For a nicer formatting: You can also find this story on ao3, under the same penname.
Fridge Wars
On the 5th of April started what later on would be known to the residents of Winterfell University's dormitory K.L., which housed primarily students of different sports programs, as Fridge Wars. A most unfitting name, since it was neither a longstanding campaign with thousands of soldiers nor was bloodshed involved in any way. Just two people, notes and – at least this part was true – a fridge.
Dear person who took my steak,
Yesterday, I noticed my lunch gone from our community fridge. I assume it was an honest mistake on your part. Probably a similarity in lunch boxes that caused the disappearance of my Rib Eye stored in dark blue tupperware. However, I would like to take this chance to remind you and everyone who reads this that sharing living quarters does not allow you to take the belongings – that includes food – of your fellow students. Personal space and possessions have to be respected.
In hope this will never occur again,
B
The first answering post-it to the finely penned letter stuck to the middle tray of the refrigerator was found on that evening. It was not as elegantly worded and far from polite, but the darker and more dented imprints the blue ballpoint pen had left due to heavy pressure on some of the chicken scratch resembling words showed that the writer had lingered for some time on them, probably either thinking about what they wanted to convey or the correct grammar.
And thus, the rhythm of the interaction of two alleged strangers was set in motion.
Dear Stick up the Ass,
Chill. It was food and I was hungry.
No stamp on your goodies means free reign for everyone.
Better luck next time,
A steak connoisseur
To the one stealing my lunch,
Not only was your reply to my fully understandable reprimand obstinate and uncouth, you also seem to be lacking manners. I want my chicken breast with ratatouille back. But I will settle for you stopping your thieving spree.
Forcefully,
A very annoyed and hungry fellow student
To the low carb junky,
Next time, use more salt. Tasted like nothing.
It will be my pleasure to see if you heeded my advice when I'm biting into the next breast you dangle in front of me.
With a mouthful of your meal,
Your lunch buddy
To the nasty little shit,
Stop it! I even put a big fat B on the container! You have no reason to steal from me!
Show some honor!
This close to filing a complaint,
Someone whose nerves are getting thinner by the minute
Hello provider of sustenance,
I'm sitting here, licking my fingers after tasting your latest creation. Looks like you listened to me. Perfect amount of salt, juicy piece of meat, and a lovely vegetable mix. And don't get me started on the gravy. Yummy!
Sauce-stained air kisses,
Your dinner guest #1
The following morning, there wasn't a note from B in sight.
But also no blue tupperware. Instead…
Is tihs your revenge?! Fucking jogurt?! Cherry flavored?!
Wat are you, a girl? I need my meet, and you need your meat, man.
Sersly, make two rations or something. But feeeeed me.
Pretty pleas,
Your greatest fan (truly)
Dear famished beggar,
Is there a reason why you're not cooking your own meals? I'm not your kitchen slave. I have a very tight schedule with the track season coming up, and a very limited allowance. I have to chip away time to even get these little dinners done in time for the next day without denting my budget. Not everyone is here on their parents' money.
Still cooking for one,
B
PS: Keep your food induced sexism to yourself. Yoghurt is not gendered. The same goes for cherries.
On an obviously hasty scribbled note, tucked under the first one:
So what if I'm a woman? You're still not in the right.
Milady,
I'm very sorry. It was not my intention to cause you distress. I'm just a totally underfed, and unable to cook anything except for ramen, student of the para program who just wanted to taste something that didn't reek of cardboard for a change, since my inheritance got laid on ice.
And if I'm off base, you have every right to scream at me, but recounting what I know of you: name starting with a B, female in track, scholarship, and a stickler for rules.
You are not, by any chance, Brienne Tarth? The one I'm always borrowing a pen from in history class?
Jaime Lannister?
Hey, wench!
The next evening, there was no letter from Brienne, but a telephone number on a separate note, next to Lannister's newest post-it.
My dearest Brienne,
I'm just giving you your lunch box back. Bringing an extra portion of meat loaf to class was nice of you. It tasted heavenly. And was so tender, I was able to cut it with my fork. Which, you know, was good because of the one hand issue. I would like to thank you for that.
Dinner? Where people cook for us, for a change?
Sincerely and hopeful,
Jaime
Okay.
And thus ended the note battle of dormitory K.L.
But all students were still aware what happened in the time after, since from this day on, there was a blue double-share food container with the initials JB on it stashed in the fridge.
And everyone knew Justin Bieber didn't go to uni.