Chapter 3: The Hangover and the Genie
Kyle stirred awake, his cheek pressed flat against the rough carpet of his bedroom floor. The headache hit him before he even opened his eyes, throbbing behind his temples in time with the sharp morning sunlight cutting through the blinds. His mouth felt like he had swallowed a handful of dry sand.
Groaning softly, he pushed himself up onto his elbows. The room spun for a second, then leveled out. Discarded clothes, empty plastic cups, and a stray neon wristband littered the floorboards around him.
He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes, and blinked at the bed.
Sprawled across the mattress was the dark-haired guy from last night, looking massive under the thin duvet with his heavy shoulders and long, messy locks. Kyle scratched at his pink spikes, his brain lagging behind as he tried to piece together the blurry flash of dance lights, booming bass, and sticky bar counters. He reached out and shook the man by the arm.
"Yo... shit, what was your name again? Roha. That's it. Yo Roha, rise and shine, bro."
Roha groaned, a low rumble from deep in his chest, and slowly opened his eyes. The gold flecks in his grey iris caught the daylight, looking unnervingly sharp for someone who had matched Kyle drink for drink.
Kyle squinted at him from the carpet, rubbing the back of his sore neck. "Did I just like, pass out on the floor?"
Roha squints at Kyle, remaining flat on his back. "No. You chose to sleep on the floor and let me have the bed. You said you were being magnanimous, though you mispronounced it four times and gave up."
Kyle burst out laughing, wincing immediately as the sound rattled inside his skull. "Yeah that sounds about right. Yo, dude. I have a mighty need for breakfast. How about you?"
Roha stared at Kyle for a long moment, unblinking, taking in the chaotic mess of pink hair and cheerful hangover optimism.
"Sure," Roha said.
Kyle scrambled to his feet, swaying slightly before finding his balance. He offered a hand to Roha, who ignored it and simply sat up in one fluid, impossibly graceful movement. The heavy gold band on his wrist glinted against his brown skin. Kyle led the way out of the bedroom and into the short hallway, his bare feet padding softly on the hardwood.
The apartment was quiet, smelling of stale citrus seltzer and last night's takeout. Kyle made a beeline for the kitchen, opening the cabinet above the sink. He reached past three empty bottles of hot sauce and grabbed a brightly colored cardboard box of sugary cereal.
"I hope you like marshmallows shaped like space helmets," Kyle said, setting the box down on the counter with a thud. He pulled two mismatched ceramic bowls from the drying rack.
Roha leaned against the kitchen island, crossing his muscular arms over his chest. He watched Kyle dump an excessive mountain of neon grain into both bowls with quiet, bewildered fascination. "This is what you consume for sustenance?"
"Bro, it is fuel for the soul," Kyle declared, opening the fridge to fish out a carton of whole milk. He sloshed it generously over both heaps, grabbed two metal spoons, and slid one bowl across the counter. "Dig in."
Before Roha could pick up the spoon, a door clicked open down the hall.
Joaquin shuffled into the kitchen, yawning wide and scratching at his bare chest. His hair was a disaster, sticking up in every direction, and he wore only a pair of loose grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips. He squinted at the two of them, processed the scene, and nodded.
"Morning," he said, voice rough with sleep. He shuffled to the coffee maker and leaned against the counter, his gaze sliding over to Roha with zero surprise. "Sup, bro."
Roha blinked. He looked at Kyle, then at Joaquin, then back at Kyle. It was the first time in centuries he had seen two humans greet each other's company with such casual disregard for context.
"Sooo," Joaquin started, "How was Vex?"
Kyle stops shoveling cereal into his mouth, "Dude."
Joaquin grinned, the lazy smile of someone who had just pieced together exactly what that meant. "Dude, right?!"
"It was crazy," Kyle said, dropping his spoon to gesture wildly. Milk splattered onto the counter. "We had so much fun. The sound in that place is wild."
Joaquin nodded along, pouring himself a cup of coffee. "The new system they installed is insane. I heard they spent like thirty grand on bass drivers."
Kyle pointed his spoon at Roha. "You should see this guy dance. He's got moves."
