Anosmia -- prologue
Measure it out in grams; Jinki/Minho, Kibum/Minho; PG-13
note: I'm posting this for no better reason than that it was raining when I woke up. Back when I first sketched out the prologue inside my head, it wasn't like this at all. But that was so long ago that I forgot what I'd wanted to write. «Anosmia» will be a series of related short pieces.
Prologue
What does it feel like?
It hurts.
(I frown.)
Or if you want three words, feels like crap. (He volunteers, a twinkle in his eye.) And if you stick an it in the beginning, that makes four.
Crap hurts? (I run my fingers over the swollen back of his hand.)
Well. Given that I've been put on laxatives for the first time in my life just so I can evacuate my bowels normally...
(I chuckle. He cracks a smile.)
You know how much it sucks?
Being on laxatives?
I was going to talk about number one, you know. (He doesn't lift his arms but I can see him putting air quotes around that one.) Not number two.
Okay. What about number one?
Have you ever really wanted to pee? Like, really badly? But you can't?
Because there's no washroom nearby?
I guess that's a no.
Because there's always a washroom nearby.
But that's part of it. They've put me on like a gazillion things, laxatives included, but I still hurt and I feel like I need to go far too often.
You have the...thing......though. (I gesture. For a moment, it's awkward.)
It's not actually about the toilet-
Can you two honestly find something else to talk about? (Kibum cuts in from the other side of the bed. He's waving a knife around, looking somewhat murderous. The effect is enhanced by his slightly bloodshot eyes.) I'm peeling a fucking apple here!
Keep peeling, you're almost done and the skin hasn't broken off yet. (He offers some distraction to save me from Kibum's wrath.)
(Kibum immediately softens when he looks at him.) I've gotten a lot better at this, right?
(His eyes disappear into crescents and he just smiles.)
(Kibum lowers his head again, appeased. I can see his roots. They are black. I wonder if he knows they're showing.)
(When Kibum is done and the entire yellow coil lands in the baby blue vomit tray, he places it on his cousin's blanket covered lap. I grab another tray for Kibum to cut the apple in. One ninety-degree turn per cut makes for four slices in total. I move to reach for one, but my hand is forced to change course when the squarish core comes flying my way, suspiciously well-aimed at my face.)
I peeled the apple. (Kibum still has the knife in hand.)
A core is pretty good. Look, I only get the peel! (He pats my hand.)
(But that isn't what I am upset about.)
(Or rather, I'm not upset.)
(I watch him as he arranges the peel in tighter and tighter loops, trying to hold everything in the right place. It hits me then. I get it. He's trying to make a flower.)
Do you want tape?
What? (The syllable is mostly made up of air. His hands let go of the peel and fall limply against his stomach. He sinks a little deeper into the pillows.)
Tape. And a pencil maybe?
Mm... (He suddenly looks a little faint.)
(Kibum spits a chunk of apple back out into the tray - well, it is a vomit tray - and jumps to his feet. He finds the lever on his side.) Are you okay? Do you want to go back to sleep? (He doesn't get an answer.) I'll lower the bed. (I grab the tray with the coil of apple peel and move it out of the way.)
I'm fine. (His eyelids flutter and he makes the effort to lift a hand up to his mouth.)
You're not fine. (Kibum's eyes are moist.)
Bummie, can you get me tape?
(You're a fucking idiot. No one says that out loud, but we all hear it.)
And a pencil too, please. (He adds, looking up through his lashes, and Kibum relents.)
(Half an hour later, he is barely awake when I am done making the eraser end of a green HB pencil bloom with an apple peel rose. It's sloppy and lopsided and absolutely hideous. The inside surface of the peel has long since turned rusty brown and the edges are starting to curl inward.)
Wow, that's hands down the ugliest thing I've ever seen! (Is Kibum's conclusion after scrutinizing my handiwork.)
I never did arts and crafts as a kid. (Is my defense.)
You must have had one sad childhood.
(Kibum has a way of making you speechless. It didn't take more than a few minutes of knowing him to figure that out.)
It's still the ugliest thing I've ever seen.
(Kibum doesn't change his opinion after a second round of examination. But he does fuss over the wannabe flower a little more before sticking it into his plastic water bottle and placing the bizarre arrangement next to the pot of heartsease, right by the head of the bed.)
(We don't speak much after that.)
(When Kibum gets up to go use the washroom, I feel a finger nudge my palm. The next breath that I suck in doesn't go back out. I try to pull my chair even further forward so that when he speaks, I won't miss a word. It doesn't quite work though, because it dawns on me that I do have legs and that my legs need space.)
(So I lean forward and wait.)
(I wait.)
(Because I know he has something to say.)
(But all he ends up doing is rolling his head the other way.)
(I wait a little more.)
(Just when I'm about to give up, he murmurs something.)
Will you think of me sometimes?
(What?)
Will you?
(His fingers are like matchsticks inside my grasp.)
So? Will you?
(And then I realize that when he rolled his head away from me, he was trying to get a good look at that awkward roll of apple peel taped to the pencil's butt. He's been staring at it all along. Kibum's voice comes back to haunt me. Wow, that's hands down the ugliest thing I've ever seen.)
Do you want roses? (I try to laugh.)
(He's still staring at it when he abruptly pulls his fingers away from me and covers his face with both of his hands. He lets out a loud wretched noise as he deflates against the bed. Underneath the blankets, his body curls till his knee hits the armrest of Kibum's empty chair.)
(I watch him, dumbstruck, as he sobs into the pillow.)
(And then.)
(And then I finally realize exactly what it is that I just said.)
(Do you want roses?)
(It was the stupidest question to ask.)
