"Welcome home, Xenon! Here, have some snacks!" I greeted him brightly the moment the door opened.
"What the hell? How did you get in here?" he blurted out, eyes wide like he'd just walked into a horror movie starring me.
I had finally done it. Successfully infiltrated the Sterling household.
This morning, when Xenon stepped outside to take out the trash, he—very foolishly—forgot to lock the door. I seized that golden opportunity, slipped inside like a seasoned burglar, hid until he left for school, and spent the rest of the day preparing snacks like a deranged housewife with criminal intent.
"I mean, lady, you're being really creepy here!" he said, half-shouting, half-backpedaling.
I pouted, holding the snack tray closer to my chest. "What happened to calling me by my name? That hurts, you know."
"Get out or I'll report you for trespassing!" His face twisted in pure disgust, feet frozen at the entranceway as if crossing the threshold would contaminate him.
Honestly, it was impressive. The world was ending soon, society was on the brink of collapse, and here he was—still going to school and threatening me with the law.
"Wow," I said, looking around thoughtfully. "You really came straight home. No loitering, no detours. Such a good boy."
"Don't compliment me like that!" he snapped. "And stop acting like this is normal!"
"But it is normal," I argued, gesturing vaguely. "Roommates greet each other when they come home. Sometimes with snacks."
"We are NOT roommates!"
"Think about it—wouldn't it be better if I stayed here instead of commuting every day? Trains are unreliable during the end times."
"That is a hundred percent for your convenience only!" he shot back instantly, like he'd rehearsed that line in front of the mirror.
"Come on," I coaxed. "I'll be your personal maid. I'll cook, I'll clean. Oh—and I already cleaned the bathroom. That part is important, you know. Gotta keep things clean wherever water flows. Basic survival rules."
The moment the word bathroom left my mouth, he stiffened.
"…You cleaned it?" he asked slowly.
"Yup."
Silence.
The kind of silence that only comes when someone is painfully aware of their own crimes.
I glanced at him. His eyes slid away, his jaw tightening. Apparently, the bathroom had been messy enough to qualify as a sensitive topic.
"Haven't you heard?" I continued cheerfully, pressing my advantage. "Life gets surprisingly convenient when there's another person around. Division of labor. Mutual survival. Emotional support. Hot meals."
I gestured vaguely around the house. "Honestly, I could tell the moment I stepped inside—you're terrible at housework. Dust everywhere. Trash can full of cup noodle containers. And you folded your laundry like you were punishing it."
"I did not—"
"And yesterday," I added, counting on my fingers, "you almost sold your soul for beef. That tells me everything I need to know about your current living conditions."
He opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again, clearly losing ground.
"Give and take," I said sweetly, pointing at myself, then at him. "Win-win. Right?"
He glared at me, but the fire behind it was noticeably weaker now.
The kitchen, at least, was decently stocked. There were vegetables in the fridge, meat in the freezer, spices still sealed. Either Xenon had planned to cook someday, or his parents had left everything behind in a hurry. Either way, the vegetables were already starting to wilt, clearly abandoned and unloved.
"I used them before they went bad," I explained. "Made stir-fried veggies for dinner. Oh—and I added beef."
That did it.
His shoulders slumped just a little, like he'd finally accepted defeat.
"…Whatever you do," he said flatly, "please don't go into my room."
"Is that an invitation?" I said, grinning.
"What is wrong with you!?" he shouted, hurling a pillow straight at my face.
The pillow smacked into me with a soft whump. I frowned, picked it up, and hugged it to my chest. "You really can't take a joke. Come on, let's eat."
The house had been filled with a sweet, comforting smell for a while now. It'd been a long time since I last baked a cake, but somehow my hands still remembered what to do. Sugar, butter, heat—simple things, timeless things.
When you make confections, when you eat them, that smell always feels the same. Even if the world is ending, sweets stay sweet. And sweet things, stubbornly, keep making people happy.
"By the way," I said casually, "do you like sweets?"
He didn't answer.
I didn't really need him to. The mountain of empty snack bags in the trash had already told me everything.
"I'll make something to drink," I continued. "Green tea should balance out the flavor."
I reached into one of the kitchen cupboards and took out the tea leaves without hesitation. I knew exactly where they were—thanks to a little advanced exploration earlier.
"…Did you use to come here?" Xenon asked from behind me. "Back when you were dating my brother?"
"Sure did," I replied easily. "Actually, on that sofa—"
"I'll kill you if you keep saying weird stuff!" he snapped, cutting me off instantly.
I laughed, unfazed.
He finally dropped his bag by the door and sat down at the table, shoulders slumped, posture giving him away.
Looks like he was hungry after all.
"So, Sera," he said stiffly, "what did you even like about my brother?"
I lifted the teacup, letting the steam curl around my fingers before setting it down gently on the table. "Hmm… I can't narrow it down to just one thing, you know," I said, trying to sound casual, though my voice wavered just a little.
Xenon blinked at me, utterly serious. "I don't understand women. You loved him so much that you want to… kill him?"
Aww… he's so innocent. So different from his brother, who could charm a devil and still make you hate him for it.
"…I wonder if that's it," I muttered, biting my lip and cracking a bitter smile. "I figured if the world's ending, I might as well finish things."
He helped me set up the rest of the table silently. "C'mon, let's eat," he said, gesturing to the meal laid out.
We ate in quiet company, the kind that carries more unsaid words than spoken ones. I still felt a bitter twinge in my chest, remembering that bastard. I had planned to save my virginity for him—our wedding night, a perfect, hopeless fantasy—but he couldn't even keep his dick in his pants. He had been with others, more than one, probably laughing while doing it.
He'd told me I was uptight, incapable of giving him what he wanted. He dumped me first, leaving me alone in a world that already felt too big and empty. And now here I was, sitting across from his little brother, the one who somehow made the world feel… softer.
"This… this is good," Xenon muttered, barely looking up, his voice quiet, as if the words escaped him by accident.
"There's more," I said automatically—then realized he wasn't looking at me anymore. He was already attacking the cake like it owed him money.
I snapped out of my thoughts. "There's more—" then realized he wasn't even looking at me anymore. He was already attacking the cake like it owed him money.
"Your brother never baked for you, huh?" I asked, watching crumbs cling to the corner of his mouth.
He didn't answer. Didn't even slow down.
"Of course he never did," I said for him, nodding sagely, like I'd just solved a grand mystery.
There was no way that man—Mr. High-Maintenance, Mr. 'I Deserve the Best Without Lifting a Finger'—would ever bother cooking. He didn't even cook for me once. Not even instant noodles. He was the kind of person who'd say, If you want to eat, then someone else should cook for you, and somehow make it sound like a life philosophy.
Xenon, meanwhile, stabbed another piece of cake.
But… leaving Xenon aside for a second, his parents must've lived here too. At some point. The house had that feeling—furniture that wasn't chosen by a broke student, cupboards stocked with things that required actual cooking. Yet Xenon barely ever talked about them. Whenever the topic drifted close, he'd shut down like a laptop on one percent battery.
"Well," I said brightly, leaning my chin into my palm, "I just so happen to be good at making cakes. Win-win, right?"
I stared at him fixedly, deliberately exaggerating my smile, tilting my head just enough to look ridiculous on purpose.
He frowned at me, clearly suspicious of my existence, my motives, and possibly my sanity—
—but he never stopped eating.
I leaned back in my chair, oddly satisfied.
And just like that, I had successfully, safely, and illegally infiltrated my ex-boyfriend's house.