Who am I...?
My name...?
My name is...
It doesn't matter. It really doesn't matter what my name is—it doesn't matter at all.
Still, I suppose using an alias might be an option. For the time being, anyway. Something like... "Felix," for instance. "Felix...?"
Uhm... I don't know. What do you guys think?
I just cobbled together the most commonplace, utterly boring name imaginable. There's no deep meaning behind it; after all, I didn't want to make a big deal out of it—sorry about that. However, even though I came up with it on the fly, I recall it means "Happiness" and "Good fortune" in Latin, doesn't it? In short, it implies I'm a successful, fruitful sort of being. That already gives it a touch of depth that so many novel readers were craving, huh. They drool over the tiniest hint of symbolism and anthropo… huh, anthropo-something.
I think I read that in, eh... Where was it? No, it wasn't on the Internet.
W-Where was it? Damn it, what the fuck is wrong with me?
In any case! Such "nickname" for this detestable specimen would accurately portray his incredible persona and the wonderful traits that set him apart; or at least, that's what I want to believe—and hammer it into my damn head, because lately my pessimism has been going from bad to worse. As expected, it's not my real name, which is the exact opposite of the example I gave. I hate it; it repulses me. Maybe that's why I can't remember it? Please, what is my name?
No—stop. I'll say it again and again, insistently and repeatedly: it does not matter at all, and I don't want it to become anything even remotely "relevant" to my story; so, "Félix" is fine. Moving on to the main point, let me finally introduce myself to the audience:
My name is Félix, from the Latin for "Happiness and Fortune." I am the narrator.
I'm neither omnipresent nor omnipotent. I am not a God, much less someone or "something" worthy of veneration. In fact, I would hate it if anyone built an altar to me; it would be a source of misfortune rather than prosperity. Nor would I be bestowing miracles, even if people gave me money as they do at Asian shrines.
I'm a human being: flesh, blood and any other fluids. And I will be recounting—fundamentally bewildered and dazed—everything I can possibly remember from that fateful day, since all other events preceding it remain strangely blurred. Furthermore, from the perspective from which I'll be telling this story, every single thing—every event, every anomaly, whatever it may be—is accepted by my senses as the indisputable "reality," and there's no way to challenge it.
Even so, I must confess something very cruel... I find it impossible not to suspect, at the very least, that I'm under the influence of some narcotic substance. You mean: was I high? Me?
Who the fuck did that—because I know it wasn't me, so I must have been forced to take it—with what exactly, and why? Meth, heroin, cocaine, LSD? How did I end up so close to those substances? Mustard gas? No-no-no, toxic exposure like that is infinitely more lethal than any common drugs. Are we in World War II or something? Besides, it would be insanely absurd to think it was alcohol, given how mild the adverse reaction to the human body is. As far as I know, I'm not that sensitive to alcoholic beverages. I've had a shot once, or maybe twice, but I know that I've never been—or will ever be—so drunk that I passed out… Right?
Whatever it was, I just couldn't believe it!
This figure I'm staring at, this entity, this body, is none other than myself! It's me, man!
Uh-hum! Okay, in any case, I need to calm down, because in order to continue, let me refrain from any tumultuous behavior and not end up blowing things out of all proportion at the start of this narration; instead, let's strive to recall the events that have transpired calmly....
But first of all, why am I not speaking so desperately? Why am I talking like this? I mean, wouldn't it be normal for me to lose my bananas, even though just a second ago I said I wouldn't act like a chimpanzee, which is something I don't necessarily have to follow—? Agh…! M-My head... it hurts. Why now? That's enough, I guess.
It was December 24, and that morning I went for a walk to clear my head before stopping at a convenience store—a gas station—to buy some snacks. Specifically, some potato chips, a delicious beef burger that should have been on sale that week, and my favorite go-to energy drink, whose dubious quality I've chosen to overlook time and again, but equally delicious.
When I dimly pushed half-open the metal door, thus activating the legendary bell-ringing mechanism, it was then that I spotted an recognizable, familiar-looking person at the counter chatting up the clerk, leaning on the counter like a big shot, and trying to buy… Some… Some Pokémon cards? Huh?
Were they… Pokémon cards? From this distance, I couldn't quite make them out. Did they still sell that shit, and in this place that's so trash—I mean, so far from downtown that it's hardly a good spot for profitable sales of notoriously popular products? Well, you could find poster of Messi or Ronaldo on every street corner in the world. But Pokémon? I haven't heard that name since 2016 with "Pokémon Go." Of all the things he could have! The only thing that gives me is nostalgia.
Never mind the purchase.
Anyway, this dude's name is Isaac, a high-school friend.
We share a fairly, peculiar friendship: I don't remember how we met. That's what makes it odd. Sorry, what? Yeah! Honestly, I don't recall where or how we met; we just sort of ended up as friends by default. Plus, we also happen to live within walking-distance of each other, pretty convenient, you know? Occasionally, we hang out, doing little more than wandering around, after school too, and acting like idiots—to be fair, he's the only one who acts like a r*tard. Not me, alright?
I considered calling out to him, because it would be awkward to go unnoticed—or even to hide from him. That's pretty extreme. Where could I hide, anyway?But somehow, I was spellbound in a millisecond and decided to back off. A powerful, invisible wizard helped me glimpse the future, and I saw that this guy would strat rambling about something that I have absolutely no interest and wouldn't be worth listening to.
My plan was to go to the store, buy what I wanted, and dip—nothing more. I'm not interested in what he's holding, it doesn't… What the hell was he holding?! Holy shit, stop asking, man! I don't care. I don't care, I don't care!
As a result, I didn't do nothing. I'm such a good friend.
Nevertheless, Isaac, somehow—or rather, unquestionably at some point he was bound to do so since the shop was kind of small and the bell's express function to alarm a customer's arrival was pretty clear—noticed me standing there like an autistic children in the doorway. Brimming with enthusiasm, he shouted:
«Huh? Oh! Yo, Felix!»
His lively voice pierced through the otherwise dull atmosphere of the convenience store, leaving me with no choice but to turn my head and acknowledge him. Even so, it seemed unjustifiable to just ignore and continue with my errands without even saying hello.
«Oh, yeah, what's up?» I muttered, raising a half-heartedly hand.
At that very moment, I watched him chatting with the elderly clerk, leaving his cards in their care before casually strolling over to me. I got the distinct impression he was about to bombard me with chatter too, especially after anticipating the mischievous glint in his eyes.
