ROOM 7
Chapter Thirteen: The Fight
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The fourth day of the trip started with silence.
Not the good kind of silence— the peaceful kind, the morning kind, the kind that made you want to stay in bed forever. The bad kind. The kind that happened when two people who'd been dancing around each other for fifteen years finally stepped on each other's toes.
It started with a blanket.
---
Part One: The Blanket
Jay woke up cold.
The house was old. The windows were drafty. The blankets were thin. She'd been shivering for hours, too stubborn to get up, too stubborn to ask for another blanket, too stubborn to admit she should have brought more clothes.
She was always too stubborn.
She heard movement across the room. Keifer, getting up. She heard his footsteps. She heard him stop outside her door.
She pretended to be asleep.
The door opened. She felt something warm land on her bed. A blanket. Heavy. Soft. Warm.
She didn't open her eyes. She didn't say thank you. She just pulled the blanket tighter and pretended she was still sleeping.
She heard him walk away.
She heard him go back to his room.
She heard the house settle into silence again.
She held the blanket and tried not to think about how it smelled like him. Like coffee and soap and something she couldn't name. Something that felt like home.
She fell asleep smiling.
She woke up angry.
---
The blanket was gone.
She sat up, shivering, looking around. The blanket— his blanket— the one he'd put on her bed— was gone.
She got up. She walked to his room. The door was open. He was sitting on his bed, reading, the blanket folded neatly beside him.
"Why did you take it back?" she asked.
He looked up. "Take what back?"
"The blanket. You put it on my bed. Then you took it back."
"It was my blanket."
"You gave it to me."
"I let you borrow it."
"You didn't say it was borrowing. You just put it on my bed."
"You were sleeping."
"So you just put it on me? Without asking?"
"You were cold."
"How do you know I was cold?"
"You were shivering."
"I wasn't shivering."
"Your teeth were chattering."
"I was dreaming."
"About being cold?"
"About—" She stopped. "That's not the point. The point is you gave me the blanket and then you took it back."
"I took it back because I was cold."
"You were cold?"
"It's December. In Tagaytay. Everyone's cold."
"So you took the blanket back because you were cold?"
"Yes."
"Without asking?"
"It's my blanket."
"You gave it to me!"
"I let you borrow it!"
"You didn't say it was borrowing!"
"I didn't think I had to!"
"You put it on my bed while I was sleeping! That's not borrowing! That's— that's—"
"What?"
She opened her mouth. Closed it. Her face was red. Her hands were fists. She was angry. She was so angry. She didn't know why she was so angry.
"That's—" she said again.
"What, Jay?"
"That's—" She stopped. "I don't know."
He stood up. "You don't know?"
"I don't know why I'm angry. I just—" She stopped. "You gave me the blanket. You made me warm. You made me—" She stopped again. "And then you took it back. And I woke up cold. And I didn't—"
She didn't finish.
He was looking at her. His face was soft. Too soft. The kind of soft that made her want to run and stay at the same time.
"You didn't what?" he asked.
She looked away. "I didn't like waking up cold."
"You could have asked for the blanket back."
"I didn't know you took it."
"You could have come to my room."
"I didn't know you were cold."
"You could have knocked."
"I didn't know—" She stopped. "I didn't know you were cold."
"I'm always cold, Jay. I've been cold since I was fourteen years old. You're the only thing that makes me warm."
She stared at him. "That's—"
"Stupid?"
"Stupid."
"I know."
"You're impossible."
"You like it."
"I don't not like it."
He smiled. She tried not to smile back. She failed.
"So," he said. "Do you want the blanket back?"
"No."
"You're shivering."
"I'm not shivering."
"Your teeth are chattering."
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine."
"I'm fine, Keifer."
"You're not fine, Jay."
They stood in the doorway, looking at each other, neither of them moving.
From across the house, Yuri's voice echoed: "WHY IS EVERYONE YELLING? IT'S SEVEN IN THE MORNING!"
"NO ONE'S YELLING!" Jay shouted.
"YOU'RE LITERALLY YELLING RIGHT NOW!"
"THAT'S DIFFERENT!"
"HOW?"
"BECAUSE—" She stopped. Looked at Keifer. Looked back toward Yuri's voice. "BECAUSE IT IS!"
