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Elliot plucked out an earbud, straining to identify the noise that had overshadowed the last paragraph of his audiobook. A startling clank from the wall closest to his head notified him that his apartment's archaic plumbing system was going into overdrive; it likely hadn't ever been tasked with meeting such incredible demands in all its decades of semi-reliable service.
Oh, Humphrey...
He swivelled on his queen-sized bed until the soles of his feet were touching the floorboards and called out to his partner during his journey toward the bathroom, "How're we doing in there, chief?""That's got to be the last of it," Humphrey returned, as the symphony of his recently disposed waste ebbed – only to have this statement challenged by a dreadful spluttering of gas. Elliot's mouth started to curve into a playful smile at the familiar racket. As soon as he placed his ear against the door and heard the man's short, unsteady breaths, concern welled up inside, and banished any trace of amusement."Need anything? How about a glass of water?""I should be okay." Humphrey's voice cracked a little, and there was an undercurrent of a wince."You left some of those re-electrifying sachets here from last time, or whatever they're called," Elliot said. He had come across the box when rummaging through his medicine cabinet for an aspirin earlier in the week and noted its lack of bump-dots. "Can I come in?""In? In here?""I know, I know. I won't if it's still running out of you. But it is past nine, which you know is my skincare time, and you are technically destroying my bathroom. So you owe me."Dead silence hung in the space between them, contorting Elliot's jesting into something he hadn't wished it to be."And I miss you," he added softly, pressing his forehead against the door and closing his eyes. This had been their longest stretch yet between dates and tonight's wasn't exactly turning out how they hoped. He turned the knob, and when the other man didn't protest he continued inside. His pupils flickered as they reacted to the change in light and his nose subtly wrinkled at the residue of Humphrey's gastric distress. He had learned that Humphrey was a considerate flusher who did what he could to reduce the worst of the smell during an episode. But when your guts were revolting as fiercely as this, something was bound to linger.Elliot carefully controlled his expression as he approached the sink, his hand reaching out to muss Humphrey's hair."I'm so sorry about this," Humphrey whined. Elliot could hear his belly grumbling, and the creak of his shifting weight on the toilet seat. "I've opened the window, and I was going to light a candle as soon as I could get off of here."He inhaled sharply as his lower abdomen tightened then violently loosened, sending a pocket of beefy gas exploding out of him. The bowl created an echo chamber, giving his flatulence an almost metallic, chainsaw-like reverb. "Oh my god," he uttered, appalled.
"And blow up the entire building while you're at it," Elliot teased.Even if he did occasionally leave his belongings behind, Humphrey was careful never to disrupt the precise arrangement of Elliot's place, so that his searching hands could easily acquire whatever it was he needed at any time. His fingers grazed the textured stickers on each of the pots and bottles and wavered between two choices. "I'd take your poop over your farts. You're the only person I've met whose farts smell worse," he observed neutrally.
"I have no idea how to take that," Humphrey flatly replied, making Elliot chuckle, which in turn made Humphrey smile, before his inner squall intensified. Pops and gurgles emitted incessantly from his troubled midriff.His thighs were beginning to turn numb from being seated for so long. He wriggled on the seat to encourage some blood flow and was considering standing up to stretch his legs when the pressure shifted in his lower tract. Glancing at Elliot from the corner of his eye, then fastening his gaze to the floor, Humphrey tentatively released his clenched muscles. Liquid stool was thrust out of him in a splash, followed by a long, deep blast of wind. His face darkened shamefully. Elliot didn't stir, calmly circling creamy cleanser into his cheeks and t-zone.Humphrey flushed again and issued a tremulous sigh."It's okay, babe," Elliot soothed. "Just let it happen."His partner apologized for wrecking the evening... for what had to have been the twelfth time, Elliot guessed. He purposely said nothing, instead opening a cabinet door and procuring a cloth, which he soaked and wrung out before offering it to Humphrey, who placed it against his clammy forehead.It wasn't fair to ask Humphrey to stop apologizing no matter how prettily the request was packaged. It was what had been drilled into him since childhood. Their relationship was unique compared to most of Elliot's friends; he and Humphrey had gotten to know each other on an intimate level long before they discovered their feelings for each other. He knew all about Humphrey's struggles and the guilt complex borne from being burdened by constant, unrelenting bodily dysfunction.
