There was nowhere to go. Nowhere to be.

He wished he could just flip his fingers and be at some social event. It didn’t matter which, it didn’t matter who was the host. He didn’t need the human contact.

                There was a clutter of plates in their kitchen. The kettle was on and whistling; his flatmates chatted about something. The walls were paper thin, but he always had a trouble understanding what people were actually saying.

                It was dark outside, well mostly it was night outside. The dark was invalid with all the street lighting. And when he looked from his window he could see the cherry tree – white and precious in April blossoms – sort of weird against the black sky.

                Oh, yes. He was bored.

                There was nothing to do. He thought about getting some work done, but he was lazy enough to actually do it. He thought about some reading or about picking up his guitar and falling into that numb state when he could just let things go for a change.

                The dog started to scratch on his door and he prayed someone would talk it out of it. There were several deep marks on their doors, on the cupboards of their kitchen. And after every other, he just said to himself: “When I will have my own place…” He so wasn’t a dog person. And he so wasn’t going to have his own place any time soon.

                He thought about watching a movie, but the list of newly downloaded items was out of his mood zone right now. He thought about wanking, but he was rather loud and uncomfortable with people just outside his door. He thought about taking a walk, but he spent this afternoon in a gym and his body was feeling much more tired than his enthusiastic mind.

                He stared outside, the fabric of his jumper biting on his elbows when he leaned on the windowsill. There was no one to talk to. No one to be silent with. No one who mattered, that is.

                It was almost nine, too early to go to sleep. He still tried. He curled up on his mattress, pressed his face into the pillow and felt the shirt of his sleeping dress code pull higher, exposing his navel to the soft sheets. He cursed. And again.

                The door banged open, revealing the face of his flatmate.

“Sorry, you are in bed already?”

“What?”

“Are you sick?”

“No, just tired.” Tired of life, at least.

“Do you want to eat something?”

There was a pause.

“What do you have?”

“Chilli.”

                He hated chilli. He hated pepper, he hated all spices, to be honest.

“I don’t think so…”

“O-kay. Suit yourself.”

                He just wanted privacy. And something to do, something different than anything he did every day of his life. He was twenty-seven and his life was mostly shite. He wasn’t who he wanted to be, he didn’t have anything he longed. There was nothing to behold.

                He thought about getting a tattoo. A stag maybe. Or a deer. He always was into forest. It could decorate his biceps so every time he lifted, it would have flexed right through it.

                There was a knock on the door and the head of his other, more respectful flatmate appeared, her hair falling through the gap.

“Would you like to join us in a game?”

“What sort?”

“Hard To Tell.”

                He narrowed his eyes on her.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

She smiled. “Hard To Tell. It’s a party game.“

“I’m not in the mood for partying.”

“It is not that bad. And we are not drinking.. yet.”

                Drinking! Why hadn’t he thought about that?

“Okay, I’m in. For a bit.”

“Yay! Lifesaver, we were in a crucial need for another partner!”

“Yeah, right, right.”

                He got up from his bed and started towards her.

“You’ve got… you probably should change that.” She pointed towards his bottoms.

                He looked down.

“What is wrong with these?”

“We have guests.”

                He looked at her hard.

“I don’t think I am in the mood for meeting people.”

“Well, I am not going to expel them now, am I?”

                He huffed. Most of the time he was exasperated, he couldn’t care less what he was wearing.

This time was no different.

“Well, okay, but I am not changing.”

She rolled her eyes with a slight smirk. “Alright.”

                He went out of his room and shut his eyes almost completely against the white light.

“Bloody hell. Who was installing the light bulb? The 60 watts were enough last time. What’s this? Two hundred and forty?”

                He made a slight attempt to put his glasses straight on his nose, but since his left rim was broken from the bathroom incident, he gave up soon enough.

“Hey, Brian, are you really up for it? You sound a bit… unsocial today.”

                He glared at the offender and made a quick scan of the kitchen situation. The chilli was in the air and his nose was fighting and losing. The plates were on the counter and most of the occupants were seated at the dining table wearing matching masks of dark blue with a rubber around their heads.

                He made a slow amble towards them and put his hands on the shoulders of his friend. He turned around and laughed.

“You have a pillow print on your cheek.”

                He tried not to blush and ran his hand down his face.”

“Well, you are rude. I’m still winning.“

“The game is not on yet.” She said and he looked at her and then at other covered faces.

“Where is my mask?”