«Hey, what's good, man? What you doing here? Tryin' to buy sum'? Finally came to...» He whistle, mimicking with his two-finger saluting to the lips... «Smoke?» He asked in his innate relish.
Without thinking, almost instinctively, he held out his hand, and we exchanged a casual high-five. Our palms clapped together with a satisfyingly loud thud, followed by a quick shoulder hug.
«What? What's wrong with you? I'll never do that? I'm good with what I do. I'm just here to grab a few things to eat, that's all.»
«Oh! For your Christmas dinner and shi'?»
«For my—? No, what? What? Here? It's just for me, man. My stomach's empty back at home, you know? My uncles wouldn't let me touch anything in the kitchen until midnight, so I asked them for some cash to buy myself sum'—to stave off my hunger, or... just to eat. That's all, nothing more.»
And, frankly, that's why I'm such in a bad mood.
Before me, a huge feast had unfold on the table; for from behind the kitchen doors, a fragrance so alarmingly delicious was wafting out that just being in its presence felt illicit. A burst of colors, Ratatouille-shit, that open my third eye. I could already imagine what it felt like to be a pervert peeking into the girls' bathrooms—No, I'm so wrong! This was the most blatant case of voyeurism. It clung to the air, to my face, to the back of my throat the miasma of this bukkake...!
It was an invasive presence, damn it! Gordon Ramsay, do something! How is it possible that someone like me, an insignificant passerby, could stand up to such a stimulating provocation? My nose was about to explode, and my tongue was magnetized to the undulating scents emanating from inside the house. Or was that the sign that I was about to become a professional taster?
Despite everything—and very regrettable but understandable—that buffet was evidently protected by a declaration of inviolability from the hosts, who had decided to keep it off-limits until the appointed hour; in other words: "Hold off until everyone is gathered in the evening."
Under any other circumstances, I would have accepted it without complaining; to be honest, I don't see anything wrong—first, I was in a hurry; second, it had been a family tradition since I was a child. My uncle's Latin influence wasn't that oppressive; I was raised with those customs. I would have sat quietly in a corner, chatting with my cousins, or playing Geometry Dash, Flappy Bird, or I don't know. Flappy Bird doesn't exist anymore, right? Pou? Does anyone still play Pou? Talking Tom?
However, getting back to the reason for my bad mood, it's well known that hunger has a knack for drastically impairing your reasoning, reducing dignity to something shamefully primitive, and all the moderation, restraint, and self-control stored in your nervous system vanishes the moment your stomach tightens like an implosion. You're pissed off because you can't eat something.
That's survival, you see?! How does it go again? Natural selection, which favored individuals who developed a sense of urgency, aggressiveness, and a fierce impulse to act when their energy reserves drastically dropped—not to mention competitiveness and other bullshit. That's definitive proof of Darwinian evolution. I'm no caveman, but my anger is justified.
So: no. I wasn't interested in philosophizing about it.
I was hungry; I'm hungry. In fact, I was practically starving: I haven't had lunch.
Any nonsense suggesting that this—in big-ass quotation mark—"tantrum" was childish, or that my indignation was inversely disproportionate to the situation I'm in, or that, from the outside, I'm probably seen as someone incapable of enduring a minor annoyance without external and internal drama—that might very well be true, but I don't want to admit it, not even grudgingly—could go straight to hell. Human beings eat; that's what we do!
«Oh, yeah-yeah, I feel you. Christmas makes you really hungry for some reason, right? I was actually just having a slice of bread with jam I made at home, you know? Fucking jam. "TV-commercial food" looking ass. And I don't usually eat sweets, hahaha… That's all I saw on the fridge. Shi'... Uhmmm, well. I've got nothing going on; I'm free. I'll come along,» he insisted.
I quickly replied, listening to him without any ulterior motive:
«Nah, I'm good, you good, you, uh... I-I mean, I don't want to bother on whatever you're up to, man. I saw you were trying to buy those... cards, P-Pokemon cards, right? Was is Pokémon? Were you buying Pokémon cards, right in the middle of 202X? I don't know what they were, but you're really into that stuff, huh? I thought they weren't selling them anymore, what the fuck.»
«Huh? Ahhh! Yeah-yeah, ha-ha. Tsk, what's wrong with that? Shi' lowkey embarrassing, Fuck!» He chuckled sheepishly, running a hand through the waves of his hair. «But... d-don't make a big deal out of it, bro. I'll buy them later. Already told big-guy at the counter to hold 'em for a bit 'till we both head to him. So, get yo' ass moving and buy it already! I'm running out of patience, buddy, and you don't want to see me unleash the beast!»
With such foresight, are you really set on tagging along with me?
Let me pondered his intentions: maybe he was simply looking for company and a chance to chat. After all, it's in his nature to talk to anyone he meets—especially when he's eager to kill time with them. How decorously annoying of him.
Doesn't this make me look like a terrible person? Am I really so unfriendly that I'd reject him the moment I saw him? He hasn't actually done anything yet—not yet—and here I'm bombarding my mind with angry assumptions. Is it fair to think that way? It ought to be; after all, it's not my fault.
I don't feel like talking, especially not while walking; really, I'd rather eat while I walk. No, I don't even want to walk—who the fuck does that? It's awkward, and bad for your health, heh! Adjust glasses. I actually would have liked to eat outside and gaze at the sky. Right now, my mouth is reserved exclusively for chewing, not for articulating words or listening. As far as I'm concerned, my ears and vocal cords cease to exist when I'm eating.
Also, and in my defense, it's Isaac...
Oops, sorry. I forgot he was my "best" friend.
«What are you...? Ahhh, well... Suit yourself!»
«Aight', let's go!» He exclaimed with renewed energy, patting my back twice with cheerful glee.
We both headed to the snack aisle, where I grabbed my bag of chips. After that, we made our way to the drinks section. I opened a fridge and—after weighing a few other options—reached down to the bottom shelf to retrieve my favorite energy drink.
«Wait-wait-wait-wait-wait-wait-wait! The fuck is that? You choose—You like that one? Ha-ha!» Isaac asked hesitantly, squinting at it as if it were radioactive, and with a mocking smirk on his face, pointing contemptuously at the energy drink in my hand.
Okay, I'll give him that this time: of course, it wasn't a brand you'd see every day. As far as I know, there aren't any ads or billboards promoting it; in fact, I haven't seen a single one—so they don't exist. What's more, if my memory serves me right, it's from a South American country. Or rather, the flavor comes from there. Specifically… no idea. Brazil, Colombia? Some tropical country.
