𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉ℯ𝓇 2 - 𝒯𝒽ℯ 𝒟𝓇𝓊𝓃𝓀 𝒢ℴ𝓇𝒾𝓁𝓁𝒶

{A week prior}

The screen glared at Noir, and Noir glared at it. A man in a red jersey with a yellow triangle pointed at him traversed a grassy field with impossible dexterity as he kicked a ball ahead, eventually crossing a white line that cut the field into two. Another such man dressed in a white jersey, with a red triangle floating above his head, slid on this field with the intention of injuring the one in red. But the one in red foresaw the future—he stopped, which resulted in the one in white sliding further ahead. Not sparing a glance at his fellow sportsman, the one in red moved towards the goalpost in a sprint.

Just then the one who controlled him heard, "Hah…that bitch… Her ass, ahh… What was her name again?”

Guiding the red one towards victory, Noir muttered, without turning backwards, “Chill, dude. Stop. You don’t need to be—”

“Fuck her,” the voice behind burped. “Who cares about that whore?” After a pause he continued, “The bong... give... me.”

"Shut up."

Focusing back on the screen, the one in red now stood right outside the white line surrounding the goalpost, with three men—brave and bold, dressed in white—standing in front of him, one of whom had a red triangle above his head. Alone as he was, he moved towards his right slowly at walking pace, and then as one in white shot towards him, he dashed left for a second before turning to his left. The one in white slid on the ground by his left on the grassy field.

Coming to a stop now barely inside the white paint, his right leg pulled backward, and then down it shot like an arrow released from a bow. A goal was in sight; 2:1 in his favor would be the score. Unfortunately, before his right could connect to the ball, another's leg connected with his left, causing Noir, the version on the screen, to fall onto the grassy floor.

He smelled no grassy scent or any form of texture; instead, as a whistle rang on the screen, the real Noir turned to his left to observe a chubby man, laughing his ass off. Sighing, he turned back to the screen to see not a penalty but a free-kick. Staring blankly at his character as the laughter rose, he decided to shut the man up. His character moved his legs with fluidity, touching the ball with a certain grace. The ball flew above the wall of defenders; it flew above the tall goalkeeper, and then the commentators spoke, "Goal!!! That is what I would have loved to say, but Jimmy, I am speechless."

"Harry, let me speak for you; the shot was wonderful, one meant for the crowd."

Then the commentators laughed.

Noir smiled, in real life, his head turning backward. "This game is rigged," he uttered. "Kevin, you bastard, you paid 25 Solas for this shit?"

Kevin said not a word; his mouth only had one sole reason to open: some herbs, which were currently inside the toilet. Lying on his sofa, his body turned sideways, he smiled with an absent look at Noir, but not quite at him. He said, "Ha," then "Haha," then "Hahahaha..." then there were only "Hahahahas."

Noir, who had thrown the green into the sink, glanced below. The bottles below, empty, which had contained whisky, had the word "Kush" inscribed in gold, both in English and a language from Irst, upon the most posh-looking white label Noir had ever seen.

A waste of money. Noir turned towards his friend's face. And a waste of time.

Suddenly, he heard, "What a goal. The opponent was led like a donkey, with a carrot but without a stick."

"And what would the carrot be, Harry?"

"The dream of ever scoring a goal."

Both of the commentators laughed.

Shaking his head, Noir slowly turned his neck back to the TV but then paused midway. To his left, Rory ate from a bag of his chips, licking his fingers and then placing them back on the controller.

Noir blankly stared at him, then plainly stated, loud and clear, "You disgusting fuck. Write your name on that controller in bold."

"Ey, it is mine. I could squeeze it gently between my buttocks if I ever wanted to."

Suddenly, a strange thought came to Noir, resulting in him looking at his own controller. He stared at it for a few seconds, and then he looked at the one in Rory's hand. White and white, they both were coated in the same color and the same everything else.