"I hope I don't turn out the same," Elliot remarked, his dark brows ticking upwards. "Food poisoning can sometimes be a delayed reaction, right? At this rate I'll have to shit in the sink!""I doubt if it's the food. It's me. It's got to be me. It sucks – I thought I was being careful. No cheese, no spice, nothing too greasy...""You were being careful," Elliot reassured. "One way or another, this isn't your fault.""I hate that it snuck up on me like that," Humphrey complained. "Normally if it's going to happen – you know what it's like, El. Ten, fifteen minutes later... whoosh. But it tricked me. Let me get all the way across town before... I really thought I was going to..." He couldn't bear to say it. Elliot knew he was referring to the possibility of having an accident on public transport, which would be devastating, even if Elliot reassured him over and over that such things probably happened every day somewhere in the world."Hey, it's okay. You're home. You've got all-hours access to a toilet, and a big bed you can fart in all night." Elliot flashed a pearly smile, and Humphrey managed a snort. "But maybe, just to be safe, no restaurant next time," he proposed, just as his partner uncontrollably farted. Elliot always laughed at Humphrey's farting, which was one of the better reactions the blond had ever had to his most recurrent symptom.
Elliot ran the water until it was a little more than tepid and began to rinse the cleanser off his face. Humphrey went on blowing his butt-trumpet, and Elliot was glad that the uniquely pungent stench was clouded somewhat by his expensive skincare products."All gone?" He turned so Humphrey could examine him."Scoot down." Humphrey used the cloth he had been handed to wipe away the last of the cleanser near Elliot's hairline. Elliot hummed to himself as he applied moisturizer to his face and neck, unable to resist carving out a dollop and decorating Humphrey's nose with it. Humphrey was self-conscious about the size of his nose, especially from a side profile."That's the best part of you," Elliot said. "So we have to take extra care of it. The rest of you can go all wrinkly; I don't care."His fingers brushed Humphrey's sodden cheek, then stilled. His forehead furrowed. He shouldn't be that wet. He had made sure the cloth wasn't so damp it would drench Humphrey. He deliberately pressed his hand to Humphrey's face again, and this time could feel the tell-tale trembles of a silent sob."Oh, sweetheart...""I'm honestly okay," Humphrey insisted, though his voice was choked. "I'm just tired and... annoyed at myself.""You're not to blame for any of this."
"Why do we never get to do anything together? We could never just do something off the cuff. Anywhere we go, we have to make sure there's a bathroom. Every date we go on comes with all these conditions. We can't even go for a meal without me ruining it. I'm stopping us from doing so much.""Humphrey, I knew what I was signing up for," Elliot firmly reminded him. "And I don't think I'm alone in having to make adjustments to my life. You're aware you're dating a blind person, yeah?""It's different with you," Humphrey sighed. "I don't know... you're so well put together.""Doesn't mean I don't have as many needs as you do. We both have challenges. And we're both committed to working through them. You make sacrifices for me. Why shouldn't I be expected to do the same for you?"Humphrey laughed mirthlessly, holding his face in his hands. "I can't believe we're having this discussion when I'm sitting on a toilet.""Well, you brought it up," Elliot quipped. He grinned at Humphrey's laughter. "I think most of our big discussions are going to take place in here," he continued pensively. "It's a sacred place for us, is it not?"Having decided this round had drawn to a close, Humphrey flushed a final time and scrubbed his hands. He sprayed a sanitizing solution into the bowl a half dozen times, then lit a candle and washed his hands again."But you know what?""What?" Elliot said, eager to guide him back toward the bedroom. The blind leading the bloated, he thought."Loving you will never be a challenge," Humphrey said.Elliot's breath threatened to catch in his throat. "Careful – you might take that back. It's still early days," he facetiously warned, trying to distract from the pinking of his freshly-lotioned cheeks as Humphrey's soft, warm hand slotted into his own."Somehow I don't think so..."He heard his partner start to utter something sure to make him melt even more.
