Chapter 5– The Crack in the Glass
Jay yanked open the fridge for the third time in five minutes, already knowing nothing had magically appeared inside. It was empty. Again. Of course.
She should've known Keifer would "forget" to buy groceries on his way back from practice. He always conveniently forgot anything that didn't revolve around his life, his schedule, his stupid abs—
"Looking for something?" came a familiar voice behind her.
Jay turned, face already set in irritation. "You mean besides basic human decency?"
Keifer leaned against the kitchen counter, sweat still clinging to his neck, gym bag slung over his shoulder. He looked too casual, too smug, too everything. She hated how unfairly good he looked even while being insufferable.
"You're welcome, by the way," he said, reaching into his bag and pulling out a small brown bag. "Didn't have time to do a full grocery run, but I grabbed you that oat milk thing you like. The purple one."
Jay blinked. Slowly.
Her words froze mid-sarcasm.
"You… remembered?"
He shrugged, avoiding her gaze. "It's hard not to when you complain about it every single morning."
Jay stared at the bag, then at him. He wasn't looking at her, which was weird. Keifer always looked at her — either with a smirk or a glare, like she was a puzzle he couldn't solve or a math problem he wanted to burn.
But now… he was quieter. And for some reason, that made her more nervous than all their fights.
"Thanks," she said, voice softer than she meant it to be.
Keifer didn't answer right away. He set the bag on the counter, pulled out a water bottle, and finally glanced at her.
Something in his gaze made her stomach twist.
"Don't get used to it," he said flatly, but there was no heat in it. Just something unspoken. Uncomfortable. Curious.
Jay crossed her arms. "You're acting weird."
He scoffed. "And you're acting like you don't steal my hoodies."
"I don't—"
"You do. The navy one disappeared three days ago."
Jay flushed. "Maybe you just lost it."
"Nope. Smelled like vanilla and sarcasm when I found it on the couch."
Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. "Okay, that's—"
"What are we even doing?" Keifer cut her off suddenly.
Jay paused. "What?"
"This," he said, motioning between them. "You act like you hate me, I act like I hate you, but we're living in the same space, stealing each other's stuff, arguing over coffee, and pretending this isn't getting... weird."
Jay's breath caught.
Because he was right.
And the worst part?
She hated that he noticed before she could deny it.
Keifer stepped forward. Not much — just a small shift — but enough to make her step back out of instinct. Her back hit the fridge door.
He didn't move closer. Just looked at her.
"Do you actually hate me?" he asked quietly.
Jay's chest rose and fell. "Yes."
He raised an eyebrow. "That's a lie."
She hesitated. "Then… maybe I don't like you. Happy?"
Keifer gave a dry laugh. "No, actually. I'm starting to think that's worse."
They stood in silence. The air between them sharp and strange.
Jay could feel her pulse in her throat. She didn't know what scared her more — the closeness or the fact that she didn't want to step away.
"Go shower," she said finally, grabbing the oat milk bag just to have something to do with her hands. "You stink."
Keifer grinned — not his usual cocky grin, but something smaller. Realer.
"Whatever you say, princess."
Jay rolled her eyes, but she didn't argue.
Not this time.