Jay jay (pov)
The last bell rang.
Chairs scraped against the floor, voices rose instantly, bags were grabbed like everyone had been waiting for this moment all day.
Section E.
Loud.
Messy.
Normal.
But I didn't move immediately.
My eyes went to him.
Keifer stood up like always—calm, composed, like nothing had shifted inside him since morning.
"…you're still pretending," I thought quietly.
I stood up and walked beside him as we moved out of the classroom. The corridor was already crowded, people pushing past, laughter echoing, someone shouting from the other end.
"Finally free," Cin stretched dramatically behind us.
"From what? You didn't do anything," Felix added.
"Existing is hard."
"Not for you."
I almost smiled.
Almost.
We reached the parking area.
The noise faded slightly here.
More open.
Less crowded.
He unlocked the car and opened the door for me.
Like always.
Like nothing was different.
I sat down.
He came around, got in, and started the engine.
The car moved forward.
Silence settled.
Not the easy kind.
Not the comfortable one.
This one had something in it.
Something unsaid.
I looked out the window at first, watching the road blur past—shops, people, small movements that didn't matter.
"…say something," I thought.
But I didn't.
Not yet.
His hand rested on the steering wheel.
Steady.
Controlled.
Too controlled.
After a minute, I moved my hand slowly across the seat.
Until it found his.
He held it.
Immediately.
But tighter than usual.
"You're holding too tight," I said softly.
He loosened it quickly.
"…sorry."
That word—
didn't belong to him.
"It's okay," I said.
But my eyes stayed on him.
"…you're not okay."
"Keif," I said quietly.
"Hmm?"
"What are you thinking?"
"Nothing."
Too fast.
I turned slightly toward him.
"Tell me the real one."
Silence.
The car kept moving.
He didn't answer.
I took a breath.
"You don't have to act okay with me."
His fingers tightened again.
"I'm not acting," he said.
A pause.
"…I'm just not saying it."
That—
was honest.
And before I could respond—
The car jerked.
Sudden.
Sharp.
A horn blared from the side.
My body leaned forward slightly, my breath catching for a second.
"…Keif—"
He braked immediately.
Too fast.
The car stopped.
His head turned toward me instantly.
"Are you okay?"
His voice—
was different.
Sharper.
Faster.
Too fast.
"I'm fine," I said quickly.
But I was looking at him now.
Really looking.
"…this isn't about the car."
He looked back at the road.
Started driving again.
"…it's nothing."
"No."
I shook my head slightly.
"Don't do that with me."
Silence.
Longer this time.
His grip on the steering wheel tightened, the muscles in his jaw shifting slightly.
Then—
he exhaled.
"My brother," he said.
Just that.
I didn't interrupt.
"He's had it for a while," he continued.
"I knew."
That made my chest tighten slightly.
"But it wasn't like this," he added.
His voice stayed calm.
But heavier.
"It was controlled."
A pause.
"Manageable."
Another.
"…not anymore."
I stayed quiet.
Let him speak.
"It's been getting worse these past few days," he said.
"More frequent."
"More unpredictable."
His fingers shifted slightly around mine.
"And sometimes…"
He paused.
"…he doesn't even remember what he does."
That—
landed heavy.
The car felt quieter again.
"I thought it would stay like before," he said.
"…but it didn't."
I turned slightly toward him now.
"You couldn't have known it would change," I said softly.
"I should've noticed earlier," he replied immediately.
"Keif—"
"Earlier," he repeated.
Not louder.
Just firmer.
I didn't argue.
Because I understood.
This wasn't about logic.
This was about guilt.
"I don't like that feeling," he said after a moment.
"What feeling?" I asked gently.
"That things are slipping."
His grip on the wheel tightened.
"That I can't control it."
There it was.
The real problem.
"…control," I thought.
"I don't like losing it," he continued.
His voice dropped slightly.
"…because when I do—"
A pause.
"People get hurt."
Silence filled the car.
Not empty.
Heavy.
Real.
I tightened my hold on his hand.
Not forcing.
Not pulling.
Just—
there.
"You didn't hurt him," I said quietly.
He didn't respond.
Because that wasn't the point.
I shifted slightly closer.
"You don't have to handle everything alone," I said.
A small pause.
"I'm here."
Simple.
Not dramatic.
Just true.
His grip changed.
Less tight.
Warmer.
Like he was finally letting a small part of it go.
"I just don't want anything to reach you," he said after a moment.
That made my chest tighten.
"…me?"
He nodded slightly.
"I've seen how fast things change."
"And you don't get time to fix it."
I held his hand a little tighter.
"Then don't try to fix everything alone," I said softly.
Another pause.
"You don't have to protect me from everything."
I looked at him.
"…just don't shut me out."
Silence.
But this time—
it felt different.
Not heavy.
Just—
shared.