JAY'S POV :
Keifer tapped the marker against the sofa like a metronome.
"Question #1," he said, looking at me. "…Where is your mom?"
"W-with her new husband," I stammered.
"…you're not looking for her?"
I frowned.
"Why would I look for someone who couldn't protect me when we were together?"
He showed no reaction. No surprise, no anger—only that indifferent stare he always seemed to wear.
"Your turn," he said.
"Is there still a chance for you and Aries to make up?" I asked.
Keifer didn't answer. He leaned forward instead. I grinned and drew a ridiculous mustache on his face with the marker.
"My turn…" he said, flipping the question back at me. "…Is there still a chance for you and Aries to make up?"
Was there? I didn't know. I leaned forward and felt the tip of the marker trace something on my cheek. He was enjoying this.
"My turn," I said, trying to steer us away from the ache in my chest. "…What's the story behind your earring?"
He touched the small hoop as if it grounded him.
"It belonged to my mom."
The world narrowed. Mom? Mom Serina? No. Heat rose to my face. I had—stupidly—asked to trade that earring. To take away his one memory. I opened my mouth and closed it, then pushed the apology out.
"I—I'm sorry.."
He looked puzzled.
"What?"
"I'd asked to trade it. I'm sorry. I didn't know"
He smiled softly like it was small and forgivable. It made something ache in my chest even more.
"It's okay," he said.
But my heart still ached.
"…What's the story behind your chain?" He asked.
I clenched it so tight that the edges are digging in my skin. No. I couldn't tell him. I leaned forward and let him scrawl something on my chin—another of his tiny, infuriating grins. Then I forced the question back on him.
"When did you start wearing that earring?"
"When we thought Percy was dead," he said quietly. "I had no one to comfort me, so I went into her room. I saw the earrings and—when I took them, it felt like she was with me. So I started wearing it."
It sounded like a wound that healed into a habit. Painful, but oddly comforting.
"What's with your father?" He asked.
I didn't like the question. My jaw tightened.
"I didn't grow up with him. I only saw him in pictures. Grandma said my mom was angry at him, so they took me away."
I forced a laugh that landed flat.
"My mom had relationships with other men after him. I was curious about my biological father… so when I finally saw him, I reacted the way I did."
"How are you sure he's not like the rest of them? Just because you're related doesn't mean he's not an asshole."
I frowned.
"What do you mean?"
He looked at me, eyes unreadable.
"My dad was an asshole to us. He scared Keigan—emotionally and mentally. That's why I'm so protective." He said.
"Not all dads are the same," I said. "Not all moms are the same. In your story, your dad is the villain. In mine… life is something else." I smiled, but it felt small and brittle.
"Why don't you keep the other earring?" I asked.
He stared off like the memory hurt.
"I gave it to the wrong person."
Ella, I thought before I could stop myself. I wanted to ask, but I knew he hated talking about Ella. Her name was a flare that made him savage.
A few rounds later, I was laughing so hard I lost my breath.
"If you could see your face, you look Mexican," I wheezed.
"Mexican? Latino?" he parroted, mimicking me.
"Yeah"
"Spanish?" he added, slipping into Spanish with a grin.
"What are you saying? So dumb," I teased, though I understood enough to play along.
He puffed up and said in Spanish,
"Hi. What's up, my love?"
This idiot thinks I don't know Spanish. Let him.
"What's your name?" He said in Spanish. "Like that?"
"Yeah"
We laughed. Later, he said smiling,
"I love you" in Spanish.
"What?" I acted dumb.
"Nothing" he said, shaking it off.
This idiot can confess in other language but can't confess to me directly. Brave. Very brave.
"You ready?"
I shook my head, but he asked anyway.
"You… what's the real reason you and Aries fought?"
I had no neat answer. I leaned forward and let him write something on my forehead (A/N : I Love You❤️)
The marker squeaked against my skin.
"Who did you give the other pair to?" I asked.
No answer. My suspicion tightened into a knot. Ella. Of course it was Ella. I wrote 'You are MINE' on his forehead and smothered a smile. It felt like setting a small, private flag.
"What happened to that Cyrus guy?"
