Onyx's POV
"Jace?"
The name slipped out of me before I could stop it.
For a second, I thought I was hallucinating—maybe the sun was too bright, maybe the cold air from the machines was messing with my head. But no. There he was. Beside a narrow metal counter inside a small ice cream stall, sleeves rolled up, tattoos visible, expression unreadable.
"You work here, Jace?" Melody asked, blinking in disbelief.
Jace let out a quiet sigh, with his brows furrowed and gave a small nod.
So this was it.
This was the mysterious job.
The reason he kept disappearing without explanation.
Why didn't he want us to know?
"So this is your plan after all," Jace said quietly.
His voice was calm. Too calm.
"I was about to tell you but—"
"What can I get for you?" he asked, cutting me off smoothly.
Just like that.
His tone shifted into something professional. Neutral. Controlled. If there was frustration underneath, he buried it so deep no ordinary person would see it.
But I did.
Or at least, I thought I did.
This was Public Jace. The version everyone saw. The composed, slightly intimidating one.
Not the one I knew.
Not the one who slept on my bed and stretched like a lazy cat after dinner.
Not the one who had what that anonymous commenter once called "exclusive mode."
"I'll have the Cookies and Cream Deluxe," Melody said brightly, already leaning over the counter like she had been waiting her whole life for this moment.
Then she turned to me, eyes sparkling with sugar-fueled generosity.
"I'll treat you too, Onyx," she added, far too cheerful for someone standing directly in front of my emotionally complicated "friend". "What do you want?"
I didn't answer.
I was staring at Jace.
He was looking at me too—waiting.
"Please be quick," he said evenly. "There are customers waiting."
I glanced over my shoulder.
And suddenly, there they were. A small line forming behind us.
"I don't want anything," I said evenly, keeping my tone neutral despite the sudden tension tightening my spine. "Just get whatever you like, Melody."
"Okay!" she chirped. "Then Cookies and Cream Deluxe! And can you add more sprinkles and little marshmallows, please?"
"Additional five pesos for added toppings," Jace said flatly.
"Okay! No worries!" Melody replied, still cheerful.
Jace reached for a labeled tube—Cookies and Cream—and squeezed the thick liquid onto the flat, freezing surface. Then he picked up two metal spatulas.
The sound came first.
Slash.
Scrape.
Slash.
Scrape.
He worked the liquid back and forth across the freezing steel. Focused. Silent.
But the way he pressed the spatulas down—firm, deliberate, almost aggressive—
That bothered me.
The surface hissed softly as the mixture hardened. He didn't speak. He didn't look up.
And yet, I could hear it—the tension, not in his voice, but in the metal, in the steady rhythm of his hands.
The veins along his forearms stood out as he pressed harder, folding and chopping the cream into shape.
It was just ice cream.
So why did it look like he was murdering something invisible?
"You didn't tell me this is what's been keeping you busy," I said.
"There are things I don't want to disclose," he replied, eyes still on the freezing cream.
His tone was even.
Too even.
"Do you have a friend discount here, Jace?" Melody asked sweetly.
"We don't," he said. "And even if we did, we're not friends."
Melody blinked. "Aw! Maybe not me—but how about Onyx?"
"Friends?" he scoffed, the word edged with disbelief as a smirk slowly formed on his lips.
But it wasn't the playful one.
It was something else.
Sharp.
More customers gathered behind us.
"I didn't know they hired someone that hot here," a girl whispered from the line, not nearly as quietly as she thought. "He looks like one of those guys who go viral on reels just for selling stuff."
"And those tattooed arms?" another added, almost theatrically. "I swear, I just want to bite them."
Melody leaned closer to me, lowering her voice just enough to contrast theirs. "They really love this type of guy," she murmured, amused. Then she glanced at me with a small smile. "Good thing he's not my type. What about you?"
I blinked.
What about me?
I swallowed.
I genuinely didn't know.
I looked at Jace.
At his profile.
At the way his jaw tightened slightly as he rolled the now-frozen sheet of cookies and cream into neat spirals.
"Jace," I said quietly, "can we talk later? At home."
"Good luck waiting," he answered without looking at me.
I exhaled slowly.
He scooped the frozen rolls into an open box and added the toppings with precise, efficient movements. Sprinkles. Marshmallows.
Then he handed it to Melody.
"This is on me," he said seriously. "Now leave. I have customers to attend to."
I looked at him.
He finally looked back.
"If you don't have anything else," he added coolly, "please step aside. Customers behind you are waiting."
"Oh. Sorry," I muttered, moving aside.
"Hello!" a lady said eagerly as she stepped forward. "What's your best seller?"
"We have the strawberry and vanilla combination with honey syrup," Jace replied instantly—voice brighter, almost enthusiastic. "You should try that."
The shift was immediate.
