Knuckles clonked against the front door.

“Ugh,” a voice groaned reluctantly. Footsteps flopped over from within the room. “Coming,” Wino said.

Crumpled papers crunched. Furniture shuffled along the carpet as he made for the door within the darkness. The front door to Wino’s apartment creaked open. Before him twirled Cheryl, dressed in an all-black, glittery evening gown. She posed for him, her foot perked up along her shin, tails of her dress pinched up between her fingers and her head cocked against her shoulder.

She smirked in her supple pink lipstick. “Ta-da! How do I lo—whoa?”

Wino could barely muster the strength to gaze upon her. Bags hung from under his eyes and his lips parted subtly. “Hey Cherry,” he muttered groggily.

“What happened to you?”

“Ugh.”

Wino’s eyes flapped out of sync like a lizard’s. He slumped against the doorframe granting Cheryl visual access to the room. The two living room sofas were out of place: one balancing atop its sturdy frame, dividing the kitchen and the living area while the other stood on its side against the window panes. The center table had been relocated to the corner against the wall facing the hallway; the fridge, lying on its back with both doors open, replaced it. It opened to the ceiling with clothes bulging out. Ibrahim snuggled atop this colorful stack of fabrics, snoring as if he were a tranquilized hippopotamus. Shoes scattered across the room, with kitchen utensils and food staining them.

“Oh my,” Cheryl gasped. “Did a tornado hit you? Or did it hit the whole U?”

“No,” Wino wined. “It’s Ibrahim.”

“I’m guessing this means we’re not having our date tonight, huh?”

Wino stared at her. She reluctantly scrunches her lips to one side of her cheek in response.

***

Cheryl tugged on her velvety pink pajamas decorated with images of strutting flamingoes.

“Thank goodness, I have a spare set of PJs here,” she said climbing into Wino’s bed.

She slid one knee atop the mattress, crawling over the sheets. Wino sat with the duvet folded along his lap. He flashed a melancholic smile.

“Thanks for cleaning up, Cherry.”

Beyond his door, slightly creaked open, the room had been tidied. The fridge stood within the kitchen, the sofas had been realigned and all the food scraped into a seal-tight, white trash bag. Ibrahim lied unconscious, one leg stretched out along the sofa while the other dangled with his arm over the ledge. A puddle of saliva gurgled from his open throat as he drifted deeper into cerebral twilight. Wino’s room remained the only lit space within the apartment, replacing the front door as the oasis of illumination.

Cheryl tucked herself in, asking, “So, what did Ibrahim do this time?”

“He’s been having nightmares this past week.”

“He doesn’t pee himself too, does he? Cus I touched him.”

“No. He thinks it’s real and starts, well it’s like he’s sleepwalking.”

“Here we go. It’s like he’s sleepwalking?”

“Well, you’ll see for yourself.” Wino brows furrowed with worry.

She read into his anxiety, one arm cautiously pulling away for the lamp on his nightstand. She flickered off the lights responding, “O-kay?”

Later that evening, when the couple slept within each other’s embrace, the wall bellowed with a boisterous clang. Cheryl’s eyes flicked open. She paused, waiting for a follow-up to confirm the noise. A few moments passed and she heard nothing. Suddenly, a secondary strike thundered from the living room. This noise provoked her to a seat. Her focus locked on the door. She siphoned a few glances darted out towards Wino. He lied undisturbed, unresponsive to all the stimuli generated by both his partner and the ominous ambiance. She contemplated if only she heard these noises. It could even have been caused by magic like she’s under a spell and didn’t know it. She sat patiently. Another moment passed before, finally, the third series of instruments drummed in cacophonous harmony. This concerto of discord preceded shattering glass solidifying Cheryl’s suspicion.

She sprung out of bed, whisper-shouting, “Wino! Wino, did you hear that?”

“It’s him,” Wino nonchalantly responded. His body was still unresponsive.

Cheryl tiptoed towards the door. “What’s he doing? Is someone out there with him?”

“It’s just him.”

Cheryl pulled open the door, peeping into the entryway. The symphony of chaos flooded the room. It sounded as if a thunderstorm brew. A whirlwind whistled. Materials clanged against one another. She peered into the living room as Wino wobbled to a seat on the bed. Suddenly, Cheryl ducked out of the way with a squeal. In flew a white chair from the dining area. It banged against Wino’s forehead, flinging his feet skyward and hurling the blanket off the bed. The chair tumbled onto the floor as Wino groaned in agony.

Thankfully, Wino leaped to his feet atop the bed. Down he marched towards the doorway, his palms wrapped tightly into fists. He stomped past Cheryl, fueled by frustration.

Wino growled, “I-bra-him!” exiting the room. “Would you wake u–!”

Another thud bellowed into the atmosphere as Wino flew back into the room with his hands thrown overhead. The second dining chair waddled past the doorframe having smacked him in the face. Immediately, the unconscious Wino mimicked Ibrahim with deep, erratic snoring. Startled, Cheryl popped away from him with a yelp.

She peeped around the doorframe to the swirling hailstorm of furniture. The fridge, the sofas, the television, and loose shimmering shards of glass gleamed in the moonlight as they twirled within the stream. Fearing the worst, another collision against the glass wall, Cheryl hastily dragged Wino by his arms into the bedroom.

Once Wino was out of the way, she bravely reemerged to locate Ibrahim. It’s possible that he was also in danger. For all she knew, it could be another magician. After all, they used to wage war against one another on a regular basis. What’s more, the collateral damage these wars generated always overshadowed the dynamics of power that caused it. With Wino safe and snoring, she considered the option of rescuing or at least determining where Ibrahim was and if he was in danger.

By this time, the kitchen’s glassware had pounded against the drywalls, jutting out more jagged blades into the typhoon. Carefully, Cheryl crept into the swarming chaos, crawling for fear of impact. She scanned the room. Her eyes dilated to distinguish any details resembling Ibrahim. Towards the corner of the adjacent wall, where the TV usually would sit, she observed the fridge crashing to a halt. Its front door creaked open as it’s drawn back into the whirlwind. The torrent of wind hurled the sofa into the kitchen space, slamming it against the wooden-tile floor. Cheryl assumed the impact would have sparked Ibrahim to wakefulness or at least crushed him to deactivate the swirl of magic.

If not there, she wondered, glancing down the adjacent glass panels.

In this corner, between Wino’s room and the living room, Ibrahim slumped against the wall, a string of drool dangling from his open lips. Upon detection, his howling of a snore roared into earshot.

Cheryl snatched Ibrahim, tugging him into the room. She slid the bedroom door closed behind her. Upon shutting it, a heavy bang smashed along the door. Another second and she would’ve been crushed. She spun to Ibrahim, indignation in her heart, and yanked him up by his white sleeping robe.

His beanie dropped onto the floor as she called, “Ibrahim!”

Prompting Ibrahim’s eyes to flutter open. They revealed a haze of white light like fluorescent bulbs. Wino’s blanket slithered towards Cheryl as the lamp on the nightstand rocked and swayed.

He muttered, “Five more minutes,” incoherently before drifting back into the dream realm.

Another object splattered against the wall, emboldening Cheryl to wind back her open palm.

She struck Ibrahim. Slapping him across the face, “Wake up!”