"Come on," Elliot cut in, with a jerk of his head in his desired direction. "You've deprived me of enough cuddle time. Let's get down to business."
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
"What if you wanted to go to Miami? And me and my stupid butt were stopping you from living your best life?"
Elliot considered his partner's question as much as anyone could consider anything at two in the morning, as he climbed into the pull-out bed beside Humphrey. It was stiffer than Humphrey's real bed upstairs, and curiously tensile; it had the sort of trampoline quality that afflicted most pull-out beds. When he slipped under the smelly blankets and breathed a resigned sigh, it tickled Humphrey's neck and made the blond shiver pleasantly."Why do you always cart me off to Miami in these hypotheticals?" Elliot asked."Well, there's more sun than here. More beaches. Definitely more flamingos," Humphrey reasoned. "And you like orange juice.""Wow, you've got me there.""I'm sure there are other gay people out there, too, but I'd hate to set you up for disappointment.""You watch too much Golden Girls," Elliot chided. His lips brushed Humphrey's cheek, searching for his mouth.
"Let's not say anything we can't take back," Humphrey replied. The springs in the pull-out grated together as he adjusted his position to raise one cheek and let fly with a hefty, rumbling fart. He groaned afterwards, relief mixed evenly with regret. Elliot chose his side wisely and was mostly unaffected, stench aside: he knew better than to be Humphrey's big spoon; his crotch had been farted on one too many times.(Tragically, he had no erotic interests in Humphrey's farting, though sometimes he thought he ought to fake it – it seemed like a terrible waste, otherwise.)"Ooft," he remarked. Under the covers, there was no escaping the impressive stink. "Ease me into it, why don't you.""The farts have been bad," Humphrey confessed. He grabbed a fistful of blanket and tried to waft it all out."I noticed," Elliot said. He bit back a predictable retort – that the farts were always bad. It would explain why he had abandoned Elliot to set up camp in his uncle's living room. Elliot gently stroked the other man's stomach, testing the waters. He could tell he was uncomfortably full."Any diarrhea or anything?""Not yet," Humphrey mumbled into his pillow.
"You usually do okay with eggs – farts aside," Elliot said, trying to breathe through the smog that Humphrey had been steadily contributing to.
"I used to do okay with most things," Humphrey said, remorsefully. His arm snuck around Elliot's upper torso, bringing him closer until Elliot's head was underneath his chin. "I'm sorry I left you. I didn't want to wake you or Uncle Ira if I had to go."Elliot disagreed. He thought it might be impossible to wake Uncle Ira. The man had been snoring with the gusto of a freight train when Elliot spent a quarter of an hour roaming around the uncharted territory of Uncle Ira's upper hallway, hunting for his missing partner. He was slowly mastering the geography of the modest home, though the stairs would always present something of an issue."Would Uncle Ira hear you shitting from up there?""He says he can't, but I used to worry he got annoyed hearing me run up and down the stairs. He bought the couch with the pull-out when I moved in. Cheaper than building another bathroom up there.""I wouldn't want to go to Miami," Elliot circled back. "Or anywhere, without you.""Wouldn't Benjamin like Miami?""Benjamin pukes on planes," Elliot said, "and long car drives. And I love that you think if I didn't want to travel with you, somehow travelling with my brother would convince me..."Humphrey hummed. Elliot could feel the vibrations through the top of his head, and similar vibrations from the hand that was still planted on Humphrey's gut.
