The Kitchen Was Already On Fire
It started over a broken glass.
Jay's cast had made her grip clumsy, and the mug she was holding slipped — shattered on the tile between them with a sharp crack.
"Nice," Keifer said from across the kitchen island. "That was, what, your third this week?"
Jay shot him a glare. "Maybe if someone didn't keep leaving them on the edge of the sink—"
"Maybe if someone wasn't walking around like a hurricane with an attitude problem—"
Jay stormed past him toward the broom, shoulder brushing his.
"Watch it," she muttered.
"Don't pretend you didn't do that on purpose," Keifer bit back.
She whirled around. "Do what?"
He stepped closer. "That."
Jay raised her chin. "There's nothing to pretend, Watson."
He laughed, low and bitter. "Right. So the tension? The lingering looks? The fact that you flinch every time I get too close—"
"You're imagining things."
"Then stop staring at my mouth like you want to punch it or kiss it."
Her breath caught.
Silence fell between them, thick and electric.
Jay blinked. "You think I'm the only one feeling this?"
Keifer took one step forward.
Then another.
Now chest to chest, breath to breath.
"I think we've been pretending long enough."
Jay's pulse thundered. "You don't know what I feel."
He stared into her eyes. "Then say it."
Her voice cracked. "I can't."
"Because you're scared?" His voice softened. "Or because it's real?"
Jay shoved him.
But not away — just enough to back him into the counter.
"I hate you," she whispered.
"I know."
"I hate how you make me want to stay."
Keifer swallowed. "Same."
"I hate that I waited this long to kiss you—"
Before he could breathe, she was on him — fast, desperate, furious.
Their lips clashed, teeth almost crashing, months of fighting spilling over into something uncontainable.
His hands found her waist. Hers curled into the front of his shirt. She kissed him like it was a war, and she'd already lost.
Then Keifer pulled back — just an inch.
"Jay—" his voice shook — "if we do this… it's not just a mistake. I need you to say this isn't just heat."
Jay looked him in the eyes. "Then let it be heat."
"Jay—"
"Let it burn," she whispered, "and take me with it."
That's all it took.
The Night That Followed
They didn't make it to the bedroom right away.
The kitchen light stayed on — half because they were too distracted to turn it off, half because neither of them wanted to stop long enough to think.
Clothes hit the hallway floor like falling pieces of their old selves.
"Are we going too fast?" Keifer asked again, voice low against her throat.
Jay cupped his face, breathless. "No. We're going honest."
And that night — for once — nothing about them was fake.
Not the hands. Not the mouths. Not the way he whispered her name like a secret he finally got to keep.
The Morning After
Sunlight pooled across the sheets.
Jay blinked awake to find her head resting on his chest, her fingers still tangled in his.
Keifer was already awake, staring at her like she was a dream he was afraid to touch.
"I thought you'd run," he whispered.
Jay hummed. "Too tired to run."
They laid there in silence until she spoke.
"This engagement," she murmured. "It was never ours."
Keifer tensed.
Jay lifted her head. "Until now."
He looked at her.
She smiled softly. "I'm choosing you. Not because they wanted it. Not because we had to. But because… I do."
Keifer's voice cracked. "Jay."
"So," she said, tracing a line down his chest, "still wanna call it fake?"
He rolled over, pulling her fully beneath him, eyes glowing. "I want to call it forever."
She grinned.
"Cheesy," she whispered.
"You love it."
And she did.
God, she did.