They froze for a moment, fingers still intertwined, hearts thudding in unison.
Then suddenly, Jay let out a high-pitched laugh. "Oh my God… we're ridiculous!"
Keifer blinked, trying to keep a straight face, but the tension broke and he burst out laughing too. "Ridiculous doesn't even begin to cover it!"
They leaned against each other, shoulders bumping, both laughing so hard their stomachs hurt. Yet under the laughter, a quiet truth lingered—they did feel more than friendship, even if neither wanted to admit it out loud.
"I mean… that was… acting, right?" Jay gasped between giggles.
"Yeah… totally acting," Keifer said, though his voice was a little too soft to be convincing.
Their laughter echoed through the house, blending with the sounds of sizzling and clattering from the kitchen. Both their moms were in there, arms full of pots and ingredients, clearly in the middle of some grand cooking experiment.
"Jay! Keifer!" Jay's mom called, voice strained with both amusement and mild panic. "We need help in here, now!"
Keifer groaned dramatically. "Why do moms always call for help when it's obviously chaos waiting to happen?"
Jay smirked. "Because it's tradition. Come on, partner in crime."
Hand in hand, they dashed into the kitchen, only to be hit by an immediate storm of flour, chopped vegetables, and the faint smell of burnt garlic.
"Uh… what happened in here?" Jay asked, trying to suppress her laugh as she stepped over a stray carrot.
Keifer looked around, eyes wide. "I… I think we just walked into a war zone."
Jay's mom groaned. "It's not a war zone! It's… it was supposed to be dinner prep."
Keifer's mom waved a wooden spoon dramatically. "And now it's a disaster thanks to you two!"
Jay and Keifer exchanged a look, silently agreeing—they were definitely going to make it worse.
"I'll chop these onions," Jay said, picking up a knife with exaggerated confidence.
"I'll handle the pasta," Keifer said, trying to grab a pot. But as usual, his coordination betrayed him, and he almost dropped it on the floor.
"Careful!" Jay shrieked, lunging forward to grab the pot—but in the process, she tripped over the flour bag, sending a cloud of white powder everywhere.
Both moms groaned in unison. "Oh no…"
Keifer coughed through the flour, laughing uncontrollably. "Okay, okay, maybe we aren't helping!"
Jay wiped her face, eyes sparkling. "Helping is overrated anyway. We're more like… culinary chaos specialists."
They moved together like a tornado, knocking over utensils, spilling sauce, and somehow managing to make the kitchen even messier than it had been before they arrived.
Jay's mom sighed, rubbing her temples. "I leave you two alone for five minutes…"
Keifer's mom added, pointing at the counter now coated in tomato sauce and flour, "…and the kitchen becomes a disaster zone. Again."
Despite the chaos, Jay and Keifer couldn't stop laughing. Flour on their noses, sauce on their clothes, they looked like two kids who had just declared war on adulthood itself.
"You know," Jay said between giggles, "we should really consider a career in… professional mess-making."
Keifer grinned, leaning close to whisper, "With you? Absolutely."
And even though their moms scolded, even though the kitchen looked like a hurricane had passed through, both of them felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the stove. It was the warmth of being together, chaotic, messy, laughing, and completely at home.
"Jay," Keifer said softly, picking up a stray tomato, "I… I think I like this chaos. Especially with you."
Jay blinked, heart skipping. "I… I think I do too."
Neither said more, letting the laughter and the mess speak for them. Flour-dusted hands brushing, sauce-stained arms touching, and the smell of burnt garlic masking the heat rising in their chests.
The kitchen may have been a disaster, but to Jay and Keifer, it was perfect.