All That's Wrong With Us

10. The Chaos You Are

Silence. Flipping it over was instinct. And then a scream filled the room. A real, unfiltered, horror-movie-level scream.

"WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO MY PHONE!?"

Unbothered, Easter leaned back with a sigh. "Yep. There it is."

Absolute devastation took over. What remained of the thing North held in his hands wasn't a phone anymore. The screen, beyond shattered. A spiderweb of cracks spread across the glass, like some cursed artifact. The casing looked like it had been dragged across the pavement and then personally stomped on for good measure.

Shaking fingers pressed the power button. Nothing. He pressed it again. Still nothing.

"This thing is dead," the whisper came hollow, as if witnessing a murder. Head snapped up, eyes wild with betrayal. "Who did this!?"

A lazy glance was all the response given. "Dunno. But when P'Johan gave it to me, it was already like that."

Everything stilled. A cold chill crawled down North's spine as something clicked. Slowly, painfully, North's gaze dropped back to the ruined device. Then to Easter. Then back again.

"He did this."

A mouth twitched. "And what makes you say that?"

The phone shot up, waved like an unhinged lawyer presenting evidence in court. "Because look at this! He was mad, right? I throw up on him, of course he was angry! THIS IS A CRIME SCENE!"

Holding back a laugh, Easter merely shrugged, arms folding lazily. "Maybe. Maybe not."

A flail. Dramatic. Desperate. "You're just saying that because you think it's funny!"

Ter finally caved, letting out a chuckle, shaking his head. "No, I'm saying it because it's objectively hilarious."

"That feels like bad news for me." North squinted at him suspiciously.

Easter stretched his arms behind head, looking way too comfortable for someone delivering a death sentence. "You did a lot, man."

North hesitated. His stomach twisted.

"Define 'a lot.'"

Easter's smirk widened, but instead of answering, he casually reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, neatly folded piece of paper. With a lazy flick of the wrist, he held it out.

North frowned. "Ter, what is this?"

Heleaned back, stretching out like a man settling in to watch something spectacularly entertaining. "The reason you'll probably never touch alcohol again."

Slowly, hesitantly, North unfolded the paper. Eyes landed on the number at the bottom. Everything stopped, and then, just like that, his soul left the body. A strangled sound tore from throat, somewhere between a dying cat and a man being spiritually obliterated. The document trembled in hands.

"This isn't real," he croaked.

Easter, ever the picture of smug amusement, simply watched as North's breathing hitched. Palms pressed over shaky chest like heart physically couldn't handle this level of betrayal. 

"This is fake. You faked this. You conspired against me, didn't you!?"

"I wish I was that creative."

North's head snapped up, pupils blown wide in absolute terror. "Ter, I can't pay this!"

His friend sighed, sounding as a disappointed teacher watching a student flunk the easiest question on the test. "Then let's just hope P'Johan isn't the type to collect debts violently."