She pushed the blue thing into his hands and sat down on the last free chair.

He coughed.

“You should just get your desk chair.” His friend suggested.

“Right.”

                One minute later he was back, pulling his fake leather chair towards the table, flask of water under his arm. At least he would get the comfiest.

                He dropped himself into the seat and rolled a bit closer to the desk.

“What are we drinking?” he sort of ordered.

His friend laughed and filled one of the empty glasses with a pure liquid from the gin bottle. “Here you go.”

“Tonic?” Someone asked. He looked up and met a blue mask. Shocking.

“No, thanks.”

                He hated tonic, as well as he hated chilli.

“Oh, Brian, this is Phoebe and her friend David.” She said.

                He had to admit he had a minor problem to recognise the gender between the new individuals. Masks and all. Short hair and all. Slender figures and all. It was weird they weren’t siblings.

“Phoeb, Dave, this is our grumpy flatmate Brian.”

                He argued, most days.

“Nice to meet you,” he said instead and took a long gulp from his drink.

“Nice to meet you too,” they said and she started to explain the rules.

                He ought to listen, he knew, he just had a hard time figuring out the mask and his glasses. The first time he just tried to smack the mask on his bespectacled face, but somehow it wasn’t really efficient. So he put his glasses down, tied the mask around his head, and then put the frames back on. It wasn’t working. His left rim kept dropping.

“Brian, mate, do you want some help?”

                He looked at his flatmate.

“What?”

“Help, do you want some help?”

“No.” He just put the offending rim into the rubber of the mask and prayed to stay there for at least five whole minutes.

“Alright, everyone ready?”

                He shuffled his feet on the floor and shot a helpless look towards her, but mask and all, she didn’t notice.

He coughed.

“Er, Emma?”

“Oh, right. So, once again. There are two groups of people. One group tells only the truth, the other only lies. You pick a card with a question when it’s your turn and choose one of us who must answer it. You make notes and in the end, you have to tell who tells the truth and who doesn’t.“

                He scratched his chin behind the mask.

“Who has the most of the right guesses, wins.”

“And when the game is over?”

“When there are no more questions.”

                It seemed funny enough.

“Okay.”

“Alright, here you have a card with your level of truthfulness.” She pointed to the one laying face down on the table.

He took a quick glance at it and nodded.

She nodded back and patted the pack of cards. “So I will start.” She picked up one and he swore she grinned at it. “Alright, Beckett, what colour are your pants?”

                His friend would be scowling if not for the mask. “It’s brown.“

                Someone snorted.

The next one was Phoebe-slash-David.

“Ehm, Brian. What is the most embarrassing thing you have ever done?”

                He was silent.

                Then he was silent a bit more.

                And then he said.

“This seems more like a drinking game to me… I am too sober for this.” He stood up and went for the cutlery drawer. He pulled out a straw and put it through the hole in the mask made for breathing.

                Then he sucked a long sip of his gin.

“Ready?” Phoebe giggled. Definitely Phoebe.

“What was the question again?”

“Oh, he is stalling…” his friend chastised.

“What is the most embarrassing thing you have ever done?” Pheobe asked patiently.

                He thought for a bit more and then he smiled. For no one to see, around his striped straw.

“I got off watching Sherlock.”

                There were muffled cries of laughter. He paid them no mind and continued to slowly inhibit his brain with alcohol.

                This was good.

“Oh, Christ, this is another thing I really didn’t need to know,” his friend whined.

“Well, this doesn’t have to be a truth, does it, you moron.”

                His friend sighed and shrugged.

“You watch the series too often, mate. It’s no good for you.”

“Hey, no hints!” Brian nearly shouted.

“Alright, boys, shut it. Dave, your turn.”

                Dave picked a card from the pack, read it and cleared his throat.

“What is your darkest fantasy? Er, Zake.”

                His flatmate laughed and shoved his hands under the table.

                He noticed that Zake grabbed the table cloth in full fists. Totally truth teller.

“My darkest fantasy… let’s see. Like… in a sexual way?”

                Brian rolled his eyes.

“In whatever way. No specifics.”

“Hmm… Well, I always wondered how it feels, you know.” He glanced at Emma and chucked. “With a man.”

                He had a bit of a problem not to laugh too hard so his glasses would stay at their place.

“Shut up, Brian.”

                Well, he was hardly the only one having a laugh.

“Why, Zake… Does it make you uncomfortable?”

