Abraham's sitting room was buzzing that Saturday evening. The curtains were drawn halfway, letting in the last slants of daylight, while the fan squeaked lazily from the ceiling. Empty bottles of malt and half-finished packets of chin chin cluttered the center table. Emperor sat sprawled on the sofa, one leg bouncing restlessly, while Tamuno perched at the edge of a plastic chair like a man waiting for war. Abraham leaned back in his own chair, arms folded, already bracing himself for what was coming.
The match had just ended on TV — Manchester United versus Arsenal — and the room was hot with tension. United had scraped a win, and Emperor, a die-hard fan, was practically vibrating with energy.
"Guy!" Emperor slapped his thigh, grinning from ear to ear. "Una don see am? Shey una don see? Na why I dey always talk say United no dey carry last. Na we dey run this ball!"
Tamuno shot up from his chair, pointing an accusing finger at him. "Abeg shut up joor. Which ball? Na sheer luck carry una. Ref no even blow correct. If no be VAR wey dey misbehave, na Arsenal for humble una!"
"Tamuno, Tamuno," Emperor drawled, smirking as he leaned forward. "Shey you dey whine me? Arsenal? Arsenal wey sabi disgrace their fans steady? Abeg, no dey yarn dust."
"Dust kee you there," Tamuno snapped. His voice rose a notch, and he slapped the plastic chair. "Guy, watch your mouth oh. No dey talk like say your team no dey chop beating left and right."
Abraham sighed. "Una don start. I knew it."
But they ignored him. The air in the room was heating faster than the fan could handle.
Emperor leaned closer, eyes glinting with mockery. "Tamuno, see ehn, na so una dey every season — noise at the beginning, tears at the end. Arsenal no dey disappoint."
Tamuno's jaw tightened. "You dey craze? You think say na joke? At least my team dey play better football. No be your yeye counter-attack wey dey depend on luck!"
Emperor burst out laughing, clapping his hands. "Ewo! Better football? My guy, abeg sit down. Na Arsenal we dey talk about, abi na Barcelona? Abi na you wan dey compare Arteta with Ferguson?"
"Guy, no dey call Ferguson anyhow oh!" Tamuno shot back, rising halfway to his feet. "Respect yourself before I vex for you!"
"Vex for me?" Emperor stood up fully now, chest squared. "Oya vex na! Wetin you wan do? Abi you wan fight?"
"Fight dey hungry me sef," Tamuno barked, stepping closer.
Abraham sprang up, moving quickly between them. "Ah-ah, wetin be this? Na my house una wan scatter? Calm down!"
But the two friends were face-to-face now, their voices booming.
"Na so you dey do every time, Emperor. Always running mouth like say football na your papa property!"
"And na so you dey do, Tamuno. Arsenal go lose, you go still dey form philosopher. Abeg, shift joor!"
The plastic chair screeched as it toppled over, and Abraham threw his hands up. "Una wan break things abi? Calm down! Na ordinary match, no be World Cup."
"Na ordinary match wey your guy dey run him mouth anyhow?" Tamuno fumed, glaring.
"Na truth I talk," Emperor shot back, "Arsenal dey carry last steady. Na facts!"
"Facts kill you there!" Tamuno lunged forward slightly, and Abraham shoved him back with one hand, pressing Emperor against the wall with the other.
"Una don mad finish?" Abraham barked, his voice sharp enough to slice through the tension. "Shey una wan disgrace una self for my parlour? Calm down abeg!"
The room went quiet for a beat, their ragged breathing filling the silence.
Abraham shook his head, exasperated. "See una — grown men, behaving like pikin wey dey fight for puff puff. Na wa oh. If una wan fight, go ring road, no be inside my house."
Tamuno muttered under his breath, still fuming. Emperor clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes.
Abraham sighed, throwing his hands in surrender. "Fine. Make I just concede. Arsenal dey try small, okay? Happy now?"
Tamuno folded his arms, glaring but calmer. "Na so. Talk truth next time."
Emperor scoffed. "Concede no mean say I dey wrong oh. Na just Abraham dey play peacemaker. You sef know say your team dey fall hand."
Tamuno shot him a glare, but Abraham quickly stepped in. "Enough. Abeg make we hear word. Sit down make breeze enter una head."
As if on cue, a soft knock came from the door. Abraham frowned, then moved to open it. Standing there was Patience, his neighbor. She wore a simple gown, one that accentuated her curves, hair tied back neatly, a small bowl balanced on her palm. Her expression was curious, her brows slightly raised.
"Good evening, Abraham," she said lightly. "I just dey pass, but I hear noise. I hope say everything dey okay?"
Abraham chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Evening, Patience. No wahala. Na just football wahala. You know as e dey be."
Patience's gaze flicked past him into the room, where Tamuno was still scowling and Emperor muttering under his breath. She smiled faintly, as if amused. "Hmm. Football wahala. Na every weekend gist."
"Na so," Abraham admitted with a laugh. "Abeg no mind them. Dem no go kill me one day."
Patience extended the bowl. "Anyway, I fry plantain just now. I say make I bring small for you."
"Oh, thanks!" Abraham's smile widened, genuine. "You no suppose, but I appreciate."
She nodded, then glanced again into the noisy room. "Make I leave una. Greet your friends for me."
As she walked away, Emperor whistled low, elbowing Abraham. "Guy, who be that? Na your neighbor?"
Abraham rolled his eyes. "Yes. Her name na Patience. Make una no start."
Tamuno smirked, his temper forgotten. "Hmm. Patience wey dey bring plantain? Guy, na sign oh."
Abraham shook his head, dropping the bowl on the table. "Abeg make una chop and shut up."
The room filled again with laughter, the earlier heat cooling into easy banter. But deep inside, Abraham knew Patience's quiet knock had done more than interrupt the quarrel. It had introduced a new kind of tension altogether — one he wasn't sure he was ready to face.