Fezile is the one who got out of the bed to open the wardrobe. He was still naked. 

“Lindo? What…what the fuck…? What the fuck are you doing here?” The way Fezile sounded like, he was both angry and embarrassed as he quickly covered himself, as if Lindo hadn’t seen him already. 

“I should be asking you the same thing, Fez,” Lindokuhle said. “What are you doing here?” He looked him straight in the eye, not blinking. 

Fezile mumbled. He reversed three steps. The two behind were quickly getting dressed, Cody looking for his underwear under the bed.  

“Listen, man it’s not what you think it is,” Fezile explained. 

Lindo almost laughed. “You performing sexual acts with two men and you telling me it’s not what I think it is? You think I’m stupid, huh?” 

“Listen, bro…” 

“Ey, don’t touch me,” Lindo said. He wiped off the sweat on his face and walked towards the door. “I’m going back to the party. No need to get dressed, you guys can continue with what you were doing.” He left the room.”don’t forget to lock.”

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Next day Lindokuhle sat at his desk. No matter how much he tried to think of something better to write, ideas only came and went. They ranged from being too cliché to being dry, to being of material he had already written about or to being of a story he had just read recently; a story which was not his. 

One of every nightmare faced by writers: when you badly want to write something but your mind is unable to think of anything exciting. There was this mental block he just couldn’t evade. No matter how much he tried. Nothing. 

He sat back in his chair to think some more. Nothing. Fifteen minutes went by, the screen of his phone faced him with a blank space and a blinking cursor, waiting for words he kept mulling for; words he did not know how to write. 

The words. He pressed for the keyboard to pop up and his thumb froze over the keys. What should he write? 

It was in cases like these where freestyle writing would help; just write whatever you have in mind and more ideas will come along the way. By the time you are done, a story would be made, and it made itself in a way, because you didn’t plan for it; the characters did what they wanted to do because they have their own mind and thoughts. 

There was a knock on the door, Lindo opened his room and sighed, felt like he was drained out of his strength. 

It was Fezile. 

“Your grandma said I’ll find you here,” he said. 

“What do you want, Fez?” 

“We have to talk, bro.” 

“Don’t call me bro. We not friends,” Lindo said. 

“But I’m your sister’s boyfriend,” said Fezile. 

“That means nothing. When I show her the video I don’t think you’ll be her boyfriend anymore.”

“Don’t do this. Please don’t this, man,” Fezile had his palms joint together like he was praying. “Listen, I’ll…I’ll do anything, okay? I’ll do anything you want.”

“Break up with her.” 

“What?”

“You heard me. End your relationship with Ona or else I’ll pull you out of the closet,” Lindo said. 

“Aw, come on, man!” He yelled. 

Lindo’s grandmother at the kitchen asked if anything was alright, Lindo said it was.