Regardless, though, I believe it's a bit inconsiderate to ask that—and in that way—when he sees me picking it up, right? He probably figured I was inspecting or browsing through random some drinks—which I was doing at first—but we're talking about him here: his brain isn't wired for that kind of analysis.
«Yeah, what's up? You got a fucking problem?»
«Huh? Nah-nah-nah, chill.» He stammered, shaking his head rapidly while raising his open hands in submission «I was just curious, dawg. My bad. But, I mean, I've never seen that, that brand before, y'know? W-What is it? What's it called?»
«"Nature Power". Check it out,» I handed him the can.
«What the hell...? What is this, organic? "Gorilla" flavor?!»
«Huh?! Bro, what? How is it possible—? What?! H-How the fuck is a drink supposed to taste like a gorilla? Oh, my God. You're so stupid, haha! The gorilla is just the fucking mascot, you goofy. It's a fruit flavor, dingus.»
«Well, shit. I have no idea.»
Still crouched down, I pointed at it:
«It says so right there—it's called "Guaraná." Right? It should say something shit like "Guaraná" in humongous letters just for you to not miss it. And I-I din't know what guaraná was. I know it's a fruit; I saw some pictures and it looked like lil' alien eyes, y'know what I mean? Like marbles, or just something super tiny—but, it was a creepy mess. Like an SCP or sum' shit: those lil' buggers are tiny as fuck. But it's tasty, tho, super good! It tastes like an apple or… or a grape.»
«Hmmm… Apple or grape—which is it? Does the drink have differente flavors all at once?»
«Pfft. I don't know, I was just saying that's just how it tastes to me. It depends on the weather, I guess.»
«Haha, "it depends on the weather"? Climate change type shit?» He handed me the can back:
«How the hell did you find that shit, huh?»
«What?! What do you mean by that? You haven't even tried it yet and you're already trying to downplay it. This sh—Ow, oh fuck! Hahaha! I-I-This d-d-drink, d-drink—This... Tsk, wow!»
«Di-Di-Di-Di-Di-Di-Di-Di-Di-Di-Di!»
«Dude, shut the fuck up! This, this drink—like other brands I've never seen in my life—is delicious! There's nothing else like it. I mean, I just picked it up on a whim, simple as that: I had nothing else to do, and, surprisingly, I liked it. It's really good. Nobody told me to buy it, like they do with Coca-Cola or AI with its endless, cancer-inducing commercials. Plus, it's dirt cheap. See? Less than two bucks. And I think the pack was five or six. Does that seem expensive to you? Or unreasonable?»
«Packs? It comes with six? Also, I dunno', bro, but... out of all the ones you saw, the first one you picked turns out to be good? That's crazy. Why don't you just buy Monster or Four Loko? Gatorade, fuck it! Don't you fuck with 'em?»
«Erm, one: Monster is fucking overrated, as far as I'm concerned. There's a mango one that's decent, but everyone loves mango. Two: I went off Four Loko actually. I don't even know why, I don't want to buy it anymore, I prefer water. And three: Gatorade is trash. Terrible! Absolutely horrendous. Horse's enormous balls of shit tastes better than that red vomit.»
«Hahaha, you're crazy. Well, let's see: let me try your poison.»
«"Poison", this guy... You wanna die, then? I'm gonna buy it now, I have nothing else to look anyway—»
«Wow-wow-wow, give me that!» He growled pointlessly and snatched the drink from me.
«...The fuck are you doing—?»
«Talm' about sum' buying it first—I'm 'bout to try it right now! One sip it's not gonna hurt nobody. You're going to buy it anyway, right? It's, uhm, practically yours already. Listen, the real trouble would be drinking it and then putting it back on the shelf, you feel me? That's messed up, for real. So, all you gotta do is just to make sure big-guy doesn't see me. He might get the wrong idea, and I don't want unc' be mad at me, 'cause I want to buy sum'... Well, some of those little things of my own, y'know?»
«What the hell are you—? Dude, don't do it!» I stood up instantly, whispering loudly, «H-He will definetly hear your stupid... Plus, w-why do that when you know he'll kick you out of the shop?»
Interpolated, he shot back: «Hold up, what do you mean he's gonna hear me? The old head's been senile since he was 40.»
«Even if he was 90% blind, he's gonna hear the can popping open. The store is tiny and we're the only customers in here, dumbass. Do you see anyone else? There isn't even any music playing to cover our conversation. Your voice is deep and loud. Beside, he's literally looking right at us like right now! See—?! Just give me that shit!» I snapped, snatching the drink back out of his hand. «I'll buy it, and then I'll let you try some, you uncivilized punk.»
«Man, you boring. You acting real soft now. You've gotten so, so prissy.»
«Prissy, soft, whatever. You're a troglodyte. And I don't care if I am pussy. I'd rather be gay than a brainless idiot... What about you? Aren't you going to buy something to cool off?»
«Pfft. Uhmm… I was thinking about it, but... Nahhh…! I don't feel like getting anything. I just wanted to buy some of these... collectibles. Pokémon cards. And not for me, tho, but for my lil' bro; he's into them. It'll be the first time he gets a Christmas gift from me, 'cause the budget is tight, hehehe~»
«I wonder why?»
«No, for real. I didn't buy anything expensive, on my granny's soul. I actually helped my parents out with some bills this time. Honestly, my first choice was to take him to McDonald's, but he told me he hasn't been craving that lately. I asked him and he basically told me to screw off. He didn't want it. Then I thought about getting Popeyes for the family… I don't know. Food is food, you know? Maybe another day. So I just went with the collectibles my mom used to buy him.»
«Ehhh, I see, I see»
Ignoring that granny's going straight to hell, after all, it was for his little brother. Sorry for insulting your taste, Isaac's little brother. Invite me to play Mario Kart 8 Deluxe again. I'll go easy on you and won't humiliate you like last time. Can you hear me? Am I muted? Blame your mascot for egging me on to actually play hard—don't blame me for giving in!
Finally, we went up to the counter. I ordered my beef burger, but life screwed me over and they'd run out. Disheartened, I began the cataclysm, invoking Cthulhu to destroy the world, and then paid for my stuff with some coins I pulled out of my pocket. Isaac, on the other hand, took out a bill and handed it to the clerk. After waiting for his change, we left the store.