"So you couldn't sleep either? Anything you want to talk about?""Not at two in the morning." Elliot smiled and tipped his head up to press a line of kisses to Humphrey's jaw, all the way around to the ear that he could reach. "I can't sleep without you – and your sounds. Go on; I can hear your gut. What're you holding it in for?"Humphrey shifted his hips. "'cause I think it'll be a big one," he cautiously admitted."Thanks for the warning. I'll brace myself accordingly."Humphrey, eyes closed, frowned and gave a little grunt. A single, noisy fart barked out of him, higher-pitched than usual and harsh-sounding."You can do better than that," Elliot said.
"Sto-op."
"You're my white noise. Brown noise."Humphrey pulled a face and made a noise of half-hearted disgust."I even miss the smell, when you're not there," Elliot went on. "It's like… what do they call it, again? Aromatherapy?"Humphrey playfully shook his head in distinct disapproval and freed the arm that he had been lying on so far (it was starting to tingle, anyway.) He inserted it underneath Elliot, so that now he had both wrapped around him, and he could cling to him for support during the worst waves of pain.
"Do you think I'm too far gone?" Elliot laughed into his chest."I think if Benjamin was here, he'd puke.""Because of me or you?"
"He'd be spoiled for... Oh-!"A thick bubble squeezed demandingly at the blond's guts and propelled itself through Humphrey's irritable bowels. Helplessly, he felt it escaping him in a surge of stinking thunder that seemed to rip on and on, to the point that Elliot had to wriggle free out of his hold so he could swallow some clean air outside of the covers... if there was any left."Humphrey!" He tried to keep his words contained in a whisper, but his shock couldn't help but make him cry out. "Holy crap! Uncle Ira definitely heard that...""Wouldn't be the first time," Humphrey sighed. His stomach wailed in protest and he shoved his face back into his pillow. Elliot could just about translate his groan.
Time to lay off the eggs for a while.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
((Gggbbbuurrggghh…))
Elliot's busy hands stilled as he readied himself for the oncoming assault on his olfactory system. It was only a small consolation that his boyfriend's stomach usually gave them plenty of warning that he was about to blow. Along with the hubbub from his protesting colon, Humphrey communicated his discomfort with a soft moan and some light squirming."Incoming," the blond joked weakly. Elliot held his breath when the sliver of vision he possessed made out the blurry image of Humphrey inclining sideways to lift one of his round cheeks. An undesirable trumpeting temporarily blocked the sounds of the 8-bit music coming from his Nintendo DS. There was nothing temporary about the feculent stench that followed it.Humphrey had been performing a selection of choice notes from his infamous brassy symphony all day long, so there was something halfhearted in the way Elliot waved a hand in front of his nose, as much as the smell nauseated him. He tapped his sleek wristwatch twice so it would announce the time.'One-forty-three in the afternoon,'
intoned a digital voice."You, sir, have farted every six minutes since your butt woke me up at five," Elliot playfully accused.
"Is that true?" Humphrey asked, naively. Unfortunately, it didn't sound especially far-fetched.
