Chef Jeff

A relentless thrumming bass line vibrated through Mia's skull, pulling her from the depths of sleep with a groan. Blinking away the last cobwebs of slumber, she focused on the swirling patterns of sunlight on her bedroom ceiling.

The music, thundering from somewhere below, vibrated through the floorboards. Why was it so loud like she was at a club? She mused.

Confused, Mia sat up, hair a tangled mess around her face. Her gaze shot to the source of the music – a portable speaker perched precariously on her desk, flashing like a miniature strobe light.

A movement at the foot of her bed caught her eye and panic flared in her chest, replaced by a surge of cold air as she finally took in the figure sprawled on the floor beside her bed.

Jeff.

There, sprawled across the floor, lay Jeff. His hair was a tousled mess, his face peaceful in slumber, and a faint snore escaped his lips.