                Emma snorted and nudged his flatmate’s ribs.

“We probably should drink more, Brian’s right.”

“Okay,” said his friend and took another card.

“Dear Emma, when was the last time you had been asked on a date?”

                There was a slight mumbling and glasses were distributed.

                He sipped again.

“It would be two weeks, I guess.”

                Well, that was too easy.

“By whom?” his flatmate asked, incredulous.

“Now, it’s none of your business, is it?“

                He stared ahead, slightly unfocused and thought about getting drunk and suffering through a headache next morning. Not like most of the population, he rather enjoyed being hungover. It put everything into the right perspective. It balanced all of it. All of the booze, all of the numbness. It felt like nature. Real.

“Brian?” his friend put a hand on his shoulder. “Your turn.”

                He hunched his shoulders and sank a bit into his chair.

“Right.”

                Have you ever put your tongue into someone else’s ear? These questions. Harmless.

“Phoebe. Have you ever put your tongue into someone else’s ear?” he asked aloud.

She took a careful sip of her drink under her mask. “Yes,” was her answer.

                He put the card back on the table and sank into his chair a bit more. His drink was almost gone.

“David, I guess this is for you: If you had to choose one person in this room to have sex with. Who would that be?”

                Phoebe burst into fits of laughter. He guessed she laughed a lot.

David coughed and looked at the ceiling. “If I had to…”

“…choose one person in this room to have sex with.”

                His drink was completely gone and he fiddled with the straw, quite uselessly.

“That would be Brian, I guess.”

                He knew that some important thing was said, he just fucking couldn’t get it together. Everyone was staring at him and he looked at Emma, his usual saviour.

“Dave just said he would choose you to have sex with if he had to. Choose, that is,” she explained.

                His head whirled around and fixed on David’s face. Well, his mask at least. And he really couldn’t tell in which group he was.

                For the lack of words, he pushed the lever of his chair and his entire self lowered until his chin was at the level of the table. Most of them laughed. He felt like a child in those moments.

                And Emma started a new round.

“Zake, tell me, what is the most romantic place you know.”

                He was so low, he almost could get a drink of his water without them seeing it.

“The Gardens, I guess. Those are really nice.”

“Sam, what is the most obscene thing you did in the public?” Phoebe asked and his friend chuckled.

“Well, that’s easy. With my ex, we rubbed against each other in the subway.”

“Really?” Phoebe snickered.

“Successfully.”

“Emma, if you had to choose between sexually deviant and asexual for a partner, who would you choose?”

                He listened to his voice and tried to picture his face. It was so weird he didn’t know how they look like and they were talking about these things.

“Phoebe, what is the most embarrassing phase you have been in?”

                He was still trying to suppress his blush and school his mind into something professional, something cool. Most embarrassing phase. He was getting into one this very moment. He hated it. He hated how different he acted when he was in a room with some potential flirt.

                Someone kicked his shin and he winced. He looked at his friend, who was pointedly staring at the pack of cards and he mentally thanked him for keeping his reminder in the nonverbal area.

                What is the first thing on your mind right now, that turns you on? He sneered and wondered if there was any party game for adults, that didn’t include sex issues.

                He took a glance around the table and chose Phoebe.

“You can’t ask Phoebe, she has already answered this round,” Zake objected.

                So he chose Emma.

“I’ve been too.”

                He rolled his eyes and settled them on David.

“What is the first thing on your mind right now, that turns you on, Dave?”

                He didn’t mean to sound so lewd. His chin was in a weird angle, almost touching his chest and his voice was much lower than usual.

                There was a beat of silence and then Phoebe snorted.

“Your hips, I suppose,” David said.

                Brian shot his right hand across his stomach, where the waistband of his pyjama bottoms was touching his hips. Emma chuckled.

“Told you, you should change.”

                They were too sober, in Brian’s opinion. He didn’t understand the meaning of embarrassment when people were sober. It simply wasn’t funny.

                So he pushed his empty glass closer to his friend for a refill.

“Brian,” Zake said with a tap on his forearm. “This’s perfect question for you. When was the last time you got laid?”

                This game was stupid.

                Oh… he said it aloud.

“Just answer the question, Brian,” Zake grinned. It was probably audible even in the basement.

“You want a date?”

Zake grinned even louder. “Month should be okay.”

“Or a year,” Emma offered.

                It felt like they were all suddenly against him. And he started to be just a little tipsy.

“Shut up, Emma!” he murmured.

