Shavonne stopped breathing for a moment, or you could say in the blink of an eye.
For some reason, he felt uncomfortable. The body was so damaged that it was impossible to identify who it was, but that was not the reason for him to feel that way. That unpleasant feeling, a kind of...
Déjà vu.
Shavonne gulped at the unpleasant sensation. He shook his head and tried to shake off the image of the corpse in front of him.
As always, the sun set and so, the new year arrived. New Year's Day or not, Christmas or not, Shavonne still had to work. He had to examine whether his manuscript had any typos or government criticisms that should be censored.
In a letter written on a typewriter, he drew a symbol to divide the paragraph and wondered if "the blue-eyed rabbit" would offend the government authorities, and he heard a sound coming from the door.
Shavonne stared at the door. Who the fuck is it? The noise suddenly went silent as if they knew Shavonne was aware of them. Half an hour later, he heard it again. Shit. Should I put up a 'Do Not Disturb' sign to calm them down?
Shavonne came out of his house with a pencil and paper sign.
There was a note on the door. It was from the person who had just been there.
『Happy new yeer!』
Shavonne, who was looking at the misspelled word 'yeer', tore off the note and put up a "Do Not Disturb" sign. After going back inside, Shavonne went back to the manuscript. Well, to be exact, he tried.
However, even after modifying it and changing a period to a comma, the problem was that he kept looking at the note while he wondered if there was a way to elegantly change 'rabbit's ass'. Breaking the paper and throwing it away didn't work.
In the end, Shavonne put down the pen. Fuck, I guess I have a disease about doing my job perfectly, he laughed bitterly at himself. Shavonne took the pieces of the note out of the trash and glued them back together, traced a line above the 'new yeer' and corrected it to 'new year'. Only then did he feel comfortable again.
He could hear the sound of someone knocking on the door again. He went out but there was no one in the hall.
He heard it again. He went out but there was no one in the hall.
And he heard it again. He went out but there was still no one in the hall.
Shavonne discovered that there were three new notes under the "Do not disturb" sign. Each of the three notes said the following respectively.
『Disturbing. Disturbing. Disturbing.』 『Aren't you going to eat outside?』 『The New Years party is fun. Let's go. 』
Once the deadline is up, I will have between 10 to 20 hours to live that I will use to watch and catch this "new" bastard. Shavonne gritted his teeth with determination.
But things did not go according to his plan, as is usual in the world. His encounters with the "new" bastard were not over.
—Deadline. One day. Early.
In other words,
—Let's move the deadline up by just one day.
Shavonne's schedule was ruined by a telegram sent by his editor, William. He had a tight schedule, and he couldn't live decently as the deadline was approaching.
His meals consisted of strong drinks and snacks, and once, he was so sleep deprived, he was supposed to write "Anthea said, I love you." but he ended up writing "Anthea said, Please, I want to sleep." Then, he went to sleep.
In his world, he only had typewriters, manuscripts, pens, and inks. Shavonne didn't exist, and since he didn't exist, it was only natural that Shavonne's neighbors, friends, and boyfriend didn't either.
Shavonne's boyfriend didn't seem to be satisfied with that. "Shavonne, are you there? Shavonne!"
One night at nine. There was a thud outside the door, and soon someone knocked on the door of room 303. It was August Basch, Shavonne's boyfriend with whom he had refused to talk to for two weeks. He didn't know if he was there to end their Cold War... Judging by his heavy breathing that could be heard inside Shavonne's house, the fierce knocks on the door without regard for Shavonne and his neighbors, and also the slightly abusive tone, he was here to escalate the Cold War, not end it.
Dammit. Shavonne dropped the pen he was holding. Its ink splattered and left a mark. More furious than when his editor William telegraphed to him "Let's move the deadline up by just one day", Shavonne stood up.
As soon as he opened the door, August appeared.
"What the. You look good to me, so why didn't you call me? And don't even think about making excuses like that you are busy.
"Who is not busy? Do I look like I'm just being lazy?"
"Why are you holding the door so hard? Is there someone inside?"
He was so put off. Shavonne had expected himself to lash out at him, but to his own surprise, he didn't. His face was still and he spoke coldly. His thoughts were clear. The answer came to his head.
"If I speak with you, it won't be good for my mental health," he added in a sarcastic tone. "Like right now."
"What?" August asked. The situation didn't seem to make sense. Definitely. Shavonne didn't like to fight, but it was the first time that he was as aggressive as he was right now. Shavonne didn't care and continued.
"Even if you think it's an excuse, I'm busy, and I'm going to be busy. I'm afraid you're going to break inside like last summer, and I can't bear you yelling at me like a baby or babbling that the house is a mess. That's why the door is like this. I don't want you to force me to have sex like last summer because then I'm going to hit rock bottom. Ah, in case you haven't noticed, it's very, very annoying to be tied to you under the name of lover."
A flash of anger briefly crossed August's face, but it was momentary. August lowered his eyebrows. It was the face that Shavonne once described as "looking like a pitiful puppy." Of course, now it looked closer to a son of a bitch, but anyway.
"Shavonne..." "What."