"It might as well be. I never thought I'd say it, but the sooner you take a dump the better. Those pills do something funky to your insides, and your insides are funky enough as it is.""They help my insides," Humphrey corrected. "And my social life... if you can call it that." He smiled thinly. "After yesterday, I don't want to sit on a toilet again for a week."Elliot feared how strongly his farting might be affected by his constipation by that point. Not so much in its frequency, which would always be plentiful no matter how much he medicated himself, but in its aroma, which was withering as a default."I've been embarrassed by it before," Humphrey went on, the music from his game intensifying as he entered what Elliot had learned was a battle, "You know what school was like for me. But having to text my supervisor to tell him I wasn't at my desk because I couldn't stop crapping was a new low.""I'm surprised it's taken this long for something like that to happen. No offence.""Dr. Smalls wants me to eat more during the day, to keep my guts active or something like that. I don't think she understands how risky that is for me." He winced at the tension in his abdomen and happily relaxed his rectum to let the hot air bluster out abundantly. He promptly fanned a hand near his bottom when his nostrils registered the particularly potent reek. "Oh, god, excuse me! But I can't stress it enough: loperamide is a life-saver. We wouldn't have met for the first time if it wasn't for loperamide. Sorry...""You already said... aw, Humphrey!" Elliot baulked at the noiseless cloud of sulfur that rushed toward him, slapping his hand over his nose and mouth. "You're the love of my life, but I need you to open a window," he choked out between chuckles. "That could stun a rhino!""Sorry," Humphrey repeated a third and final time. Elliot felt a twinge of guilt; he hoped by this point that Humphrey knew that no matter how foul his gas was, and how much he complained or teased him about it, it could never be a turn-off for him. The blond unlocked and pushed open one of the panels on his window that functioned as a sort of door, diluting the bank of stale vapours that had built up inside his bedroom. He was just about to return to his bed when his stomach rumbled furiously. "I'll, uh... stand here for a while...""If you were a Pokemon, you'd for sure be Toxic," Elliot commented, the click-clack-clack of his needle becoming rapid as he got into the swing of the pattern, which was being fed to him through an earbud."It's Poison – not to be that guy." Humphrey glanced over his shoulder to check that the panel was on its lock, then rested his buttocks on the sill. "You know, when I was a kid, I used to imagine I had a pack of Skuntanks for pets – they're like if skunks and cats had babies together; they're really neat! – and they'd follow me around everywhere and always take the fall for my farts.""You'd blame your Skuntanks for your farts? That's so sad. Poor Skuntanks!""We never had a dog, so it was close as I could get," Humphrey said. His stomach emitted a long, airy grumble, and he winced and leaned forward slightly, allowing for a deep gas bubble to sputter out and into the overcast afternoon. He grimaced. There was immediate warmth in the seat of his boxers, though he was, for once, confident that it hadn't been anything more than wind. As though responding to a mating call, something gurgled from the corner of the room. Humphrey identified it as his fish tank filter, and his attention was shortly distracted by the antics of one of his larger platys.
"What Pokemon type would I be?" Elliot asked."Hmm... Fairy, maybe?""Eh, hang on! Low-hanging fruit, much?""I didn't mean it like – I'm gay too!" Humphrey laughed incredulously, and Elliot grinned warmly to convey that he was only pulling his leg. "Pyschic or Dragon, then. Something in that area.""That's a good thing, right?""If you played the game you'd know," the blond said pointedly. He had been trying to convince Elliot to try it for weeks. Elliot preferred to crochet like he was doing now – he could listen to music or a show at the same time, if the pattern was easy, whereas the way Humphrey played his games seemed to be so involved and demanding.
"If your pipes are clogged, we should make the most of it," Elliot said.
"Take-out?" Humphrey guessed. "I dunno, El. Could be dangerous. I might have to take another pill, just to make sure the dam doesn't break too early. And if we get something that I'm sensitive to, and I'm already bloated, then...""Then God help my nostrils," Elliot finished. He rolled from his side onto his back, taking his partially-completed cactus with him. "You know me. I like to walk on the wild side."Humphrey's next grumble came from his mouth, instead. "Urgh! Why is Fantina's Mismagius such a – such a dumb stupidface?!""Those words mean literally nothing to me. What're you thinking? Pizza?""I can't remember the last time I had Chinese.""Chinese? That depends. Did I bring my bag of yarn with me?"Humphrey tore his eyes away from his screen and frowned at his partner. How could Elliot have forgotten that he had made Humphrey stop the car and turn back around to fetch it when he realized it was missing? "Uh... yes? It's by my desk.""Good." Elliot turned his face toward the direction of his voice and smirked. "Then I'll get started on a fresh pair of boxers for you."Humphrey rolled his eyes goodnaturedly. "Ha, ha... oh. Oh, jeez..."
((Ggggrrhhufffmmbburrbblll...))
He wriggled his hips slightly at the southward pressure that accompanied the thick, boggy rumble, and Elliot giggled at the look of concern he knew would be advertised plainly on his face and at the timing of his faulty guts."That's... maybe not the worst idea," he confessed."Remind me to head for the hills when the dam breaks."
