I'm The King of Business & Technology in the Modern World

March 30, 2024 — 8:30 AM

Angel's Townhouse, Quezon City

The scent of warm air and lavender still lingered faintly as Matthew stirred again beneath the quilt. He blinked against the slatted sunlight pouring through the blinds, slower this time, as if his body was reluctant to let the moment pass.

Beside him, Angel hadn't moved much. One arm draped across her pillow, the other gently curled between them. Her breathing remained steady, eyes still closed, strands of hair falling loose across her cheek. Her bare shoulder peeked above the blanket, and Matthew instinctively reached up to brush a lock of hair away from her brow. His touch was featherlight.

Angel stirred, eyebrows lifting faintly before her eyes blinked open, unfocused for a second.

Then she saw him.

"…Morning," she murmured, voice still heavy with sleep.

Matthew smiled. "Morning."

She closed her eyes again, stretching her legs gently under the covers. "What time is it?"

"A little past eight-thirty."

Angel let out a long, slow breath. "That's practically noon in our world."

He chuckled softly. "I won't tell anyone if you don't."

Her hand found his under the covers again, and for a few quiet moments, they simply lay there, neither eager to break the stillness. The outside world would intrude soon—emails, site reports, progress metrics—but not yet. Not while the warmth still lingered, not while their world was still just this.

Angel was the first to move. She slipped out from under the blanket, the edge of the quilt rising and falling as she sat up, back turned to him. She wrapped the sheet loosely around her, then stood, padding barefoot across the room toward the hallway.

"Coffee?" she asked over her shoulder.

Matthew nodded from the bed. "God, yes."

—

9:10 AM — Angel's Kitchen

The coffee machine hummed gently as Angel poured steaming liquid into mismatched mugs. One was navy blue with the logo of some defunct startup. The other had cartoon pandas hugging a bowl of ramen.

She handed Matthew the startup mug and slid onto the other kitchen stool beside him.

"This one's your vibe," she said, lifting the panda mug.

"I feel honored," Matthew replied, sipping cautiously. "Still hot."

"Strong too," she added. "I make caffeine like I plan tunnel boring operations."

"High density. Long range. Zero error margin."

"Exactly."

They sat at the narrow kitchen island, the sunlight now stronger through the small window above the sink. Angel had tossed on an oversized hoodie and shorts. Matthew, still in the shirt she'd given him the night before, looked out of place—but also, not. He looked comfortable here.

The silence between them was lighter than it had been the night before. Less loaded. Settled.

Angel tapped her mug thoughtfully. "You hungry?"

Matthew nodded. "Yeah, but I can help."

"No need," she said, hopping down. "I got this."

She pulled open the fridge, rummaging through its contents. "Okay, I've got eggs, some leftover kimchi, garlic rice, and… tocino."

He blinked. "Angel Cruz eats breakfast like a construction foreman."

She smirked. "I live a double life."

—

9:40 AM — Kitchen Table

The scent of sizzling meat and garlic filled the air as Angel served breakfast onto two chipped ceramic plates. The food was simple—homey. Tocino slightly caramelized, rice golden and fragrant, eggs sunny-side up.

Matthew looked down at the plate like it was the best thing he'd seen all week.

Angel took a seat, resting her cheek on her fist as she watched him dig in. "You eat like someone who's forgotten what kitchens are."

He swallowed and looked up. "When you spend months in field camps eating packed meals, this feels like a luxury hotel."

Angel tilted her head. "Then I'm charging you ₱4,500 per night."

He laughed, and she grinned, already reaching for her own fork.

They ate without rush, trading comments about whose plate had the crispier tocino or which subway station deserved to be named after street food. For the first time in a long time, everything around them felt manageable. Ordinary. Easy.

Angel nudged his leg under the table. "So. Now that we've had breakfast…"

"Yeah?"

"…Do we talk about last night?"

Matthew set down his fork. He didn't tense, didn't avoid her gaze. "Only if you want to."

Angel smiled gently. "I do."

He leaned forward slightly. "Then let me start: no regrets."

She exhaled. "Good. Me neither."

They were quiet for a moment, eyes steady on each other.

"I know this doesn't change the world overnight," Angel said. "But maybe it changes ours. A little."

Matthew nodded. "That's more than enough for me."

She reached across the table and took his hand again, just as she had the night before.

And the world outside could wait.

Because here, over warm coffee and leftover rice, something new had begun. Something quieter. Steadier.

Something real.

Angel ran her thumb gently across the back of his hand, her gaze soft but unwavering. "Do you think it'll be hard to keep this… real? With everything else we're juggling?"

Matthew considered the question for a beat, watching the way the morning light touched the curve of her jaw. "Probably," he admitted. "We both live on deadlines and breaking points. But we've built more complicated things before."

"This isn't a tunnel, Matthew," she said, teasing—yet quiet.

"No," he agreed. "It's more important."

Angel smiled faintly, and this time, it reached all the way to her eyes.

Outside, the faint rumble of a passing tricycle drifted through the air. Somewhere down the street, a dog barked at nothing. It was the sound of a world waking up—one Matthew and Angel would have to rejoin soon. But not just yet.

She stood first, taking their empty plates and rinsing them off in the sink. "You can't stay here all morning," she said over her shoulder, the corner of her mouth lifting. "People will start asking why the head of Sentinel's transit command hasn't shown up to the morning ops briefings."

Matthew stood too, stretching with a low groan. "Then let them wonder."

She laughed. "Scandalous."

He walked over, kissed her temple gently, then whispered, "Let's not rush this."

Angel turned to face him. "We don't have to."

And in that quiet kitchen, where everything was simple—where the city hadn't claimed them yet—two people stood in the middle of something new.

Not a beginning.

Not an ending.

Just the start of something real.