“Come one, Brian.”

“Alright alright, Jesus… It was like, I don’t know, late August.”

His friend shot him a confused look. “August? But… You two broke up in my aunt’s sukkah. Sometime in October?”

                He tried to stare at the red and yellow pack of cards on the table to avoid his mocking. “Yeah.”

                The gin helped a great deal.

Emma started a new round.

“Hmm… who should I ask?” She scanned the card one more time and sighed.

“Beckett. Who would you choose to spend a year with on a deserted island?”

“Emma, who is your secret celebrity crush?”

“Zake, what is the barmiest thing you have ever done?”

“Brian, Brian… Have you ever disappeared after a one night stand?”

                He actually had to think about it.

“Does it count me running away after you promised me to make a breakfast that morning after we watched the Pirates of the Caribbean marathon?”

                Phoebe snorted and choked on her gin-and-tonic.

“Oh, I don’t think so, mate.”

“Then that would be a no,” he said and pick another card.

                Have you ever cheated in class?

He asked Phoebe.

“No!” she sounded offended and he heard Dave’s quiet snort.

                Liar then.

“David, tell me. Have you ever “played” with food? And the “played” is in quotes.”

“I know what that means,” Emma interrupted and if not for the mask, Brian would smack a hand across his face. “Like, have you ever eaten from someone else.”

“Yes, Emma, thank you for clarifying,” Zake sneered.

“Well, no. I can’t say I have.“

                Biting on the inside of his cheek he wished he could say that too and truthfully. Flashbacks of things he would rather forget forever were his favourite way of torturing himself during drinking.

And Emma started a new round.

“Have you ever hidden during a New Year’s Eve, for a lack of a date? Zakey.”

                There was a loud bark and Brian jumped a few inches into the air, his chair made an involuntary motion and whirled until the backrest hit the table desk. One Jack Russel rushed out of Zake and Emma’s bedroom and made a quick way to its master.

                Brian pulled his feet up and pulled the lever of his chair back up, so it would be impossible for the dog to jump him or lick him or anything this beast liked to do.

“Come off it, Brian. He’s not going to hurt you.“

“Speak for yourself,” he muttered and turned his chair back towards the table.

Emma lowered herself and pick it up from the floor. “He is harmless. So, Zake?” she asked again and rubbed the fur behind the dog’s ears.

“I have not,” Zake said proudly. Brian wanted to laugh. Phoebe giggled, though and he thought that the rest of them were still too sober to actually see the joke.

“One for you, Dave…” Phoebe said lightly. “Who is the hottest character of all Harry Potter movies?”

                Well, this was funny. Personally, he would go for Bill Weasley, if you were speaking about films, that is… Books were a completely different story. Not to mention the actually different ending, right?

“You are so full of shite, Ursula,” he spat with no real venom. She snickered.

“Ahh..” he sighed deeply. “I would go for Harry.”

                There was a myriad of amused noises. There was another liar. Because really. Harry?

                Brian silently sighed and tried to feel relieved.

“Yeah, hilarious,” David complained and leaned his elbows on the table.

                He started to zone out again and unconsciously pushed his glasses higher which made them fall into his lap. He cursed. And again. The mask itched his shaved skin and his second drink was already long since finished.

                He was getting drunk.

His friend nudged him to take another card. The burning of the alcohol and embarrassment now felt like a constant pressure against his insides. He thought he wouldn’t need his medications this late.

                What song is the best to get you in a mood?

                In what mood.

                In the mood for fitness?

                In the mood for cleaning?

                Oh no, how silly of me. These are not adult activities…

“Samuel, what song is the best to get you in a mood?”

His friend took a long sip of his beer. “Season of the Witch by Donovan, surely,” he said with a hint of a smile.

                It was hard to tell if he is really being honest. He loved Donovan, yes… but it could easily be another of his songs that he would pick as the best.

Zake took a card and asked him:

“How long is your usual foreplay, Brian?”

                There was a long pause when the dog pushed the table a bit to the side and hurried under it, leaving Emma’s lap. Pause, in which Brian took a moment to reconsider his former partners and their encounters. He settled in the thinking about his usual foreplay, which presently took about three minutes: checking his solitude and shoving his face into the pillow. That probably wasn’t what Zake was asking about.

“Do you want an average?”

                Emma and Phoebe made a cheerful toast and he couldn’t hear Zake’s answer.

                He huffed.

“I don’t know. Approximately… five minutes?”