"THAT DOESN'T MAKE SENSE!"
"NOTHING MAKES SENSE!"
"THAT'S TRUE!"
Keifer laughed. Jay glared at him. He stopped laughing. Almost.
"I hate you," she said.
"You don't hate me."
"I hate you right now."
"You don't hate me right now."
"I hate you for giving me the blanket."
"You don't hate me for giving you the blanket."
"I hate you for taking it back."
"You don't hate me for taking it back."
"What do I hate you for?"
He looked at her. "You don't hate me."
She looked at him. "I know."
They stood in the doorway for a long moment.
Then she walked back to her room.
She didn't take the blanket.
He didn't offer it again.
---
Part Two: The Morning
Breakfast was tense.
Jay sat at one end of the table. Keifer sat at the other end. Everyone else sat in the middle, looking back and forth like they were watching a tennis match.
"Did you two fight?" Lyra asked.
"No," Jay said.
"Yes," Keifer said at the same time.
They glared at each other.
"It was a discussion," Jay said.
"About a blanket," Keifer said.
"A blanket?" Yuri asked. "You fought about a blanket?"
"It was my blanket."
"He gave it to me. Then he took it back."
"She was cold. Then I was cold."
"So you fought about a blanket?"
"We didn't fight."
"You're fighting right now."
"We're discussing."
"Your voices are very loud for a discussion."
"Our voices are passionate."
"About a blanket."
"About—" Jay stopped. "About principles."
"What principles?"
"The principle of giving someone a blanket and then taking it back."
"The principle of needing your own blanket when you're cold."
"You gave it to me!"
"I let you borrow it!"
"You didn't say it was borrowing!"
"I didn't think I had to!"
"That's not how borrowing works!"
"That's exactly how borrowing works!"
"No it's not!"
"Yes it is!"
Mica put her head in her hands. "They're arguing about blanket borrowing etiquette."
"They're arguing about everything," Calix said.
"They're arguing about nothing."
"They're arguing about feelings."
"About a blanket."
"About feelings about a blanket."
"That's worse."
"That's them."
Care looked up from her food. "This is the stupidest argument I've ever heard."
"You argued about the French Revolution for three hours," Cole said.
"The French Revolution is important."
"Blankets are also important."
"The French Revolution changed the course of Western civilization."
"Blankets keep people warm."
"You can't compare blankets to the French Revolution."
"You can compare anything to anything. That's how comparisons work."
"That's not how comparisons work."
"That's exactly how comparisons work."
"That's—" Care stopped. She looked at Cole. "You're doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"Arguing with me."
"You were arguing first."
"I was stating facts."
"I was stating facts too."
"Your facts are wrong."
"My facts are never wrong."
"Your facts are always wrong."
"My facts are correct."
"Your facts are incorrect."
"My facts are—"
Cole kissed her.
The room went silent.
It wasn't like the first time. That kiss had been frustration. Anger. Years of tension finally breaking.
This kiss was different.
His hand was on her face. Her hand was on his chest. His lips were soft. Her lips were soft. The room was quiet. The world was still.
He pulled back.
She opened her eyes.
"I love you," he said.
The room exploded.
---
Part Three: The Explosion
Yuri fell off his chair. "HE SAID IT! HE SAID THE THING!"
"I HEARD!" Lyra shouted.
"HE SAID I LOVE YOU!"
"TO CARE!"
"DURING AN ARGUMENT!"
"ABOUT FACTS!"
"ABOUT THE FRENCH REVOLUTION!"
"ABOUT BLANKETS!"
"BLANKETS LED TO THIS!"
"BLANKETS LED TO EVERYTHING!"
Mica was holding Calix's hand. Calix was laughing. Freya was taking photos. Erdix was live streaming. David was eating chips. Alex was watching. Lyra was screaming.
Care was staring at Cole. Cole was staring at Care.
"You love me?" she whispered.
"I love you."
"You've never said that before."
"I know."
"You've argued with me for three years and you've never said you love me."
"I was scared."
"Of what?"
"Of you. Of this. Of saying it and you not saying it back."
She looked at him. Her face was red. Her eyes were bright. Her hands were shaking.
