Jay's POV
I woke up to sunlight kissing my face.
Ugh.
I wish I could say it was going to be a good day 😩
But I'm 1000% sure it's not.
The reason?
The King of Ululong 🐍.
Why does he have to walk back into my life like this?
Why now?
I don't think I deserve this.
I like drama—just not in my own life. Other people's drama? Love it. Mine? Absolutely not. But what can I say—my life is a mess of drama, surprises, and chaos.
And now the King of Ululong is flirting?
Yeah. No thanks.
My stomach growled loudly.
I'm starving.
Like… eat-an-elephant starving.
Wait—can people even eat elephants? Do they taste good? Probably not. But that's a lot of meat—
What the hell am I thinking?
I dragged myself out of bed and headed straight to the kitchen. Not to cook—please—I opened the fridge. I don't know why, but opening the fridge at least ten times a day feels comforting.
Inside: eggs. Milk. Actual groceries.
None of which I wanted.
Also… I don't know how to cook.
But why should I worry when I have Lucas—my personal savior?
I grabbed my phone.
Lucas 🍳
J: hey, are you awake?
L: ofc. I'm not you 🐖
J: HAHA very funny 🙄 are you home?
L: yes
J: good. I'm coming over 😉
L: it's not like I can stop you 🤭
J: yeah, that's true
L: then come over. and please brush your teeth—your breath stinks 😵
J: shut up!
I rolled my eyes but still went to the bathroom and brushed my teeth.
Rude. But accurate.
I grabbed my phone, slipped into my slippers, and stepped out.
Lucas's condo was right across from mine. Close enough that I didn't even think about it—my body just moved on its own.
I shuffled down the hallway, barely awake, my slippers dragging against the floor. My eyes were half-closed, my brain running on pure hunger and bad decisions.
I stopped in front of the door across from mine and knocked—loud.
"Open the door," I whined, already leaning my forehead against it. "I'm hungry. Like… dangerously hungry."
No answer.
I knocked again, this time clinging to the door dramatically.
"Lucas, if you don't open this door right now, I will literally die. My death will be on your conscience."
I slid my hand down the door and pressed my cheek to it.
"I haven't eaten since yesterday," I lied shamelessly. "I can feel my soul leaving my body. This is it. This is how I go."
Still nothing.
I knocked again, slower, weaker, like I was in my final moments.
"Please," I muttered. "Just open the door. I promise I won't complain today. I'll even wash the dishes."
I leaned my full weight against the door, hugging it like it was my last source of hope.
"I swear, if I die of starvation, I'm haunting you. Every day. While you cook."
The door suddenly opened.
I yelped and stumbled forward—straight into someone solid.
Strong arms wrapped around me before I could hit the floor.
I blinked, confused.
This… didn't feel like Lucas.
I slowly looked up.
Keifer.
Shirtless. Hair wet. Towel around his waist.
Very much not my private chef.
He looked down at me, then at my hands still clutching his door, amusement flickering in his eyes.
The moment I realized this was not Lucas, my brain completely shut down.
I was still clinging to the door.
Still leaning forward.
Still mid–near-death-by-hunger speech.
Keifer looked down at me like he had all the time in the world.
Slow. Calm. Annoyingly composed.
"Well," he drawled, eyes flicking from my face to my hands gripping his door, "this is new."
I froze.
His arms were still around me. Not tight—just enough to keep me from face-planting onto the floor.
I jumped back like the floor was lava.
"Oh—no—this—this is not what it looks like," I blurted out, words tumbling over each other. "I mean—it is what it looks like but also not—"
He tilted his head, lips curling into a smug smile.
"Because it looks like," he said calmly, "you were desperately begging outside my door."
My face burned.
"I thought this was Lucas's place," I rushed on. "I'm half asleep. And starving. Like actually starving. I haven't eaten in—" I paused, trying to calculate. "—a very long time."
"Ten hours?" he guessed.
I gasped. "That's basically a lifetime."
His smile widened.
"Right," he said. "Tragic."
I waved my hands around, panicking. "I was just knocking. Normal knocking. Very normal. Not dramatic at all."
He glanced pointedly at the faint smudge my forehead had left on his door.