It was then that Rory burst out laughing, staring right at Noir. His pupils reflected a mouth agape and a controller slipping to the floor. Kevin joined in too, who was in a world of his own.

"Rory..." Noir raised his finger "Please tell me that today is just the consequence of you being drunk."

Rory's laughter increased, followed by Kevin's. Rory repeatedly hit his fist on the floor.

Lips twitching, Noir turned toward the screen, his fingers still stuck midair, observing the score. 1:3 was written in white and bold, three quarters of which he had scored with saliva and oil. The controller now lying on the floor was a horror, horrifying enough for Noir to think of shifting away to another apartment. But then suddenly his eyes narrowed; he looked at the controller, then at Rory, and then he thought, I felt neither oil nor stickiness.

Rory spoke between his laughter, "The great mister Noir cannot be tricked, for I am but a mortal."

Then Noir looked at Rory's controller with an extra bit of disgust.

Rory squeaked, "What? Every time I use it, I wash it with a wet wipe. Do you even know what a wet wipe is?"

Noir's jaw clenched for a moment before he shook his head. Why am I getting pissed?

Meanwhile, Rory continued, "Also, I brought it for my personal use. Eh... Stop looking at me like that. Kev ruined my last one; this is just insurance, well, either way..." Rory looked at Kevin as he muttered, "It is not my fault if he likes using my controllers. If his hands turn... you know... Noir you must understand—"

Noir chuckled. "I do. Enough. I understand enough. Now shut up."

Rory continued, with a fervor in his eyes, "Since the dawn of time, animals have been raw. Look at the wild; look deep into the ocean. Does a lion care about the blood on his face? Does a shark care about table etiquette?"

"Lions are illiterate. Sharks are cold-blooded."

"Racism, my friend!" Rory shouted. "Why do you think it has existed since the dawn of man?"

"Dawn of time."

"Don't part thy lips; they don't stink. I mean, they stink. Anyways, where was I?"

"Racism."

"Yes, where was I?"

"Racism."

Rory paused, then something clicked. He raised his hands to the ceiling as he said, "Yes, racism... let racists be eaten by lions and sharks in the darkness of the wild, with a never-ending tide, blah... blah... kuk kak."

"Kevin, Rory begs for you to be torn to—"

"Fuck Rory! Fuck his ancestry," Kevin uttered, after which he mumbled incoherent words.

"You will have to fuck the ground, you pissant," said Rory, stumbling to his feet. Then he stood there gazing at nothing, pointing at Kevin, who was sleeping on his stomach, displaying his ass to the world. After a while, he whispered, "What was I going to say?"

Noir burst out laughing, clutching his stomach, as his gaze shifted between the two cartoons. Rory burped, without any shame, as he sat back down on the floor, legs sprawled around. Then he grabbed the controller with a fiery determination. "Noiry, Woiry, we have a World Cup to win."

Noir laughed harder; he said between his laughter, "We... are... opponents."

Rory retorted, clenching his fist, "We are united by a sense of... sense of... yes, by sense. Stop looking at me with those what is the term used, eh............. hunter lazy eyes. Keep those reserved for Larry."

"Claire..." Noir corrected.

Rory paused, stiffling his laughter, and then said with a hazy yet serious look, "Does everything else need to be hidden?"

Noir just smiled.

Then the haziness overtook the seriousness in Rory's eyes. With a certain glint, he said, "Although... I wouldn't mind if you were a woman. Noir, yes, you could; I can see the potential. You—"

"Shut up."

"Woman," a degenerate shouted from behind. "Where is the woman?"

Both Rory and Noir turned around. Kevin was standing, his gaze shifting around furiously.

"Woman! That bitch! I called her beautiful; she filed a fuckin complaint. How could she do this to me? How dare she?" He gritted his teeth; his voice rose. "Where is she? WHERE? FUCKING BITCH! HE WILL DISOWN ME... YES, HE WILL. WHY AFTER ALL I HAVE—"

Kevin landed back on the sofa, clutching his head. He stayed that way for a while; no one spoke in the meantime. Then he screamed louder than ever, "YOU KNOW WHAT? FUCK HIM. FUCK HER. YES, FUCK THEM ALL..."