"I love you too," she said.
"You do?"
"I've loved you since the first day we met. You argued with me about the syllabus. You said my color-coding was 'aggressive.' You said my highlighting system was 'a war crime.'"
"It was aggressive."
"It was organized."
"It was a war crime."
"You're a war crime."
"You love me."
"I love you. I don't know why. But I love you."
He kissed her again. The room exploded again. Yuri was on the floor, clutching his chest. Lyra was crying. Alex was holding her hand. Mica was laughing. Calix was laughing. Freya was crying and taking photos at the same time.
Jay was watching.
Keifer was watching.
They were still at opposite ends of the table. They were still not looking at each other.
But they were watching the same thing. Two people who had been fighting for years finally stopped.
And for a moment, neither of them was thinking about the blanket.
---
Part Four: The Aftermath
Care and Cole sat on the porch for an hour.
They didn't talk. They didn't argue. They just sat there, holding hands, watching the volcano.
Everyone else was inside, processing what had happened.
"I can't believe it," Lyra said. "He said I love you. During an argument. About facts."
"It was the most romantic thing I've ever seen," Mica said.
"It was the most them thing I've ever seen," Calix said.
"They're going to argue forever," Yuri said. "They're going to argue at their wedding. They're going to argue at their kids' birthdays. They're going to argue in the nursing home."
"They're going to argue in heaven," Lyra said.
"They're going to argue in the afterlife."
"The afterlife is just them arguing for eternity."
"That's their heaven."
"That's everyone else's hell."
Freya was looking at her photos. "I got everything. The kiss. The confession. Yuri falling off his chair. Lyra crying. David eating chips. It's perfect."
"You got David eating chips?" Erdix asked.
"David is always eating chips. It's part of the documentation."
"The documentation is very thorough."
"The documentation is eternal."
Jay was in the kitchen, making coffee. She'd been making coffee for ten minutes. She'd already made three cups. She wasn't drinking any of them.
Keifer walked in.
"You're making a lot of coffee," he said.
"I'm experimenting."
"With what?"
"Coffee. Temperature. Ratios. The perfect cup."
"You've been making the perfect cup for months."
"Then I'm experimenting with imperfection."
He leaned against the counter. "You're avoiding me."
"I'm not avoiding you."
"You haven't looked at me since this morning."
"I'm looking at coffee."
"Coffee is on the counter. I'm behind you."
She turned around. He was close. Too close. She could smell his soap. She could see the flecks of gold in his eyes. She could feel his warmth.
"I'm looking at you now," she said.
"You are."
"What do you want?"
He looked at her. "I want to stop fighting about blankets."
"We're not fighting about blankets."
"We're fighting about something."
"We're not fighting."
"Jay."
"Keifer."
"You're still angry."
"I'm not angry."
"You're making your angry coffee face."
"I don't have an angry coffee face."
"You're grinding the beans too hard."
She looked at the grinder. She was, in fact, grinding the beans too hard.
She stopped. She put the grinder down. She looked at him.
"I'm not angry about the blanket," she said.
"What are you angry about?"
She was quiet for a moment. Then: "I woke up warm. For the first time in weeks, I woke up warm. And then I woke up cold. And I didn't like it."
"That's what you're angry about? Being cold?"
"I'm angry about—" She stopped. Swallowed. "I'm angry about needing you to be warm."
He was quiet for a moment. Then: "You don't need me to be warm."
"I don't?"
"You're the warmest person I know. You just don't let anyone feel it."
She stared at him. "That's—"
"True?"
"Stupid."
"It's true."
"It's not true."
"You kept my highlighter. The bent one. You kept it because I gave it to you. You drink the coffee I make you even when it's cold. You wear my jacket. You let me kiss your forehead. You let me catch you when you fall."
"That's not—"
"You let me in, Jay. You've been letting me in for months. You're just too scared to admit it."
She didn't answer.
He stepped closer. "I'm not going anywhere. I've been here since we were fourteen. I'm going to be here when we're eighty. You can be scared. You can be angry. You can be whatever you need to be. But I'm not going anywhere."
Her eyes filled with tears. "Keifer."
"Jay."
"I don't want to fight about blankets."
"Then don't."
"I don't want to fight about anything."
