Quiet Ventures
- Gene -
Gene was home.
Lying on his back at the front lawn of his childhood house, he basked in the rare England sun, taking in its warmth greedily. The sky had seen only heavy clouds and trickles of restrained rain in the past few weeks, so it was such a delight to see the sun finally breaking out. He stretched his arms and legs as if he had just woken up, popping a few stiff joints to relax the tension in his limbs. He had his eyes closed, yet a smile was permanently stamped on his lips. It was warm; he was home.
After a while, he got up from the soft grass and swept at his clothes to shake off invisible debris. He was wearing his usual school clothes—jeans and a loose, long-sleeved shirt. Actually, he didn't know whether the shirt was Noll's or his. Their parents bought them shirts on their birthday last year and they were exactly the same apart from one minor detail: Gene's shirt was black, and Noll's was dark green. Yet at the end of the day, this small detail didn't matter as both of the twins were color blind. They had no idea which shirt was each other's, so they silently agreed to simply use whichever they got their hands on. Gene hoped Noll was wearing the other shirt today as well. It wasn't a special day, he just felt it would be nice to be connected to him through this trivial matter.
They had been expecting it for years now, but their telepathic connection had finally gotten severed. It was simply the course of nature that their abilities had weakened over time, and although he could still hear the dead and Noll could still see memories from touch, everything else had faded over time and the first to go was their telepathy. It was baffling not having access to Noll's mind, equally as bewildering as finding himself to be alone in his thoughts. They had to make do with knowing glances and not-so-subtle kicks under the dinner table instead.
Approaching the front door, Gene noticed that his mother had planted a few new flowers. He did not know their names, but their colors were beautifully coordinated. Yellow blurred into a soft pink, framed with light blues and violets. On the porch was a hammock that, for months, Gene begged for his parents to buy. It turned out that his father was the one who used it most, and it was hard to wrench away a turn on the hammock since his father made it a habit to read his research papers there.
He reached for the main door's knob and held it tenderly in his palm. Twisting it open, he pushed the door to find warmth and the smell of his mother's cooking; he could almost taste the distinct flavor of Japanese cuisine in his lips. His mother started experimenting with Japanese dishes lately, and she tells Gene and Noll it was because she wanted them to experience their heritage, even just an imitation of it. The twins would tell her she shouldn't beat herself up over not getting the taste exactly right—neither Gene nor Noll knew what real Japanese cuisine tasted like since their biological parents only fed them take-out or processed food straight out of the can. He couldn't even remember how they tasted, but he remembered the colors: green, brown, black.
Leaving his shoes at the entrance and putting on his indoor slippers (his mother insisted that they practice this), he went straight to the kitchen-passing through their homely living room full of hand-knitted pillows and small trinkets from traveling, and going through a long hallway of photographs chronologizing the twins' growth from eight years old and older.
The kitchen was bright and cheerful. The walls were painted yellow and the shelves that lined them were full of mismatched—yet visually still appealing—pots and pans. Their breakfast nook was off to one side, attached to the kitchen island where they would prepare their meals. The formal dining area was at the next room over, but his family would usually eat their meals at that nook. Right now, there was a solitary meal prepared. Chopsticks and spoon on one side, plate at the center with a generous serving of chicken yakitori, fried rice and miso soup. There was a glass of cold tea as well.
It was odd seeing just one meal prepared. He wondered where his mother, father and brother were at the moment, but it touched his heart that they thought to prepare a meal for him before they left. He sat down at the table and picked up the chopsticks. He was still clumsy as he was more adept with a fork and knife. Noll was worse than him though.
He ate vigorously, as if he hadn't had a meal in months. He didn't realize how hungry he was all this time. He wasn't familiar with Japanese cuisine, but he thought it felt a bit off. It was sweet enough but lacked the twang of an . . . unknown flavor. He had never tasted this meal before in his life, so it was a wonder where he could possibly be comparing his mother's cooking to. In any case, he dug in and finished his meal in less time than he normally would.