Why Cyrus? I shifted away from that memory like it was a hot stove. He just drew another scribble on me. ('You are MINE')
"How did you, Aries, Yuri, and Percy meet?" I asked instead.
"A fight," he said. "I picked on Yuri because his face annoyed me. Percy defended him. Aries was walking by when Percy punched him by accident. Next thing you know, we were all in the guidance office."
I laughed. Their friendship started with blood and brimstone.
"Was Cyrus a good boyfriend to you?" he asked and for a second my throat closed.
WHEN THE FUCK DID HE BECOME MY BOYFRIEND?!
When had anyone decided that for me? Rumors, I thought. I decided to play along—make him jealous.
"At first, yes," I said. "But later, no. He had a short temper, got offended easily, and he was spoiled."
Jealousy crossed him like a flicker. It pleased me more than it should.
"Why didn't you kiss Freya or Ella? They were your girlfriends, right?"
"They… never allowed me," he said, sharp and closed.
"What?" My disbelief was loud.
"Hey, one question at a time," he scolded, sliding into mischievous mode. "Who were your other boyfriends?"
"My first boyfriend—turns out he was gay."
We both burst out laughing.
"So he is your ex-girlfriend," he teased.
We laughed.
"Your second?" He asked.
"My second boyfriend was good. He loved me and protected me. But his parents forced him to break up and leave the country."
I watched him carefully—jealousy, again. Grown like a green weed. Good. That's the plan. Worth the imagination of fake boyfriends. Wow, jay. You can be an author.
"My turn... Why Freya?"
"What do you mean 'why Freya'? I obviously liked her."
I can now feel all my jealous growing.
"I just... I just can't believe you liked her."
"She didn't look like that back then."
Tss.
"Who's your first kiss?"
My eyes widened. Shit! If I saw his name, he gonna tease me forever. But I'll tell anyway.
"Y-You," I admitted.
He smirked, like he'd been waiting for that confession for a long time.
"Who do you like now?" I dared him.
He avoided my eyes and leaned forward. Cheater. I wrote 'I Love You❤️' on his forehead this time.
"You... Who do you like now?" he threw the question back at me.
I froze. How could I tell him? I leaned forward, but he didn't write anything.
"Answer it," he ordered.
"No," I said—soft and stubborn.
Why would I tell him? He didn't answer, so why should I?
He wanted an answer.
"Tss…" he scoffed and wrote something across my brow. (A/N : You're MINE)
Doors were closing inside me when I asked, unable to hold the question back.
"Do you still love Ella?"
I really want to know. I want to know that even after all this, does he still love Ella?
"I don't want to answer," he said, and leaned away.
He stared at me like I was about to break. When he looked away my chest skewered with something hot and sharp. If he didn't love her anymore, why couldn't he say it? If he still did—then what?
I wrote on his forehead: I ❤️ U even if you say no.
Maybe it was a stupid, dramatic thing to do. Maybe it was everything.
"One last question," he said, but I felt done.
"Do you like Yuri?" he asked suddenly.
The room tilted. Yuri? Was Keifer drunk without drinking?
"No. He's my best friend. I never had feelings for him."
"And me? Do you like me?" he asked.
Panic crawled up my throat. Shit! What should I say. What should I say?… yes, confusion. I'll confuse him.
"I don't know…You annoy me. I don't understand you. It's like you're possessed—or crazy. You're out of your mind."
He laughed as if I had given him a medal.
"You're the King. King of the Assholes," I said, venom and grin.
"King of what?" he asked, bewildered.
"Assholes! You, fucker! Are you deaf?" I snapped.
He grinned and said, "Oops… profanity."
"For real?" I asked, incredulous.
He nodded, still smiling. I couldn't help it. He leaned across at the same time I did. Our lips met—hungry, impatient, half-accusation and half-plea. He tasted like lemon and marker and something that belonged in my bones.
When we pulled back we just stared. He smiled softly. I smiled back. The markers had left our faces ridiculous and childish, but the silence afterward wasn't childish at all.
"That's a profanity kiss," he said, and I couldn't tell if he was mocking or confessing.
Either way, I didn't pull away.