KEIFER'S POV —
The second Jay fully drifted off, her breath soft against my chest, I reached for my phone quietly — careful not to wake the chaos incarnate sleeping in my arms.
Angelo had texted me seven times.
ANGELO:
Is she with you?
Send location.
Don't let her drink more.
Did she drink more??
KEIFER.
ANSWER THE PHONE.
I swear to god—
I winced, then typed back quickly with one hand:
ME:
She's safe. She's with me. Sleeping. I'll send her home early morning.
Three dots popped up immediately.
ANGELO:
If she wakes up with one hair out of place, I'm breaking your legs.
I smirked.
ME:
Noted, kuya.
A few seconds passed.
ANGELO:
…Thank you.
That one made me sigh. He trusted me. And that meant something.
I locked my phone, slid it onto the bedside table, and finally relaxed back into the pillow.
Jay shifted against me.
Her fingers curled into my shirt.
Then…
She mumbled.
Soft. Slurred. Ridiculous.
"Keifer… your… shoulders… nice pillows…"
I choked on a laugh, pressing it into her hair.
She wasn't done.
"Also… you smell… like… vanilla… and stress."
What the—
A quiet laugh escaped me.
"Do I?" I whispered, brushing a thumb along her cheek.
"Mhm…" she muttered, still half-asleep, "vanilla… stress… and… boyfriend material…"
I froze.
Actually froze.
Then grinned like an idiot in the dark.
"Go to sleep, Jay," I whispered, voice low and warm. "Before you confess to more things you'll deny tomorrow."
She hummed, nuzzling closer like a cat. "You're comfy… stay… don't go…"
"I'm not going anywhere," I murmured, tightening my arms around her.
The room fell quiet again — except for her breathing, soft and uneven, and my heart doing something stupid inside my chest.
She whispered one last thing, voice barely audible:
"Keifer… my Keifer…"
Yeah.
There was no chance I was sleeping after that.
I pressed a slow kiss to her forehead.
"Goodnight, jay jay ," I whispered into the darkness. "I've got you."
And with her tucked into my arms, clinging to my shirt like I belonged only to her —
I believed it.
JAY'S POV —
My head was pounding.
Like someone inside my skull was playing drums with metal chopsticks.
I groaned and buried my face into something warm… firm… and very much alive.
Wait.
Alive?
I blinked my eyes open.
Keifer.
Sleeping beside me, one arm still wrapped around my waist, his face calm and stupidly angelic for someone who probably watched me act like a clown last night.
His hair was messy. His lips slightly parted. His entire body radiating warmth like a human heater.
I stared.
Then stared more.
Then did the logical thing:
Snuggled right back into his chest.
He smelled like laundry soap, mint, and something warm I couldn't name but immediately wanted to drown in.
His hand subconsciously tightened around me.
Great.
Perfect.
Fantastic.
My heart was doing parkour.
I shut my eyes again, trying to piece together what happened—
Shoulders.Vanilla.Boyfriend material.
My Keifer.
OH.MY.G O D.
I froze.
Did I—
Did I say all that?
I turned my head slowly to look at him again.
Still asleep.
Still unaware.
Thank god.
I sighed and pressed my face back into his shirt, whispering to myself:
"Good job, Jay… you absolute embarrassment."
Then—
His voice, low and sleepy, vibrated against my forehead.
"You can keep snuggling, you know… I don't mind."
My soul ascended.
I looked up.
He was awake.
And smirking.
Kill me now.
Before I could bury myself under the mattress, he brushed my hair back gently.
"Morning, Jay Jay."
I swallowed. "Morning…"
"You okay?" he asked softly.
"No," I whispered dramatically. "My head hurts. And so does my pride."
He laughed — warm, quiet, and unfairly attractive.
"Come here," he murmured, pulling me closer again. "Just stay for a bit. You're safe."
And despite the hangover, despite the embarrassment, despite everything—
I let myself melt into him.
Because for once…
I felt safe.
And I didn't want to move.
Not yet.
Not away from him.
His thumb stroked my arm slow, comforting — unfairly comforting — and I closed my eyes again… until something felt off.
Wait.
My dress.
My birthday dress.
The sparkly, fitting, very short, very after party very "Stella forced this on me" dress.