"Looked pretty dramatic to me."
I groaned and covered my face. "Please pretend this never happened. I will pay you. I will apologize. I will—"
"You did say you were going to die," he interrupted smoothly.
I peeked through my fingers. "I exaggerate when I'm hungry."
He leaned casually against the doorframe, clearly enjoying this far too much.
"So," he said, voice teasing, "you usually throw yourself at doors when you want food?"
I only do this with Lucas," I added quickly, still flustered. "He cooks for me. Like—normally. Every day."
That was when his face changed.
It wasn't dramatic.
No anger. No explosion.
Just… gone.
The smugness faded. His jaw tightened, eyes sharpening just enough for me to notice.
"Lucas," he repeated slowly.
Something about the way he said the name made my stomach twist.
"So," he continued, voice smooth but different now, "that's where you go when you're hungry."
"He's my best friend," I said immediately. "He lives right across."
A beat of silence.
Then Keifer stepped aside.
"I have food," he said. "You can eat here."
I blinked.
"No."
The answer came out fast. Instinctive.
His brows drew together slightly. "No?"
"I'm good," I said, already backing away. "I'll just go to Lucas."
"Why?" he asked.
Not teasing this time.
Just… asking.
I hesitated, fingers curling around my phone.
"Because that's normal," I said finally. "This isn't."
His gaze held mine. Quiet. Heavy.
"You don't have to act like I'm a mistake," he said calmly.
The words landed harder than I expected.
I swallowed—but I didn't apologize.
"I didn't say that," I replied. "I just knocked on the wrong door."
Another pause.
Then he nodded once, slow.
"Right," he said.
I stepped back, mortified, heat creeping up my neck.
I stumbled away from Keifer's door, muttering,
"Wrong door… my bad sense of direction."
Turning the corner, I reached Lucas's condo.
Before I could even think about knocking, the door swung open.
Lucas was there, arms crossed, eyebrow raised, calm as ever.
"Do you… not have eyes?" he asked, deadpan.
"What?" I stammered, blinking.
"My room number," he said, pointing. "B-204. You literally just leaned on some random guy's door across the hall."
I froze. "…Oh."
He smirked. "Yeah. Really, Jay. Do you need a map next time?"
I groaned, throwing my hands up. "Shut up! I'm hungry! Starving! About to die!"
Lucas laughed softly. "Alright, alright. Come in before you faint dramatically at the door."
I slipped inside like my life depended on it, stomach growling like it had its own voice.
I stepped into Lucas's condo, and immediately my stomach growled again. Loud. Like a war drum.
"Okay… wow," I muttered under my breath. "How does he always have food ready? Does he have a secret kitchen army hiding somewhere? Does he wake up at 3 a.m. just to make eggs for me?"
I wandered into the kitchen, eyes scanning every counter, every cupboard. There it was—perfectly laid out breakfast: toast, eggs, a little fruit, even orange juice that looked like it had been squeezed that morning.
"Who does this?" I whispered. "Who just casually makes food like a private chef for someone who barges in half-awake, dramatic, and basically starving?"
I grabbed a piece of toast and took a bite. Crunchy, warm, perfect. My stomach purred in gratitude.
Lucas leaned against the counter, watching me, calm as ever, arms crossed.
"You look like a raccoon who just found treasure," he said, smirking.
I groaned, shoving another bite into my mouth. "I am a raccoon. A very hungry raccoon. And yes, you're my treasure."
He shook his head, amused. "You're ridiculous."
"And you," I said through a mouthful, "are a magician. How do you always have food ready? Seriously. Is there a spell?"
Lucas just laughed softly. Calm. Smug. And absolutely unbothered by my chaos, like he knew he had won the "best human ever" award in my dramatic, panicked life.
I sighed, finally leaning against the counter. "I could die happy right now. Or at least… live long enough to eat everything you made."
I tore into the toast like my life depended on it, crumbs falling everywhere.
Eggs slid off my fork in small, rebellious pieces.
"Ugh," I groaned, stabbing at a rogue piece of fruit that rolled off my plate. "Why is food always so complicated?"
