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Cronus was unaware of the rivulet of soup zigzagging along the bristly spikes of his beard, now inches from the collar of his white turtleneck. With each spoonful he bent his head further and further into the bowl, swallowing its contents with such eagerness that the cigarette resting against his ear flickered. His usual gelled-up hairstyle worked like glue, keeping the cigarette in place. Only a few black strands escaped the grip of the sticky substance, falling over his forehead and straight down into the slop.
Facing him, Kankri averted his gaze from the scene by dropping it on his own portion, left unfinished. He drew circles with his spoon in the vain hope it might somehow soak up a drop or two, absently observing the spirals left in the thick vegetable velouté.
The small living room where they usually ate was crowded with knick-knacks; some of them sat piled up in the corners of the room, the rest collected dust on the numerous shelves mounted on the walls. Throwing them away was out of the question. They were memories too precious for Cronus, passed down through generations. Kankri had finally resigned himself to the musty smell after countless attempts to keep every surface clean. At least all that junk muffled the echo of the click-clack of dishes and the vulgar sucking of food, but it did nothing to distract him from the moments of silence, from the hum of his own thoughts. He would have preferred the unnerving ticking of that hideous carved cuckoo clock, smashed the day they had set foot in the cabin and abandoned in pieces by the front patio or, perhaps, the crackle of the fireplace in the corner, bricked up soon after.
A thud against the small wooden table pulled his attention back to the dark-haired man: plate vacant, he sat sprawled in his chair, massaging his swollen stomach with one hand with an equally soft expression printed on his face.
Cronus didn’t mind the quietness of the place, he’d gotten used to it after a few weeks. Now, a year after the move, he loved coming home from work to cleanse himself of city stress, no matter the hours on the road, or the gallons of gas consumed daily. What weighed on him was the poor Internet connection and the lack of a TV; having to watch the games from his smartphone screen and Chinese torture had much in common. With a nod of his chin he pointed to the other man’s bowl.
“You gonna finish that?” he leaned over the table to look for a napkin, resisting the urge to just wipe his face with his sleeve.
“Mh, no.” Kankri answered, going back to studying the concoction. “Tonight I don't have that much of an appetite.”
He tucked both hands into the stretched sleeves of his favorite sweater before bringing them to his lap. It was the only one he had left from home, of a red so bright that the whole thing “stuck out like a sore thumb”, as Cronus used to say.
His stomach was strangled by a wave of nausea so fierce that an aftertaste of bile corroded his throat. He forced down two more spoonfuls, praying he could keep them down. The rich flavor largely covered the sourness, failing, however, to slow the merry-go-round of gastric juices twisting his guts. He pushed the plate away to avoid puking in it, motioning between himself and the other so he wouldn't have to speak with his mouth full. Cronus understood him instantly.
“Well, don’t mind if I do!” he straightened up in his chair and accepted the offer. After a big mouthful, he resumed speaking without swallowing.
“Man, you’ve really outdone yourself this time.”
Kankri shook his head, reinforcing the concept with a flick of his wrist before rolling up his sleeves to start gathering the dirty dishes.
The taller of the two rested an elbow on the wooden table, propping his head on his left hand while he ate with the other, a posture he found more comfortable. He decided not to drop the subject, a smug grin dawning on his face, his mouth full.
“Look, I'm serious. Don't know what you did differently than usual, it's re…” he began, but was cut off.
“Credit goes to the mushrooms. Today's picking went particularly well for me” the other said, avoiding his gaze, still busy stacking the last items at the edge of the table.
Cronus had lost the previous voracity, but not that good-natured expression stamped on his face. He lazily munched the leftovers, controlling every movement from under heavy eyelids, although he knew every gesture by heart: dirty napkins crumpled on the plate at the top of the pile; cutlery sorted by type along the edges of the placemats; leftover water in the glasses poured back into the pitcher; crumbs swept away with the back of his hand into the wicker bread box; angular fingers shifting brown curls from his forehead; dark eyebrows knit in concentration; pale lips split by cold and restlessness; tired, resigned eyes,
eyes only for him.
Kankri was convinced he was staring just to unsettle him, to trigger some overreaction with the ultimate goal of lecturing him, to tell him to relax, not to be so nervous all the time, to loosen up a bit. Pointless arguments, by now he knew better than to try debating. Still, those clear irises on his silhouette were like dry ice pressed against skin.
He let go of the dishes and met the almost sleepy gaze of the man in front of him, in sharp contrast to his own frowning expression. He inhaled through his nose, calming himself before speaking.
“What?” he couldn’t stop drumming his bitten fingernails against the rough planks.
Cronus chuckled under his breath, careful not to spit around the soup residue stuck to his palate.
“Nah, nothing. Just a dumb thing.” A pause to swallow, too brief to allow a comeback.
“Ah, whatever! I'll ask anyway. Do you think that...” he began, wiping his mouth with his sleeve and moving the plate aside in order to lean forward, elbows on the table, chin in his hands, eye to eye.
“... we end up together in every universe?”
The residual taste of umami turned bitter on Kankri's tongue.
His fingers were as still as the rest of his body, only the index dared to scratch against one of the knots in the wood.
He held eye contact and snorted softly, letting a faint smile ease the tension on his face. He found himself staring at the frantic finger that hadn’t stopped picking at the small splinters.
“Yes ...” he nodded his head slowly.
“...definitely.”
The taller man's torso was half-splayed on the table in an attempt to get closer without leaving his chair. One hand, the same with the dirty cuff, reached out to caress his cheekbone; the other had managed to soothe the restless index through an intertwining of fingers. The brunet closed his eyes, leaning in the other’s touch. He gave a small half-smile, creating a solitary dimple on the right side of his cheek; Cronus had always adored them, so he brushed it with his thumb. Kankri wished he could skin himself right in that moment.