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Humphrey stared listlessly at his bedroom's ceiling and endeavoured to steady his jerky breathing. He had been jolted out of sleep by needling pains in his left side that were now reaching a crescendo. Though whatever was going on inside of him had so far been entirely noiseless, which he noted was untypical of his flare-ups, he was beginning to see this had allowed for a false sense of security; it was with much trepidation that Humphrey realized that even a double dose of loperamide might not save him from himself.He willed himself not to make things worse by feeding into his growing anxiety and activating his sensitive gut-mind axis, though his heart was starting to race as he faced the possibility of yet another night spent fighting for his life on the porcelain throne. He could cope with attacks during the day, when he just about had the strength to see it through and Uncle Ira was busy at work in the backyard, but when his energy levels needed to be refuelled, and poor Ira, always early to rise, was trying to catch his well-earned forty winks...
((gggbburrggbbbgghhurrggl!))
He froze. This was not a drill. He could feel that loathsome sinking sensation in the pit of his belly like a cascading waterfall. Knowing that his internal countdown was now urgently ticking away, he wasted no time leaping out of bed and throwing himself across the room.Uncle Ira was predictably roused by the familiar sound of his nephew racing across the upper hallway and hurtling down the stairs. The bathroom door was shut harder than Humphrey intended and the lock stiltedly slid into its hold. The total absence of light in the carpenter's room suggested it was well past midnight, and for a moment the bleariness of a broken slumber made Ira misremember what day it was, or had been, and what exactly had been on the menu. He sighed heavily and rubbed a hand down his bristly face, then tediously heaved himself up and onto his feet.The pressure that was rapidly amounting around Humphrey's rectum was becoming unbearable. He yanked on the light cord and hastily tugged down his boxers. The mental relief was immediate as his buttocks made contact with the cool plastic seat and he sensed the emptiness of the bowl underneath him, though he was surprised that, given the force of the cramps, his bowels hadn't spilled open as soon as he sat down.No... they'd make him pay for his mistake. How dare he provide his body with nourishment and not pay the price?Acid boiled inside of his abdomen fiercely enough to make him shudder. His stomach burbled murkily as its contents turned to water. Unable to withstand the anticipation any longer, he pushed. A bout of broken wind opened the floodgates. A semi-solid chunk crackled out of him – the best the loperamide could do at thickening everything up – followed by a stream of excessive, foul-smelling liquid that fell away from him all too effortlessly. The diarrhea poured into the base of the bowl like someone tipping out a jug. Humphrey sighed sharply, partially relieved and partially exasperated, and jabbed his thumb into the flusher button over his shoulder.He had tensed to brace himself against the pain, and now hesitantly eased this stiffness, which relaxed his muscles and made the flow more consistent. If it meant this was over sooner, he wouldn't fight it. He anxiously bounced one leg as the waste continued to race out of him. It was something of a miracle that he wasn't farting. He might not wake Uncle Ira when he flushed, but his flatulence was so ridiculously noisy that no one in their small house was ever spared.
He was too engrossed to hear the older man descending the stairs and passing by the bathroom to enter the kitchen. Ira shook his head sympathetically at the violent plopping sounds he could hear coming from the other side of the door. It was easily ten more minutes before his nephew's digestive fracas began to subside; when he slipped into the living room and lowered himself onto the sofa with a grunt, Ira could still occasionally make out some of the heavier splashes along with Humphrey's groaning.Humphrey flushed again. Elbows pressed into his thighs, he held his head in his hands and breathed slowly. He had decided it was best to sit for as long as it took for his anxiety to ebb. He farted profusely during this come-down – while this wasn't much of an improvement, Ira was at least used to it and only distantly registered the thunderous brass – until the cramps faded at the same rate they had come on. He tried to suss out the condition of his stomach and whether it was safe to exit the bathroom without putting it under the spotlight and scaring it into cooking up more of its wicked brew.Minutes passed without a single grumble or even the slightest urge to move his bowels. Good as new, he thought sourly. He wiped himself until he was close to raw, flushed and washed his hands, and sighed when his ears picked up on the choked burbles of the toilet struggling to remove his mess.