Outside—at a distance from the gas station that was awkwardly far away—my real tantrum began, scaring off Cthulhu with a Slipknot scream: «FUUUuuuUUCCcccKKKK! AAAaaaAAHHhhHHGGgg, my beef burger, what the FUUuuuCCccccKKKKkk..! Whyyyyy?»
«Chiiilllll—!? The fuck? It's NOT that deep, dawg. Mofo' crying over a cheeseburger.»
«Have you ever tried it?»
«Nah, don't care to.»
«Exactly, so shut-your-mouth. You don't get it, you just don't get it. It's not even your average burger. It goes like: Beef, fries—the big, thick kind, you know what I mean?—and lettuce. Man, just thinking about it's making my shi' titanium! And you know why it's sold out? You know why? Because people know it's good as hell. And it's cheap! The owner's wife makes them, y'know?»
«Huh, word? For real?»
«Yeah, dude. Didn't you see the sign outside? They've been selling them for months. Honestly, I don't really care for the other stuff they sell. It's too basic, and I don't think she puts the same love into it as the burger. To be real, I have no clue. I just like the burger because it's delicious and it looks ten times better than their triple decker.»
«Uh... what do you call that, delusional right?»
«You call that being a nosy-ass person.»
«What does that even mean? Yo, listen, changing the subject,» Isaac began a new conversation as we walked toward my house: «I was checking out some games on the, the Steam and… Shit, since I ain't had much else to do, and I'm getting my paycheck at work today—and I've already bought gifts for my family and my girlfriend, you know?—I'm thinking 'bout treating myself to something as a gift, ya'feel me?»
«…For real?»
For Isaac and me—acting as his enthusiastic listener—chatting about these matters was a frequent routine whenever we were alone. It was simply because we had nothing else to do; in fact, we'd get bored if we didn't talk about something along those lines. We both shared a keen interest in games that many people find off-putting; as well as in other hobbies—or rather, pastimes—that we followed closely, since we're total geeks. Random things like anime, sports, movies, TikToks, Instagram Reels, and even politics.
Thanks to his job as a fast-food cashier, he earned enough money—albeit a modest amount compared to the national average—to indulge in the luxury of buying whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. And I could even hit him up for a little cash! Just a small amount, sure, but money is money!
That said, because I was still a minor, I had to endured a constant stream of updates about his acquisitions, whether they were video games, clothes, or accessories like bracelets for himself or his girlfriend. Thus, listening to his mundane whims had grown tiresome, especially since they sparked a faint twinge of envy in me.
«Mm-hmm. Or, uhm, I don't know. That's what came to my mind.»
«Did it cross your mind to buy something for me?»
«No.»
«...Okay, and what game are you thinking of getting?» I asked, cressfallen.
«Uhm... Well, I-dun-no, bro, if I'm being honest,» he answered unhurriedly and intermittently. «I mean... Uhm... Yeah, since we usually stick to online games—'cause, y'know, they're mad easy to get into and all that junk—I thought I'd try something different this time, y'feel me?»
«Different as in, like a story-driven game? A campaign?»
«"Story"...? Yeah-yeah, I think so. The ones you play!»
«The ones I pla—Wait, seriously?! Wow! You'd actually commit to playing things like that? Are you capable of reading the story instead of skipping it?»
«Tsk, what? Bro, I'm not a kid. I liked Red Dead 2, that game was fire. But, like I said, I've been looking at one that caught my eye, and I think it's got a well-planned story too, haha. Though I don't think it's exactly new-new or super-detailed, you know? I don't know when it came out, but it doesn't matter. You know what I mean, right? Right?» The corner of his upper lip curled slightly, almost forming a full grin.
«Uhm... no?»
Unless you specify which game you're talking about, it's impossible for me to figure it out with such a vague description as the one you gave me. Although, based solely on it, like "not that new-new," "campaign," "not multiplayer"—I assume you mean "the ones you play"—and "not-so-ultra-detailed story," could it be Gacha games? I wish it were that—I'd be blown away. Should I ask that?
«Deadass? You?! Hah! I ain't buying it.» He reacted gawkily, raising his eyebrows and flashing a mocking smile. He really loves making that face.
«Hm, what...? W-What are you talking abo—? ...Okay, dude. Listen: how the fuck am I supposed to know that shit? Millions of games come out every year, thousands every month, and hundreds every week. Indie or corporate—why the fuck should I care? I'm not some fat, buttery chud who spends all day doom-scrolling through game releases to avoid getting off his greasy-ass gaming chair and order Uber Eats every five fucking minutes.»
«Hah, damn. Chill, I—I was just saying stuff, that's all. Although, if someone sees you from a distance, they'd think you are one, tho'. You just look the part, dawg.» He persisted with his unpleasant, widened gesture as he reached out to grab my buzzed hair.
I pushed his hand off me and shot back: «Hah, what? I don't know what you're talking about. That's fucking relative, and if we're talking stereotypes, I'm pretty skinny and I'm more decent! Unlike you, every time I ask what you're up to, you're always like, "Oh, I'm jerking off"—just like those pot-bellied, discord-moderators slobs. You're disgusting—kill yourself,» I retorted bitterly.
That was an hypocrite comment, but why would I share it too?
«Ha-ha-ha! Okay-okay! Chill-chill with your fancy-ass words. My bad, alright? But back to the point, okay? You don't know which game I'm talking about, do you? Listen, uh: it's not something fire or… fantastic, exceptional, you see, but it's different from what we usually play, y'know?»
«I-I understand what you're saying but I don't know game, man. That's it.» But I'll set that aside and ask instead: «So, what's it called?»
In the interim, I retrieved the seriously undervalued "Nature Power" from my satchel, opened the metal tab, and took a long sip. Oh, my God, it's heavenly! My throat had been dry for quite a while, and following my chatter with this orangutan, I needed a drink amidst this harsh winter. By all means, I might even eat an ice-cream.
Mmm, yummy! The invigorating flavor of the fruit caressed the back of my palate, eliciting a gratified exhalation—Waahhh! Until that ephemeral ecstasy was abrutply disrupted by the ensuing sentence of this clown:
«"Heart Breaker"! That's the name. It's, uh… a dating simulator.»
«Ghngg—Psssh...Cough, cough, cough!» I chuckled under my breath.
«Oh, you good?»
A dating sim? Did I hear that right? A dating sim, he said without a hint of remorse.
