Onyx's POV
I was in my room, seated at my study desk, the glow of my laptop casting a faint light across my face.
Jace was not here.
He had already left for work—his mysterious, classified, top-secret employment that he still refused to tell me about. I did not know why he insisted on keeping it hidden.
I sighed and leaned back slightly, eyes scanning the screen in front of me.
My confession post.
Fourteen hours...
Fourteen hours without an update.
The comment section looked like a riot scene.
And this was how it went.
CelestialTea (@cryinginorbit):
BESTIE???
HELLO???
YOU LEFT US HANGING FOR 14 HOURS.
Did you hold his hand or did you choose cowardice again???
TitaMaritesOnline (@gossipgirl)
Update please. I am prioritizing THIS before I review for my midterms. If you didn't hold his hand I'm reporting your post.
AstroNerd_21 (@plutostillaplanet)
As a man of science, I need data.
Did contact occur?
Duration?
Temperature of hands?
WHO MOVED FIRST.
MidnightReader (@nocturnaloverthinker)
Update or I assume you transferred universities already.
RealTalkRina (@emotionallytired)
If he touched you again and you didn't respond, I swear—STOP SABOTAGING YOURSELF.
MainCharacterEnergy (@deluluistherealsol)
Did you HOLD?
Did you SQUEEZE?
Did you INTERTWINE???
WE NEED DETAILS.
SituationshipVictim (@iknewitwasntplatonic)
MR. LONER, IF YOU DON'T HOLD YOUR FRIEND'S HAND, I WILL.
I rubbed my temples. These people were more invested in my life than I was.
My gaze flickered briefly to the other tab still open on my laptop.
Capstone Project — Database Optimization.
Untouched.
The cursor blinked steadily beside a half-written query, waiting. Expectant. As if reminding me that I had allocated this time—specifically, precisely—for progress. This hour was supposed to be productive.
Instead, I was focusing more on a secret confession thread.
Because Jace, in a moment of reckless influence, had decided that my private situation required... audience participation.
I exhaled slowly and closed my eyes for a second.
So much for planning.
And so, because I apparently had become the reluctant protagonist of a public emotional case study, I began typing.
A long update.
A very long one.
* * *
Mr. Loner (@certifiedloner):
Hello, everyone. I appreciate your concern regarding my post. For clarification—no, I did not hold his hand.
Before anyone starts typing in all caps—yes, I am aware of what I said previously. Yes, I am also disappointed in myself. You may proceed with judgment in an orderly fashion.
He did not touch mine either. There was space between us last night. Actual, measurable, mattress-visible space. No accidental alignment. No pinky overlap. No suspicious gravitational incidents. Completely normal.
I thought I would feel relieved. I did not.
Anyway.
New dilemma.
I require objective opinions because apparently my logic is unreliable when it comes to this "friend."
For context: I operate on schedules. I plan things in advance. I do not enjoy sudden changes. It keeps life organized. Predictable.
Last night, he asked if I could go somewhere with him today. (Location withheld for security reasons.)
I informed him that I already had prior plans and that if he had told me earlier, I could have adjusted and prioritized him.
That statement was factual. He reacted... poorly. He sulked. Visibly.
For clarification: this person behaves entirely differently around others. In public, he is intimidating. Composed. Slightly terrifying. In private, when he's with me? He becomes... dramatic.
Is this normal behavioral variance? Or am I the only one allowed to witness this version?
Back to the issue.
I offered to reschedule for the following day. He refused.
I offered again. He refused again.
Then he said something about knowing "where he stands." Which I did not appreciate because that felt emotionally manipulative and mildly unfair, considering I was attempting compromise.
Eventually, we discussed why he wanted to go there in the first place.
It had sentimental value. I am now approximately fifty percent guilty. The remaining fifty percent remains logical. Because, technically speaking, advanced notice would have solved everything.
However, during that discussion, I said something unexpected. I suggested we go on a "Date."
Please calm down.
