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s1 ep12: no one expects the spanish inquisition

Noel Noa needed his beauty rest.

Sure, maybe it wasn't just for appearances. He needed to be well rested to play soccer well the next day. To coach well the next day. To be well the next day. Sleep was crucial. Essential.

Apparently, one of his coworkers didn't think so.

Most of the time, Chris was never online after 12am, but would fucking spam the group chat at 7 o'clock consistently. He had grown to expect it. All the good mornings, and recounts of crazy ass dreams. It was Chris's thing.

But when Noel awoke, it was 4:39.

Looking over, his phone screen was lit up before going out. Someone had texted him. Strange. He wasn't a light sleeper; a single buzz shouldn't have woken him up. It was probably something stupid anyways. The news in a different time zone. Some company emailing him wanting an interview.

Or maybe not. Maybe it was something bad.

Praying it was the former, Noel's tired eyes stared into his phone screen.

A text from Prince. Directly to him.

crumpets: thanks for being such a great friend

Cute.

Noa put his phone back down, turned over, and closed his eyes. What a heartfelt message. Short and simple, but it got the message across.

...

Wait a moment.

Noel Noa's golden eyes snapped open as he picked up his phone like the flash, rereading the text over and over again. Thanks for being such a great friend. Thank you for being my comrade. Thank you for being with me.

Uh oh.

He spared a glance at the clock. 4:41.

Shooting out of his bed and praying to the Lord Almighty, Noa ran to the door, calculating the time it would take for him to get from Bastard Munchen to Manshine City's sector and find Prince's room. He spared another look at the clock. The time hadn't changed.

Too long.

Noa then did something he knew he would regret.

hohoho: WAKE THE FUCK UP

hohoho: WAKE THE FUCK UP

hohoho: WAKE THE FUCK UP

hohoho: WAKE THE FUCK UP

lavinie: WHAT DO YOU WANT

redespacito: jesus bro i was sleeping

hohoho: I THINK PRINCE IS DYING

redespacito: well fuck

lavinie: you want us to meet you there

hohoho: yeah

hohoho: sorry for the spam

redespacito: np

Thanking the mild reliability of FC Barcha's and Uber's master strikers, Noa took a right, blazing down the hallway with a mission in mind. He didn't care if he was making a scene. He didn't care if someone saw him. Chris was dying. Chris motherfucking Prince was dying.