A dating sim, huh? A very, very eye-opener disclosure. That wasn't exactly what I had in mind—No, perhaps I'm understating it: I couldn't even have envisaged a four-dimensional version where those words were dictated with such solemnity between us. But I can at least appreciate his enthusiasm. What a fucking loser, ha-ha! Rofl, rofl, woof, woof!
«Wh-What, what were, what were you saying? What game?»
«Heartbreak—Hea... Tsk, man, get yo' lame—get the fuck out!»
«What?»
«You're laughing at me, bro.»
«What?! No—I'm not, I wasn't! It was just, cough... unexpected: It was totally different kind of game from what we usually play, you know? Like, I don't see any problem with it, I guess. There's no accounting for taste: different strokes for different folks, right? It's okay.»
Heart Breaker, huh? A dating sim, huh... Again, huh? If it is a dating simulator, based solely on its title, then in all likelihood the protagonist is some manner of philanderer or womanizer, and the objective is to shatter as many hearts—metaphorically, obviously, or could be also a horror game?—as possible to accumulate experience and rank up achievements to satisfy your alpha-male inner-soul... I don't know.
Perhaps I jumped to conclusions a bit, didn't I? I hope I did.
«Well, tell me: what's it about? Do you know the story? No-no-no: does it have a story in the first place? Or is like uh, Yandere Simulator or... I don't know?» I hoped for a concise explanation as I slowly sipped my drink. I just don't know, simple.
«Uh, no-no. It definitely have a story. I think, ha-ha! I was looking at the game description, and it had a lil' intro, y'know? So I guess it has a story. And It's not entirely simple to explain 'cause I don't remember everything, but I'll try.»
«....Huh? What do you mean "try"?»
I couldn't suppress a sensation of trepidation at his response.
"Try"? What you do you mean "try"? What does he actually mean by "try"?
He claimed he doesn't remember and it won't be that simple: is it that complicated? It's like Elden Ring? No, that's impossible! There's no way that wretched, ill-omened nonsense of a game can be compared to Miyazaki's artistic majesty. I remember watching a damn nine-hour video specifically about its lore; this affront to romanticism and idealism wouldn't even cover a fraction of its total content.
Still, it is quite possible that he's only trying to provide some context. Yet, albeit my superiotiy complex, I had a bad feeling his supposed explanation would turn into a misinterpretation of what he remember—an extremely drawn-out one—and that, as a result, my attention wouldn't hold for long..... Ugh, I don't want to, I don't want to!
«Wait, wait, before that! D-Don't you have your phone handy? Google it instead.»
«Oh, nah: I didn't bring it. Don't know why, tho'.»
«...Fuck, me neither.»
I'm doomed.
«Aight, look: you trynna listen, or not?»
«Just go ahead, bro.»
«Alright, bet. Listen: the MC, the protagonist is a handsome guy—like, a really good-looking dude,» Isaac began, and I rolled my eyes at his over-the-top emphasis on the protagonist's looks. «He's a foreigner: white dude, half-American and half-Japanese, who decided to study in Japan 'cause of, you know, the whole better education shit.»
Firstly: It seemed plausible to me, I suppose, about him being white—though it's painful to admit, and I imagine even more so for him. Secondly, the truth is I'd also like to visit Japan, even if it was purely for academic enrichment purposes. The problem is, unfortunately, my skill on the Japanese language is freaking zero. Just forget your dreams and die.
Isaac kept going: «So, moving on to the school, even though he's obviously popular with a bunch of chicks there, there are these rumors, right? Like, rumors that he dated a ton of women at once back in America 'cause he got this charm and knows how to connect with people. And supposedly, he 'broke their hearts'—but that shit ain't even true, y'know? The protagonist just be like 'chill, leave me alone and shit' and wants like a... proper love, romance, relationship with one of the girls. With one of the main female characters in the game, actually, not just anyone. But they all think the worst of him, you get it? It's so, uh… miserable!»
If that's all there is to it, then the narrative is as ustere and heavy-laden as a contemporary painting in a museum in Naples. Even if my assumption wasn't entirely accurate and the story took a complete 180-degree turn, the whole "heartbreaker" theme would still, in part, prevail.
«Okay...! Huh, y-yeah. Yeah, I'd say it is miserable,» I replied. «Like: Imagine living your life constantly overwhelmed by rumors that you're some Casanova who tosses women aside like dirty rags. That's awful. Who's that guy think he is?»
«Bro, what are you even talking about?!» He protested incredulously. «It's not awful for that reason… No, okay, yeah—I'll give you that, you're... meh, right. But, listen carefully and process my words: it also makes having a peaceful romantic life, or just a life in general, basically impossible when everyone sees you that way... Do you understand now, brain-dead?»
He's getting annoyed unexpectedly and unnecessarily.
«You're being accused, blamed, i-incriminated, and harassed just for being... Attractive! I mean, the whole point of the game is clearing up that misunderstanding and building good relationships with your friends, y'know...? At least, that's what I'm guessing—I don't know, dawg. I'm just saying shit. But, at least, would your fucked-ass brain even grasp that shit? Though, I'm sure it wouldn't by asking those dumb-ass questions.»
Wow, what the fuck? Why out of the sudden he start insulting me?
His vitriol instantaneously enraged me, quite a bit: «Huh...!? I genuinely don't know what the hell are you on, bro. Why the fuck are you insulting me, huh? Who do you think you are? Do you want to get beaten up in the street, boy?»
I threatened, clenching my fists in anticipation.
«Wow, what? Heh, w-who's this kid even talking to?» He asked sarcastically, looking around as if searching for an audience. «Oh, deadass? Me, you...?! Okay, okay, I see: go ahead, then. Try it, bitch! Connect, here-here,» He taunted, that same derisive smirk plastered across his countenance.
Those proved to be his final words.
At that juncture, I adjusted my shopping bag with my right arm.
«Pfft, chill out, man. I'm just kidding. I wouldn't even hurt a fl—»
Then, in an instant, I executed a backhand swing, extending my arm towards Isaac's flank, aiming for his stomach. With considerable force, my knuckles connected squarely with his gut.
«Wooow—A-Arhg! S-Shit...!» Isaac, momentarily folding over himself, clutched at the center of his abdomen to safeguard it from further assault as he gasped wretchedly for air.
«Hahahahaha! You thought I wasn't going to do it?!»
