BongLeni Anthologies

Jollibee Order 214

- 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 -

THEA .𖥔 ݁ ˖ :

For lysolniLeonor

- 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 -

The rain had started sometime around four, maybe earlier-Leni wasn't sure anymore. It wasn't the kind of rain that demanded attention. No thunder. No lightning. Just that steady, almost meditative rhythm against glass. The kind that softened the edges of things. That blurred the skyline into watercolor. That made office windows glow like fireplaces instead of fluorescent hell. The kind of rain that whispered: stay. Just a little longer.

She exhaled, slow and tired, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose as she stared at the same sentence she'd read three times. 6:38 PM. The rest of the floor had emptied out half an hour ago. Not even the interns were around to fake busyness. Her only companion was the low hum of the air-conditioning and the warm circle of light from her desk lamp, golden against the grey hush.

Then-quiet, but unmistakable-came the scent.

Warm. Savory. Fried. Familiar.

She blinked and looked up just as he appeared in the doorway, slightly damp at the shoulders, his hair pushed back like he'd run through the rain without much of a plan.

"Order 214," Bongbong declared with a kind of dramatic grandeur, voice just a notch above smug, and entirely too pleased with himself.

She turned, already grinning. "Talaga? Ginawa mo talaga?"

"Extra gravy," he said, like it was a love language. He held up the Jollibee bag like it was a trophy. Or maybe an apology. "And Peach Mango Pie. Don't lie-you look like you've had a long day."

"Hindi ako stressed," she replied, automatically, playfully defensive. It was a ritual by now. A little dance they did. "You always say I'm stressed."

"And you always say you're not." He dropped the bag onto the floor with a soft thud and crouched down like this wasn't the third time he'd done this exact thing-like it wasn't weird to turn her office floor into a picnic area. "But your eye's twitching, your hair is shriveled, and I can tell you haven't eaten because you get this... murdery glow."

She narrowed her eyes. "That's sexist."

"No, that's hangry. Now come on. Kain tayo."

"Y'know, may desk ako," she said, gesturing needlessly at the empty table beside her.

He raised an eyebrow. "Tables are for coworkers. Floors are for..." he paused, searching for the right word. Or maybe stalling on purpose. "For whatever this is."

The silence that followed wasn't awkward. It was a heartbeat held between two people who had danced around a line too many times to pretend it didn't exist. The rain tapped on the windows like it knew something, like it was in on the joke.

Her lips twitched. The smile won. "Alam mo, siraulo ka," she muttered, but she was already sliding down from her chair, crossing the room to join him on the carpet like it was inevitable.

He spread the Jollibee feast out on the table like it was some sacred offering to the gods of greasy joy-two golden, glistening pieces of Chickenjoy still steaming in their red box, a tangled mound of palabok barely holding its orange sauce together, large fries spilling like confetti, two sundaes already beginning to sweat under the harsh fluorescent light even though it was cold outside and the A/C was not helping, two peach mango pies with edges that you could almost hear the crunches even if you don't dare to bite, and-somehow-a lone burger steak, forgotten before it had a chance to be remembered, they won't touch that burger steak unless necessary.