jealous kai at 3:12 AM, alone in the kitchen, reading luna’s old photo captions.

Luna's asleep, her back turned to him, tangled in her silk sheets and the smell of lavender and leftover perfume. Her breathing is soft, even, like nothing in the world could touch her tonight. And maybe it shouldn’t.

Kai sits on the floor of her kitchen. Hoodie on. Hood up. His thumb hovers over a photo he found scrolling too far down—Luna in Berlin, wrapped in a coat too big for her shoulders, eyes bleary from sleep, coffee in one hand, and Niko’s camera lens reflected in the mirror behind her.

caption: “he said I looked like a secret today.”

Kai reads it again. And again. And again.

He doesn’t know what makes him feel sicker—the intimacy of it, or the fact that it got 11,408 likes and a comment from Niko that just said:

"you still do."

She hasn’t deleted it. Hasn’t hidden it. And he never asked her to. Because he’s not supposed to care. Because Luna chose him. Because Niko is old poetry and he is her soft morning and the grocery store at 6 PM.

But still. He scrolls. And finds one more:

caption: “nothing about us made sense. but it made me.”

He closes his eyes. Breathes. Bites down hard on the inside of his cheek. He wants to throw her phone across the floor and then kiss her until she forgets everyone before him. But he doesn’t. He just sits. In the kitchen. In the dark. Jealous in the way only a golden retriever boy can be—quietly, loyally, heartbreakingly.

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