Chapter II Liquors & Waterworks

Lights shone off the polished mahogany tables while the dull hum of conversation and laughter provided its own melody. A piano played a gentle melody like the bar's own heartbeat.

In the dimly lit interior of the bar, Jafar's emotions swirled like a cold tempest, fueled by the release he had experienced in the rage room. Frollo sat silently beside him, a steadfast presence amidst the sea of faces that blurred together.

The glasses clinked and laughter echoed, creating a cacophony that surrounded them. Jafar took a long sip of his drink, feeling the warmth of the alcohol seep into his veins, loosening his inhibitions. With each passing moment, the weight of his unspoken feelings for Hades grew heavier, threatening to drown him.

"Frollo," Jafar's voice trembled, a mixture of vulnerability and desperation seeping through. "That 'Hades' on the wall... I... I miss him, you know? He was like a brother to me."

Frollo's silence weighed heavily in the air, his eyes fixed on Jafar, absorbing the raw emotion that poured forth. His quiet demeanour held the key to unlocking the floodgates of Jafar's heart, inviting him to lay bare his deepest desires, like Frollo WAS truly a confession booth.

"I admired him so much," Jafar's voice barely was above a whisper. "He was as fine as a Youtuber could be. And I was jealous, so jealous of his success. But it was more than that. I couldn't live without him, Frollo. He was a part of me."

Jafar awaited Frollo's response, his heart pounding with anticipation. The silence stretched on, elongating the seconds into an eternity. But the man seemed to only know how to listen, he used eyes rather than mouth to communicate.

As Frollo's gaze was a foreign language to Jafar, he decided to take his silence as an invitation to pour everything within to Frollo.

Jafar then continued to down the amber liquor like pouring the alcohol into the void within. His chest burned with each swallow of the crimson drink as if Hades was trying to set it aflame, but he continued anyway. The light had already left his eyes, and a single drop of sweat dripped down the side of his face. As his mind slowly drowned in the liquor, everything faded to black.

Frollo silently drove through the darkness, the golden light of his headlights and the occasional scarlet turn signals illuminating the lonely highway through the car's windshield. The empty road stretched on, with not another car in sight. The car continued, the sounds of the tires crunching into the road creating a hypnotic rhythm that carried on into the night.

His hands clenched tightly around the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white. Memories of his past flooded his mind, each one a haunting reminder of the atrocity that lurked within him.

As he drove, flashing memories from his past flickered into his mind while the streetlights flickered past like sparks, casting shadows across his care-worn face. With each passing mile, his tunnel vision blurred everything that was not right in front of him, and his guilt and shame grew clearer.

He felt the guilt of his past actions return, gnawing at his heart, as the car accelerated on the empty highway. With the speedometer climbing higher, so did Frollo's anguish and the memories of a young man, whose life he had taken during his mission. All he could see was the light of that young man's eyes, going out in front of him as he pulled the trigger on the gun.

Unable to bear the torment any longer, Frollo finally pulled over to the side of the road. The night was quiet, save for the distant hum of passing cars. He leaned his head against the steering wheel, closing his eyes as he fought to regain control of his racing thoughts.

A surge of remorse coursed through his veins, a relentless reminder of the irreversible act he had committed. The image of his subordinate's lifeless body haunted him, and the echoes of his own rage reverberated in his ears. Frollo had always prided himself on his "discipline", and his ability to maintain a stoic façade, but deep down, he knew the truth—his actions had shattered everything he had believed about himself.

Frollo took a deep, shuddering breath, desperately searching for solace within the depths of his tortured soul. Then he turned his head, he saw an unconscious Jafar, still sleeping in the backseat.

Tears welled in Frollo's eyes as he thought to himself: "I would not die like this, if I ended my life here, then that would be it. There would be no redemption for me. I must find something to atone for my sin. I MUST."

Frollo took a deep breath, starting the engine once more, and he began driving back to the boundless road to their home. The road ahead was long and twisting, but as he looked ahead, he saw a faint glimmer of golden light from the headlights hitting the horizon.

It had not ended, there was still a way out.

The soft glow of morning crept through the window, casting a gentle light upon Jafar's weary form. His head throbbed with the remnants of the previous night's indulgence, a painful reminder of his desperate attempt to drown his sorrows. As he groaned and shifted on the couch, Frollo appeared at his side, still wearing his "confession booth" mask as his expression.

"If you want to throw up, I have brought the bucket, don't spoil your precious sofa as I do not know how much it cost." Frollo took a bucket to his side and softly whispered.

Jafar winced, his hand rubbing his temples as he slowly sat up. "You have been punched in the guts before? Uh, it felt like that, I swear, " he muttered, his voice hoarse with regret.

"It could have been worse," Frollo replied, devoid of any emotions like usual.

As Jafar continued to groan, Frollo silently poured Jafar a glass of water, then handed it to him, staring into his eyes without a single emotion in the eyes. Once Jafar had taken a few gulps of the water, he looked up at Frollo, still standing beside him silently.

"What can I do to help you?" Frollo broke the awkward silence.

Jafar hesitated, his gaze searching Frollo's face for signs of any sincerity. But all he found was a sense of solemnness, as the confession booth had spoken.

"I... I need to find closure, Frollo," Jafar finally spoke. "I need to understand why he left without a word. Could you help with that? You always look like you have no emotion whatsoever, so could you help me with that? Like, let go of my pain?"

Jafar then sensed Frollo's flinch. He couldn't identify what the flinch implied and the emotion behind the flinch.

"Do you mean you want me to help you discover what Hades is doing after he retired?"

"No, please, PLEASE give the man some privacy!" Jafar protested. He always suspected Frollo had some shady past judging from his collections of guns, so he did think Frollo would want to hurt Hades for that moment.

"All right, all right, I won't bug Hades' house, ok?" he raised his arms like he surrendered, staring into Jafar's eyes.

Jafar stared back at Frollo with a look of fear: "You plan to do WHAT?"

"Put a bug. Didn't you say you want a closure of all of these?" Frollo explained.

"NO, NOT THAT KIND OF CLOSURE!"

"Oh."

Frollo then stood up, stepping toward the door. He stopped by the doorstep, turning his back: "I've shined those golden casings for you since you shine them every day. So you could just rest now."

And he left the room, leaving Jafar alone. Jafar sat silently on his bed for a while, wondering what Frollo might do now next.

Just please, Frollo, don't you DARE actually bug Hades' house.