I immediately clarified to him after that it was not a "lover's date." Just... going somewhere together. Casually. As two individuals who happen to know each other. In a neutral, non-romantic capacity.
I do not know why I used the word "date." It escaped. Like a software bug. Now I am overanalyzing whether clarifying it made the situation worse.
Did I accidentally reject something that was never offered? Did I sound panicked? Was that unnecessary damage control?
Status of this potential outing remains unclear. As for the hand situation—I was scared.
There. That is the honest part. If he had touched my hand again, I do not know what I would have done.
And I do not like not knowing what I would do. So perhaps it is better that nothing happened. Perhaps the previous nights were coincidences. Perhaps I imagined meaning where there was none.
He did not reach for me. I did not reach for him.
Order restored.
...Right?
* * *
I barely had time to exhale after posting my update before the thread detonated.
It was as if an entire campus had been lurking in the shadows, fingers hovering over keyboards, waiting for me to breathe wrong.
Notifications stacked on my screen in rapid succession. One after another. Then ten at once. Then so many that the numbers blurred into a flashing red badge of public judgment.
They were not just reading.
They were analyzing.
Dissecting.
Autopsying my emotional incompetence in real time.
Marco De Leon (@nocturnalstrategist):
He said he knows where he stands. That's not manipulation. That's a man bracing for impact.
Bea Ramos (@maincharactercomplex):
You didn't "accidentally" say date. Your mouth exposed you before your pride could stop it.
Samantha Uy (@emotionallylicensed):
The fact that you felt disappointed that there was space between you? That's your answer. You don't miss accidents. You miss intention.
Joshua Tan (@realistbutromantic):
You're upset he didn't inform you early. He's upset he's not your priority. This isn't about scheduling. It's about significance.
Denise Lopez (@campusobserver):
Intimidating in public but dramatic in private? Congratulations. You've just unlocked your friend's exclusive mode for YOU.
Adrian Chua (@logicversusheart):
You keep saying "fifty percent logical." Feelings don't operate on percentages. That's just you negotiating with yourself.
Francesca Lim (@slowburnsupporter):
You don't like not knowing what you would do. That's the problem. You want control over something that isn't meant to be controlled. Let it flow. Just be gay and everything will be fine.
Rafael Cortez (@lowbatteryheart):
He sulked because he wanted to matter. Not because of the place. Not because of the plan. Because of you.
Nina Valdez (@chronicallyattached):
The moment you clarified "not a date," I physically winced. Why are you sabotaging your own momentum?
Kevin Morales (@neutralbutinvested):
Also let's not ignore the fact that he didn't touch your hand either. That means he noticed the shift too. You both retreated.
Patricia Ong (@emotionallynosy):
The real plot twist is both of you are probably overthinking at the same time in different locations.
Leo Navarro (@detectivemodeactive):
He becomes soft around you. He gets dramatic around you. He opens up around you. But sure. Completely normal "friend."
Clarisse Tan (@romcomtheorist2):
You're scared of moving first. He's scared of not being chosen first. This is not about hands. This is about pride. And where is MidnightDriver? Can he please comment now so we can understand more about "his" feelings, I mean his calculation about Mr. Loner's situation with his friend?
My pulse stuttered at the last line. Where is MidnightDriver?
I stared at the screen.
And then—As if summoned by collective suspicion—
A new notification appeared.
MidnightDriver (@noonespecial):
You didn't ruin anything by saying it's not a romantic "date." People don't get disappointed over logistics. They get disappointed when they realize they weren't prioritized the way they hoped. Sometimes refusing to reschedule isn't about the place. It's about the moment. And once that moment passes, it doesn't feel the same anymore. As for the hand—when someone senses hesitation, they stop reaching. Not because it was accidental. Not because it meant nothing. But because they don't want to hold on to something that isn't choosing them back. And maybe your "friend" didn't touch you this time because he wasn't sure he was still welcome there. Just a thought.
I stared at the final line for a long time.
"He wasn't sure he was still welcome there."