Oops, I just laughed. That's a declaration of war. What's more, I really wasn't planning on attacking him; yet, for some reason, my instincts kicked in and my limbs moved on their own. That wasn't my fault, my hand low-key slipped!
«What the—brother, what? How the f—Shit! How the fuck you hit me so hard? Nah, nah, nah... Oh my God, wow... You're a.… pussy...» Still endeavoring to regain his composure, he positioned himself near a light pole, his right arm propped against it.
«I'm finna beat yo' ass, for real!» He cooed.
Notwithstanding that animosity and dangerously aggressive words, he apparently wasn't going to provoke me anymore, as evidenced by his weathered appearance; and the fight was over before it started. Did I really hit him that hard or he's trying to counterattack me?
«Ooohh! Yeah, yeah.»
Nonetheless, I was unable to contain this exasperating, mischievous smirk out of my face, so I discreetly covered my lips with the palm of my hand, crinkling my cheeks behind my nails as I proceeded to inquire: «So, are you going to buy that shit for Christmas? I mean the game.»
«Oh, I see. We're moving on, huh. Okay, yeah. Think you're slick, huh?» Isaac seemed to catch on quickly: «...Yeah, I'm gonna buy it», then he sketched, fatigued.
«Oh, for real? I thought you were into games like Horror or shooters like CS:GO, Valorant? Roblox, heh?! Maybe 2K too? That's your favorite, right?»
«The fuck that's supposed to mean?»
«Who knows?»
«Whatever, man. You're racist as fuck,» he mumbled while crouching down, leaning his back against the same light pole. «I'll probably just scream right now: "A skinhead just hit me!"»
«W-What the—? No, you're crazy. You won't do that stupid shit.»
«Oh, you wanna bet? I'll pay you back with some bullshit now...» He screeched, inhaling deeply, expanding his thoracic cavity with air and feigning an imminent outburst. Yet: «U-Ugh, cough, cough...! Goddam! Man, what the fuck?» A sharp spasm coursed through his chest.
«Oh shit, ha-ha. See? That's what you get for thinking about stupid shit… Oh, man. I feel sorry for you. Yo, are you okay now? Calm down, take a deep breath, c'mon.»
«Man, get your nasty hands off me! Bitch! W-Whose fault do you think this is, huh?! You hit me hard as hell!»
«Ya', sorry, really. I lost my temper—I didn't mean to, you know?» I laughed again, unconsciously.
«And you're laughing in my face.»
Sorry, but watching Isaac like this is just too amusing. Is that what they call "Guilty pleasure"? Scientifically, I somehow correlate it with sadism, or even that infamous homoerotic interpretation based solely on this context. What the hell am I thinking...? Whatever, if it's like this...!
«Alright, you good now, babe~?» I asked pleasantly, with my wholesome-softy mommy voice, as if genuinely concerned about his well-being and not purely acting for whatever reason. «Are you feeling better now, mmm~? What were you telling me a little while ago?»
This sort of follow-up only happens if I feel like I might've gone a tad too far. Even with someone as the irritating, antagonizing, vexatious, pesky, bothersome, and annoying-looking Isaac. But, on top of that, I really was asking myself: How would he react to this, though? I'm curious.
«What? Ah, you're gay.»
Ah, as expected.
«Yeah, I'm fine, baby.»
Ah, as unexpected.
«Ewwww! Who is this ugly-ass freak calling "baby"? Bleh...! Kill it, kill it!
«I'm gonna torture you. Oh, fuck…! Okay, I'm good now. And what I was sayin—!»
«—!?»
He executed a rather maladroit, disagreeable feint, trying to strike me twice like a gorilla, which compelled me to hastily protect myself and sharply deviate from his path. I'm now like 2 feet away from him.
You know, I'm fully aware that his blows inflict considerable pain and agony, and I experienced a bit of astonishment when mine landed as such, given that my arms are like spaguetti, that it consequently made me question if I'm really that powerful; was I part of an Isekai? Although, without a doubt, if I were to get one singular punch from him, I would be incapacitated, that's why I escaped.
Yes, I'm a coward. Who wants to feel pain and agony? Are you stupid?
«.....Oh, yeah? Yeah, that's what I thought!»
«What? I don't want to be punched.»
«Your ass deserve to be punched, for real.»
«You wanna fight? Now? I'm ready, man, come on.»
Say no. Say no. Say no.
«...Tss, nothing, just forget it. Okay, huh... Tsk, this is your fau—Man, I'm angry as fuck! I'm going to destroy the world. This is your fault, I completely forgot where I was.»
«Ah, that. You were going to explain something about the, huh, the game,» I jogged his memory.
«Ah, right-right-right! Hmm, yeah. Like I said, I like our usual stuff, but I'm just tryna see what else is out there, y'know? Something completely different from what we normally play. And yeah, it's a dating sim. It ain't even no weird shit, it's curiosity. I'm just curious, dawg. But I wasn't even about to explain nothing to you—Wait! No, bro, I literally already told you the plot. What the fuck?»
«What do you mean you told me? You didn't say nothing. But, anyway, I really want to ask you something: why, like, why would you buy that game, specifically, when there are better genres available in the stores? Is there something special about this game that makes it so unique?»
«Well, first of all, the fuck do you care? It could be fire.»
«I really don't give a shit; you're the one yapping about it. Besides, your logic makes zero sense. In the end, it's just gonna turn out like all the other anime trash you find: pedo-bait slop.»
«Bro, you literally play Osu!, what right do you have to talk?»
«Dude, that's different: it's a rhythm game, dumbass!»
«But it's literally just anime music, right?! It's related; cousins. Plus, I remember you told me you bought the uh... Doki Doki, DDLC, the Literature Club, right? That game with the four girls and something like that. That's hypocrisy, that's irony, that's "Blasphlegm"!»
«It's "blasphemy", you fucking idiot.»
By law, he's an adult, yet here he is, arguing about stuff like this. Ridiculous.
«What, really?»
«Either way, you think that's the same? You're so stupid. It doesn't even have the psychological label on its list, does it? On your game.»
«Ah, I don't know. You got me—I haven't checked. But I'm just, like, interested because it's different than usual. I'll low-key repeat this shit all day. Plus, I'm sure you'd buy it too.»
«Nope... Nope, nope, nope. Nah, don't drag me on that. No way, I don't like dating games, that's weird as fuck.»
«Now, that's cap, and you know it. You're just playing around with me.»
