Jayce was in full, unrepentant morning mode.

The kitchen was tiny—barely more than a nook with a stove and counter wedged between tools and blueprints—but it might as well have been a stage. He stood at the stove, barefoot and already sweaty from effort, flipping eggs with the precision of an engineer who treated breakfast like rocket science.

And singing. Loud. Off-key. With passion so fierce it defied reason.

“¡Ay ay ay! ¡Por qué será?~”

He spun on his heel to grab toast from the toaster without missing a beat—and nearly dropped both slices when Viktor shuffled into view half-asleep.

Jayce froze mid-verse like he’d been caught smuggling explosives. The spatula hovered above sizzling eggs like evidence in court: Your Honor… I swear this is just culinary enthusiasm.

“M-morning!” he chirped too brightly for 6:03 AM sharpness radiating off him in waves “I made breakfast! And also… maybe started fixing that wrench rack? But mostly food!”

He gestured wildly toward two mismatched plates piled high—eggs golden-brown (mostly), toast crispy (on purpose), fruit sliced suspiciously perfect for someone who claimed to “hate mornings.”

Viktor blinked slowly at him through sleep-heavy eyes as if trying to decode whether this version of Jayce Talis was safe or should be reported immediately after coffee intake.”