"Plunger," he mumbled, nodding once and tiredly pushing some of his hair from his glistening forehead.
Of course it couldn't be that easy.For a while he made himself busy in the kitchen – putting away dishes that had been set out to dry, and running an abrasive sponge over the counters to get rid of any unseen spillages or crumbs – just to have an excuse to loiter downstairs. Generally, he didn't think of himself as being superstitious, but he knew the behavior of his bowels better than any professional could rationalize. His bowels thought there was nothing funnier than letting him get cozy and comfortable under the sheets before springing an emergency on him.The episode had been so extreme that he anticipated an encore, and resigned himself to his fate of sleeping on the pull-out. He returned upstairs soft-footedly so as not to wake his uncle, grabbed his book, a pillow and a blanket, checked his sockets and tanks one final time (wishing his fish goodnight, as he always did), and decided he would curl up on his armchair near the mantelpiece first before he set up for bed. He deserved the rest."You okay, kid?""Oh!" Humphrey gasped then resisted a laugh at the idea of Uncle Ira having been sat in the dark like some kind of Bond villain. He feigned nonchalance even though the adrenaline was still coursing through him in bits and parts. "Hey. Y-Yeah, it's fine. It was kind of a surprise.""Sounded like it."The blond's chest panged. So he had woken him. "Yeah. I think I might be in for a rough night, so..." He waved his book, then set it down on the desk beside the lamp, which he flicked on. He wasn't the fastest reader – when he had been assessed for autism, they discovered he was also a touch dyslexic (as if he didn't have enough going on) – but as cumbersome a task as it might be, he found it to be much more effective at enabling him to temporarily zone out of his unfortunate reality than playing something on his DS.Uncle Ira cleared his throat, which Humphrey knew was a nervous tic of his.
"Was it the burgers, or...?""I've no idea," his nephew answered. Admittedly, he had been concerned about the amount of grease in his uncle's cuisine, but he always felt awful about turning down his food. "You know how it can be sometimes. It could be anything! Could be the air we're breathing." He smiled amiably and sat down in the armchair, stifling a hissing wince at the sting of his poor, much-abused asshole.
Ira's face was impossible to read, and not only because the lamp only gave off a mild light. He was always like that. Humphrey was the opposite – he found his feelings impossible to cloak."Do you think it's getting worse?" He asked. Before Humphrey could say anything, he continued quietly: "Last two weeks, you've had it bad. You were up all night a few Mondays ago with it. Couldn't even make it to the end of dinner on the Thursday before you had to go. Then the other day at work, you said…""I know." Humphrey was embarrassed by how clearly his uncle recalled all of his episodes, especially the memory of having to notify his supervisor about his diarrhea. But there was also something strangely comforting in how openly Uncle Ira talked about it; he never catastrophised or minimised Humphrey's condition, and he had never once given his nephew the impression that he was tired of hearing about it all the time... or having to live with it.This wasn't what Humphrey had been used to before he moved in, and the contrast still took some getting used to."I'm not sure," he continued. "I don't think so. It gets like this – it's, what's the word... it comes in cycles. I can be okay for a while, and then... you know. I'm not. I always keep it in the back of my mind that it'll never last." His smile drooped into a frown. "I'm sorry if I woke you."Ira dismissed this with a rough shrug. "Do you want me to stay down here with you?"This stupefied Humphrey. He shook his head and was about to turn him down when Uncle Ira became embarrassed that he had even suggested it. He cleared his throat again and was seemingly even more uncomfortable with the idea of silence.
He blurted, "Pete's store had a sale on toilet paper. Just remembered. I'll go tomorrow and see if it's still there. It's a real good deal.""That would be great," Humphrey said, partly to make Ira feel better, but mostly because it was true. They could never have enough.