«...W-What? Who's gonna, Who's gonna want to play with you?» I delivered a brusque denigration. «You're fat, you're ugly, your voice is noise pollution, you have a 0.2 GPA, you're in pornographic Telegram and WhatsApp groups, and you still message OnlyFans models on Instagram as if you were a Discord moderator dealing with 11-year-old girls. You're a predator. You'd better make an effort to recognize who you are and accept your position as a natural nuisance.»
«...Hah, I-I have no words. Here you go again with that super-duper geek speech. How did you learn to speak so fast? Is that why you're so explosive and mean to me? You're breaking my heart. Wait... Maybe... are you a tsundere? I'm not a dere! Tsun-tsun-dere! Ta-ra-ra-ra-ra-ta—ra-ra-ra-ra!»
He questioned me incredulously, gasping and exaggerating his disbelief like Edvard Munch's "The Scream," foreseeing a type of stereotypical attitude from me in some other way as he sang in vain. No seriously—what kind of reaction was he looking for?
Likewise it was my fault. Despite his sporty appearance, I forgot that this guy is a straight-up "otaku". How is he so popular acting like this? Why people talk to this guy? Why do I talk to this guy? How did I meet him? Why did I meet him? A-ha-ha, it's Rewind time.
Nonetheless, the only response I could bother to make was disdainful expression as I looked at his eyes imperturbably with indifference and repugnance. That is, staying quiet and just staring.
«Okay, my fault. I'll stop.»
«That's why she cheated on you.»
As soon as I uttered those words, I ran desperately.
«What, what?! Nah-nah, what?! Hey, repeat that! What did you say? Yo, come back, come back. Brother, get yo' ass back in here.» His face reddened with vexation.
I provoked him by blurting out a sentence I shouldn't have mentioned, but the redress I get from annoying him makes me generate a soft contentment. «Haha, I'm kidding, kidding, man. Just don't talk any more stupid-shit!»
«Tsk. Well, I'm not a pussy like you—I can control myself!»
He accompanied his word with a gesture of a scolded kid, while slightly leaning his body down in dejection. In the end, I think I pretty much destroyed him emotionally. I'm surprised he didn't punch me throughout the course of this walk, and I'm kind of glad.
***
Before I knew it, we'd reached my front door. Just before saying goodbye, Isaac mentioned: «Well, uh... Yo, if you want... If you want, uh, I can lend you the game once I get it. Just give me a call; I'll let you hold onto it for a few days.»
«Hmm, what? No, why? Why? Y-You don't have to do that. I've seen how much you want to play it, at first. With that long-ass introduction, and you going savage because I didn't understand the mindset of that Playboy, or sum'. I don't want to ruin the experience for you or... I don't know, I don't think there's a reason.»
Not that I want it anyway, and truly I don't know what I was saying. I mean—lend it to me? Would he really give me his Steam account just like that, and merely for this? I'd asked this fuckass to share Subnautica with me before, and he never did. He's the embodiment of selfishness, sometimes.
«Dude, what? What are you talking 'bout, man? You won't ruin anything. If it were about the 'experience,' YouTube videos would spoil it way more, but with you, I don't have to worry. Actually, it'd be a sort of motivation—in case you end up liking it, y'feel me?»
«Nah-nah-nah, I'm telling you, you're hyping this game up way too much. And, uh... Wait, w-why did you say "a few days"? What, what does that mean? You want me to play it first, what?»
«Oh, yeah! The thing is, by the time I buy it, I won't even be able to play it 'cuz I'll be spending all day with family for like, weeks I think? We're going on a trip, y'know?»
«Wait, what? Really? Where are you going?»
«We're going to my grandpa's place in Chicago. It's a visit for Christmas and New Year's type shit.»
«Ohh, shit, Chicago!? And you're telling me now? That's crazy.»
«Yeah, no. I forgot, tee-hee~» What a terrible friend. «We leaving tomorrow morning.»
«I see... Well... Don't know, nice trip, I guess. But still, if you're going to buy it, you can play it whenever you want. Don't be so whiny. Doesn't your grandparents' house have a computer? Or, I don't know... you have a laptop? If so, you can just log into Steam there and, uhm... Bleh—» I began barking like a rabid dog.
«What? No, it's not—hah, you' tripping. It's not a Steam exclusive, dawg. You can buy it there, fo'sure, but the game also comes in disc format for Play Station. And I want that.»
«...Wait, what?» I asked, dumbfounded. «Play, PlayStation? You're shitting me, what? Seriously? N-Nahhhh! Are you serious? The PS5? Uno, dos, tres, cuatro, cinco?! The "five" I have in mind? You're kidding? No way. Wait, no, that's not the question: are you really going to buy it for you to have it displayed on your room as a trophy next to your math books?»
«Yeah, what? Something wrong with that?»
There's nothing inherently wrong with it. It just caught me off guard, that's all. How he chooses to spend his money is his prerogative.
«Nah, nah, it just... Aight, whatever. So, what you're gonna do then?»
«Uhm... First, I'm heading home, and then I'll call the dude who's going to drop it off. After checkin when he's coming I'll just wait, I'll pay him, and that's it. Easy.»
«Huh? S-So, you've already bought it. What the fuck? I thought you were going to do it today at... I don't know, somewhere.» I retorted, laced with skepticism.
«Yeah, well: duh! Ain't no malls around here to check out games, you know that.»
«Uh, okay, you're right... And actually, even if there were a mall here, it'd be impossible to find the game anyway, and it would end up being a huge waste of time. After all, nobody knows about that shitty-ass game but you, right? Where did you buy it? Whose game is it, man?!»
I wasn't entirely incorrect. The game was murky—decidedly underhanded, at best. "Niche" if you're willing to cope. Still, I had no intention of dampening his enthusiasm; I care about this kid.. Tell me: am I joking or not? Comment down below!
«Honestly, I dunno. The developers were Japanese, but there was a guy who spoke English. I messaged him on Discord, and he told me he had a copy. But I'm not losing anything tho', not even time—I got the whole day free. My schedule's wide open today. Miserable as it is. If I manage to find it, I'll snap a pic for you. Then I'll let you hold onto it for a while.»
His insistence was almost admirable in its absurdity. «Dude, I already told you, It's fine. Just stash it in your room or something. It's not that complicated.»
«Nah, but don't it ever hit you? Like, when you buy something new, you just gotta check it out right then and there. Like, it don't even matter what it is, it's that anticipation, you feel me? Same way you try on clothes before buying 'em. If you look good, you rock them the same day or the next. It's the same thing. Don't you play your games right after you buy 'em? Who the hell buys something just to play it next week? That's stupid. And you don't consider yourself stupid, right?»