Different.
"Yes, please!" the lady giggled.
"Coming right up," he said, a smirk forming on his lips.
It almost looked like flirting.
"Do you have a girlfriend already?" she asked boldly.
"No, I don't," he said—louder this time, the words striking harder than they should have.
Wait.
So all this time... he really didn't have one?
Then why did he tell me he did?
Before I could untangle that contradiction, a voice cut in from the side.
"Aw, you're so hot, just so you know," one of the customers said without a trace of hesitation, leaning over the counter as if dignity were entirely optional. "If you're looking for someone, I'm right here." She tilted her head slightly, a playful glint in her eyes. "So... what are you looking for? What do you like?"
He didn't even hesitate.
"Let me tell you what I don't like instead," he replied smoothly, voice calm, controlled. "Someone who claims they don't like someone... but still go with that same person out on a date."
The words were delivered casually, almost effortlessly, yet they landed with a kind of precision that felt deliberate. He kept his gaze fixed on the customer in front of him, but I knew—without needing confirmation—that they were never meant for her.
"Let's go, Onyx?" Melody nudged me.
"You can go," I said. "It's already 1:30 p.m. Our lunch meeting is over."
"Oh! I didn't even notice the time!" she laughed. "How are you getting home?"
"I'll take a taxi."
"Okay! I'll take one too."
"Bye," I said.
She blinked. "Don't you want to ride with me?"
"You can go first. I need to use the restroom."
She nodded. "Okay! Bye! See you on Monday! Or... maybe tomorrow."
"Tomorrow? It's Sunday."
She just smiled and waved. "Bye, Onyx! Thank you for today!"
Then she walked away.
And just like that—Jace was still serving customers with flawless professionalism. His tone was charming. Controlled. Warm when necessary.
Most of his customers were girls.
Most of them were staring at him like he was the real product being sold.
I stood behind the remaining customers and waited.
He glanced at me briefly.
I almost raised my hand to signal that I was staying.
But he looked away and continued chopping strawberry ice cream.
Slash.
Scrape.
Slash.
I sighed.
This was going to be a long day.
I could feel it.
The kind of long that doesn't end just because the sun sets.
The kind that stretches into the space between two people who clearly have something to say—
But keep pretending they don't.
That was fine.
I wasn't leaving.
If he wanted professional distance in public, I could wait.
Because I had enough reasons.
And I wasn't planning to let him mix those reasons away like melted ice cream on steel.
* * *
The last customer left after a few minutes, the bell above the stall door giving one final tired chime before silence settled in.
Only the hum of the freezer remained.
And him.
I stepped forward from the side, finally standing in front of the counter while he wiped down the stainless surface with controlled, precise movements. His jaw was tight. Too tight.
"So," I began carefully, leaning my palms against the counter as if it were a negotiation table, "why are you working here?"
I already knew the answer.
I just needed him to talk.
"If you're not going to buy anything and you're just here to ask annoying questions, go home," he said.
No hesitation. No softness.
Just that flat tone that sliced clean.
"Jace," I said quietly. "At least be reasonable. I'm not here to fight."
"Oh, great," he replied with a strained smile that didn't reach his eyes. He glanced at me for half a second before returning to his station. "Because I'm here to work."
The way he emphasized work felt deliberate.
I inhaled slowly and closed my eyes for a brief second, steadying myself. My heart was beating like I had just run up a flight of stairs.
"Is this because I went out with Melody?" I asked quietly. "If it is... don't just shut me out. Let me explain."
He chuckled.
That sound.
It wasn't amused.
"You think I care that much about the two of you?" He said lightly.
"I mean—"
"Listen." He stopped wiping and finally looked at me. Really looked at me. "I have my own problems and issues. If I look angry, it doesn't automatically mean it's about you."
"But—"
"Leave," he said calmly.
And somehow that hurt more than if he had shouted.
In that moment, I finally understood what he must have felt the day I told him to leave my house while he was laughing with Pa over breakfast.
The word felt heavier when it was thrown back at you.
He shook his head and exhaled slowly, like he was holding himself back.
"I already told you," he said, his gaze fixed somewhere past my shoulder, "I don't talk when I'm upset." A pause. Then quieter, "I don't want to end up shouting at you."
That was worse.
Because it meant he was trying not to.
"Oh, Jace? Is something wrong? Are you fighting with a customer?"
A male voice sounded behind me.
I turned. Another staff member stood there in the same uniform, carrying a cardboard box.
"Nothing," Jace replied smoothly. "He's just someone that's bothering me."
Someone.
The word landed strangely.
"Ah! I thought you were fighting with a customer," his colleague laughed as he placed the box on the counter and looked at me. "When the customer is a girl, Jace is so friendly. But when it's a guy, he acts aggressive. That's why most of my customers lately are girls. More money for me anyway."
