Chapter 3: From three to four

Ding-Dong.

It is 8 A.M though not the early morning, but with the winter season setting in, the aura gives a beautiful glimpse of orange-yellow light into which everything basks. The outside is very cold and foggy. It's been a while since the sun rose above the horizon, but still, the rays are not too bright. One can easily make direct contact with it without the pupil undergoing miosis. Everything that basks in the light provides a magnificent view, but only to those who get up early to admire the beauty of nature.

For the villa of CK, it only happens once in a blue moon because who cares when you have a warm, tempting bed and parties in your everyday schedule- although not every day but a minimum of twice or thrice. The CK villa is the home of two taekwondo champs- Christian Chang and Kingsley Kai. After making most of their last night, they both are sound asleep in one room which is messy enough that no one dares to enter.

All the stuff lies hither and tither. Coat, gloves, and empty wine bottles all lie on the floor except for the shoes… well… they are wearing them because amidst sleepiness and drunken state, they don't bother to take them off. There are also pieces of glass in one corner of the room, which was surely broken by the Christian.

While taking care of drunken Kingsley, he loses his balance and land on a wooden side table onto which glass was once carefully placed. He disgustingly throws Kingsley on a bed who just had another session of vomiting. Christian though himself drunken, simply set aside the broken pieces and slumped on the bed beside Kingsley.

“Kingsley!” Christian taps Kingsley on his belly, trying to wake him up meanwhile half sleepy himself.

Mm… Kingsley murmurs, pushing his hand away from him. “Don't....” His sentence remains dangling in the air as he covers his mouth with his hand preventing himself from the act of vomiting. “I'm still too high. Last night's party was hard, bro,” he says, throwing the quilt on his face and turning his back.

Christian repeatedly calls his name, but Kingsley simply ignores him. He doesn’t even bother to move a little and play dead. There is again a ring at the bell.

“Ugh,” Christian grunts. He shakes Kingsley; he is well aware of his so-called drunken tricks. “Don't play dead,” says Christian. Kingsley burps. “Why you drink too much when you can't hold it?” he asks, holding his nose.

“Shut your mouth!” says Kingsley, throwing a ball and everything he can pick from the messy floor. The doorbell rings again.

“Go on open the door otherwise someone might break,” says Christian.

“It will be much better,” replies Kingsley pressing the pillow hard and covering his ears. “At least we don't have to open it then”. As soon as he finishes his sentence, the bell rings thrice consecutively; Kingsley scowls, throwing the pillow at the door.

“Come on, go open the door,” says Christian, irritated.

“I'm not going. If you're too disturbed why don't you go and open?” asks Kingsley.

After doing a critical analysis of the situation, the only solution left for Christian to end this “open door argument” is his golden kick which he always saves for Kingsley to end any kind of argument with him. So running out of patience, he simply bestows him his golden kick, and Kingsley flies out of bed.

“What the f*ck?” grunts Kingsley. He gets up, rubbing his butts because he has just landed on the carton, which crushes due to his muscular body. “That was hard!”

“You ask for it,” replies Christian. He points his finger at the door and slams onto his pillow.

“Next time, I won't drink too much that I have to sleep with you!” shouts Kingsley, throwing a pillow at him, which he has just thrown at the door.

He catches it in time and places it underneath his neck. “You should thank me that I controlled you even when I was drunk myself,” says Christian, smiling at him as though he is a saviour of his dignity.

“Yeah, thanks to you, you threw me into a gay last time”. He pauses, recalling the disgusting scene which makes him shiver. “It was Dylan who saved me from that freak; otherwise, he might have taken advantage of me,” says Kingsley. He places his hands on his breast, and Christian laughs.

“It was an accident,” says Christian controlling his laugh and not admitting that he sold his friend for a bet. He also makes a video that he saves for later fun, dare not to lose a single chance of teasing. Kingsley glares, and he simply shrugs.

The bell again rings, but this time it is not just for once but for the rest of the life- or maybe until someone opens the door. Kingsley says, “Oi comi'g” in a high voice, and the person ringing the bell stops. He opens the door, and a smile spreads across his face.

It is Dylan standing at the doorway who has created enough mess this morning- not more than the room in which the two slept. Dylan never drinks and always visits their place to check the two after the night of partying. They fist bump each other.

“What keep you from opening this damn door?” asks Dylan rubbing his finger as if it has done enough workout.

Kingsley feels provoked regarding finger rubbing stuff and rolls his eyes. “Our usual negotiations, and like always, I'm the one who gets kicked out from the bed,” replies Kingsley, and Dylan laughs.

“Ha-ha, fine, that's funny,” says Kingsley heading inside the house. He makes his way toward the kitchen and takes out a water bottle from the fridge.

The interior is elegant, with a slight mixture of woody and black textures. Most of the things placed in the house, from the fridge to curtains, all are black in colour. Actually, there is only one thing in common between both members of the CK villa, which is the black colour- so this one goes without argument.

“Well, what brings you here today?” asks Kingsley while sitting at the kitchen counter and opening the cork. Dylan moves aside without saying a word, and Kingsley immediately recognizes the girl. Though he was drunk last night, how could he not recognize the face of the hooligan which left his dear friend to care too much? Even more than them.

Dylan always drives them home safe and sound, but last night he went on consoling the girl they met at the bridge for the very first time. They make eye contact, and he narrows his gaze lifting the bottle to his mouth. He is still having this girl around? He seldom keeps any girl with him since that incident. Is he thinking she to be her?

“She takes too much of his attention. I envy her,” he murmurs looking at Dylan, who doesn't take his eyes off her.

“I want team addition,” says Dylan, finally exhaling all the stress on Kingsley. He raises his eyebrow, perplexed like he doesn’t expect this thing coming, or he might have heard it wrong. He is surely daydreaming.

Kingsley rubs his eyes several times, thinking that the sight will fade and when he opens his eyes, no one will be there, but as he does, everything remains in its place. The situation seems real. Indeed, very much real. Does his friend have a head injury this morning?

“Ahm, well, I want her to be in our team as well,” says Dylan, not making eye contact with him. This is the least that he wants to hear. What's more to his surprise than adding a girl to the team? The feeling makes him sick, and realizing he couldn't resist more, he spits out water, coughing. He looks from Dylan to Janice and then again to Dylan, bewildered. The words of Dylan have left him speechless.

The Dragon roar team-- the team which is famous for its brotherhood. But he will convince himself... he knows... for the sake of his friend, but what about the wild wolf sleeping in the room? Kingsley sighs, taking a cautious glance at the room.