Shavonne cut him off bluntly. Since his 'pitiful puppy' strategy wasn't going to help him, August returned to his usual look. A grumpy voice filtered through August's lips.
"What's wrong with you? If you keep acting like this, I'll think you want to break up with me." "That is exactly what I want."
"What?" "I'm serious".
Shavonne watched August's face turn red, his lips clenched as if he was trying to say something, and he turned to leave the front of the house. The footsteps seemed to go down to the third floor, to the second floor, to the first floor, and then he couldn't hear them anymore.
Only then did Shavonne, who was listening for August to leave, straightened his body and went back into his house. Or rather, he was about to enter. If someone sitting on the apartment stairs hadn't spoken to him, he actually would have.
"Your boyfriend?"
'Someone' spoke to him from the back of the stairs where August had disappeared. Shavonne stood up and didn't go inside. Should I answer or not? When answering, Shavonne was hesitant to reveal that he was gay, but he decided to talk to them because if that person had been on the stairs of the apartment, they would have grasped some of the relationship between Shavonne and August. Shavonne managed to shrug as if nothing had happened. He looked down.
"Until now."
He then thought the conversation would end, but he was wrong. 'Someone' threw another unexpected question.
"Did he cheat on you?" "No."
"Did you get a STD?"
"No."
"Did he sign a debt in your name?"
"Did he sign a debt in your name?"
Shavonne looked directly at the speaker on the apartment stairs. He was a young man who could be in his 20s, with a face so beautiful that it was hard to believe that he lived on Ira Street, a slum.
If he were as handsome as that person, he wouldn't stay here, but Shavonne suddenly saw something in his hands.
What? Why do you have that here?
Countless questions came to Shavonne's mind.
There was an onion in his hands. It wasn't just one, a picnic basket filled with peeled and unpeeled onions were next to him.
How much has he peeled?
His eyes were red as if he had cried.
Curious, Shavonne asked him about it instead of telling him that August hadn't cheated on him, he didn't have a venereal disease and he hadn't left Shavonne a debt under his name, but that he was a bad boyfriend.
"Why are you peeling onions here?"
"Because my house would smell bad." He smiled. "It's disgusting when smells mix."
The next day, the same person was sitting on the apartment stairs, with red eyes and peeling onions, and the next day, he was sitting on the apartment stairs, with red eyes and peeling onions. He was like this until the next day,
the next day, and even until Shavonne's manuscript deadline. He was sitting on the stairs of the apartment and peeling onions with red eyes. Of course, he knew it wasn't because he was sad; it was simply due to the onions, but Shavonne felt that his eyes continued to bother him.
The man, when he was peeling onions, used to see Shavonne and say, "Hey, it's cold today. Good morning", and turn his attention back to the onions, but each time Shavonne just looked at him nervously and responded with a
"...Yes"
But one day, it was different. "
Guten Morgen
(Good morning)"
Shavonne asked the man who had greeted him in such a way, "Are you a masochist?"
He did it out of curiosity, he wanted to know why he peeled onions if they made him cry and why he did it in public places like the apartment stairs. The man smiled. It was a pretty smile that could only be described as brilliant.
"Something like that. Maybe."
The next day, the situation was the same as the day before. The man greeted him with a: "
Bonjour, monsieur
(Good morning, sir)."
"Soak the onions in water, take them out and peel them." He coughed a little before adding, "Then... your eyes will stop being watery."
The man smiled. This time, he was so beautiful that he could only be described as dazzling.
"Thanks."
He was handsome. Shavonne kept his mouth shut deliberately so that the thought that came to his mind wouldn't leave his mouth.
But the next day, the man was peeling onions in the same way. Shavonne, who was looking into the man's eyes full of tears, ended up intervening.
"I told you to soak them in water, take them out and then peel them, didn't I?"
"You did."
Shavonne was annoyed that the man agreed.
"Then, why didn't you do it?"
The man smiled. Like yesterday and the day before, it was a beaming smile that could only be described as brilliant.
"I didn't say I would, did I?"
Shavonne could only laugh in disbelief. The man didn't stop smiling as he raised his index finger and pointed to his face; his eyes to be exact.
"You have a weakness for crying faces, Mr. Shavonne."
"Ha! Me?"
The man nodded without hesitation. Shavonne looked serious. He had never thought that he had a soft spot for crying faces, although he had to wonder if he was weak because he had an attractive face. Whatever the truth was, he didn't like the idea of a neighbor talking about Shavonne's personality.
"You're wrong."
In response, the man smiled with his eyes looking like a pair of full moons. He moved his lips and whispered silently.
Liar.
Apparently, that's what he was saying with his mouth.
Shavonne suddenly felt uncomfortable for no reason. After returning to his house, he cleaned the room to get his mind o! his complicated feelings, and Shavonne was curious as he sorted through the papers that had been scattered.
Have I ever told him my name?
Shavonne threw the question out of his mind after thinking that he must have simply heard someone else call him by his name. However, the uneasy feeling did not go away.
The next day, Shavonne filed a complaint to the apartment manager.
"When I try to go downstairs, my eyes hurt from the onions he peels, not to mention the smell."