I gave a small nod.
"You want some ice cream?" he asked me.
"No," Jace answered before I could open my mouth. "He's about to leave. He probably has other plans."
Other plans.
Right.
"Okay," the guy shrugged. "Jace, we need to check inventory before closing."
And just like that, Jace shifted his focus entirely—professional, efficient, and composed to the point of detachment. Whatever had been there moments ago vanished as if it had never existed.
He didn't look at me again.
Not once.
I swallowed, the motion suddenly difficult.
And for the first time, I felt... invisible.
I turned away slowly, my composure slipping just enough for me to notice the tremor in my hands—subtle, but unmistakable. That had never happened to me before.
I stepped outside and lifted my gaze to the sky, drawing in a deep breath as if the air itself could steady whatever had come undone inside my chest.
It didn't.
But I walked away anyway.
* * *
By 7:30 p.m., Pa and I were sitting on the carpet in the living room, dinner laid out between us.
This was usually the time Jace came home.
"Where's Jace? Is he arriving soon?" Pa asked.
"I'm not sure," I replied. "I'll message him."
Pa nodded.
I picked up my phone.
Me:
Hi, Jace. Where are you? Dinner is waiting.
Sent: 7:30 p.m.
No reply.
I expected that.
Me:
Can we talk about this? I can explain everything. I'd rather tell you in person than through messages. You hate reading long texts anyway, so this would just be pointless.
Sent: 7:30 p.m.
"Did he reply?" Pa asked.
"No," I said. "Can you message him for me?"
Pa frowned. "Why? Don't tell me you two fought again?"
"No," I muttered. "I didn't fight with him. From my point of view."
Pa shook his head slowly, then instead of texting, he called.
After a few seconds—
"Hello, Jace?"
He answered immediately.
Of course he did.
Because it was Pa.
"Are you about to arrive? Dinner's ready," Pa said.
I could hear Jace's voice faintly through the speaker, but not clearly enough to understand.
"I see. So you're not coming tonight?" Pa said.
My head snapped toward him.
Not coming?
"It's fine. Onyx and I can eat the leftovers tomorrow morning," Pa continued gently. "All right. Just let me know when you'll be back."
He paused, listening.
"So you and Onyx aren't fighting? Just to clarify?"
Then Pa laughed lightly.
"I thought you two were fighting. That's good to know. Just some priorities to take care of first, huh? You're always welcome here. So you won't be staying here for a while?"
My chest tightened.
Won't be staying for a while?
What did that mean?
Was he going back to his house?
Sleeping somewhere else?
"I see," Pa said. "Then my house will be quiet for some time. Call me if you need anything. Take care, Jace."
The call ended.
"What did he say?" I asked too quickly. "He's not coming home tonight?"
"No," Pa replied. "He said he's stayed too long already and doesn't want to be a burden."
A burden.
The word hit me harder than the earlier "leave."
I should have felt relieved.
I should have been happy to get my bed back.
But instead, something hollow opened in my chest.
"You can solo your bed again, Onyx," Pa said lightly.
"I guess," I replied. "Let's eat, Pa." I added and swallowed.
* * *
Later that night, I sat at my study desk, the glow of my laptop screen reflecting against the walls as if it were the only living thing in the room.
I was supposed to be working on Jace's Capstone project.
The cursor blinked on the screen, patient. Judgmental.
Because I could not focus at all.
Every line of code I read blurred into the same sentence. Every paragraph I typed felt mechanical, disconnected. My mind refused to cooperate.
My thoughts kept drifting—back to him, to the stall, to the way he had said leave, and to how he refused to look at me afterward. I glanced toward my bed, and for a moment, it felt unfamiliar. Bigger than it should have been, colder, and too neatly arranged to offer any real comfort.
No one was sprawled across it like he owned the space. No one was adjusting the air-conditioning temperature to the lowest degree. No one was telling me to turn off the lights while already half-asleep.
The silence pressed against my ears.
It was unbearable.
"No," I muttered under my breath, leaning back in my chair. "This isn't going to work. You messed with my system again, Jace. How could you?"
My routine was ruined.
My room felt unfamiliar.
And what I hated the most was realizing that the problem wasn't the furniture.
It wasn't the air.
It wasn't the lighting.
It was the absence.
"I have to do something," I whispered. "Or I cannot sleep at all."
Before I could talk myself out of it, I stood and walked to my wardrobe. I reached for the leather jacket he had given me so casually before—as if it had meant nothing.
I held it in my hands for a moment.
Then I slipped it on.
The leather was cool against my skin.
It still carried a faint trace of him.
"I'll just go there to the bar," I said quietly. "Even if I hate that place."
My fingers tightened around the sleeves.
"I know I'll find you there."
End of Chapter 31