"Then don't."
"I want to—" She stopped. "I want to be warm."
He reached out. His hand touched her face. His palm was warm against her cheek. His fingers were gentle.
"Then be warm," he said.
She closed her eyes. His hand was still on her face. Her heart was pounding.
"Keifer."
"Jay."
"I'm not ready."
"I know."
"Not yet."
"I know."
"But I'm—" She opened her eyes. "I'm getting there."
He smiled. "I know."
From the living room, Yuri's voice echoed: "ARE YOU TWO MAKING COFFEE OR MAKING OUT?"
"MAKING COFFEE!" Jay shouted.
"YOUR FACES SAY MAKING OUT!"
"OUR FACES ARE NEUTRAL!"
"YOUR FACES ARE THE OPPOSITE OF NEUTRAL!"
"YURI!"
"JAY!"
Keifer laughed. Jay tried not to smile. She failed.
---
Part Five: The Porch
Later that afternoon, Jay found Care on the porch.
She was sitting on the steps, watching the volcano, a cup of coffee in her hands. She looked peaceful. She looked happy. She looked nothing like the person who argued about everything.
"Can I sit?" Jay asked.
Care nodded.
Jay sat down beside her. They sat in silence for a moment.
"He said he loves me," Care said.
"I heard."
"During an argument. About facts."
"That's very you."
"I know." She smiled. "I've been waiting for him to say it for three years. And he said it during an argument about facts."
"That's very him."
"I know." She looked at Jay. "You and Keifer fought about a blanket."
"We didn't fight. We discussed."
"You argued about a blanket."
"We discussed blanket borrowing etiquette."
"You argued about feelings."
"We argued about—" Jay stopped. "Maybe."
"You love him."
Jay didn't answer.
Care looked at her. "You love him. Everyone knows. The whole room knows. The whole family knows. The only person who doesn't know is you."
"That's not—"
"You love him. You've loved him since you were fourteen. You've been running from it for so long you don't know how to stop."
Jay's eyes filled with tears. "Care—"
"I'm not telling you to say it. I'm not telling you to do anything. I'm just telling you— running is exhausting. I know. I ran for three years. And when I finally stopped—" She smiled. "It was worth it."
Jay looked at the volcano. At the lake. At the steam rising from the water.
"How did you know?" she asked. "When to stop running?"
Care was quiet for a moment. Then: "I didn't. I just got tired. And he was there. He was always there. And I realized I didn't want to run anymore."
Jay was quiet.
"You don't have to say it today," Care said. "You don't have to say it tomorrow. But someday, you're going to wake up and you're going to realize that running is harder than standing still. And he's going to be there. He's always going to be there."
Jay looked at her. "When did you get so wise?"
"I argued with Cole for three years. It teaches you things."
"What things?"
"That being right isn't the same as being happy."
Jay smiled. "That's very wise."
"I learned it from David."
"David?"
"David is the wisest person in the room. He just doesn't argue."
"David is neutral."
"David is peaceful. There's a difference."
They sat on the porch, watching the volcano, not talking, not moving.
Jay was thinking about Keifer. About the blanket. About the coffee. About the way he looked at her when he thought she wasn't watching.
She was tired of running.
She just didn't know how to stop.
---
Part Six: The Night
That night, they sat on the porch again.
Everyone was inside. Care and Cole were on the couch, holding hands. Yuri was telling stories. Lyra was laughing. Alex was watching. Mica and Calix were making dinner. Freya was editing. Erdix was helping. David was organizing snacks.
Jay and Keifer were on the porch, watching the stars.
"You're quiet," he said.
"I'm thinking."
"About what?"
She looked at the stars. At the volcano. At the lights on the lake.
"About running," she said.
"Running?"
"Care said I've been running from you since we were fourteen."
He was quiet for a moment. "Have you?"
She looked at him. "I don't know. Maybe. I've been so scared of—" She stopped.
"Of what?"
"Of this. Of us. Of what happens when I stop running."
He reached out. His hand touched her face. His palm was warm against her cheek. His fingers were gentle.
"What do you think happens?" he asked.
"I don't know. That's what scares me."
"What if nothing happens? What if you stop running and we're still us? Still stupid. Still arguing about blankets and coffee and who caught who?"
