[Elijah]
The morning sunlight streamed weakly through the curtains of my apartment, casting soft gold patterns across the tiled floor. The air smelled of crisp bacon, toasted sourdough, and fresh oranges—the only good thing in my life right now.
The table was set perfectly, almost too perfectly, with two servings of bacon, egg rolls, avocado toast, and tall glasses of orange juice. Every plate was aligned perfectly like usual.
“Wow! Yum, breakfast!” James wandered in like a ghost from a late-night horror movie—eyes half-lidded, shirt misbuttoned, and his hair a chaotic masterpiece of bedhead. He scratched absentmindedly at his neck, squinting at the food as though unsure whether it was real or just a hallucination from his hangover.
“Button your shirt. I might just puke,” I said with a
