hand resting on the table.
"But I'll make you feel it... tonight."
End of Chapter 27