__anosmia: one
____a/n: the prologue will remain public;
the rest of the series will be gradually locked.
.
note: I'm posting this for no better reason than that it was raining when I woke up. Back when I first sketched out the prologue inside my head, it wasn't like this at all. But that was so long ago that I forgot what I'd wanted to write. «Anosmia» will be a series of related short pieces.
Prologue
What does it feel like?
It hurts.
(I frown.)
Or if you want three words, feels like crap. (He volunteers, a twinkle in his eye.) And if you stick an it in the beginning, that makes four.
Crap hurts? (I run my fingers over the swollen back of his hand.)
Well. Given that I've been put on laxatives for the first time in my life just so I can evacuate my bowels normally...
(I chuckle. He cracks a smile.)
You know how much it sucks?
Being on laxatives?
I was going to talk about number one, you know. (He doesn't lift his arms but I can see him putting air quotes around that one.) Not number two.
Okay. What about number one?
Have you ever really wanted to pee? Like, really badly? But you can't?
Because there's no washroom nearby?
I guess that's a no.
Because there's always a washroom nearby.
But that's part of it. They've put me on like a gazillion things, laxatives included, but I still hurt and I feel like I need to go far too often.
You have the...thing......though. (I gesture. For a moment, it's awkward.)
It's not actually about the toilet-
Can you two honestly find something else to talk about? (Kibum cuts in from the other side of the bed. He's waving a knife around, looking somewhat murderous. The effect is enhanced by his slightly bloodshot eyes.) I'm peeling a fucking apple here!
Keep peeling, you're almost done and the skin hasn't broken off yet. (He offers some distraction to save me from Kibum's wrath.)
(Kibum immediately softens when he looks at him.) I've gotten a lot better at this, right?
(His eyes disappear into crescents and he just smiles.)
(Kibum lowers his head again, appeased. I can see his roots. They are black. I wonder if he knows they're showing.)
(When Kibum is done and the entire yellow coil lands in the baby blue vomit tray, he places it on his cousin's blanket covered lap. I grab another tray for Kibum to cut the apple in. One ninety-degree turn per cut makes for four slices in total. I move to reach for one, but my hand is forced to change course when the squarish core comes flying my way, suspiciously well-aimed at my face.)
I peeled the apple. (Kibum still has the knife in hand.)
A core is pretty good. Look, I only get the peel! (He pats my hand.)
(But that isn't what I am upset about.)
(Or rather, I'm not upset.)
(I watch him as he arranges the peel in tighter and tighter loops, trying to hold everything in the right place. It hits me then. I get it. He's trying to make a flower.)
Do you want tape?
What? (The syllable is mostly made up of air. His hands let go of the peel and fall limply against his stomach. He sinks a little deeper into the pillows.)
Tape. And a pencil maybe?
Mm... (He suddenly looks a little faint.)
(Kibum spits a chunk of apple back out into the tray - well, it is a vomit tray - and jumps to his feet. He finds the lever on his side.) Are you okay? Do you want to go back to sleep? (He doesn't get an answer.) I'll lower the bed. (I grab the tray with the coil of apple peel and move it out of the way.)
I'm fine. (His eyelids flutter and he makes the effort to lift a hand up to his mouth.)
You're not fine. (Kibum's eyes are moist.)
Bummie, can you get me tape?
(You're a fucking idiot. No one says that out loud, but we all hear it.)
And a pencil too, please. (He adds, looking up through his lashes, and Kibum relents.)
(Half an hour later, he is barely awake when I am done making the eraser end of a green HB pencil bloom with an apple peel rose. It's sloppy and lopsided and absolutely hideous. The inside surface of the peel has long since turned rusty brown and the edges are starting to curl inward.)
Wow, that's hands down the ugliest thing I've ever seen! (Is Kibum's conclusion after scrutinizing my handiwork.)
I never did arts and crafts as a kid. (Is my defense.)
You must have had one sad childhood.
(Kibum has a way of making you speechless. It didn't take more than a few minutes of knowing him to figure that out.)
It's still the ugliest thing I've ever seen.
(Kibum doesn't change his opinion after a second round of examination. But he does fuss over the wannabe flower a little more before sticking it into his plastic water bottle and placing the bizarre arrangement next to the pot of heartsease, right by the head of the bed.)
(We don't speak much after that.)
(When Kibum gets up to go use the washroom, I feel a finger nudge my palm. The next breath that I suck in doesn't go back out. I try to pull my chair even further forward so that when he speaks, I won't miss a word. It doesn't quite work though, because it dawns on me that I do have legs and that my legs need space.)
(So I lean forward and wait.)
(I wait.)
(Because I know he has something to say.)
(But all he ends up doing is rolling his head the other way.)
(I wait a little more.)
(Just when I'm about to give up, he murmurs something.)
Will you think of me sometimes?
(What?)
Will you?
(His fingers are like matchsticks inside my grasp.)
So? Will you?
(And then I realize that when he rolled his head away from me, he was trying to get a good look at that awkward roll of apple peel taped to the pencil's butt. He's been staring at it all along. Kibum's voice comes back to haunt me. Wow, that's hands down the ugliest thing I've ever seen.)
Do you want roses? (I try to laugh.)
(He's still staring at it when he abruptly pulls his fingers away from me and covers his face with both of his hands. He lets out a loud wretched noise as he deflates against the bed. Underneath the blankets, his body curls till his knee hits the armrest of Kibum's empty chair.)
(I watch him, dumbstruck, as he sobs into the pillow.)
(And then.)
(And then I finally realize exactly what it is that I just said.)
(Do you want roses?)
(It was the stupidest question to ask.)
__anosmia: one
____a/n: the prologue will remain public;
the rest of the series will be gradually locked.
.