My mind replayed the vivid memories from those nights we slept beside each other. The quiet distance. The space where warmth had once been automatic.
Maybe I had made Jace feel unwelcome.
Maybe I had made him feel secondary.
But before I could even process that—
The thread exploded again.
Jerome Castillo (@sleepdeprivedking):
"Not choosing them back." EXCUSE ME??? WHO IS WRITING POETRY AT 11AM.
Bea Ramos (@maincharactercomplex):
THAT IS NOT ADVICE. THAT IS A CONFESSION DISGUISED AS A "JUST A THOUGHT."
Kevin Morales (@neutralbutinvested):
"Once the moment passes, it doesn't feel the same anymore." That's not hypothetical. That's experience.
Clarisse Tan (@romcomtheorist2):
WHY DOES IT SOUND LIKE HE WAS ON THE MATTRESS TOO.
Joshua Tan (@realistbutromantic):
I refuse to believe this is a random student. The timing. The emotional accuracy. The specificity. MidnightDriver, Sir, identify yourself.
Nina Valdez (@chronicallyattached):
The way MidnightDriver talks about "sensing hesitation" like he personally felt it through the sheets.
Samantha Uy (@emotionallylicensed):
This isn't commentary anymore. This is someone airing quiet hurt anonymously.
Patricia Ong (@emotionallynosy):
If MidnightDriver is NOT the friend, then he needs to start charging therapy fees.
Miguel Santos (@mattressinvestigator):
I need both Mr. Loner and MidnightDriver in the same room immediately.
Denise Lopez (@campusobserver)
MidnightDriver sounds like someone who got hurt but won't admit it publicly.
Theo Park (@straightforward_sir):
MidnightDriver, if you're not the friend, why are you emotionally invested like you are?
Jana Feliciano (@romcomtheorist):
I just know Mr. Loner is reading this sweating.
Dale Enriquez (@nochill_dale)
THIS THREAD WENT FROM "touching hands" TO "who feels chosen" REAL QUICK.
Ethan Morales (@detectivemodeon):
Okay summary time:
Night 1–3: Hand contact.
Night 4: Hesitation sensed. No contact.
Conclusion: They are playing hide and seek!
Reese Navarro (@tryitonce)
Mr. Loner, if you don't respond to that comment, I'm assuming you're internally combusting.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard while my heartbeat pounded in my ears, loud enough to drown out every rational thought. The cursor blinked at me—steady, impatient, expectant.
If I stayed silent, it would look like guilt. If I responded, it would look like confirmation. There was no neutral ground, no perfectly calculated answer that wouldn't expose something.
I inhaled slowly, trying to steady the chaos under my ribs. Then, despite myself, I began to type.
Mr. Loner (@certifiedloner):
I didn't hesitate. At least, I don't think I did. There was no visible reaction from me. No pulling away. No obvious discomfort. I stayed still like the previous nights. If he sensed anything, then that would mean he was paying attention too — which contradicts the whole "accidental" theory.
And I'm not sure which scenario is worse. For clarification, I wasn't trying to "not choose" him. That wasn't the intention. I just don't like acting without certainty. There's a difference. As for the scheduling issue — it wasn't about not prioritizing him. It was about respecting plans already made. I would have adjusted if I had known earlier. The best thing my friend could do is respect my time as well.
I don't operate on emotional impulses. That being said... If he really stopped reaching because he felt unwelcome, that wasn't the goal. I just don't like assuming something that hasn't been confirmed. Maybe we both stepped back. Maybe that's safer. Or maybe we're both just overthinking. I'm still processing.
A few minutes after posting my update, the first reply appeared.
MidnightDriver (@noonespecial):
You're very logical about this. Schedules. Plans. Timing. Certainty. But you're treating it like a negotiation. Some things aren't about adjusting when convenient. They're about whether you wanted to adjust at all. You say you would have moved if you had known earlier. Would you? Or were you relieved you didn't have to choose? Sometimes "respecting plans" just means choosing the safer option. And sometimes the safer option isn't the person who reached for you. Also, he might be the person who looks steady, but he is just trying not to feel embarrassed for hoping.