                The rest of them started to get tipsy as well and he was getting lost in all those voices shouting and laughing. One more drink to go and he would gladly disappear into his bedroom. He rested his head against the chair and waited for someone to admonish him. His straw carefully providing him the gin through the knuckle, through the mask, through his trembling lips.

“What do you do, Brian?” David asked when Sam made an attempt to squeeze his straw and get his attention.

                He took a look around the table. Zake was missing.

“Like for living?”

“Yeah?” David nodded and pulled the mask slightly aside so he could sip his gin-and-tonic. His mouth was almost purple.

                He cleared his throat.

“I am one of the sysadmins in Aldi.”

“How many times do I have to tell you-“ Emma started when Zake sang from the bathroom:

“Even when you’re crying you’re beautiful too…“

She rolled her eyes. “You can’t just say your profession like that. That doesn’t define you. He is an artist,” she turned to David to explain his life story and he hated her a bit for it.

“I’m not an artist.” He didn’t pick up a brush in months.

“You have a crisis, that’s normal.”

“I am not having any crisis. I just don’t enjoy it anymore.”

                He didn’t want to argue with her. He really didn’t.

“That’s a lot of bullshit.”

                He shrugged. Whatever.

“How do you know each other?” Brian asked in an attempt to move the conversation away.

“Emma and I, we used to have some classes together,” Phoebe answered. “She took a pity on me when my calculus repeatedly failed.”

“I’m back!“ Zake shouted.

„So you are an architect too?“ he asked, impressed.

“Well, I have the degree, if that’s what you’re asking about. I am not working yet, though.”

He nodded and finished yet another drink.

“What about you?” he asked David when they waited for Zake to put his mask back on.

“Oh, er. I work for Phoebe’s dad.”

                Brian quirked a brow, but he got no response, obviously, and David didn’t offer anything more either. His demeanour was subdued to his awareness of himself and he gnashed his teeth to stop it.

                They made another two rounds of their game when the pack of question cards came to the last ones. Brian was so full of buzz he could hardly concentrate even on the questions that involved him.

“If you had to get a tattoo, what and where would it be?” Phoebe asked him.

                It took about two minutes to process the meaning of the words. Then another two to come up with an answer.

“Oh, that’s easy. I’ve always wanted some cute eagle on my pecs,” he said and patted his chest.

Sam snorted and motioned for David to take the last card. He leaned across the table and picked it up.

“Zake,” he announced solemnly. “What is the sexiest outfit you own?”

                Since the beginning of the game, Brian had a little suspicion that Zake didn’t get its principle… That much was confirmed when he stood up and cheered:

“I could give you a show!”

                Emma growled and pulled him back to his seat.

“Nobody, and I mean nobody is interested, okay? Just answer the stupid question.”

“But, love…”

“No!”

He sighed deeply and tap his finger against his masked chin. “I own a pair of leather jeans,” he admitted. “It goes perfectly with my white button down.”

                Brian absently nodded. His thoughts more visual than anything else.

“Great!” Emma laughed. “Now, here are some forms for everyone to write down the names of liars and the names of truth tellers.”

                Brian took a piece of paper and made a vertical line in the middle. In the left truth column, he wrote Zake, Samuel and Emma’s names. In the right one, he didn’t bother with the rest.

“So what are you?” Phoebe asked excitedly.

                In the end, his guesses were the worst. And when he finally lifted his head to turn the card that accused him of lying, he was the only one still wearing a mask.

“You were a liar,” Samuel stated disbelievingly and Brian snorted.

“What, you really thought I got off watching Sherlock?... I’ve told you million times before. Benedict is hardly my type.”

“You are a really good liar,” David admitted and Brian’s eyes shot to his face.

                He was glad he was still wearing his mask and hoped that everyone would think he drunkenly forgot to take it off. Because David wasn’t a liar. Because David would choose him to have sex with. If he had to.

                His face was burning. Because David’s mouth was purple and his eyes were bright and it could be the booze, but he suddenly felt light-headed and simultaneously heavily grounded.

“You are so lucky you were lying, Emma. Who has the right to hit on you except me?”

“That’s exactly your attitude. Instead of being proud of your beautiful girlfriend, you selfishly disregard my achievements.”

“Fake achievements.”

                Brian would be incapable of following them even without the potential flirt's smile. His purple mouth was saying something but he couldn’t get it right. The chatter grew louder and all of a sudden someone was taking his mask off together with his glasses and started slapping his faces not quite gently.

