Music playing through your Airpods is a luxury. Wes hasnât felt entitled to one all month, because if thereâs anything heâs learned since moving here, even long before, itâs that life is a ballgame. Or is it bargain? Are those even words in that song⊠no, itâs nightmare.
âTrue,â he mutters, avoiding the stairs and heading straight for the elevator. Eyebags, while technically genetic and not a product of lack of sleep (at least originally), are something heâd rather talk about than how the weather is (A: I havenât been able to enjoy it) or what someoneâs kid genius nephew is up to (A: Sorry, who again?) at this point. Silence makes company instead, bliss feeling almost foreign as he makes it out the complex.
Thereâs a corner shop he likes getting gum and canned coffee from, mostly because itâs closer than all the others. Wes wishes he could run, because the sooner theyâre in his hand, the better, but who wouldâve thought running was a luxury, too? Those who canât, obviously. He finds it grievous that thatâs his case at 27 despite being fairly fit, and sighs when he walks in, as if this is take 35 on set, since thatâs how fine and dandy life feels today.
Wes walks to the section containing pain relievers, fever reducers, anything of the sort. It pains him to see another person where he needs to be, partly in case she feels like talking, but otherwise because surely no one needs these pills more than he does (duh, sheâs just there because she wants to know what else is in these aside from ibuprofen, obviously). He takes a deep breath and stops inches away from her, eyeing Advil and hoping thatâs all he has to make contact with. âExcuse me,â he says, covering his mouth as heâs threatened by another round of nausea. You donât work here, so I hope you donât think that I think so. I just need to get a hold of this before this shit continuesâ
God, another hurl. Wes looks away momentarily, wincing and praying that his head maybe behaves for five more minutes. Canât even afford to be embarrassed anymore, huh. He crouches down and puts his hand out, pointing vaguely to wherever the Advil is. âSorry, do you mind passing me a bottle?â Brief enough, no? Please, please donât make small talk.
There's just no way this wasn't in the fine print somewhere. Between the spiel on renterâs insurance and the recycling rules, maybe? Firm warning about the random dizzy spells? Mandatory clause for sea legs on all leasers?Â
On the elevator she thumbs through the web page pulled up on her phone. Google Says: no, asbestos exposure cannot induce vertigo, so itâs back to square one. Between the dull throbs of her headache she wonders yet again if itâs ancestrally-induced karma or some long-dormant condition that her parents deemed too irrelevant to care for. Talk about being screwed both ways.Â
The doors open up to the lobby and she heads for the exit, the shop waiting on the near left. Any other night, thereâd be no need to hurry, but with how this oneâs gone so far, Hyorinâs taking no chances.Â
She scans through the aisles quickly, stopping at nothing until she finds the OTCs, second to bottom shelfâmigraine killers, meclizine, thank God. She inhales, desperately wills that the circulating, air-conditioned air of the store does something, anything, to lessen the ick of it all and grabs both pill bottles. Double dose it is.Â
The voice from behind her seems to beg for the same, and she obliges. Hyorin turns, Advil in hand. âHereââ and stops at the familiarly unfamiliar face that comes into view. Suddenly hopes her own isnât hideously seasick green, only at this point, sheâs beyond pressing her luck. âNeed another?âÂ