"What if something happens?"
"Then something happens. And we figure it out. Together."
She looked at him. His face was soft. Too soft. The kind of soft that made her want to run and stay at the same time.
"You make it sound so simple."
"It is simple. You're the one who makes it complicated."
"I don't make it complicated."
"You made a blanket complicated. You made coffee complicated. You made a bent highlighter complicated."
"I didn't make a bent highlighter complicated."
"You kept it. You brought it on this trip. It's in your bag right now."
She stared at him. "You know it's in my bag?"
"I know everything about you, Jay. I know you keep the things I give you. I know you drink the coffee I make you even when it's cold. I know you wear my jacket. I know you let me kiss your forehead."
She didn't answer.
He stepped closer. "You're not running anymore, Jay. You haven't been running for a long time. You're just walking very slowly. And that's okay. I can walk slowly. I've been walking slowly for fifteen years. I can walk a little longer."
Her eyes filled with tears. "Keifer."
"Jay."
"I'm not—" She stopped. Swallowed. "I'm not ready to say it."
"I know."
"But I'm not running."
"I know."
"I'm just— walking. Slowly."
"I know."
She reached out. Her hand touched his face. His cheek was warm. His skin was soft. His eyes were the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.
"Thank you," she said. "For waiting."
He covered her hand with his. "I'll always wait."
She smiled. He smiled. They stood on the porch, watching the stars, not kissing but close.
From inside the house, Yuri's voice echoed: "ARE YOU TWO KISSING OUT THERE?"
"NO!"
"YOUR FACES SAY KISSING!"
"OUR FACES ARE NEUTRAL!"
"YOUR FACES ARE NEVER NEUTRAL!"
"YURI!"
"JAY!"
Keifer laughed. Jay laughed. The stars were bright. The volcano was still. The night was quiet.
She wasn't ready to say it.
But she wasn't running anymore.
---
Part Seven: The Blanket
That night, Jay lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling.
She was cold. The windows were drafty. The blankets were thin. She'd been shivering for hours, too stubborn to get up, too stubborn to ask for another blanket, too stubborn to admit she should have brought more clothes.
She was always too stubborn.
She heard movement in the hallway. Footsteps. Soft. Quiet. Familiar.
Her door opened.
Keifer stood in the doorway, holding his blanket.
"You're cold," he said.
"I'm fine."
"You're shivering."
"I'm not shivering."
"Your teeth are chattering."
"It's the house. It's old. The windows are drafty."
He walked to her bed. He put the blanket on top of her.
"You can borrow it," he said. "For the night."
"What about you?"
"I'll be fine."
"You'll be cold."
"I'm always cold."
She looked at him. He was standing beside her bed, looking down at her, the moonlight on his face.
"You could stay," she said.
He went still. "What?"
"Stay. In the room. You can sleep on the floor. Or—" She moved over. "Here. There's room."
He stared at her. "Jay—"
"I'm not ready for anything. I'm just— cold. And you have the blanket."
"The blanket is on your bed."
"The blanket is on my bed. But you're not."
He looked at her for a long moment.
Then he lay down beside her.
They didn't touch. They didn't talk. They just lay there, side by side, the blanket between them, the moonlight on their faces.
"Jay?"
"Yeah?"
"I love you."
Her heart stopped. "Keifer—"
"I know you're not ready to say it. I know you're not ready for anything. That's okay. I just— I wanted you to know. I love you. I've loved you since I was fourteen. I'll love you when I'm eighty. I'll love you when we're arguing about blankets and coffee and who caught who. I'll love you when you're scared and when you're angry and when you're pretending you don't feel things."
She turned to look at him. He was looking at her. The same way he'd been looking at her for fifteen years.
"I love you," he said again.
Her eyes filled with tears. "Keifer."
"Jay."
"I'm not—"
"I know."
"But I'm—"
"I know."
She reached out. Her hand touched his face. His cheek was warm. His skin was soft. His eyes were the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.
"Thank you," she whispered. "For waiting."
He covered her hand with his. "I'll always wait."
She didn't say it back.
But she didn't run.
And that was enough.
For now, that was enough.
---
End of Chapter Thirteen