Fiorella yawned so hard her jaw cracked, twisted under the sheets, and smacked her alarm clock until the shrill beeping gave up.
"Uhh. Mondays. What a cursed day." She groaned into the pillow, then popped her head up with a grin. "Forget that. I love Mondays. Boxing."
"Really? Then get up and eat breakfast."
Christal's voice came from the doorway, flat and unimpressed. She leaned against the frame, arms crossed, wearing the same college issue T-shirt she'd stolen ten years ago. Her eyes dragged over Fiorella "Oh and Mo Ye's here."
She pushed off the door and disappeared before Fiorella could reply.
Fiorella sat up, hair a wild halo, heart kicking against her ribs. "Okay, that was cool. So cool!" she yelled after her. Then the thought hit. Her eyes narrowed. "Wait. Mo Ye? Mo Ye ...the Mo Ye I punched in my dream last night?" She squinted at the ceiling. "This is sus."
She launched herself out of bed, tripped over a hoodie on the floor, cursed, and stumbled into the bathroom. Cold water slapped her face awake. She brushed her teeth like the toothpaste owed her money, tied her hair into a crooked bun, and squinted at the mirror. She looked like someone who'd argued with her dreams all night and lost.
She padded out to the kitchen barefoot, hoodie dangling off one shoulder. Christal was at the counter, pouring coffee with the grim precision of someone who had worked too many nine-to-fives and trusted nothing before caffeine.
"Where is Mo Ye?" Fiorella asked.
Christal didn't even look up. "Who is Mo Ye?"
"What?"
Christal arched one brow. "Don't act surprised. You kept going on and on about him in your sleep. I honestly thought you had a fever. Or is it a new guy?" She winked, slow and deliberate, before sipping.
Fiorella's face burned. She yanked open the fridge and pulled out the milk like she was shielding herself with it. "I need to go to the gym."
"Sure. Change the topic. Pretend you don't have boy problems when clearly you do." Christal's tone sharpened, bitter under the calm.
Fiorella slammed the fridge shut. "I do not have boy problems."
"You do. I've seen this play before." Christal set her cup down, finally turning to face her. She wore that flat expression that always drove Fiorella crazy: the one that said she had already won.
"You haven't seen anything. You don't even know who Mo Ye is."
"Neither do you, apparently. Unless we're counting the dream version. You were in there talking like he stole your lunch money."
Fiorella groaned, dropping her head onto the counter. "Why are you like this?"
Christal smirked. "Because someone has to keep you honest." She slid the coffee mug toward her. "Drink. You sound delirious."
Fiorella lifted her head slowly, like it weighed twenty pounds, and wrapped her hands around the mug. The heat sank into her palms. She blew across the surface and took a sip. "Fine. But for the record, I don't have a crush."
"Sure. And for the record, Mondays aren't cursed. You are."
Fiorella snorted coffee up her nose, choked, and laughed through the coughing fit. Christal shook her head and pushed a napkin across the counter without sympathy.
"You're evil," Fiorella said between coughs.
"Realistic," Christal corrected. She pulled out a chair and sat across from her, folding her legs like she had nowhere better to be. "So. Boxing. This mystery man. What's the story?"
"There is no story." Fiorella wiped her mouth, voice muffled. "He's just some guy from the gym. That's it."
"You don't talk in your sleep about just some guy."
Fiorella groaned again, pressing her forehead to the table. "I hate you."
"You love me."
"I hate you."
"You'd be homeless without me."
Fiorella lifted her head just enough to glare. "I could survive without you. I'd just… starve."
"Exactly." Christal's smirk softened into a small smile, the kind she saved for rare occasions.
The kitchen settled into silence for a minute. The fridge hummed, the ceiling fan ticked, the city outside murmured through thin windows. Fiorella sipped her coffee again, slower this time.
Finally, Christal leaned back in her chair. "So. You heading to the gym?"
"Yeah."
"Good. Go fight your imaginary boyfriend in real life."
"Shut up." Fiorella grabbed a piece of toast off the counter and shoved half of it in her mouth.
Christal grinned like she'd already won the argument. "I'll take that as a yes."
Fiorella chewed furiously, eyes narrowed. She swallowed, pointed at her with the toast, and said, "You're going to choke on your sarcasm one day."
"And you're going to choke on your feelings."
Fiorella froze, toast halfway to her mouth, then stuffed it in anyway. "Not today."
Christal laughed a low, satisfied sound and poured herself more coffee.