He stumbled, nauseated. He had a feeling this would happen, yet it still stunned him. While cursing to himself, he wrapped his palms around his stomach. Roger made a sickly choking sound in his throat. His hands hurried to his mouth; he choked, closed his eyes, and bent, and a thick flow of fluid filled his mouth, gushed out, and dell to cover the corner of the dark alley. Roger did this several times, filling the crisp air with a pungent, winy stench.

The mixed foods from earlier were what got to him. His stomach couldn’t handle it.

Did the same happen to Owen? Using his sleeve, he wiped the chunks of vomit off his mouth. Another rush of fluids rose through his esophagus, but nothing came out. The smell was making it worse.

Roger’s stomach felt a lot lighter.

Vomiting is like a temporary storm. It comes and goes, and mostly, things are better after.

He walked out with his hands over his stomach. Still tasting the horrific fluids, he desperately needed something to soothe his mouth. Would someone be able to smell his breath while talking? For obvious reasons, he didn’t want that to be the outcome.

Normally, Roger shimmered with confidence. He always held his head high as he casually flexed his robust biceps, looking around to see if anyone noticed the brightness he carried. It’s what made Roger, Roger. So, walking around with his head glued to the cobblestone streets wasn’t his nature.

He stuffed his hands in his coat pockets. His coat was soft brown and kept him warm during the night. It was well-shaped and masculine, and the wool puffed up inside. It would keep a man out in any winter, even if he wore nothing underneath.

After leisurely strolling around for some time, a lightbulb ignited in his head. He got so caught up with his stomach that he forgot about looking for Tim and Avery. It was his job since Owen had taken on the task of finding Jill. They planned to reunite at the fountain and decide what to do from there.

Where the hell would a moron go at this time of night?

CLANG.

Roger pressed his head. “What the hell—” he groaned.

He didn’t notice the pole, which he walked head-first into.

He heard laughter from a couple of people from the other side of the street. Roger, who still pressed his hand against his head, turned and saw two figures with arms wrapped around their shoulders, laughing at what they just saw.

Roger couldn’t get a solid look at their faces. A dim torch was a few meters down, which didn’t help. Even though they couldn’t see his face, Roger stood there, humiliated.

Roger walked over to the two till he could get a decent look. Once their eyes met him, their laughter erupted even louder than before.

“Hey, Avery, no way this brain-dead lunatic just ran into a pole! Why were you looking at the ground? Are ya sad or something? Does the big man needa hug?”

Roger’s brows twitched as a vein popped out of his head. Without saying a word, he walked over to Tim and slapped him across the face.

Tim stumbled, holding his red stamped cheek. Roger lunged at him, tackling Tim to the ground. Tim was underneath Roger with his back against the ground. Roger lowered his head and breathed on his face.

Tim gagged in total disgust, trying to kick his way out of Roger’s grip. “What the hell is wrong with you? Did you eat rotten seafood or something?! It reeks of a smell I can’t even describe!”

Quietly, Roger allowed Tim to get onto his feet. “Jeez, you’re awfully quiet. What happened to you?”

“I threw up in some random alley. What you smelled was food from earlier.”

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

That statement made Tim gag even harder. “Ew! What a weak stomach! You can’t even handle some food with that bulky body of yours!”

“What does having a bulky body have to do with handling food?”

“It’s because that enormous body of yours can’t handle anything!”

While the two continued to argue, Avery interjected, “Tim, you should be talking. Earlier, you complained about using the restroom six times within an hour.”

Tim turned back, his mouth dropping to the ground. His face represented someone who had been betrayed. “W-Who’s side are you on?” he yelled, pointing at Avery.

He threw his hands up, claiming to play neutral.

“Tim”, said Roger. Hearing his name caused Tim to give his attention back to Roger, “We’re family, aren’t we?”

“Hey, why the hell are you asking such a ridiculous question? Sadly, we are.”

Roger’s eyes sparkled with light, filling the gloomy night. He gave a heartfelt smile. “I believe being family means to share each other's suffering.”

Roger charged at Tim, who instinctively ran away.

“Come on, let us share our suffering together!” Roger yelled as he tailed behind Tim.

“Have you gone mad?! Is this because I made fun of you for running into a pole?!”

That was a good chance for Roger to get back at the annoying Tim.

They yelled back and forth without caring about the people trying to sleep. It was a cat-and-mouse chase. Tim, who was abnormally fast for his age, had excellent stamina and could run forever.

Roger ran faster than he thought he could. Running in this weather felt pleasant to him. A cool gust of air rushed to his lungs, and the cold dug its teeth into his hands. His stomach still felt iffy, but he still ran.

It reminded him of the times when he would challenge Tim to races. Tim would always end up victorious, which frustrated Roger’s ego. Losing to someone younger than him wasn’t allowed in his books. He kept challenging Tim over and over in hopes he would one day win. That day never came, and Roger grew to accept it never will. Today, running with Tim was a trip down memory lane.

Roger’s hand was inches away from catching Tim. Tim, turning his head back, noticed Roger’s grabbing gesture. He taunted Roger by sticking his tongue out.

Roger then slammed on the brakes. Tim, still looking back, looked perplexed as to why Roger stopped.

By the time Tim turned his head forward, it was too late. Out of thin air, it appeared. He saw what Roger encountered. Tim couldn’t stop. His momentum was too much for his own good. He wouldn’t be able to branch out to the side, either. The gap between him and the pole was so tight that nothing could’ve been done.

CLANG.

Tim held onto his forehead as he screeched. He occasionally jumped while pacing around the area. He collapsed onto the ground, cradling his rear with his hands still glued onto his forehead. Roger walked over to him, his hands on his stomach, and roared a laugh.

“You…” he could hardly talk with his laughter interfering with his words, “No way this brain-dead lunatic just ran into a role! Why were you running? Was a scary, strong brute chasing after you?”

“Ah! So you finally admit you're a brute!”

“Says the one who’s almost in tears.”

Tim covered his entire face. “Stop lying out of your breath, pukey!”

Roger wasn’t lying at all.

“Pukey?” Roger looked oddly disgusted, as if ‘brute’ wasn’t bad enough. “You have the nerve to insult me after foolishly hitting the same pole I did?”

Grinding his teeth, he slammed his fist onto the ground. He got up and charged at Roger with a punch aimed at his stomach. Roger read Tim’s slow movements and slapped him on the same cheek as before.

“Don’t charge at me like that! What did you think was going to happen?”

Tim, who was on his fours, quickly got up on his feet. He could take a few strikes but never give them.

“Hey Roger, my dear friend Roger,” his voice sounded unusually deep and husky, “You don’t have a clue about who you're messing—”

“What’s with the dramatic voice?”

His vocals returned to normal. “Hey, zip it, and let me finish! Swear to God, I’m going to crack your skull the same way that vendor cracked open the coconuts!”

“You can’t even reach my skull! You’re nothing but an annoying mosquito!”

Like a drama queen, he gasped with his hands over his mouth. If there was one thing he despised the most, it was mosquitos. When he was younger, a swarm of them would always surround him. They would never leave him alone. His blood must’ve been a chef's kiss.

“Why, you little…” he uttered under his breath. Tim stood on one leg, removing his shoe. “Don’t you ever compare me with something so satanic as those creatures! I’m going to knock your head so hard that you won’t even know what a mosquito is!”

Roger opened his chest, inviting Tim’s threat. “Show me what a spineless fool like you is capable of!”

While this madness occurred, Avery leaned against a wall, messing around with the device on his wrist.