"Shut up, I won't be talking to the neighbors. Both of you are cracked."

Kevin puffed out his chest, clenching his fists and turning his neck upward, and then screamed, "FUCK!!!! THEM!!!" after which he breathed with a deep, quick rhythm from his mouth.

Looking around the room, he said softly with a chuckle, "You guys find me pathetic, right? Everyone does..." He smiled as he looked at Rory; it carried no happiness. "I am even turning Rory into a bum. What am I good for?" He turned to Noir with a certain expectation. "Noir," he chuckled, "tell me?"

Noir didn't say a thing. Rory spoke instead, "Kevin, you are as fine as—"

"Shut the fuck up!" Kevin growled. "Fucking goody-two-shoes." As Rory looked to the floor, he added, "What do you know about me, you pig?" Then, looking at Noir, he continued, "See, that is what I like about you, you fucker. At least you are honest. That is what I probably needed back then..." he whispered again, "back then..."

"Kevin..." Noir called. "Go to sleep. I will talk to her, the bitch, as you say, later. Everything will be okay. Not a word will reach your father."

Kevin chuckled, slightly deranged. "Will you now? And it will all work?"

"I can only try my best."

"Your best, is it?"

Kevin's hands moved towards a bottle below. As the sound of glass hitting glass echoed across the room, he tilted the bottle towards his mouth. Nothing came out. His hands snapped with fury, only stopping at the last moment, gently placing the bottle on the sofa. He sat there with a gaze distant, motionless, his head pointed towards the ceiling.

"Pch..." Noir complained, "Aren't you used to this?"

"My mother had once said that men cannot console."

"On a positive note, for once you haven't used the word fucking."

Noir laughed; Kevin did as well and shot up, looking at Noir. As he inched closer to the TV, his steps unbalanced, Noir said, "Kevin, although you stand a few feet taller than me and have a potbelly, I must warn you that my hands are rather quick."

Kevin didn't care; he now stood before Noir. His next action was so unthinkable and unfamiliar that Noir couldn't respond to it. Kevin lowered himself and wrapped his arms around Noir.

"Thanks, fucker," he whispered.

Noir, who wore a plain black tee and cream-colored joggers below, muttered, "Fuck! This is disgusting." Although he said those words, and he cringed, he didn't really move. He complained, "You bastard, you are hairy as shit. I might vomit any second..." Noir, to be honest, had decided not to move, but then he heard a few terrifying words: "I need some love."

A jerk. Noir recoiled backwards, barely dodging a kiss. Speechless, as he pushed the head away, he said, "Kevin, calm down. Breathe in. Breathe in. Yes, good. Now, breathe out slowly. Good. Too much love is not good. Look around you. The walls, the pillows..." Then Noir observed Rory smiling. "Look at Rory; isn't his squishy figure much more appetizing?"

Kevin's gaze locked onto a new target as he nodded his head, his gaze present, but his mind somewhere else.

"Hey-"

Noir smiled and continued, "Think about it. A marshmellow. You like marshmallows, don't you?" As Kevin nodded, Noir added, "You do... yes... good... the most delicious, exquisite, smiling marshmallow is right beside you. He, too, needs love."

Kevin got up with haste, fueled by a burst of energy. On the other hand, Rory shrunk backwards, with the smile nonexistent. "Eh, Kevin, listen—Eh... You gorilla."

Noir clenched his fist and said in an invigorating tone, mimicking someone else, "Go ahead, my marshmallow champion; this is your destiny."

Kevin rushed forward towards his destiny as the marshmellow ran outside away from his own.

Meanwhile, Noir sighed as he decided to never-ever let Kevin get high.

Then, he thought about a woman's lips.

She would have been bawling out.

Imagining her sweet laughter, Noir smiled.