The grip on his face grew insistent, creeping behind the nape of his neck to pull him forward. A nicotine-scented sigh enveloped him and, for a moment, he held his breath. Lazily reopening his eyelids, he widened his own smile before speaking.
“Can I use the bathroom?”
The black-haired one burst out laughing, shaking his head.
“Just five simple words to ruin the atmosphere, huh?” He squeezed his hand affectionately.
“Go, no worries. I'll handle it here.” And retreated after leaving a playful pinch on his cheek.
Kankri took it upon himself not to correct him on the number of words used, preferring to head upstairs.
That silly question followed him up the steep spiral stairs. Not even the tension from the electronic GPS strapped to his ankle could distract him.
In every universe, hm?
The door to the old bathroom closed with a wail. His fingers grazed a phantom key before grabbing some toilet paper and raising the seat.
In another life, we were probably a grizzly and a salmon.
He answered himself, kneeling on the rickety pink tiles in front of the immaculate porcelain bowl. He shoved his forefinger and middle finger down his throat, wiping his lips with a new flap of paper after each silent, successful retch.
He kept thinking about it, accompanied by the sound of flushing and running water from the faucet. The scent of mulberry soap filled the room as he meticulously checked in the mirror for any signs of redness in his eyes or any bits of vegetables between his teeth.
Orca and sea lion?
That one didn’t sound right either.
Once satisfied with his appearance, he decided to drop the matter and return downstairs to help clean up.
The same dilemma came back to haunt him in the middle of the night, when Cronus, groaning beside him, suddenly jumped up and ran to the bathroom tightly clutching his belly.
The rancid odor of diarrhea reached the bedroom after a few minutes, reminding him of the characteristic smell of marshland.
Maybe... crocodile and monkey?
A series of curses, wet noises, and the petulant call of his name followed.
Reluctantly, he shuffled down the short corridor that divided the two rooms, guided by the yellowish light leaking through the door left ajar. The fetid wave hit him full force ad he peered through the doorway: Cronus was bent double over the toilet in an attempt to relieve the pangs, red face already sweating, his breath so short he couldn’t speak. The contorted facial expression clashed with Kankri's distended one. “I think it's a stomach virus.” He reassured from the doorway. “I'll look for something.”
He opened the small window at the top of the tub in the vain hope of dispelling the stench, finding a shred of relief in the fleeting, icy air from outside. Without the moon to reveal the trees the house seemed to overlook nothingness. The illusion of being swallowed by the cosmic void was broken only by the occasional rustle of branches.
A whiny “Kan...” from behind brought him back to reality.
He kept his nostrils pinched while grabbing the first boxes of medicines that came his way from the cabinet above the sink; all homeopathic stuff, one as useless as the next. At least they gave him the bright idea to consider other realms besides the animal kingdom.
Ivy and birch? Hm, no.
He scrunched his nose as he scooped a handful of tablets into his palm before passing them to the suffering man, along with a glass of tap water. As he studied his features, he was surprised at how much his appearance had changed in the space of a few hours: his olive tan had given way to a grayish undertone, a transparent pallor from which he could follow the networks of greenish-purple veins. Dark circled enhanced bloodshot pupils, glassy with tears, and washed-out irises. Those eyes latched onto his figure, trying to light up with affection, but a sudden gag got the better of him.
It was going to be a long night.
Mistletoe and fir!
The thought came to him as he held the wet forehead of the dark-haired one, who was hugging the toilet.
The brunet avoided at all costs looking at the jumble of pills, virtually untouched, floating in the tide of vomit and feces. The only thing keeping him from puking, in turn, was that small glimpse outward; the acres of green and orange conifers contrasted with the blue veil left by the night, waving to the rising sunlight.
He cast one last glance at the pale nape of the other's neck: cyanotic. Sticky sweat soaked his hair at the base of his skull and the collar of his pajamas, the slime glistening in response to the first lights invading the room from the wide-open window. He felt that mucus creep into his own pores, work its way into his sweat glands and attempt to reach his bloodstream. The weight of the sleepless night accentuated the omnipresent grip on his stomach, forcing him to jerk away toward the tub, suddenly short of breath, gasping. He sat on its edge, repeatedly wiping his hand on his thigh so as to eliminate the feeling of contamination. Cronus slumped against the WC, reciting an unintelligible litany.
Kankri turned his gaze to the damp-stained ceiling. He counted its cracks, the missing pieces of plaster, classified the gray tone by inventing a Pantone code – 200C – and thought about how soft the cotton of his pajamas felt against his now dry palm. He wondered what time it was, tried to guess by the shadows in the room.
He had learned many things during his stay in the new house. The books collected by Cronus' family had been a godsend for his boredom and loneliness. Thanks to the “Encyclopedia of Trees” he had managed to figure out roughly their location. Another intriguing read had been “The Hours and the Shadows,” allowing him to better organize his days. Not to mention the many cooking and baking manuals, or the ones about wild herbs and mushrooms. His absolute favorites were the animals atlases, especially the “Great Atlas of Birds.” By now he could measure the morning hours by their chirping, once the noise died away, it was already past eight, or so.
“Maybe we were a cuckoo and a crow in another life. What do you think?”
He asked, looking again at Cronus. He was lying prone on the floor in a pool of his own vomit. One trembling hand clutched the filthy mat arranged at the base of the sink, the other was stretched out toward the brown-haired man’s feet. He answered with a series of gasps, broken by a few bodily spasms and gurgling moans.
Kankri couldn’t find the right answer to Cronus' question.
He only knew that, in this life, they had been a death cap mushroom and a mere human being.