Harmony amidst Chaos | A Jori story

Sobering Up

-TORI'S POV-

The first thing I see when I crack my eyes open is the ceiling fan. Spinning way too fast.

Or maybe I'm still spinning.

The second thing I see is the bucket on the floor beside the couch. It reeks sour.

Classy Tori. Very rock bottom chic.

I groan and push myself upright. My head feels like a brick, my mouth like I chewed sandpaper all night.

I look around and I realise instantly, this is not my house.

The fireplace. The cream-colored sofas. The sleek coffee table in front of me—exactly where it was the first time I came over. Only now, somehow, the place feels warmer. Lived in. Less like a set piece.

I glance down. One sock's missing. I'm drowning in sweatpants that aren't mine, and the hoodie—oh, God. It smells like her.

Jade.

The realization slices through me, sharp and hot. My chest tightens, my cheeks burn, and last night's words echo like a bruise pressing from the inside out: I care about you.

Before I can spiral into that, a clatter erupts from the kitchen, followed by a very creative string of muttered cursing.

I freeze, pulse skipping. She's here.

Of course she is here, this is her house you fool.

I shake off my inner voice, which has been way too present the last view days, and shove the blanket off my legs. I push myself up, ignoring the way the room tilts. My body feels like it's made of wet sand, heavy and uncooperative, but somehow I manage to shuffle into the hallway.

To the right, past the stairs, the air smells faintly like coffee and something buttery. My hand trails the wall as I follow the noise, sunlight spilling across the dining table in neat little stripes.

The cursing gets louder. Definitely Jade. She's not yelling, exactly, but it's the kind of voice that says whatever she's dealing with should be afraid.

I pause in the doorway, leaning against the frame for balance.

And there she is. Standing at the stove, hair still a mess, an oversized mug within reach, and she's glaring at a frying pan like it personally insulted her ancestors.

It's such an absurd, unexpectedly soft sight that for a second I forget how much my head hurts.

Man, she's cute.

No. Stop that!

Jade glances up, catches me staring. Her smirk curves sharp enough to be infuriating. "Morning, party animal."

I clear my throat and flop into a chair at the breakfast bar, bury my face in my arms, and groan.

"Kill me."

"Nah." She slides a mug across the counter like it's nothing. "You're way too entertaining."

Coffee. Actual, steaming, lifesaving coffee.

I clutch it like a lifeline. "You're a saint."

Her eyes glint. "Don't push it."

For a minute, it's just the two of us, the hum of the stove, the smell of butter, the mug warm in my hands. But questions from last night won't stop chewing at me.

I clear my throat, aiming for casual, landing somewhere closer to desperate.

"On a scale of one to ten, how embarrassing was I?"