He accepts

David wakes from his dream, rising from slumber like a long unused car, struggling to turn over and even a fraction of momentum. He eventually manages, tossing off the blanket to revel in the cool air. Even sleeping naked, his body tingles after a long night in bed, the trapped heat escaping to dissipate into his room. Small by many standards, it still holds more than enough cool air to smother that which rises from both his bed and uncovered body. The window, left slightly ajar helps as well. His body soon follows his mind, rising from his bed like a waking beast, twisting and turning, loosening the muscles even as he takes care not catch the nearby walls with his hands. That would be a little too cold. With time, and a little willpower, he finds himself dressed before his bedroom mirror, a set piece with his wardrobe to further expand what little space he has in his refuge. Looking for a job fresh out of college, he finds that once more, he has put on dark trousers and a shirt, smart enough to be taken seriously, yet not so over the top as to appear a dandy, dressing for a formal occasion when meeting people on the streets. A blazer and tie can come later, if anyone responds about an interview. Dressed, he makes his way downstairs, socks muting the dull thwack of foot on floorboard. In the bedroom at the end of the short corridor, he makes his way past Amelia’s, and Jennifer’s rooms. His sister, and their mother were both lovely people, but both had acquired jobs before the pandemic, and had managed to hold onto them with tooth and claw, putting in extra time so as not to have been lain off. He sighed, his own lack off ability leading him to ruminate on his dream as he glided down the stairs, careful not to wake them up.

He reached the bottom and stepped out into the convergence on the living room, kitchen and entryway. A quick check that the door had been locked last night, and he turned to the kitchen for breakfast. A cereal, nothing fancy, distracted as he was by his thoughts on his dream. David rarely dreamt. Or at the very least, never remembered his dreams, so to remember this one so vividly, and then, when he pulled out his phone fulfil his idle curiosity, found that he was physically unable to investigate it, began to grow nervous. Calm and collected on the outside, he had spent a good many years cultivating a façade that reacted little to his inner thoughts, to hide parts of himself from the world, and though he appeared little different than moments ago, the spoon no longer moved, ferrying food to his mouth, whilst the edges of that began to tighten, and his brows twitch, wanting to furrow even as he began to exert a concerted effort to maintain himself. He breathed. One breath. Two. Deep and full, his chest rising and falling as he took a mental flame to his fears and watched them fade into dust and smoke. He tried again, but this time he was ready. As his hand refused to budge, as it felt a little bit less like his with every passing moment, he burnt the fear in the flame and tried, as best he could to consider things logically. Ten minutes of mental discussion and arguing, of back-and-forth rumination, of heated debates in every topic even tangentially related to what he was currently experiencing, he was drawn from the recesses of his mind by a knuckle, driving into his shoulder.

“Fucking OW!” David cried, left hand flinching up to grab the wound succeeding only in sending droplets of milk flying from the end of his spoon.

“Just checking you’re alive, I’ve been talking for the last five minutes and you haven’t said anything.” He looked across from himself, and then up at his sister, two years older than him, she thought herself the light of the world, and constantly made it David’s problem.

“Oh hey, you don’t mind me having one of your yoghurts, do you? Thanks.” She didn’t wait for a response, reaching in the fridge to grab one, knowing, yet apparently not caring, that he only had enough for one a day, until the next went shopping.

“Dammit sis, If you want something of mine, then ask. How many times?” Exasperated, yet playing out the same routine that he had for months he expected no response but the usual laugh and knuckling through his hair. Obnoxious and irritating, but nevertheless one of her ways of showing affection.

“That’s stupid, I can’t control what I want.” He looked at her, confused, yet willing to play along. He thought for a moment etching his emotions across his face to buy himself some time.

“Fine, sure.” He began, waving his hand, and still dry spoon through the air. “But if you are going to use something of mine, then you have to ask first, and wait for me to say yes.”

“Only yes?” At this point, he realised the nature of the game, and that his own pedanticism had finally bitten him in the ass.

“Very well,” He began, letting the moment flow, “you have to wait for me to give affirmation, in any form, but logically reasoned to be a method of granting consent to a known variable.” He grinned, wondering where she would take it next, or what loopholes she would nit-pick, growing disappointed when she merely hummed in response.

“So can I?”

“Hmm?”

“Can I have one of your yoghurts?” He frowned. When he turned to look at her, she looked no less serious than asking for an actual favour. This was strange.

“Suure.” He drawled out. Mind rushing to consider how the rules of the game had just changed.

“Thanks bro. I really wanted one.” His brows furrowed further, no longer his to control, but expressions beyond his own manipulations. He thought of his hand, before telling himself it was stupid and in no way real. She was just reaching the stairs, when he came to a decision, his mind running a mile a minute.

“Hey sis?” He began, looking up to see her turn at the bottom of the stairs, having been heading up to eat the yoghurt in her room. He continued, “Why don’t you, when you go in or out of the kitchen, pinch yourself.” He held his breath, hoping that phrasing it as a rhetorical question would blunt the viciousness if he was wrong.

“Really? Fine.” He blinked. Then blinked again. Before scrambling for his phone.

“Oh right,” He called out as he turned once more for the stairs. “I want to show you something. On my phone. Come check it out.” He crossed his fingers, rapidly shifting through his photo gallery for an excuse.

“Do I have to? Can’t you come here?” He thought fast, rushing to cover himself.

“Not really, my legs just cramped up.” She raised an eyebrow.

“Your leg just cramped up?” She smirked.

“Yeah, I uh, I think I slept funny.” He winced internally at the stupidity of the statement. No way would she fall for it. She would either have to be stupid, or think that He had absolutely no reason to lie to her. He didn’t like his chances. She sighed.

“Sure. Fine. Whatever.” Once more he blinked. More conscious of his facial expressions than he had ever been. He watched her turn back, take the two steps it required to cross the border, and saw a hand reach up, pinching herself on the opposite arm. “So, what did you want to show me?” The interruption broke him from his stupor, and he returned to his phone, looking for an excuse, knowing that time was of the essence. Quickly, he found a clip from TikTok that he had downloaded, intending to show her at some point, thinking she would find it amusing. Now he hoped she would.

A minute later, she was giggling, a good sign, though she quickly sobered up, looking to the stairs, before sighing. David suddenly grew worried. Was she about to say something? Condemn him for making such a stupid joke, and herself for going along with it?

“I guess I’ll just eat down here. I’ll have to come down to get rid of the carton anyway.”

He paused, her next sentence washing over him as he considered the implications. She didn’t want to go upstairs. She almost always ate snacks upstairs. Not doing so now meant an understanding that things had changed. The only difference was the new condition about the kitchen. She knew about the condition. But she hadn’t said anything. She accepted it, but would try to work around it. He looked up at her, leaning on the counter by the sink, as he considered the words in his dream.