It wasn't on me.
I sat up sharply, the blanket falling off.
I was wearing—
A hoodie.
His hoodie.
His big, soft, oversized, "smells-like-him-too-much" hoodie.
My eyes widened.
Slowly, dramatically, I turned to face him.
"Keifer."
"Mhm?" he answered casually, like he didn't just undress me in my sleep AND put me in his clothes.
"Why am I… why… where is my dress?"
He blinked once.
Then sat up slightly, rubbing his neck like he was the embarrassed one.
"You were uncomfortable," he said quietly. "Kept pulling at it. Kept mumbling that it was itchy."
I stared.
"I didn't— we didn't— I mean, you didn't—?"
He frowned immediately, serious.
"Jay. I didn't do anything."
He held my gaze, steady and earnest.
"You were drunk. I only took off the dress so you could sleep comfortably. I didn't look. I didn't touch anything I shouldn't."
A beat.
"I just… put my hoodie on you. Blindly. Like— blindfold-level blindly."
My shoulders relaxed without my permission.
He continued, softer now:
"I swear, Jay. I'd never take advantage of you."
Something in my chest melted into a puddle.
"Oh…" I whispered.
He chuckled. "Yeah. 'Oh.'"
I tugged the hoodie closer around me.
"It smells nice," I muttered.
His brow arched. "Like vanilla and stress?"
I smacked a pillow into his face so fast he choked laughing.
"SHUT UP."
"You said it," he teased.
"No I didn't."
"Yes you did."
"Keifer—"
"Verbatim, actually."
I groaned into my hands.
He reached out, gently lowering them so he could see my face.
"Jay," he murmured. "I didn't mind taking care of you."
My heart did a full gymnastics routine.
"And," he added, leaning just a little closer, "you look cute in my hoodie."
I died.
Right there.
Instant death.
No funeral needed.
Just bury me in the hoodie.
He smiled like he knew exactly what he was doing to me, then lay back down and opened an arm.
"Come here. Your hangover medicine is my shoulder."
I crawled right into him because apparently I had no self-respect left.
And honestly?
I didn't want any.
Not if it meant moving away from him....
After another ten minutes of pretending I wasn't melting in his arms, we finally peeled ourselves out of bed.
Separately.
Very separately.
Keifer even pointed at the bathroom like I was a feral cat he needed to direct.
"You go first," he said.
"You sure?"
"You take longer."
"I do NOT—"
"You absolutely do."
I threw a pillow at him and marched into the bathroom wearing his hoodie like it was a trophy.
When I came out with wet hair and shorts I'd found in my overnight bag (thank GOD past-me packed random clothes), Keifer disappeared into the bathroom with his towel.
And yes.
I sniffed the hoodie again.
No, I didn't regret it.
We walked downstairs together, and of course—
Keigan and Keiren were already at the table, eating cereal like gremlins.
Keiren looked up first.
"SHE'S WEARING HIS HOODIE—"
Keigan smacked the back of his head ..
"Ow!"
Keigan grinned at me. "Morning, ate Jay. You look… warm."
I sat down, cheeks heating. "I'm fine."
"You look very fine," Keifer muttered under his breath.
I kicked his leg under the table.
He smirked like he enjoyed it.
Breakfast was loud, chaotic, and—against all odds—comfortable.
Keigen arguing about cereal brands, Keiren stealing everyone's toast, me sipping coffee like my soul depended on it.
Then Keifer cleared his throat.
Serious.
Calm.
Eyes on me.
"Jay," he said softly, "can you stay here today? Just… rest? You're hungover, and Angelo will kill me if you pass out on the way home."
I blinked.
He continued, slower, more careful:
"And also… I kind of… want you here."
Everything inside me stopped.
Keigen smirked behind his mug.
Keiren whispered loudly, "HE LIKES HER—"
Keifer threw a piece of bread at him.
I ignored all of them.
I looked straight at Keifer, his eyes steady and warm, waiting for my answer.
And with his hoodie drowning me, the memory of waking up in his arms still fresh, and the soft way he was watching me—
How the hell could I say no?
I smiled.
"Yeah. I'll stay."
His shoulders relaxed. Just a little.
But enough for me to see it.
And maybe—
just maybe—
that meant more than anything he'd said out loud..