JAY'S POV:
And the guy is... Aries.He's standing right in front of me.Fuck! His so-called girlfriend is clinging to his arm 😠 and his pack of friends hovers behind, smirking like they own the place.
"Is that for Section E?" Aries asks, eyes locked on the stack of food boxes in my arms.
"Yeah. So?" I fire back, chin up, challenging him to make a move.
"Jay, is Section E giving you trouble? Just say the word—we'll handle them," Kiko pipes up from the side, crossing his arms like he's ready for war.
"Tss. Why the hell do you care?" My irritation spikes, hot and sharp.
Who does he think he is, playing hero now?
The air shifts—heavy, electric, like the moment before a storm breaks. Whispers ripple from nearby tables. I can feel eyes on us, waiting for the explosion. No way am I fueling more drama.
I pivot and start walking. I brush past Aries. Freedom's inches away, the door in sight, when his voice slices through.
"Put that thing down."
I freeze and whirl around.
"What?!"
"Put. That. Thing. Down."
Each word drops like a gavel—calm, authoritative, leaving no room for argument.
"Do what I said. Now."
Argh! He's so fucking annoying. That commanding tone crawls under my skin, like he thinks he can order me around after everything.
I roll my eyes hard enough to strain something and bolt through the door, footsteps echoing down the hall.
"Jay!" he calls, voice edged with frustration.
I ignore it. As if I'd actually obey him—like some puppet on his string.
Back in the room, the air smells of greasy fries and steamed rice. Those who snagged food first are perched on chairs, guarding their plates like treasures, while the rest hover, impatient.
I slam the remaining boxes onto the scarred wooden table.
"Fight over it yourselves."
Whatever. I'm done playing delivery girl.
I flick Keifer's change at his feet—coins scattering like confetti. Let him scramble for it.
I slump into my seat, body heavy as lead. Every muscle aches from hauling this crap solo. Will I even get to eat? Not one of them offered to help. Ungrateful bunch.
I straighten up, scanning the group. They're all staring at their food... but forks hover untouched. Why the hold-up?
I glance around—same story everywhere, frozen anticipation. Except Yuri. His spot's empty—no plate, no nothing.
Did I screw up his order? He'd have bitched about it by now, right? That guy's never shy.
Felix suddenly scoots his chair closer, a mischievous grin splitting his face. The others shuffle in too, forming a loose circle around me.
"We're all eating together," Felix announces, like it's the most obvious thing.
They... waited for me? My chest warms despite myself. Whoa. That's actually kind of sweet. These idiots might not be hopeless after all.
Yes! Psychology hack's working! Group bonding—progress! I suppress a triumphant smirk.
"LET'S EAT!" they roar in perfect sync, diving in like a pack of wolves finally unleashed.
I can't help the chuckle bubbling up—they look adorable, faces lit with pure, kid-like joy, sauce smudging cheeks and laughter bouncing off the walls.
Then I peel back my lid. Fish. 🐟 Steaming, flaky, sea-scented nightmare. Fuck! Seafood allergy! 🤢 My throat tightens just looking at it, stomach twisting in revolt.
What the hell do I do now?!
They're tearing into theirs—moans of delight, chopsticks clacking, pure bliss. Jealousy stabs deep.
Yuri's still got nothing, slouched in the corner like a shadow.
Idea sparks. Swap with him—problem solved, and bonus points for team spirit.
He lurches to his feet just then, weaving toward the door, trajectory cutting right past us. Perfect timing.
I lunge, snagging his wrist mid-stride. Skin cool under my fingers.
It's more order than offer. He halts, doesn't yank away—but his gaze drops to my hand, then flicks up. One eyebrow arches, slow and deliberate. Irritation pulses from him like heat off pavement; I feel it in the rigid set of his jaw. I release him like he's burned me.
I stand taller, thrusting the box forward.
"Here. Take it."
"I don't need your fucking mercy," he says, voice low and gravelly, eyes narrowing to slits.
"And I'm not giving fucking mercy," I snap right back, heat rising in my cheeks.
"I'm just... ugh! Just eat it, okay? Before I change my mind."
He stares, unblinking, for a beat too long—long enough for doubt to creep in. Is this a mistake? Then, without a word, I shove the box into his palm. I turn on my heel and storm to the door, chin high. No lingering, no explanations.
No way in hell am I showing weakness to anyone—not him, not them, not even myself.
Stomach growling, allergy forgotten in the adrenaline rush. What now? Starve... or scrounge something safe?