Jayjay (pov)
He didn't answer right away.
For a moment, he just looked at me.
Not long.
Not intense.
But enough.
My hand was still on his cheek, my thumb barely moving, like if I kept touching him like this, he wouldn't pull away from whatever he was hiding.
I could feel the warmth of his skin.
Steady.
Familiar.
But something behind it—
wasn't.
Then he smiled.
Soft.
Controlled.
Perfect.
"…you think too much," he said.
The words were light.
Almost teasing.
Almost.
I watched his eyes.
Not his lips.
"…do I?" I asked quietly.
"Yeah," he said, that small smirk forming, like he was trying to bring things back to normal. "Way too much."
Normal.
That's what he was doing.
Trying to make this normal.
But I knew him.
Not everything.
Not completely.
But enough.
Enough to know when he was choosing what to show me.
Enough to know when something stayed behind his eyes instead of reaching his voice.
I didn't move.
Didn't pull my hand away.
"…you're not fine," I thought.
Not broken.
Not falling apart.
But not fine.
And the worst part—
he was good at hiding it.
He gently took my wrist then, his fingers wrapping around it carefully, not pushing me away, just lowering my hand from his face.
Slow.
Controlled.
Like he didn't want to hurt me—
but didn't want me to see more either.
"I'm fine," he said.
Simple.
Too simple.
I nodded.
"…okay."
But something inside me didn't agree.
And I knew—
he knew that too.
There was a small pause.
The kind that isn't empty, just filled with things neither of us says.
Then he opened the car door for me.
"Come on."
Like nothing happened.
I got in.
The seat felt the same.
The space felt the same.
But I didn't feel the same.
He came around, got in, started the car.
The engine came to life, low and steady, filling the silence.
We didn't speak.
Not immediately.
I looked out the window, watching the morning pass by slowly—sunlight touching the edges of buildings, people moving without noticing anything beyond their own day.
Everything looked normal.
"…why doesn't it feel normal?" I thought.
I turned slightly toward him.
His hand was on the wheel.
His posture relaxed.
Eyes on the road.
Perfectly composed.
Too composed.
"…you're holding it in," I realized.
Not struggling.
Not breaking.
Just—
keeping it to yourself.
My fingers shifted slightly in my lap.
Then slowly—
I reached for his hand.
For a second—
nothing.
Then his fingers closed around mine.
Instant.
Natural.
Like he needed that too.
I intertwined my fingers with his, holding a little tighter this time.
Not desperate.
Not obvious.
Just enough to say—
I'm here.
He didn't look at me.
But his grip adjusted slightly.
Stronger.
Warmer.
And I felt it.
That small change.
That silent response.
"…you won't say it," I thought.
"…but you'll show it."
I leaned back in my seat, still holding his hand, my thumb brushing lightly against his knuckles without thinking.
If something was wrong—
I didn't need him to tell me everything right now.
I just needed to stay.
Close enough.
Quiet enough.
So he wouldn't feel alone with it.
"…I won't push you," I decided.
"But I won't leave you either."
The car moved forward smoothly, the world passing by outside, but inside—
everything slowed down.
I glanced at him again.
Same calm face.
Same steady focus.
But now—
I could feel it.
That small, hidden weight he wasn't letting out.
And instead of asking again—
I just held his hand tighter.
"…I'll take care of you today," I thought softly.
Even if he didn't ask.
Even if he said he didn't need it.
I would.
For him.
He didn't answer right away.
For a moment, he just looked at me.
Not long.
Not intense.
But enough.
My hand was still on his cheek, my thumb barely moving, like if I kept touching him like this, he wouldn't pull away from whatever he was hiding.
I could feel the warmth of his skin.
Steady.
Familiar.
But something behind it—
wasn't.
Then he smiled.
Soft.
Controlled.
Perfect.
"…you think too much," he said.
The words were light.
Almost teasing.
Almost.
I watched his eyes.
Not his lips.
"…do I?" I asked quietly.
"Yeah," he said, that small smirk forming, like he was trying to bring things back to normal. "Way too much."
Normal.
That's what he was doing.
Trying to make this normal.
But I knew him.
Not everything.
Not completely.
But enough.
Enough to know when he was choosing what to show me.
Enough to know when something stayed behind his eyes instead of reaching his voice.
I didn't move.
Didn't pull my hand away.
"…you're not fine," I thought.
Not broken.
Not falling apart.
But not fine.
And the worst part—
he was good at hiding it.
He gently took my wrist then, his fingers wrapping around it carefully, not pushing me away, just lowering my hand from his face.
Slow.
Controlled.
Like he didn't want to hurt me—
but didn't want me to see more either.
"I'm fine," he said.
Simple.
Too simple.
I nodded.
"…okay."
But something inside me didn't agree.
And I knew—
he knew that too.
There was a small pause.
The kind that isn't empty, just filled with things neither of us says.
Then he opened the car door for me.
"Come on."
Like nothing happened.
I got in.
The seat felt the same.
The space felt the same.
But I didn't feel the same.
He came around, got in, started the car.
The engine came to life, low and steady, filling the silence.
We didn't speak.
Not immediately.
I looked out the window, watching the morning pass by slowly—sunlight touching the edges of buildings, people moving without noticing anything beyond their own day.
Everything looked normal.
"…why doesn't it feel normal?" I thought.
I turned slightly toward him.
His hand was on the wheel.
His posture relaxed.
Eyes on the road.
Perfectly composed.
Too composed.
"…you're holding it in," I realized.
Not struggling.
Not breaking.
Just—
keeping it to yourself.
My fingers shifted slightly in my lap.
Then slowly—
I reached for his hand.
For a second—
nothing.
Then his fingers closed around mine.
Instant.
Natural.
Like he needed that too.
I intertwined my fingers with his, holding a little tighter this time.
Not desperate.
Not obvious.
Just enough to say—
I'm here.
He didn't look at me.
But his grip adjusted slightly.
Stronger.
Warmer.
And I felt it.
That small change.
That silent response.
"…you won't say it," I thought.
"…but you'll show it."
I leaned back in my seat, still holding his hand, my thumb brushing lightly against his knuckles without thinking.
If something was wrong—
I didn't need him to tell me everything right now.
I just needed to stay.
Close enough.
Quiet enough.
So he wouldn't feel alone with it.
"…I won't push you," I decided.
"But I won't leave you either."
The car moved forward smoothly, the world passing by outside, but inside—
everything slowed down.
I glanced at him again.
Same calm face.
Same steady focus.
But now—
I could feel it.
That small, hidden weight he wasn't letting out.
And instead of asking again—
I just held his hand tighter.
"…I'll take care of you today," I thought softly.
Even if he didn't ask.
Even if he said he didn't need it.
I would.
For him.