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Recording with Nogla was always some type of nightmare. Even worse was recording Golf It with the excitable, and incessantly trolling, Irishman.
The boys had decided that doing yet another mass recording session of Golf It was a brilliant idea. Brian, Nogla, and occasionally Evan were adamant on terrorizing Brock, Anthony, and Ryan, respectively. Smii7y and Kryoz managing to sneak past the agony under the guise of ridiculous trick-shots.
Ohm's shrieks were typically drowned out by Brian's cackles and Evan's breathy wheezes, but the strange noises the oldest would make still managed to be a source of never-ending jokes. Brock and Anthony were both struggling in keeping their setups from becoming mangled remnants of their former glory.
It wasn't going well.
"Brian! If you hit me one more time I swear I'll-"
"Swear you'll what, Brocky? Ah fer fock's sake Nogla, watch where yer aimin'!"
Brock growled, but took the distraction as his chance to sink his light blue ball into the cup. He threw his hands into the air in a victory pose he knew no one else would be able to see, but it made him feel better. Brian made it in shortly after Brock did, Nogla taking the opportunity to continue his assault on one very irate Ohioan. What he didn't know, however, was that a particular white ball hadn't made it into the hole just yet. Nogla sent his green ball flying towards Anthony's yellow one at tops speeds, but before they could collide, a propeller hat bumped the corn poop ball out of the line of fire and closer to the goal, the white ball being sent sky-high after being slammed into by Nogla. Anthony took the moment of shock following Smii7y's screams of protest to land his ball in the hole.
He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his hands over his face before leaning back in and opening up the scoreboard. He noted that there were only four holes left before he could excuse himself from the recording without issue and that he was in fourth place out of all eight of them. John took first, followed closely by Ohm, then Brian, himself, Smii7y, Brock, and Nogla taking last. A small victory for the suffering the beanpole tended to cause. However, it did little to quell the rage burning hot in his chest like a wildfire.
No one would say it, but they were all glad that Smii7y and Kryoz had taken the invitation to play rather than Tyler and Marcel. John's wise cracks and missed trick-shots did wonders for keeping Brock sane, and Smii7y silently taking Nogla's attention away from Anthony was an answered prayer. It worked, most of the time.
Three more holes passed with little incident, thanks to Ohm deciding to retaliate against Evan which spurred Brian to shamelessly attack his fellow Irishman.
But then, chaos struck. Chaos in the forms of a basketball-esque hole, 24 out of 25 shots wasted, and one Daithi De Nogla.
Anthony had finally lined up his shot, and with just one left to spare, he hoped that he'd be able to make it in. His patience was already wearing insanely thin and he didn't think he'd handle missing the final shot. He reeled his arm back, lining up the shot with where he felt the most in-line, and propelled his hand forward, sending his ball flying towards the ramp that would send him airborne. He noticed too late, the forest green ball sitting right in his path. Yellow slammed violently into green, both balls careening into the no-mans-land between the ramp and the hole. Nogla let out a chortle, the sound quickly dying off as he noticed the sheer silence from Anthony.
Two seconds later and the echoes of a door slamming shut reverberated throughout the discord call, followed by a whispered "fuck" from John. Smii7y spoke up as he heard the soft click of the taller man's own office door.
"Geez Nogla, you can be such a dick sometimes. He'll be fine, but that'll probably do it for the three of us for today, boys."
Jaren left his office, leaving the door open behind him as he softly padded his way down the hall towards the living room. He peered around the corner, catching sight of his boys curled up on the love sack in the middle of the living room floor, John's fingers carding through Anthony's already mussed locks. John looked up at the youngest of the trio, nodding to the space in front of Anthony as he hummed a tune Smii7y couldn't seem to recognize.
Jaren took no time in flopping backwards onto Anthony's legs, the blow cushioned by the sheer amount of fluff beneath their bodies. He looked up at the oldest male, holding out his arms with a pout. Anthony sighed, rolling his eyes as dramatically as he could before opening his own arms. Jaren leaped up from his spot, wiggling around before plopping himself in Anthony's lap, one arm curled around his back, the other against his chest. Anthony let his hands rest at the base of Jaren's back. He felt one of John's hands leave his head only to look down and see it buried in Jaren's darker locks. He felt John shift behind him for a moment, hands fully removed, before feeling long legs press against the sides of his, and a sturdy chest pressing against his spine. John wove his arms around both of his boyfriends to the best of his ability, leaning them both back against him as he leaned into the front of their couch.
Things often got messy for at least one of them any given day. They all felt lucky that at least one of the other two was always willing to step in and make the strain a little less painful, if only for a short time.
Everyone knew how much they all needed the support of the love they managed to find in each other.