Chapter 2: My Comfort Idol, My Comfort Food

Bad days had a pattern.

First: Step into the kitchen. See the mess. Die inside.

Second: Trip over Riku's abandoned sneakers. Stumble dramatically.

Third: Realize you forgot to buy groceries (because you were too busy rage-cleaning the day before).

Fourth: Cry internally. Or externally. Whichever came first.

Today was no exception.

I stood in front of the fridge, staring into the abyss of expired yogurt and a single, sad slice of processed cheese. My stomach growled pathetically, and I clutched it like a tragic heroine in a soap opera.

"Hey, turn off the fridge if you're just gonna stare into it," Riku called lazily from the couch, not even bothering to look up from his phone.

I slammed the door shut with unnecessary force.

"Maybe if someone went grocery shopping once in a millennium—"

"Not my job," he interrupted, scrolling with a yawn. "Division of labor. You buy food, I eat it. It's called teamwork."

Teamwork, my butt.

Seething, I stomped back into my room, flopping face-first onto my bed.

Starvation was looming.

Death by roommate-induced neglect.

My biography was basically writing itself at this point.

I needed comfort.

I needed food.

I needed—

Miu.

Opening my laptop with a newfound sense of purpose, I clicked on my saved folder: "Emergency Miu Videos (for Tragic Days)."

The screen lit up with Miu’s bright, cheerful face, and instantly, my mood lifted by approximately 45%.

"Today, we're making chocolate pancakes together!" she chirped, holding up a whisk and flashing a peace sign at the camera.

Chocolate pancakes.

My stomach howled like a wounded beast.

"Miu..." I whimpered, reaching toward the screen. "Teach me your ways."

She giggled sweetly as she listed the ingredients.

Flour, cocoa powder, eggs, milk... basic stuff.

Stuff I didn’t have.

But I wasn’t about to let reality stop me.

Fueled by desperation and blind Miu-worship, I scrambled up from bed, grabbed my wallet (which had about $8 left to its name), and sprinted to the nearest convenience store like a woman possessed.

Fifteen minutes later, panting and victorious, I burst back into the apartment with a small bag of supplies.

I would make Miu's pancakes.

I would find comfort.

Even if it killed me.

---

An hour later, I sat cross-legged on the floor, triumphantly devouring a stack of slightly burnt, lopsided pancakes drizzled with chocolate syrup.

They were terrible.

They were dense.

They were crunchy in places pancakes should never be crunchy.

They tasted like regret and too much baking powder.

But they were mine.

More importantly, they were Miu-approved.

And as I stuffed another awkward bite into my mouth, I played her video again, watching her smile as she flipped a perfect, golden pancake like a professional.

"You're doing amazing, Sparkles!" she cheered.

I snorted, syrup dribbling down my chin.

If Miu said so, then it must be true.

Meanwhile, in the living room, Riku finally looked up from his phone, wrinkling his nose.

"What's that smell?" he muttered.

"Love and determination," I said through a mouthful of pancake.

He raised an eyebrow. "Smells like burning."

"Love and determination," I insisted louder.

He gave me a weird look but said nothing, stretching out lazily and letting his phone drop onto his stomach.

I stared at him for a second.

It was weird, wasn't it? How he sometimes had the same sleepy, squinty-eyed smile as Miu during her casual streams...

Nah.

Must be coincidence.

I shrugged it off, shoveling another bite of pancake into my mouth.

Everything was fine.

Everything was normal.

Until, of course, it wasn’t.

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