Lucas watched quietly, leaning against the counter, arms crossed, smirk tugging at his lips.
"You know," he said calmly, "if you keep eating like that, I'm going to have to start giving you a bib."
I shot him a glare mid-chew. "A bib? Really? I am not a toddler!"
He raised a brow, amused. "Pretty sure you just made a mess bigger than a toddler."
I huffed, shoving another forkful into my mouth. "Fine! But if I die from starvation because you're judging my eating, it's on you."
Lucas shook his head, chuckling. "I think surviving this mess is more impressive than surviving hunger."
I snorted, wiping my hands on a napkin that didn't really help. "I don't care! The food is amazing. You are amazing. And if I don't eat everything, I'll never forgive myself."
"Everything?" Lucas teased, stepping closer, tilting his head. "Even the toast that fell on the floor?"
I froze for a second, then shrugged dramatically. "Especially that toast. It's part of my survival plan."
Keifer's POV
The morning sunlight was still soft, spilling across my room as I stretched lazily.
First things first: shower. Hot water, steam curling around me. The familiar scent of soap and shampoo. Then clothes—carefully chosen, simple, but sharp. A quick glance in the mirror. Hair damp, slightly tousled. Everything in place. Precision. Control.
Breakfast? Maybe later. Coffee first. Calm. Measured. My mornings were mine, uninterrupted, ordered.
And then… chaos.
A thud outside my door.
I froze. Something in the tone… faint but unmistakable. Dramatic. Panicked. Infuriatingly familiar.
"…Open the door! I'm hungry! I will die from hunger!"
I blinked.
"…Please! Just open the door! I haven't eaten! My soul is leaving my body! This is it!"
My eyebrow shot up. That voice… only one person.
Jay.
I wrapped a towel tighter around my waist and strode to the door, curiosity laced with irritation—and maybe something else I wasn't ready to name.
I swung it open.
She was there. Half-awake, wild-eyed, clutching the door like it was a lifeline.
My smirk came automatically, calm and teasing, masking the flicker of… something else.
"Well," I said slowly, letting my gaze roam her chaotic form, "this is one way to say good morning."
She froze, words tripping over themselves in her panic.
"I—I was… I mean—it's not… Lucas! He cooks for me! I mean—he's my best friend, not you! Not you!"
Her flailing hands, her half-explained panic… it made a strange warmth settle in my chest.
I raised an eyebrow, smirk twitching. "Lucas?"
"Yes!" she blurted. "He cooks for me every day! He's my best friend!"
My jaw tightened imperceptibly. Not her tone. Not her words. Not Lucas.
She muttered something else about "wrong doors" and wobbled down the hall.
And just like that, she was gone—heading straight for Lucas's condo.
I closed my door slowly, heart picking up pace, tension knotting in my chest.
Something about this morning… about her voice, her chaos, the way she relied on someone else…
It didn't sit right with me.
Not one bit.
I closed my door slowly, letting it click into place, but I didn't move.
Her voice, her chaos, the way she had flailed and clung like she was on the verge of collapsing—it lingered in my head.
And then I saw her.
From the corner of my hallway, she rounded toward Lucas's door. No knock this time—just barging in like she owned the place. My jaw tightened.
She disappeared inside.
A small smirk curved my lips, but it was half amusement, half irritation. Jealousy snaked through me in a way I wasn't ready to admit.
She was… so oblivious. So reckless. So hers—just not mine.
I leaned against the wall, crossing my arms. Calm, collected, smug. But the heat in my chest didn't lie.
"Smooth move, Lucas," I muttered under my breath. "Let's see how long that lasts."
A plan began forming, quiet and deliberate. Not loud, not aggressive. Just… strategic.
She thought she could run to him for comfort, for food, for safety.
Cute.
But she didn't know me.
And she would.
Eventually.
I shook my head lightly, trying to regain composure, but my smirk lingered.
Today was going to be interesting.
____________________________________
A/N
Jay nearly dies of hunger… and knocks on the wrong door 🙈
Keifer's smug, slightly jealous, and enjoying every second.
What did you think of Jay's chaos? Comment your opinions, favorite lines, or reactions—I love reading them! 💬✨