Morning Silence (Anton's POV)
The morning light crept in through the blinds of Krystel's small apartment. Anton sat at the edge of the couch where he had fallen asleep, his hands folded neatly as if discipline carried him even into rest. He wasn't used to this kind of morning—unplanned, unscheduled, and yet strangely grounding.
The scent of coffee reached him, richer than the usual black he brewed for himself. Krystel was already awake, humming a tune in the kitchen, wearing an oversized shirt that clearly wasn't hers but borrowed from him the night before.
"Good morning," she said, placing a mug in front of him. "Three days in, and you still look like you're bracing for an interview every time you see me."
Anton raised a brow, wrapping his hands around the cup. "I don't brace. I prepare."
"That's... the same thing," she teased, sliding into the chair across him.
He watched her sip from her own cup. The way her lips curved against the rim—casual, unthinking—stirred something inside him he hadn't felt in years. This was supposed to be pretend, but every small action of hers chipped away at his carefully built detachment.
"Do you ever just... let things fall apart?" she asked suddenly.
He frowned. "Why would I?"
"Because sometimes," she said softly, "that's the only way you find out what was worth keeping."
Her words lingered in the silence between them.
The Park Bench (Krystel's POV)
Later that afternoon, they found themselves walking aimlessly through the park near the café where they first met. She had insisted—claiming couples did this all the time: wander without purpose, talk about nothing and everything.
Anton carried her paper bag of snacks, protesting only once before she silenced him with a mock glare. "If you're my boyfriend, you carry my junk. Pact rules."
He smirked, rare but genuine. "You make the rules too often."
"Then break them," she challenged.
He didn't. Instead, he sat beside her on a wooden bench overlooking the pond, handing her a bottle of water. She accepted it, their fingers brushing for just a second longer than necessary.
"Anton..." she began carefully, eyes fixed on the water. "Do you believe some people are born unlucky?"
He tilted his head. "Unlucky?"
"Like... no matter how hard they try, something always takes what they love away."
His gaze hardened. The question wasn't innocent—he could hear the weight behind it.
"I don't believe in fate that cruel," he said slowly. "I believe in people. And in how they destroy each other."
She turned to him, searching his face. "You sound like someone who's been destroyed before."
He didn't answer. Not directly. Instead, he leaned back, hands clasped. "I've seen what betrayal does. And I've promised myself never to hand that power to anyone again."
Krystel's chest tightened at his confession. She wanted to tell him me too—but her secret wasn't betrayal. It was time.
Late Night Confessions (Anton's POV)
That night, they sat by the window of her apartment, the city buzzing below them. Krystel had pulled her knees to her chest, hugging them while Anton leaned against the glass.
"Can I tell you something no one knows?" she asked.
He turned to her, curiosity flickering in his dark eyes. "Only if you want me to keep it."
She laughed quietly. "You sound like a vault."
"I am. You'd be surprised how much I've been asked to lock away."
Her expression faltered, but she forced a smile. "Then maybe I won't. Not tonight."
Anton studied her, unsettled by the hesitation. She had been the one to propose this pact, reckless and free—but tonight, there was a shadow behind her laughter. Something unspoken, pressing against the walls of their fragile seven days.
"Krystel..." His voice was careful. "If this gets too real, you can end it. I won't hold it against you."
She shook her head quickly, almost too quickly. "No. I want this. Maybe more than you think."
For the first time, Anton allowed himself to reach out. His hand rested over hers, firm and grounding. She didn't pull away.
Between Two Worlds (Krystel's POV)
The next morning at work, Krystel sat at her desk staring blankly at the monitor. Jamal leaned against the partition, studying her with growing concern.
"You're distracted," he said plainly.
She blinked, forcing a smile. "I'm fine. Just... didn't sleep much."
"Is it him? The new guy?" Jamal's voice carried a hint of something else—resentment, longing, maybe both.
Krystel didn't answer, but the flicker in her eyes was enough. Jamal sighed, crossing his arms.
"Be careful, Krystel. Sometimes the things we think are temporary end up hurting the most."
She gave a small laugh, though her chest ached at the truth of his words. "Don't worry, Jamal. This... won't last long."
But even as she said it, she felt the lie cut through her throat.
