Happiness Before Sadness

"You can leave now. Be a good boy for me."

ᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠ𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕱𝖔𝖚𝖗

When Az left the mansion while trying to ignore Ryan's odd comments and insults, he walked over to the bright orange motorcycle he used to arrive at the mansion and rode it over to the city square. There, he bought his favorite drink, strawberry lemonade, and sat back down on his motorcycle to gaze at the city of Illinois. 

"Hey, Az!" a voice called.

Az looked in the direction of the voice to see none other than his best friend and close associate, Zhi Peng, mostly known as Shooter. 

Shooter looked like he had a mother who repeatedly reassured herself by saying "It's just a phase." He was a tall Chinese boy with a long neon green mohawk that never seemed to stay calm, even if he were to apply the strongest gel known to man. His hair looked like a neon green mop factory gone wrong. Shooter had several different silver piercings—two eyebrow piercings, a septum piercing, five ear piercings on each ear, and a cheek piercing. He wore a vibrant oversized graphic tee, dark blue ripped jeans, and black sneakers. Shooter looked like he could've been a Pride Month statue with how many colors of the rainbow he was wearing.

"'Sup, Shooter," Az said while trying not to go blind from Shooter's mere appearance. 

Shooter blew a huge bubblegum bubble. "You're up early today, you good?"

"Nah, just went to see the old man Hades," Az replied, wondering why Shooter's outfits never seemed to match.

"So then you must've bumped heads with Ryan again," Shooter replied. "Be careful around him, he's vindictive. And gay. He has a thing for white green-eyed brunettes."

Az's green eyes glowed in the sunlight as he moved a lock of his dark brown hair away from his face. He started his motorcycle.

"Stop worrying or you'll go bald, Shooter," Az replied as he rode off. "Later!"

Shooter smiled at the sight of his friend riding away. "I guess I'll go bald, hum?" he muttered to himself.

/̵͇̿̿/'̿'̿ ̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ꒷꒦ ☆

Az parked his motorcycle near an old house and walked up to the door smiling.

The old house showcased gray weathered brick and peeling paint. The broken shutters were not helping. Neither was the roof adorned with aged shingles, or the ivy and climbing plants trailing along the walls of the house.

Az knocked on the old wooden door and not too long after, a small boy, David, creaked the door open. He suspiciously peered at the tall figure in front of him but when he realized that it was Az, his expression turned smiley.

"Hey, boss!" the small boy greeted as he opened the door wider. "You're back early."

David was a nine-year-old African American boy who was a close friend of Az. He had a puffy afro that always seemed to be softer than sheep's wool, however, he never permitted anyone to touch it. David wore a baggy white t-shirt with oversized light blue denim overalls.

Az stepped inside the old house which made the wooden floor creak. "Yup. Any news?" he asked while taking off his sneakers.

"Yup! Theodore said that the Japanese guys are coming the day after tomorrow," David replied as the two walked to a small, messy bedroom.

Az took off his hoodie and threw it, along with himself, on the unmade bed. "For the little reporting thing that they're doing? But I said no!"

"But now the cops will owe you one," David said with a playful wink. 

"Ugh, fine then." Az sighed in frustration. "Anything else?"

"Nope, everything's regular-degular." 

"Right. Thanks, David."

"Of course!" David responded as he wore Az's hoodie.

Az laughed. "Hey, take off my hoodie. What am I gonna wear when I leave?"

"Your shirt, duh," David grinned. "Please let me wear it! I feel so cool in this hoodie!"

"And you think I don't? I want my hoodie just as much as you do."

"No, you're wrong! I want this hoodie more than you. If you want it then catch me if you can!"

Az chuckled as he stood up and chased David all over the tiny room. After a few minutes, David stopped to catch his breath.

"Dang, you're fast!" he panted. "But not as fast as me, ha!"

"Man, I'm faster than the fastest fast you've ever seen."

"Wha... Anyway, I'm hungry. Do you have money? I wanna buy ice cream."

"Yeah, I have about fifty dollars... for me. Not a single cent for you, though."

"Rats! I'll never ever give you my food again, even if you say please!"

Az snickered. "Hey, I was only joking." 

He pointed to the pocket of his hoodie that David was wearing. "There's a ten dollar bill in there, use it to buy ice cream. Get me a medium vanilla."

"Yay, thank you, Az!" David grinned. "I will!"

He walked to the door and was about to leave the room until he turned his head to face Az.

"Hey, rumor has it that William has something to do with the murder."

Az exhaled deeply and stared at his socks. "Yeah, I thought as much. I'll have to settle things with him soon."

"Yeah," David said. "Bye-bye, Az!"

Az waved. "Later, Dave."

When David left the room, Az walked over to a small desk in the room and sat on the chair across from it. He took out the small bottle containing the odd substance from the pocket of his jeans and stared at it. 

This gives me a bad feeling, he thought. I'm just gonna go see my brother at the hospital. Hopefully, he doesn't start acting out again.

Az put the white substance back into his pocket and peeled off a sticky note from the pack. He then proceeded to write, "I went to see my brother. You can eat my ice cream. Try not to get fat. Cya. -Az"

/̵͇̿̿/'̿'̿ ̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ꒷꒦ ☆ 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕳𝖔𝖘𝖕𝖎𝖙𝖆𝖑

The hospital was not a regular one with blinding lights brighter than the sun and pale white walls that made you feel like you were enduring a punishment of white torture, it was a small home-based hospital owned by Doctor Steve and his assistant, Nurse Rachel. Az trusted both owners which was why his older brother, Rexford Alastar, stayed there for the time being.

Rexford was a war veteran who fought for the United States during the Iraq War. He had fluffy brown hair and a frowny face. Apparently, he used to smile all the time, but that was until he got shot in both his legs. He wore a black long-sleeved shirt and black shorts.

Rexford was busy frowning in his wheelchair when his younger brother approached him.

"Rex," Az said, "what is this 'deadly hooker' you've been mentioning?"

He crouched down and rested his hands on Rexford's knees. "I'm begging you, please say something," he pleaded, looking into his brother's sad eyes. "Did this 'deadly hooker' do this to you?" 

Az looked down at his brother's immobile legs as his eyes started to water. "Say something, Rex. Please."