The Door.

Chapter - 1

The Daily Routine

A year ago...

"Dordan!!!" Tailor screams at the top of her lungs, the sound echoing through the small apartment as she bolts after Damnsney, who is desperately trying to evade her wrath. She flips her flip flop through the air, a makeshift weapon in her frantic quest for justice against the culinary disaster that he has caused by burning the pancakes (In a damn toaster) she had lovingly prepared for breakfast.

"It turned cold! I just wanted to have a warm breakfast, Suzuki!" Dordan yells back, his voice laced with panic as he dashes around furniture, desperately trying to keep a safe distance from the storm of indignation that is Tailor.

"Who the hell told you to eat late! Huh?" she barks, her tone sharp and rising with every syllable. It's clear that her frustration is boiling over, fueled by the smell of charred pancakes that still lingers in the air.

"Sorry! I won't do it again!" He shouts back, scrambling up onto the plush sofa in a last-ditch effort to evade her.

"Not the couch, Bish!" Pablo, their annoyed roommate, chimes in with a booming voice. "Get the hell off my precious sofa!" He appears from the kitchen, his disheveled hair and pajama pants a testament to their early morning chaos, glaring at Dordan with a mix of disbelief and indignation.

"Is the couch more important than my darn life?" Dordan retorts, still breathless from his sprint but not ready to back down.

"Yes," Pablo responds without a hint of hesitation, the corner of his mouth twitching as he struggles to keep a straight face.

"Okay!" Dordan replies resignedly. He hops off the couch, clearly defeated in this battle of priorities. However, just as he lands on his feet, a sudden movement catches him off guard. With nowhere to dodge, he is met with a comical and unexpected assault: a universal weapon, commonly known as a flip flop, flies through the air from the direction of the dining room, smacking him squarely in the back.

"Consider that a warning!" Tailor shouts, crossing her arms as if she has just declared victory. Dordan winces, rubbing his back with a look of both surprise and amusement, knowing that breakfast was never going to be quite what he had anticipated that morning. Sparks of humor dance in the air, and even amidst the chaos, it's clear that their morning antics will likely be a story for the ages.

(Flip-flop: I believe I can fly! I can reach da skyy!)

Their flat had always been a whirlwind of noise and amusing chaos, an unpredictable yet charming environment that encapsulated their vibrant personalities. Each morning unfolded like a new episode of a beloved sitcom, brimming with the clashes and camaraderie that defined their unique relationships. Today was no exception, as the sharp sounds of laughter mixed with the frantic energy of their shared lives echoed through the cozy small space they all proudly called home.

Dordan, who was already accustomed to his clumsy tendencies, found himself in a precarious position. He stumbled gracelessly after Tailor executed a skillful flip-flop throw aimed directly at him, her laughter ringing in the air as he flailed to regain his balance. The second flying sandal narrowly missed him, whizzing past like a rogue missile destined for an unsuspecting target. The sight was chaotic yet endearing, a little slice of their everyday reality.

"Why did you even ask me to make breakfast if you were just going to burn it?" Tailor complained, crossing her arms defiantly in a huff. Her frustration, exaggerated by the way she swept her hair back, was clearly visible. In an attempt to look fierce, the corners of her mouth quirked up in a suppressed smile, revealing the playful nature of their banter. It was evident to anyone who glanced her way that her irritation was only surface deep; she was far more amused than genuinely angry.

"I didn't mean to! The toaster malfunctioned!" Dordan protested, throwing up his hands in mock surrender as if trying to defend himself from the absurd pile of charred breakfast remnants.

"Excuses, excuses!" Tailor shot back, her tone playful, yet accompanied by a melodious laugh that broke the tension in the air. Even she couldn't take the morning's culinary catastrophe too seriously; after all, how could one stay upset in the face of such hilarity?

Pablo, who had earned a reputation as the voice of reason among the trio—albeit a loud and spirited one—scoffed, shaking his head with mock disbelief as he began tidying up the remnants of the pancake disaster that lay scattered across the kitchen counter like confetti after a party. "I can't believe you thought your culinary skills were up to par, Dordan. We've talked about this before. You can barely boil water!" His tone was half incredulous, half teasing, but there was an underlying affection in his words that hinted at their history together.

"Hey! I can boil water, thank you very much!" Dordan shot back indignantly, his cheeks flushing slightly as he realized just how long it had been since he last attempted something as elementary as boiling water without turning it into a cloud of steam and a near disaster.

From his perch on a somewhat worn second-hand armchair, Grenade chuckled at the unfolding scene, relishing the comedic absurdity of it all. "Maybe we should just order in next time. Seems safer for everyone involved," he suggested, his laughter filling the air and lightening the mood further.

"Do you think I'd let takeout win over my cooking potential?" Dordan replied, a grin breaking through as he reveled in the camaraderie that filled the room.

"It's not winning if you're burning food, Dordan," Tailor joked, picking up the other flip-flop and brandishing it like a sword, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Now, who else wants to try their luck against the kitchen warrior?"

"Put the shoe down!" Pablo exclaimed dramatically, raising his hands in a mock gesture of warding off impending doom, though his laughter betrayed him as the sheer absurdity of the morning's events made him secretly relish the impromptu breakfast battle.

As the hectic and humorous morning wore on, the earlier tension surrounding their food fiasco gradually morphed into contagious fits of laughter. They may not have succeeded in producing a warm breakfast, but the warmth of their friendship far overshadowed any culinary failures they experienced. In a world that could often feel chaotic and overwhelming, they were, after all, a family of misfits—each uniquely chaotic yet wonderfully supportive in their own quirky ways. Together, they could face anything that life threw at them, whether it was burnt pancakes or late-night shenanigans that blurred the lines between sanity and silliness.

Thus, enveloped in their whirlwind of comedic chaos and kitchen disasters, another colorful day in their shared flat began—one filled with laughter, love, and an unspoken agreement that they'd definitely need to up their breakfast game next time. Each morning became a reminder that there was strength in their messiness, and within the chaos, they had formed an unbreakable bond, rich with the joy of simply being themselves together.