A/N: I'm honestly losing track of my days and (write and) update these during the crack of dawn, so I'm sorry if these updates are late or aren't daily...

A hearty smell which she couldn't discern is what Irene wakes up to in the morning. Sleep still in her eyes and muscles just as groggy as her mind, she stumbles out from her sheets and makes way, following the delicious aroma. It's a straight beeline to the kitchen, where she hears small clatter of metal on metal and a high whistle of a kettle pot, which she knows she does not own, stirring her more out from her sleep.

Already prim and proper in her casual-formal wear, Joy glides around her kitchen like it were her own, at this point it basically is as she uses it more than Irene does, taking the silver kettle off the stove before sliding sunny-side up eggs out of the pan and onto two plates. She moves with such fluidity, one thing done and another item on, stacking the dish on and on, and Irene just must wonder, what's on her mind this early in the morning?

Just her cooking breakfast woke her up before her alarm could. And it tickles something deep within her. Just a little spill of something warm. Almost, if not more, comforting than the warmth in her kitchen, spreading throughout her chest as she watches Joy make her breakfast. It's easy not to wake up early. More so earlier than she must for work. She didn't have to spend time to prepare breakfast, let alone bring kitchenware over.

It's easy not to spend the morning then nights with Irene.

She didn't have to fill her apartment with noise and presence. No obligation in their friendship has her trekking ten minutes in the hours of the morning and dead of night to and from her apartment.

And that's why she hides the small smile that creeps onto her lips behind a closed fist. Because Joy didn't have to be annoyingly attentive, but she was. She didn't want to rub her ego that this is what this was. That Joy did all of this just to keep Irene from turning into a shell of a person. But she'd be an ignorant dunst to not acknowledge her friend’s efforts.

Without a word being communicated between the two of them, Joy slides a full plate of an English breakfast and a mug of hot tea in front of her. And this is how Joy says good morning. Most likely a small apology for embarrassing her in front of her possible new neighbour, or just for the fact of her absence last night. But either way, Irene would have forgiven her, no questions asked.

They eat in comfortable silence. Joy in her work clothes and Irene in her cotton shorts and tank. So stark it's a wonder to know that the woman now so taken with the morning paper acts like a teen out to win a prank war most of the time.

“It's getting too hot these days. A fire broke out in a residential area nearby. The park was ablaze for hours.”

Irene nurses her tea, stuffed from the buffet like breakfast. Joy's words barely compute in her mind, her hearty meal pulling her back to sleep, a food coma wrapping itself snuggly around her. She hums though, because it'd be rude to outright ignore Joy, even if she still doesn't know what was said.

“You should get ready. Running more late than usual, missy.”

A whine rumbles in at Joy's words. She just wants to be lazy for a day. Sleep in, reacquaint herself with her bed. Anything but put on office clothing and leaving her apartment.

But Joy's right. For once. Because just as she fantasises about calling in sick, a knock on her door pulls her from her impulsive thought and throws her into your late for work mode.

“I'll talk to Ms Murphy, you get ready.”

Joy pushes her tush off the wobbly stool on her way around the island, nudging her dragging feet along as she heads to the door to tend to her neighbour. She makes it into the sanctity of her bedroom just as she hears Joy open the door and the high-pitch voice of Ms Murphy plagues her apartment.

She feels like a child, dressed in her big girl clothes, waiting at her bedroom door for her parents’ friends to leave. Just that she's teetering closer to being late for work and is waiting for Joy to shoo her neighbour off, because honestly, she really has no energy to deal with old lady conversations this morning.

When she hears Joy say farewell and her door closing, the all clear to dart out from her room and grab all her belongings before stepping into her heels almost has her giving herself whiplash.

“Ms Murphy dropped off some casserole. Packed us both a container for lunch.”

Now she feels terrible. She avoided a nice old lady who just wanted to give her food. Grabbing her box from Joy, she leaves with her head down in shame, garnering a pat on the back because Irene didn't have to say anything for Joy to understand.

She catches the elderly woman just outside her door, knocking on apartment 203 with a container of casserole in hand. Ms Murphy really is like Santa Claus sometimes, but with food instead of presents. But then again, food is one of the greatest gifts, especially hot, home cooked ones.

“Oh, Ms Murphy,” she shuffles on the spot, like a child told to go to talk to an adult.

As if her name alone sends a jolt through her body, the elderly woman twirls on the spot with a wide grin that lights up her face and deepens all her laugh lines and crow’s feet. “Oh, Irene dear! Good morning. I hope that Joy gave you your share and didn't eat it.”

A chuckle leaves her unintended, her tense muscles relaxing as she looks up at her elderly neighbour with an actual genuine smile, most likely the first one ever. Her grip on the warm tupperware tightens, she almost cradles it in both of her palms, as if afraid if she didn't have some hold of it that it'd disappear from her grasp.

“Morning, Ms Murphy. And yes, she did,” she jiggles the box a bit to emphasise her words. “Thank you, really. I'll enjoy it for lunch today.”

“Oh hush!” The woman waves her words off like they were complete nonsense. “You're skin and bones. You better not be skipping any meals, need some good meat on you!”

For once, Irene smiles at the banter. So used to the woman coming to her with hushed whispers of guess who did this and you wouldn't believe who what did, it was a surprise that the topic was once on her and it stemming from concern. If only she knew how much Irene scarfs down when given the opportunity.

“I promise you, I'm not.” She glances back down at the container to hide her smile and catches the ticking of her watch. “Oh!” She jumps with a start. “I'm sorry to cut this short, but I'm running terribly late.”

Like she's sending off her child, Ms Murphy all but physically pushes her down the stairs as she ushers her to leave. “No need to apologise, now go dear!”

Not as intense as sprinting, because knowing her she'd trip and fall to her death, Irene darts down the stairs waving goodbye to Ms Murphy with a permanent soft smile on her face. She hears the elderly woman's shrill voice as she skids around the turn of the staircase, which could only mean that apartment 203 had actually opened up.

But that doesn't stay long on her mind. With a good weight to the container in her hands, Irene almost doesn't mind that she is late to work. Because screw scones, she had a packed lunch personally intended for her.

And she didn't have to kiss anyone's for it, unlike someone.

 --

She arrives home to all her lights on, some cringy lovey-dovey soundtrack roaring from the speakers, and Joy munching on burnt, microwave popcorn on her couch. And everything feels right. Kicking her heels off, dropping her purse and keys onto the table, her tired feet take her straight to the couch – the heart of her apartment.

“Man, you must be getting older. Fast.”

And that was all it took to obliterate any fondness she felt for the woman on her couch this morning and just a second ago. Body falling into her defensive stance, Irene sets a burning glare into Joy’s profile. “Excuse me?”

ing her leg off the couch, she almost kicks the items right off the table, trying to point her toes at something specific sitting on it. Taking the hint, Irene moves closer to investigate whatever it was.

A clean tupperware that is identical to the one she had received this morning sat on her living room table with a yellow post-it note stuck to it.

Thank you, Ms Murphy!

It was delicious ^^

Sincerely,

S.K 203

The confusion written on her face must have been some sort of punchline, because Joy falls into a fit of laughter. “Found it on your welcome mat. She thinks you’re Ms Murphy! Wow, how you’ve aged, grandma Rene!”

And it was that easy to set her off. That, or anything Joy did pushed her off the edge easily, because Irene is kicking before Joy could grab a cushion to defend herself.

“Stop! Irene! You’ll break a hip!”

That only made her kick harder.