After taking his empty plates to the sink, he turned to go up the stairs and to his room. It had only been a short while since he and Noll finally got separate rooms, and it was only because Noll himself requested it. It was honestly the first request he'd even asked of their parents, even after almost ten years of being with them. Whenever Noll wanted to ask a favor from someone, he would have a gleaming look in his eyes, determination set on his lips—the closed fist was something only Gene noticed, and it expressed exactly how much it hurt Noll's pride to ask for help. When Noll asked their parents for his own room—he was accumulating books upon books at such a swift rate after all—he had both fists closed behind his back. Brows furrowed, lips pursed. Gene had laughed behind him.
Gene took to the stairs. He climbed each step carefully, slowly, as if afraid that he would wake someone up. The old wooden floors creaked under his weight, protesting meekly. Perhaps Noll was taking an afternoon nap upstairs? It was a weekday so he wasn't entirely sure; some days Noll would go to the university, some days he would spend time at home doing his individual research instead. He was still learning the ropes and he wasn't an official researcher yet, but it was a good thing that Noll knew where he was heading. Gene planned to take it easy and just complete high school first before taking a huge leap forward.
Hup. Gene jumped up two steps toward the second floor landing, nearly falling out of balance. He once fell down a flight of stairs—he didn't exactly remember how old he was, but it was before Luella and Martin had adopted him and his brother. The memory of pain had since left him, but the sensation of falling had stayed with him until now. He would never forget how his throat had clenched, how the space between his ears had swelled, how his entire back had tensed in anticipation of nothingness—then: an unparalleled sound.
Gene never did try bungee jumping or sky jumping, like falling to his death, but he imagined that it was this: a lack of toes; a tight grip on his ankles to battle gravity; a sway, to and fro, side to side, that never ends; a constant massacre of his insides; a nonexistent stomach; two hands tied behind him at an angle; a tight chest full of water; a silent heart; a constricted throat, sore from hushed shrieking; a blaring siren sitting right beside his eardrums; empty eyelids; his own voice, in his mind, refusing to go away. —Falling was constant, and though he should be used to it, tired of it by now, he couldn't shake away the fear that comes with it: the fear of dying.
Before standing up straight from his landing, he moved away from the edge of the staircase. Only then did he stretch upward and brushed off this sudden unease. Facing the hallway, he took a deep breath and headed toward his room silently.
It was exactly the way it was: messy, except for the bed that he stubbornly made every single day. Everywhere else—the floor, his desk, his nightstand, even the inside of his closet—looked as if a typhoon had passed and left an angry wake of debris composed of haphazard books and clothes. His mom gave up on trying to clean up after him when the same mess would appear the very next day, and trying to nag him into cleaning would be a moot task, they both learned after several failed attempts. His father and Noll on the other hand didn't mind the mess but didn't exactly want to stay inside either.
He did not particularly have anything to do in his room, but it was nice to see, as if he'd just left it yesterday. The windows were closed and so dust floated calmly about, illuminated by sunlight passing through the glass. Outside, he could see the lawn he had just lay upon, the street that he passed by every day, his neighbors' houses that were equally hushed.
The entire house was quiet. More than the dark, he was afraid of silence. It was unfathomable for him to imagine a world that only he inhabited, where only he breathed and screamed for someone to come and talk—but here, that wasn't true. He was home, and this silence enveloped him like his mother's cooking, his father's gaze, his brother's presence. And so, it was only natural for him to go back to sleep—it was the best way to pass the time until his family would come back home.
He laid down on his bed and covered himself with his sheets, the familiar scent calming him. As tranquil as he woke, he smiled and closed his eyes. After this short nap, it would be great to share a meal with his family once more.
note: figured i should wrap this up before the year ends considering this has been in my drafts since october HAHA
happy new year everyone! my new years resolution is to get back to publishing gh fanfic at least once a month (fingers crossed n all but you guys can totally hold me accountable for this)
another note: almost forgot! i created a discord server for GH fanfiction writers. we do writing sprints and organize workshops and online zines/collaborations. PM me if you'd like me to send you the invite link!