“Brian. Brian?”

“What? What?” He shook himself almost violently and stared at Samuel’s unfocused face floating above him.

“You just zoned out again, mate,” he explained.

“Sorry,” he flushed and looked away.

“I shouldn’t have given you the last three drinks.”

                Brian shook his head with Samuel’s hands still on his shoulders.

“Leave it, Sam.”

                He made an attempt to sit straight and put his glasses on his nose. Oh, bugger.

“And the winner is me!” Emma exclaimed cheerfully. “Only two wrong. Brian is too big of a player.”

“Brian is a too big of a liar,” Zake huffed.

“Well you are embarrassingly transparent,” he countered and took several long sips of his water.

“Yeah, I got you like after the first five seconds,” Phoebe sneered and Brian looked at her. She had her short brown hair artfully braided around her temples and she smiled when she caught his eye.

“Well, I guess we should get going. It’s late and the last bus is leaving in a half an hour,” she said and Emma started to complain.

“You could stay. It’s been ages since we’ve seen each other.”

“I know, but I don’t think so,” Phoebe shook her head.

                Brian stubbornly refused to look at Dave’s face. He could play drunk as well as he could lie. He was skilled at both. He wanted a social event, didn’t he? Oh, well.

It was just when they started to get up he realised he had been pushed with his chair aside and into a corner, so Emma and Zake could pass through. And he didn’t know what to do. He looked up into their faces and caught their farewells.

His friend approached him.

“Alright, Brian? I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

                He rose from his chair and put his hands on his lower back for the lack of pockets.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Will you pick me up?” he asked and pushed his arms into his jacket.

“Yep, three forty as usual.”

                He gave him a quick hug and turned to say goodbye to the others. Brian cautiously looked at Zake who chatted with David and he wasn’t sure he wanted to make an eye contact. He sort of wanted to vanish into his room, but that was not quite possible when the whole bye-bye situation was happening in front of his door.

“So it was nice meeting you. Hope we will see you again soon.” Phoebe smiled and pushed her little hand into his comfort zone.

                He shook it awkwardly and cracked a smile.

“Likewise.”

                She turned around to hug Emma and Brian glanced at David, who stood just a few feet behind her. Sooner than he could talk himself out of it, he took a step closer and smiled, unconsciously pulling his t-shirt down.

“Thanks for the game,” Brian said and thrust his hand towards him. David was slightly smaller and his hand in his looked comically uneven, but it felt warm and sure.

“Yes, thanks for joining us,” Dave smiled back and dropped his hand. “It was fun.”

                His hair was light and his jawline was well defined. And those lips were still purple blue.

“Are you cold?” Brian asked, suddenly interested. David did have only a thin long-sleeved shirt.

“Er, no. I’m alright, thanks.”

“It’s just,” Brian pointed, fairly transfixed. “Your lips are really blue.”

                David brushed his fingers across his mouth and laughed.

“That would be from the blueberries.”

“Blueberries.”

“Yeah, blueberries. We’ve had a pie earlier.”

                Brian wanted to ask for his number, or make another bold move, but his legs were swaying and David already nodded his goodbye and was leaving with Phoebe’s hand on his elbow.

“Alright, Brian?” Zake asked when he came into his view.

“Sure. I’m… I guess I’m going to bed now.” To do some facebook stalking.

“You sure you don’t want some chilli?” Zake offered, with a fork full of leftover noodles half way to his mouth.

“I hate chilli.”

“Oh, I know,” Zake smirked mischievously. “We just wanted for you to join us.”

                When Brian wrinkled his eyebrows, Zake bit his lip to stop the giggles that were pushing through his teeth and through the spicy noodles.

“The next option was to offer you some booze and the next to ask you for help with the geyser.”

                If he thought he was being transparent now, he was heavily mistaken.

“But Emma offered the booze.”

“So it wasn’t the game? Ah, interesting.”

                There was a beat of silence and then a bang of the door when Emma was finally back. She came into the kitchen with a curve of her hips and leaned against the doorpost. She looked positively smug and Brian wondered where all his moodiness went and where it was stocked. He pushed his glasses up his nose and went for his door.

“Good night terrible people.”

                They were saying something, but he wasn’t even trying to listen. His mind set once again only on the visual thinking. About the purple blue. About the cobalt and cadmium scarlet. About the indigo and magenta. About the Prussian blue and Alizarin crimson.