I swallowed. The words did not scream. They did not accuse. They did not dramatize.
They simply... dissected me.
Within seconds, the thread exploded again. Notifications stacked one after another, piling up like witnesses lining up to testify. But none of them hit the way his did. The others commented with emotion—overreactions, assumptions, theatrical declarations of heartbreak.
His was different.
Measured.
Mature.
Almost surgical.
It felt like he was not attacking me—but positioning a mirror in front of my face and asking me to look.
"You say you would have moved if you had known earlier. Would you?"
My chest tightened on that sentence. I told myself I was being rational.
Logical.
Responsible.
But what if I had been relieved I did not have to choose?
I shut my eyes for a moment. When I opened them again and glanced at the time, my stomach dropped.
11:27 a.m.
Almost 11:30.
My schedule—my perfect, carefully measured schedule—had been broken.
I had not touched my project requirements.
I had not revised the documentation.
Instead, I had spent the entire morning unraveling myself on an anonymous confession page.
Because of Jace.
You always ruin my perfectly organized plans.
I closed the tab before I could read another word.
Enough.
I had somewhere to be.
* * *
At exactly 11:45 a.m., I arrived at the seaside restaurant.
On time.
Of course.
I did not wear anything extravagant. No effort to impress. No attempt to look different.
Just something casual.
Something that felt like me.
I sat on a bench just outside the restaurant, close enough to hear the waves folding gently against the shore. The breeze was cool, steady, brushing against my skin like a quiet reminder that the world did not revolve around my internal crisis.
A vibration interrupted my thoughts.
My work phone.
Melody:
I am here!!! Where are you, Onyx?
Sent: 11:49 a.m.
Me:
You went early.
Sent: 11:49 a.m.
Melody:
Yeah! So we can have more time!!! Where are you again?
Sent: 11:49 a.m.
Before I could reply—
Melody:
Wait! I saw you already! Is that you? OMG!!!
Sent: 11:49 a.m.
I barely had time to lower the phone before she appeared in front of me.
"Hello, Onyx!" she said brightly, almost breathless.
Her cheeks were flushed—more than usual. Her makeup was carefully done. Her outfit was deliberate. Intentional.
"Oh. Hi, Melody," I said, offering a faint smile.
She stared at me.
Actually stared.
"Onyx, you look different when you're not wearing your uniform!" she said. "You look really..."
She pressed her lips together as if physically restraining herself.
"You look so handsome!"
"Huh?" I said, scratching the back of my head.
"You look impressive. Like..." She glanced around dramatically. "See? The girls are glancing at you. Because you look too handsome."
I blinked.
"I did not notice. I was just minding my own business," I replied honestly.
She giggled. "Anyway, let's go inside. You're causing too much attention."
"Okay," I said, standing up.
We walked in together and were greeted by the staff.
"Hello. Table for two?" the staff asked.
"Yes, please. We would like the overlooking spot where we can see the view outside," Melody said politely.
"Sure. This way."
We followed the staff to a bright table near the window. The sea stretched endlessly before us—calm, blue, deceptively peaceful.
"Ah! This is so good!" Melody said, beaming.
"Just call us when you're ready to order," the staff said before leaving.
As soon as he stepped away, I moved my chair to sit. But Melody remained standing.
She tapped the top of her chair lightly and smiled at me.
"You want to switch seats?" I asked seriously. "I'm fine with any."
She inhaled deeply, closed her eyes for a second, then giggled.
"You really don't know how to do this, do you?" she said.
"Do what?" I asked, brows furrowing.
"Nothing. Let's sit," she said, pulling her chair out and sitting down first.
I shrugged.
I genuinely had no idea what I had done wrong.
We both grabbed the menus.
"Just choose anything you like. My treat!" she said cheerfully.