Nightfall Confessions
Anton's POV
The city had long gone quiet by the time Krystel and I slipped back into the rented apartment. A hush lingered in the small space, broken only by the hum of the refrigerator and the muffled rain tapping against the window. She kicked off her shoes, letting them drop carelessly by the door, and sprawled across the couch as though she had lived here all her life.
I, on the other hand, arranged my keys neatly in the bowl by the entrance. Old habits—control, order, the need to anchor myself in routines.
Krystel's eyes followed me. "You're so... neat it almost scares me," she teased, stretching lazily.
"Scares you?" I asked, leaning against the wall.
She shrugged, her smile tugging with something unspoken. "Like you're hiding behind the neatness. People who have everything lined up in order usually have something in their past they're trying to forget."
Her words hit closer than I wanted to admit. I looked at her, half-wary, half-curious. "And what about you? You hide behind jokes and easy smiles. What's that covering?"
For a moment, her grin faltered, but then she laughed. "Touché, Mr. Saño."
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable—it was thick, loaded, like the air before a storm.
I surprised myself when I broke it first. "I don't do relationships."
She sat up, brows raised. "Because?"
I exhaled, lowering myself onto the armchair across from her. "Because I learned the hard way what it's like when someone you trust rips the ground out from under you."
"Betrayal," she whispered, more a statement than a question.
"Yes. The kind that makes you wonder if you were ever enough." My voice cracked in ways I hated. "And after that, I thought... better to keep everything neat. Controlled. Safe. Alone."
Her gaze softened, her playful edges folding back. She didn't press for details. She didn't need to.
Instead, she reached out across the gap, her hand brushing mine lightly. A touch—simple, grounding. "You don't have to be alone right now," she murmured.
And damn it, for the first time in years, I almost believed her.
Krystel's POV
Anton's vulnerability hung between us, fragile but real. I wanted to cradle it, keep it safe, but part of me knew I didn't deserve the softness he was showing me. Not when I was hiding my own cracks.
I smiled, though it wavered. "You're not the only one who has ghosts."
He tilted his head. "Tell me."
My chest tightened. Tell him? That my body was already betraying me in ways he couldn't see? That time for me wasn't infinite, no matter how hard I laughed and pretended?
I shook my head lightly, forcing airiness into my tone. "Let's just say... I've learned not to take days for granted. Not every day is promised."
His brows furrowed. "That sounds like more than just philosophy."
I chuckled, masking the panic that threatened to spill. "You're reading too much into it. I just mean—we only have four more days of this pact. Why waste it on heavy talk?"
But I could see it in his eyes: he didn't believe me. He was too observant. Too sharp.
So I leaned forward, grabbing his hand this time, and said, "Tonight, can we just—be here? No past. No future. Just now."
His hand tightened around mine. For once, he didn't argue.
Shadows at Work
Krystel's POV
The next morning, I tried to shake off the heaviness from last night. Work was chaos as usual, but Jamal's sharp eyes trailed after me every time I moved.
"You've been... different," Jamal finally said, cornering me by the copier.
I laughed, pretending to be oblivious. "Different how?"
"You're glowing," he admitted, then quickly added, "but also distracted. Like you're here, but not here."
My heart stumbled. Did he notice too much? I brushed it off with a grin. "Maybe I just found a reason to smile again. Isn't that a good thing?"
His jaw tightened. "Unless that reason isn't good for you."
I froze for half a beat before plastering on my mask again. "Stop worrying about me, Jamal. I'm fine."
But as I walked away, I could feel his suspicion burning at my back.
Anton's POV
Jerry found me that afternoon. Always direct, always protective.
"You've been different lately," he said, arms crossed as we grabbed coffee.
I smirked faintly. "Is this déjà vu? Someone told Krystel the same thing."
His eyes narrowed. "I'm serious, Anton. Who is she?"
"A... pact," I said vaguely, though the word sounded ridiculous outside my head. "Temporary."
"Temporary doesn't make it safer," Jerry shot back. "I know that look on your face. You're falling—and fast."
I said nothing, because silence was its own kind of admission.
Jerry leaned closer. "Be careful. Some people carry shadows you can't see until it's too late."
For a fleeting moment, I wondered if he knew more than I did.
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