Joaquin turned his full attention to Roha, studying him with open curiosity. Broad shoulders, long dark hair, that heavy gold band on his wrist. The guy looked like he had wandered off a movie set, not a dance floor. "Yeah? You into clubbing too? I got this new spot y'all should check out Friday night, some experimental shit going on in there. I'll get you both on the list. What's your name, bro?"
Roha stared at him. An ancient being, bound by magic beyond mortal comprehension, stood in a cramped apartment eating cereal with marshmallows shaped like space helmets, and this lean, half-dressed stranger was asking his name like he had just met him at a farmers market.
"I'm Roha."
Joaquin grinned, all warmth and easy confidence. "Nice to meet ya, Roha. I'm Joaquin. Welcome to mi casa."
He raised his coffee mug in a small toast before taking a sip.
Roha looked down at his bowl of neon cereal. He picked up the spoon and turned it over, watching the milk drip off the edge. He had seen empires rise and fall. He had watched plagues sweep across continents. He had once spent forty years trapped inside a brass vessel while a king's entire court argued over who had dropped it.
None of it had prepared him for this.
"Thank you," he said finally, the words coming out slower than he intended. "I... appreciate the welcome."
Joaquin nodded like that made perfect sense. He grabbed the cereal box, eyed the cartoon astronaut on the front, and poured himself a bowl.
"So what's the story?" Joaquin asked Kyle, settling onto a barstool. "You just pick this guy up at Vex or what?"
Kyle snorted, milk nearly shooting out his nose. "Nah, bro, we met outside. He was just... around. You know how it is."
Roha opened his mouth, ready to correct the record. To explain the lamp, the three wishes, the binding magic that now tethered his immortal existence to a pink-haired club enthusiast. But the words caught in his throat.
Kyle was smiling at him, eyes bright despite the hangover, like he was genuinely glad Roha was there.
"That's cool," Joaquin said, crunching on his cereal. "We're gonna have a good time Friday. You into industrial beats or more house vibes?"
Roha set down his spoon. The magic hummed somewhere deep in his chest, a warm current that pushed him toward agreement. He didn't fight it.
"Whatever Kyle enjoys," he said.
Kyle's face lit up. "Bro. That's the most supportive thing anyone's ever said to me." He reached across the counter and grabbed Roha's shoulder, squeezing it. "The magic of friendship, right?"
Joaquin laughed. "Dude, you're so weird when you're hungover."
"I'm always like this." Kyle's grin widened.
Roha sat very still, watching the two of them trade jokes and cereal, and slowly took another bite. The sweetness hit his tongue, entirely foreign against his centuries-old palate. He chewed, swallowed, and found that it wasn't unpleasant.
Joaquin crunched his cereal, eyeing Kyle over the rim of his bowl. "So you got work today or what?"
Kyle groaned, scraping the last of the marshmallows from his bowl. "Yeah, I got a shift at the pizza shop this afternoon. Plenty of time for the hangover to dissipate, bro. I'll just nap on the bus."
Joaquin nodded, then turned his attention to Roha. "What about you, man? What do you do for work?"
Roha set his spoon down slowly. He glanced at Kyle, then back at Joaquin, and said it like it was the most normal thing in the world. "I grant wishes."
The kitchen went quiet for half a second. Kyle blinked, his spoon hovering halfway to his mouth. "You grant wishes?"
Joaquin didn't miss a beat. "Dude, that's awesome! My cousin's neighbor's kid had cancer. They sent him to Disney World."
Kyle's eyes went wide. "Roha! What a guy! I bet your job is super rewarding, huh?"
Roha looked back and forth between them. Kyle was beaming at him like he'd just cured world hunger. Joaquin was nodding along, completely serious, like "granting wishes" was a totally standard profession that came up at parties all the time. Neither of them seemed to question anything.
They're both morons, he concluded.
Still, the magic hummed in his chest, warm and insistent. It nudged him toward response, toward connection. Roha cleared his throat. "It... can be a difficult profession."
"Man, I bet," Joaquin said, shaking his head with genuine sympathy. "All those people, all those hopes. Must be exhausting."
"Emotional labor," Kyle agreed, nodding sagely. "I respect it, bro. That's real work."
Roha opened his mouth, considered correcting them, then closed it again. There was no version of this conversation where explaining the truth made anything better. He picked up his spoon and took another bite of cereal instead. The marshmallows crunched against his teeth.