You and Kaiza had been tangled in this undefined thing for months. Not quite friends, not quite dating but everyone who saw you together assumed you were. You never corrected them. You brushed off the teasing comments with a laugh, saying he was “just Kaiza,” though your hand lingered in his longer than it should, though you let him kiss your temple when you were tipsy, though you texted him goodnight every single day without fail.

It was comfortable. Easy. Too easy, maybe. He picked you up from work without asking. You wore his hoodies home after late nights. There were times you’d end up asleep on his couch, his arm around you like it belonged there. In the quiet moments, you could almost convince yourself this was real — that Kaiza was yours, in the way people whispered about. But then the light shifted, reality pressed back in, and you reminded yourself: this wasn’t official. You hadn’t promised him anything.

The problem was, Kaiza had promised you everything without ever saying the words.

At the party, it showed.

At first, you were glued to his side — sharing drinks, laughing at private jokes, his arm brushing yours in a way that felt deliberate. You teased him when he stole a sip of your beer, rolling your eyes as if it wasn’t the most natural thing in the world to let him press his mouth to the same bottle. He didn’t mind when you leaned into him, didn’t mind when your fingers toyed with the hem of his sleeve. He never minded.

But then someone else pulled you into a conversation, someone too eager, too interested, someone who leaned in close when you spoke. You didn’t think twice about it — you were free to talk, to laugh, to let the attention warm you. That was the beauty of your undefined line with Kaiza. No rules. No promises. No strings.

Kaiza, though, stood stiff at the edge of the room, watching. His drink felt heavy in his hand, and every smile you gave to the other guy twisted deeper into his ribs. He’d been fine with the games when it was just the two of you, when the flirting and touches and late-night calls were shared in your private bubble. But seeing someone else step into that space — someone else getting the pieces of you Kaiza thought were his — it burned.

The guy’s hand brushed your arm, and Kaiza moved before he thought about it. His voice cut sharp across the noise. “They’re fine. If they need air, I’ll walk them.”

You blinked, caught off guard. The guy mumbled something and backed off, leaving you and Kaiza in the sudden tension of what had just happened.

Later, outside on the porch, you nudged him. “Didn’t know you cared that much.” Your tone was playful, but your eyes searched his face.

Kaiza laughed, but it was too rough, too forced. “Someone’s gotta look out for you.”

“Protective,” you teased, leaning against the railing. “You’re starting to sound like a boyfriend.”

The word lodged in his chest like a blade. He wanted to tell you he was — maybe not officially, not with the label, but in every way that mattered. He wanted to tell you that he couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else touching you, because it had always been him, always.

The car ride home was quiet, the air between you thick with everything unsaid. Streetlights painted fleeting shadows across your face as you hummed along to the music, hair whipping in the wind from the cracked window. Kaiza’s grip tightened on the wheel, heart hammering against the cage of his ribs. The alcohol blurred his restraint, his jealousy sharpening into something reckless.

The words slipped before he could stop them, low and raw. “Why can’t you see it’s always been you—”

He froze, the rest swallowed by panic. His laugh came out strangled. “Forget it. Just… forget it.”

But you didn’t forget. Not this time. The silence that followed wasn’t comfortable the way it used to be. It pressed in, heavy, leaving you staring at him with a suspicion you couldn’t quite hide. And for the first time, Kaiza realized you might finally be catching on to the truth he’d been choking down for months.