«Uh... yeah,» I hesitated, momentarily wrong-footed by his syllogistic reasoning. He's just saying words.
«Plus, as you said, I want you to play it too.»
«...Me? Really?»
«Yeah. I swear on everything, it's gonna be something new for you. And if you don't like it, it's straight—you just gotta tell me. I just... want you to have some fun, man.»
«...Excuse me?»
«Every time I passed by your class during recess, you always look down... Look, bro, I know your story. You told me that one day, and it hit me hard. And... I feel you, you know? It's lowkey... I don't know, I just want you to be more of yourself. The only thing that gets you hyped is talking about what you like, like games, anime, and your little hobby of judging people, heh. That's sad but... that's why we be up all night online, right? I'm just asking you to take this to push yourself into something outside your comfort zone. And, I repeat, if you don't like it, it's fine. At least you tried, and that's what matters. You ain't wasting your time. We on break, we don't got no homework, and this game prolly only last like 3 hours. That's light work for you. C'mon, man, let me see a smile.»
Ugh, I see. An unusual soft-sounding gabbing. So, that's really the meaning behind this go-getting intention. Should I stifle this sublime rebuke with a mockingly critical and completely unrelated comment? Yet, from what I consider to be certainly remarkable in others, and those who are closest to me, or at least, through some circumstance in life know about that past—my past—, it's not really important.
It's not important, really. Yeah, not in the slightest—that's what I consider. Thus, telling me this, it won't affect me at all. I've already gotten over it, and I'm quite encouraged to forget it. In spite of, to reward that unavailing, inconspicuous demonstration of worryness, I forced a weak, unsavory smile, letting out a half-hearted:
«Heh... You happy?»
«Yeahh, good boy!»
«I'll punch you again.»
«Pfft! Aight, aight; you won't do nothing, either way.» Grinning broadly, he hoisted his hands up admitting he was beat. «But real talk: do you want me to give it to you? I said twice, I'll say it again, just for your slow ass: I ain't pressed if you say no, but I'm gonna cop it for myself either way. I'm real curious about it. Plus, it's cheap, so it ain't even a big deal.»
Isaac, Issac. You really got me thinking—Congratulations.
Taken aside your disquiet: truth is, I rarely lower my guard to new experiences. I'm far too happy with sticking to what I know. A conformist mindset is what I like, and that's not bad I believe.
Regardless, the idea of something crafted so perfectly, as if it was made inside a lab by scientist specialized to captivate the minds of today's youth, particularly in the realm of romance, and especially tailored for the incel male audience with the aim that they yearn for a school-life full of butterflies, stirred a flicker of inquisitiveness within me.
It made the concept of "giving it a try" feel like a solid... "Let's see."
That said, I must state upfront: if I reach the point where it bores me or disgusts me with its overly saccharine depictions of impossibly cute characters, sexualized imagery for floppy dicks to be masturbated, and tiresome, immoderately voice acting, I'll never touch anything like it again.
«Alright,» I said with a resigned sigh. «I'll take it.»
«Knew you'd say that,» Isaac grinned. «Tryna practice how to get a girlfriend, with them 2D huzz!»
«...On second thought, maybe you should just kee—»
«Nah-nah-nah! C'mon, man. Don't be like that. You know—Yeah! You know how are you with %̸͇͇̠͚̿͂͗͠5̶̬̔̀̅ḵ̸̝̐͒̿i̵̜͖͗͂̃I̷͓̓̀l̸̻̳̰̿͝#̶̱̈́.»
«…W-Why are you bringing her up? You know that's not how it is: I'm not into her.»
«Please, don't give me that bullshit. It's been—what? Two years? And you keep saying the same thing. Okay, look, let me tell you something, let me propose something: What would you do if—?»
«I'm not going to lis—»
«Just this once, okay? Just this once—then answer however the hell you want. What would you do if %̸͇͇̠͚̿͂͗͠5̶̬̔̀̅ḵ̸̝̐͒̿i̵̜͖͗͂̃I̷͓̓̀l̸̻̳̰̿͝#̶̱̈́ came up to you, and...? Well, okay, shit: it's just the two of you, alone, out for a walk like always—I mean, bro, are you for real! How the fuck are you not in love with her?!»
«Are you mad?»
«Don't even joke, lad, I'm bloody mad. Okay, uhm. Like I told you, what would you do if she told you she liked you?»
«That's not possible.»
«Brother, just imagine it, then. Imagine a... hypo-tenuse—no, uh—hypo-hypo-thet-ical. Hypothetical, shit! I need to open my mouth more to pronounce hard-ass words like that. Blahhhh! Alright, a hypothetical situation. I'm not saying it's true... maybe it is, I don't know.»
«It isn't.»
«Hypothetical then... Stop bugging me with that, bro. Alright: What would you do if she likes you...? Tell me, what would you do? She walks up to you... y'all just chatting and walking like usual, and all of a sudden, she gets serious and confesses her feelings. Hold on, you gotta chill with whatever response you about to give me, I saw your mouth opening like hell was 'bout to break loose, it's just a "what if." What would you do: accept her or turn her down?»
«¡¿...?! Uhhh… No—»
«WHAT?!»
«No, I-I don't know. I've never thought about it. She's just a good friend, man. Stop messing with me.»
«Ahhh... AHHHHHH! You're such a... coochie-coochie-coo!» He threw his hands up, mentally squashing me flat, and babying me with a dulcet tone contrary to the smiling demon face that expressed. «Wahhh... Anyway, it's getting late. Forget what I said... Actually, don't, you need to learn a few things, man... Life ain't just gonna drop what you want right on your doorstep. Don't be scared of the unknown. Take the initiative, or we always gonna be stuck wondering "what if" or talking about hypotheticals...»
«...Why are you saying this to me? Did she say something to you?»
He shrugged. «Who knows? Why don't you talk to her? I'll hit you up the second I've got the game. I don't even know what I'll be doing next.» His grin faltered into an awkward smile, but there was no mistaking the satisfaction on his face. He was genuinely happy to see one of his friends willing to try something he enjoyed. It's just a shame that friend had to be me.
The worst part is that I started thinking about… Forget it.
After we parted ways with a friendly fist bump, I turned toward the door, key in hand, and stepped inside my house.