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Ricky wakes up at 5:20 in the morning- exactly 2 hours and 10 minutes earlier than when he usually does.
To say he was furious would be an understatement. It's like if he got locked in a closet that was on fire, except the closet isn't on fire, and there isn't a closet, and someone set fire on something that wasn't his closet.
Okay that was an exaggeration, but you can't exactly blame Ricky for sulking. His morning routine has already been ruined, that's a big problem for a perfectionist like him.
When he realizes that the fire alarm (which has been going off for around 5 minutes already) doesn't give any signs off shutting up, he finally slides into his slippers and shuffles down.
The whole place is dark and the only light he can see is from downstairs, which he can only assume is from the alarm judging from how stairs are glowing different shades of red as a result of the alarm's blinding lights.
Ricky's approximately 9 steps away from entering the living room of his house when a familiar smell wafts through his nostrils and he pauses.
It smells like someone's having a barbecue party, excitingly. The image of a barbecue enters his mind and he sighs at the craving before sprinting over to the kitchen.
There's no one there; no family of five with a dad wearing an apron, no barbecue grill, no slab of meat on the barbecue grill, no oil to put on the meat on the barbecue grill. He doesn't know why the hell he was expecting his kitchen floor to be replaced with a green turf and a bunch of picnic tables with grilled pork scattered around at five in the fucking morning, but the human brain can be extremely stupid at times, so it's not him to blame, it's his brain.
One thing he doesn't expect to see in his kitchen at five in the fucking morning is a life-sized cardboard cutout of him in a tuxedo with stab marks on its chest and a red X painted on his face. But it's real, unlike the barbecue party. It's also on fire. And the fire has spread so far bad that his kitchen counter is scorched black. He'll have to set a reminder to NEVER wait a fire alarm out.
Ricky, who's incredibly done with the whole situation, makes it his first move to walk out the house and pull out his phone, immediately dialing the most important contact on his gadget. Thankfully, they pick up, and his frown softens in relief.
❝Hello?❞
❝Seungeon I think my house is on fire.❞
❝Ricky, it's...❞ He hears shuffling on the other side. ❝five in the fucking morning. I'm NOT in the mood for this bullshit.❞
