A/N: From the poll in the first chapter, it seems like option B is in the lead. So, with that said, here's the multiple daily update y'all voted for!

Cereal for breakfast, how exciting. What's more exciting than bland cornflakes is having to fight Joy for the last of her milk. And Irene only uses milk for breakfast, so she really wonders how she's run out within the first few days of the week. Watching how Joy drowns her flakes like they've committed some crime against her, there's not much to wonder, really.

“I'll buy more on the way home,” Joy splutters behind a mouthful of cereal.

Irene hums as a response, the thought of taking a jab at Joy to discern which home she meant dying quickly on her tongue. She's honestly too tired and the morning heat is making her lethargic. Wasting too much energy on Joy at the start of her day has always ended up being a mistake.

Eating breakfast honestly turns into a chore. Stuck in autopilot, her eyes drift from her sad bowl of dry flakes to her watch. And like clockwork, because old people are sticklers for time, a knock on her door arrives.

There's a beat that passes them. Joy and her share eye contact, waiting to see who'd lose it this time. Stubborn, that's how you'd describe the pair of them. Too stubborn for their own good. Irene too tired to move and Joy too lazy to care. Because really, it's not her apartment, so why should she be the one to answer the door. And Irene gets that thought right off Joy's stupid face when she raises an eyebrow at her.

With a groan, Irene slides off her kitchen stool that wobbles with the change to the distribution of her weight. Joy had fallen off it and chipped one of the legs in the process. Doing what? She has yet to tell Irene. But at this point, she really doesn't want to know what Joy gets up to in her apartment.

Collecting herself, Irene plasters on a small smile, hoping it passes off as genuine, as she opens her apartment door.

“Morning, dear. Came out to get the paper and saw you have yet to grab yours. Thought I'd take it upon myself to deliver it to you.” Plastic, baby coloured curlers still rolled in her greying hair, with an orange fading bathrobe, her elderly neighbour leans in to whisper, “I heard the Hudson boys have been nicking our mails and papers.”

“Nah, I heard it was one of the Ericsson twins. Y'know, the bad twin that looks like she smells like bacon grease.” Joy saddles up beside her like a phantom, her sudden presence and loud voice has Irene jolting on the spot.

“Oh, Joy, good morning dear. I didn't know you were in this morning. Would you like some scones? Fresh out the oven.”

Joy responds with a squeal, pushing by Irene to follow the elderly woman back to her apartment. It doesn't take a genius to know her neighbours love Joy. They most definitely like her more than Irene. And to be honest, she doesn't blame them. Joy just has that charm. Could easily mosey into the crankiest person’s life and they’d be thrilled.

But it would be nice to be offered a damn scone too, she's not going to lie.

“Thanks, Ms Murphy.” She speaks to no one, lifting her rolled up paper as if the woman was still in front of her.

Tossing the paper onto her kitchen island, because Joy reads the paper not her, she glances back at her watch before gobbling down the rest of her cereal.

Somehow, every darn morning, Irene always ends up running late. Was it Joy's presence, her neighbour always having to knock on her door and give small chit chat, or just her zoning out over a bowl of milk barren cereal? Probably a good mixture of all of them, but nothing in her gives much of a damn for her to change her routine.

Slipping back into her sadistic heels, Irene opens her door just in time for Joy to slip inside with a mouthful, and handful, of scones.

“Paper's on the table,” she mumbles as she makes way to leave.

“Thank you,” Joy sings, shoving a scone into Irene's mouth as they cross paths.

Locking her door before she leaves, because one can never be too safe, Irene tosses her keys into her purse before grabbing the scone from with a bite, turning around to officially start her day.

And what a way to start it by catching the tail of her new neighbour closing their door. Did they just come out to grab their paper? Irene doesn't know, nor should she really care, but what does catch her interest for a hot second is the tell-tale of a yellow tattoo on the bare calf she had caught a glance of.

She should stop hanging out with Joy. Nosing around in people's personal space isn’t her thing. So, with a shrug, Irene throws her curiosity away before making start with the humid staircase.