Life is but a Dream {ChenJi} | ongoing

twenty-two

Chenle narrows his eyes at the exam timetables pinned to the fridge by magnets from an old holiday. He can't really read them, not from across the room, yet feels he knows them all by heart from how often his older brothers have been whining about it all.

Exams haven't been treating them well, and he gets that.

The stench of burnt toast fills the room. Taeyong flaps around the toaster with a tea towel while Johnny pinches his waist, muttering something none of the kids can hear, and Taeyong rolls his eyes and slaps the towel down on the counter, turning round with his arms crossed to bite something back.

Chenle's own plate is stacked with two slices of toast, a banana, and a knife he's supposed to be using to spread said toast with peanut butter.

But he's looking at the exam timetables. He'll be in their position in two years' time. They'll be doing A levels or whatever they chose to do at college, which is undoubtedly more important than his GCSEs. He still won't have the attention he's been craving these days.

Attention. The very thing he shies away from at school is the one thing he wants at home. It's not his brothers' fault. It's not Jisung's fault, nor Taeyong's, nor Johnny's. Nor his own, really. It just is. His brothers are sitting their exams. There are tears at every mealtime. Arguments behind doors. Racing to school and back to attend extra revision sessions no-one wants to attend.

He looks back down at his plate and his stomach twists. Taeyong ditches the burnt toast with a gramine, claiming it beyond saving, and pours himself a bowl of cereal instead. Johnny massages the nape of his neck and Taeyong, leaning against the counter still in his pyjamas, closes his eyes for a moment. Then he rests his head on Johnny's shoulder, and Johnny kisses his forehead. They both smile like a secret.

Chenle picks at the corner of a slice of toast. He wants that with someone. He feels warm watching them.

Mark, blinking back sleep since he doesn't have class until third period and didn't want to get up, helps Donghyuck through his French vocab. The flashcards have dogeared corners, ink scribbled out and rewritten in frustration, but Chenle notes the determination on Donghyuck's brow even as he stumbles over the pronunciation. He rolls his eyes with a huff each time Mark corrects him.

"Just because you're doing A Level and basically fluent doesn't mean you have to show off," Donghyuck grumbles, flicking back his auburn hair. Black roots peek out from underneath; he still can't wait to dye it properly for the summer.

Mark drops the flashcards to the table. "Would you rather Dad test you?"

Donghyuck rolls his eyes again and shoves the flashcards to Mark's chest. Johnny scoffs but doesn't move from Taeyong's side. He doesn't look like he had much more sleep than Mark.

Jaemin and Renjun are quiet, noses buried in various science textbooks and revision guides. Jeno isn't studying at all. He's wearing his thickest black hoodie, the one that he nearly got kicked out of yesterday's maths exam for wearing. The same one he always wears, cat on the front and strings frayed.

Releasing a slow exhale, Chenle reaches for the spread and scrapes a bit out with his knife, half the size of his thumb. His toast has gone cold by now so there's nothing to help it cover the entire surface area. Frustrated, he digs the knife too hard into the bread and rips the middle, crumbs landing on the table. He puts the knife down and nibbles the corner of the slice. It's dry, soft again after sitting on his plate for half an hour. It doesn't help settle the clenching of his stomach. Hunger, nausea, it's a sickening mixture of the two, and Chenle sighs. He didn't sleep well enough to have the energy to fight the thoughts this morning.

But he still attempts a second feeble bite and chews more than necessary before swallowing. He thinks of the carbs, the calories, how it will sit heavy in his stomach all morning. Even the banana, sliced and turning brown, glistens like a forbidden fruit. Mind calculating before he can stop it, he tugs the end of his tie before letting his fingers slide into place around his wrist, thumb stroking the bone that protrudes just enough for him to still count as skinny enough.