Keifer's POV
Every morning started the same way. I'd bring her favorite food, even though she
couldn't eat it — lechon,or noodles and of course hot dogs the nurses said it made the
whole wing smell like a street fair. It was ridiculous, but it felt like a promise: if she ever
woke up, she'd have something waiting.
The guilt gnawed at me more than hunger ever could. Every time I replayed that night
— Ram's face, her blood, her last look — I wondered if I'd moved too slowly. If I'd
stepped half a second sooner, maybe she'd be awake right now, teasing me for crying
over spilled soup instead of her.
I sat beside her bed, tracing circles on her cold hand. "You love food too much to
leave now, Jay," I whispered. "There's this new ramen shop that opened down the
street. You'd love it — the kind of broth you'd drink straight from the bowl."
Then I swore I saw her fingers twitch.
Jay-Jay's POV
My dreams had been strange — everything smelled like food: butter, garlic, sugar, and
something charred. I saw Keifer's face in flashes, always worried, always waiting. Then a smell — hot dogs . My favorite.
My eyes blinked open slowly, light spilling over shapes I barely recognized. A hand
squeezed mine, and the world came back into focus.
"Jay?" Keifer's voice cracked. "You're awake?"
I tried to smile, my throat dry. "You kept feeding me in my sleep, didn't you?"
He laughed, tears slipping down his cheeks. "You have no idea how much."
"Then I guess you're buying me dinner now, ulupong."