"I'll pay for my share," I answered immediately. "I don't want you to shoulder the bill. And I don't eat much."
She pouted but nodded.
After a while, we ordered and were told to wait twenty minutes.
While waiting, Melody placed a pink paper bag on the table and slid it toward me.
"Onyx! Here it is! The planet-themed graham balls I made!" she said proudly.
"You didn't have to," I said, taking the bag. "But thank you."
"Open it!"
I nodded and pulled out the container. The moment I opened it, my eyes widened slightly.
"You made this?" I asked. "You didn't buy it from a store?"
"I did make it! How could you say that?" she said, feigning offense while still giggling.
"Because it looks too good to be real," I replied. "It looks like something from an online advertisement."
She grinned. "I will treat that as a compliment."
"I don't think I can eat this," I murmured. "But Jace would probably eat this when he sees it."
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
"Jace?" she repeated quickly. "No! Don't let him eat this! This is for you only!"
"He stays at my house," I said casually. "So eventually he'll see it."
She froze.
"He stays at your house?" she repeated slowly. "Where does he sleep? Don't tell me..."
"Yeah. We share my room."
Her face turned red.
"Why is he there? Why does he have to stay there?" she asked, as if the concept itself was offensive.
"Long story," I replied.
She nodded, still visibly processing.
"Anyway," she said softly, "thank you for coming today. This means a lot to me."
"Sure. No problem," I said.
I checked the time.
"12:05 p.m. We still have one hour and twenty-five minutes before we finish."
She shook her head, laughing under her breath.
"Don't mind the time, Onyx," she said lightly. "Is this your first time going out like this... with a girl?"
"No."
Her brows lifted. "So you had someone before me?"
"Yeah," I replied without hesitation. "My mom."
She pressed her lips together, clearly fighting a smile, and nudged my arm. Her hand curled into a small fist for a second, as if she were gathering courage before speaking again.
"I meant with someone who isn't related to you, like a girl you wished to date," she clarified, trying to sound composed. "This is my first time going out with a guy too."
"I see," I said.
I turned my gaze back to the sea.
"It looks peaceful, right?" she said. "Very calm. Very relaxing."
"It does."
Silence followed.
The hum of conversations around us. The distant crash of waves. The wind slipping through the open space.
"Oh! We can talk about the recent discovery of that dying star I saw in the news," she said enthusiastically.
"Okay," I answered, still looking at the horizon.
She began explaining, her hands moving slightly as she spoke.
But my mind drifted.
If I had canceled with Melody today...
If I had said yes to Jace instead...
Would I still feel this unsettled?
"...Right? I think they should do it," she said.
"Ah. Yes," I replied automatically.
I had no idea what she had just said.
She sighed.
"Onyx."
"Yes?" I turned to her.
"You're bored, aren't you?"
"No," I said quickly.
"You don't seem like you're paying attention."
"Sorry," I admitted quietly. "I was thinking about something else."
She pouted slightly.
"What do you want to talk about then? Something that would actually interest you?"
I swallowed.
The sea stretched endlessly in front of us, steady and quiet.
Unlike me.
"Melody," I said slowly, my gaze finally settling on her, "I don't usually ask for advice."
The words felt unfamiliar in my mouth—unnatural, even.
"This topic..." I exhaled softly, "...is beyond my understanding."
Her entire expression lit up.
"Go! Finally—something I can help you with," she said, beaming, leaning forward like she had just been handed a winning question.
I held her gaze.
For a second too long.
Then—
"How do you know... if you're in love with someone?"
The words settled between us with a clarity that left no room for misinterpretation—unfiltered, undeniable, and impossible to take back. Melody blinked, once, then twice, as if her mind needed a moment to catch up to what I had just said.
For the first time that noon, the bright, peaceful view beyond the window felt almost deceptive—too calm, too untouched—because beneath it, something far less composed had already begun to take shape.
Somewhere between logic and realization, I had crossed a line—and this time, I knew it.
End of Chapter 29