Vainglory

One

Juelz awoke to the soft hum of the city outside his window, the early morning light filtering through the curtains, casting long, gentle shadows across the room. He blinked, his eyes slowly adjusting to the day, and for a moment, he simply lay there, taking in the familiar details around him.

The bed beside him was empty, though the sheets were still warm, and he could hear the faint clatter of dishes coming from the kitchen. He smiled to himself, knowing that Mac was up and already preparing breakfast. It was their routine—one that had developed naturally over the years they’d been together, and one that Juelz found comforting in its predictability.

He turned over, letting his gaze wander around the room. Their bedroom was small, cozy, and filled with personal touches that told the story of their life together. On his side of the bed was a small nightstand cluttered with books—some old, with yellowing pages, others new, their spines barely cracked. A framed photograph of the two of them sat on top, taken during a weekend getaway to the coast. They were both smiling, windswept and happy, the ocean stretching out behind them.

On Mac’s side, the dresser was a chaotic array of jewelry, hair ties, and little keepsakes she’d collected over time. A necklace she’d picked up from a street vendor during a mission overseas, a small stone she’d found while hiking that she insisted brought good luck, and a pair of earrings Juelz had given her for their first anniversary. Everything was there, jumbled together in a way that was so perfectly her.

The poster of a rock band from Juelz’s high school days still hung on the wall, slightly crooked and curling at the edges. He’d meant to take it down a hundred times, thinking it didn’t quite fit the aesthetic they’d tried to create, but Mac had insisted it stay. It was part of their history, she’d said, and Juelz had to admit, he liked the way it added a touch of nostalgia to the room.

Their room was a mess, but it was their mess.

Juelz sighed, a contented sound, and sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The room was filled with the golden light of early morning, casting long shadows and highlighting the dust particles floating lazily in the air. It was one of those moments that felt like it could stretch on forever, suspended in time, where everything was exactly as it should be.

He stretched, feeling the satisfying pull of his muscles waking up, and swung his legs over the side of the bed. His feet touched the cool wooden floor, sending a small shiver up his spine, but he didn’t mind.

He glanced at the clock on the nightstand. Just after 7 AM. He’d need to get ready for work soon, a fact that didn't fill him with any particular enthusiasm. Working in IT at a mid-level firm was a decent job—stable, paid the bills—but it was hardly exciting. The commute was the worst part, nearly an hour crammed into a subway car with strangers, all of them half-asleep and wishing they were anywhere else.

But today was Friday, and that was something. The weekend loomed ahead, promising two whole days of freedom, and Juelz planned to make the most of it.

Turning away from the clock, he grabbed his robe from the back of the door and slipped it on before heading out of the bedroom. The smell of coffee greeted him as he walked down the short hallway, and he could hear the sizzle of something cooking on the stove.

The kitchen was small, like the rest of their apartment, but it was filled with light, thanks to the large window above the sink that overlooked the courtyard below. Mac was at the stove, her back to him, wearing one of his old t-shirts that hung loosely on her frame, the hem brushing just under her thighs. Her hair was pulled up into a messy bun, with a few loose strands escaping to frame her face.

Juelz leaned against the doorway for a moment, just watching her. She moved with a quiet grace, flipping the eggs in the pan with practiced ease. There was something almost mesmerizing about the way she carried herself, even in these simple, everyday tasks. It was easy to forget, sometimes, the extraordinary things she could do—how she could go from the person making breakfast to the one saving the city in a heartbeat.