The manager was twirling a pen in his hand instead of looking at Shavonne's face and responded unpleasantly.
"Maybe he has an onion fetish."
Shavonne took the pen from the manager's hand. Only then did he turn to face Shavonne (with a rather temperamental face).
"I don't want to know what fetishes he has, and I don't want to see him on the stairs in front of my house." Shavonne said firmly.
"Alright, alright. I'll talk to him."
"Please don't just talk to him, solve the problem."
The manager said that he would impose a fine. However, talking to him and giving him a fine didn't solve the problem because the man paid the fine and that was it. He even tipped the manager 3 ronas, but the man was still sitting on the stairs of the building and peeling onions as if nothing was wrong, and Shavonne was getting tired. Whether he understood Shavonne's feelings or not, what the management once said only fueled Shavonne's anger.
"Would you like to report him again?"
Shavonne suppressed his desire to say "No, go fuck yourself" to a simple "No."
Son of a bitch. He was behaving as if he had found a hen that laid golden eggs.
Shavonne kept spouting insults from his mouth.
One snowy day, the man greeted Shavonne when he came out. As always, the man had an onion in his hand and a picnic basket next to him.
"Buenos días(Good Morning)."
Shavonne looked at the man and didn't answer. He turned around and ignored him.
Ten days passed in which Shavonne didn't acknowledge the man's existence.
Until the day he got a mail. As he left his house with a coat over his pajamas, Shavonne suddenly didn't see anyone on the apartment stairs.
Shavonne looked at his pocket watch. It was ten in the morning. At that time, the man should be sitting on the stairs of the apartment building peeling onions, as if it were his job, since he used to do it from 8 a.m. to 9:30 p.m. There has never been a day that he hasn't done it for three weeks. But...
"Where did he go?"
There was nobody there. Not to mention the person, even the picnic basket containing onions was missing. A chill went through his neck. The thought of checking the mail faded.
It was ten minutes to ten. The man did not appear. It was half past ten. The man did not appear. It was ten minutes to eleven. The man did not appear.
Shavonne sat down on the stairs and waited for the man. Simply wanting to go to check the mail, Shavonne wore
Shavonne sat down on the stairs and waited for the man. Simply wanting to go to check the mail, Shavonne wore a coat over his pajamas and thus, was able to survive the cold of January (even though he was inside a building) thanks to the pajamas that Dr. Fawkes gave him three months ago. If the pajamas had been a millimeter less thick, just one, Shavonne wouldn't have dared to wait for the man.
From wanting to wait until 10:10, he waited until 10:30, and then changed to wait for him until 10:50. He still hadn't shown up. Shavonne squeezed his eyes shut and thought,
Dammit. I will have to wait until eleven.
He didn't even understand himself. He was just a neighbor, and he only knew his face. Also, he was making such a fuss over someone he had ignored and wasn't even friendly to. But he couldn't help it.
Like when he avoided stepping on the yellow blocks on the sidewalk. Like when the number of bottle caps was not the same. Like when he saw the 'New Yeers' typo instead of New Years. Shavonne got nervous for no reason.
He adjusted the collar around his neck. Since he was barely moving, he blew his breath on his palms to warm his hands. His hands were slowly losing their sense of touch.
It was around eleven in the morning, and ten minutes later, the man appeared with a picnic basket containing onions. At that moment, Shavonne was losing his senses not only in his hands and feet, but also in his face as well. If the man had appeared just five minutes later, he would have frozen to death.
"Dobré ráno (Hello). Mr. Shavonne has come to peel onions too? Or not?" It was the first thing the man said when he saw him. "It's a good place. I've been sitting up and down the stairs, but where you are sitting, Mr. Shavonne, is the perfect place. "
The man looked at Shavonne's outfit and seemed concerned. "Oh, Mr. Shavonne, you're going to freeze to death in that outfit. "
Shavonne wanted to ask him why he was late, but the man's priority was to continue this conversation.
"If you want to kill yourself, a lonely place is better than here. Wild Riverside in McEwan Township is perfect. It's only half a day train ride. If you have 8 ronas, you can rent a third class one."
That person said smiling, while he recommended how to commit suicide with a worried face. Shavonne responded with a serious face.
"I'm sorry, but you're wrong. I don't want to die."
Or so he tried to say... but his mouth was frozen, so he actually said:
"I'm zory, but ur wron. I don wan to die."
The man looked at him pityingly.
"Do you want to wear this?"
Shavonne imagined a scene where the man took o! his coat and put it on his shoulders, but unfortunately, he wasn't referring to his coat but the pink tablecloth hanging on the picnic basket.
Shavonne had gotten so excited that he couldn't even scold him. He could only let out some 'haha' powerlessly. Either because he didn't notice Shavonne's laugh or pretended not to, the man said with a serious face.
"I just made it. It was harder than I thought it would be. That's why I was three hours late today." And he added with a satisfied expression, "What do you think? Isn't it splendid?"
Shavonne couldn't get any sleep that night. He rolled over in bed with the blanket over his head. Every time he turned around, the blanket made a little rustle.
"Shit. He is the one peeling onions on the stairs outside the apartment. So why am I the one getting used to it?" He didn't know the answer.