He picked up his book and took longer than was necessary to find his page, giving Ira ample opportunity to sneak away. The man lingered half in and out of the doorway. Eventually Humphrey had to look up – his uncle seemed to want him to acknowledge his presence.
"I just–" The man reached helplessly for words that were evading him. He folded his arms over his chest and furrowed his brow. His posture conveyed a surly aggressiveness that was absent in his nature, though often mistaken for being the core of who he was, but assuming this stance seemed to make it easier for him to get the rest of his thoughts out. "Want to tell you that I'm proud of you."Humphrey listened, his cottonmouth slightly agape, his expression guilelessly rapt."You've been dealing with this for so long yet you're always cheerful. If you weren't, that'd be okay. I would understand." Humphrey didn't mean to enable the silence, which had to be tough for Ira to contend with. He was at a genuine loss for words. "But you're doing a great job coping with it all. You always do."The blond could feel something pricking at his eyes. It might've only been tiredness. "Well... thanks, Uncle Ira.""Mhm." The bearded man nodded several times, jaw set tightly, eyes fastened to the floor. "Your dad–" He scoffed feebly. "He loved to run his mouth. I'll never understand how he could say you were a..."
Humphrey saw the fear and regret enter his face and rescued them both. "I forgot to tell you that Elliot says thanks for the whale. He really, really loves it."Ira looked up briefly, then back down to the safety of the floor. Humphrey was warmed by the fleeting appearance of a smile. It hadn't gone unnoticed that Ira had spent more than a fair share of time on the miniature carving."Really? That's swell. I like Elliot. I liked him before, when you guys were doing the email thing, and you would talk on the – but – well... he's a nice guy, isn't he?""He sure is," Humphrey agreed.Uncle Ira cleared his throat."I'll go. You let me know if you need anything. If that plunger gives you any trouble again, shout for me."Humphrey nodded stiffly, his face growing hot with the understanding that his uncle had heard him fighting with it, but he knew it was coming from a genuine place. Uncle Ira loved working with his hands, no matter how dirty the job.
He watched Ira retreat into the darkness and looked down at the opened page of his book. He tried to read the same sentence three times but his attention wouldn't latch. Thoughts of his younger days, feelings rather than concrete memories, gathered in his chest and made his throat feel tight and his jaw quiver. How many times had he suffered through days and nights of uncontrollable illness without anyone checking in on him? Or when it was acknowledged, it was only to express how much it inconvenienced the rest of the household? When exactly was it that Humphrey realized he wasn't normal, and why had he been so quick to accept that that was a valid reason for his mother and father to ignore him?(And why, he wondered, is it always nighttime when your heart decides to have these conversations with your head?)His medical ailments never seemed to embarrass his uncle. This might push him over the edge, however. His voice wavered, but the emotions rang out strong and true. "Night, Uncle Ira. Love you."He figured his uncle was already in bed; that may have been why it was so easy for him to declare. Then footsteps became audible, crossing the upper hallway almost in a run, and the click of his uncle's door shutting over was plain to decipher in the quiet of the cabin-style house.Humphrey smiled to himself as he resumed reading. He knew he had been heard. And he believed, rather than hoped, that it was reciprocated.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Elliot couldn't imagine how things could get better than this. He and Humphrey had a whole weekend ahead of them to enjoy together, a rare occurrence around these parts, and it would no doubt be spent doing what they liked best – very little. Now, as if to maximise their mellowness, rain had begun to beat a tranquil melody against the windows of Uncle Ira and Humphey's cosy chalet, reminding them that the world out there was a wild and woeful place while the world in here was balmy and blissful.
His partner, who didn't do anything by halves when it came to comfort, had stripped his bed that morning in anticipation of Elliot staying over, so he could replace the sheets with luxurious brushed cotton linen that practically melted underneath their fingers. Every year he asked for a new blanket and tonight he appeared to have piled ten birthdays' worth on top of the already sumptuous bedding, which he masterfully entangled around himself and Elliot, trapping them both inside the most wonderfully relaxing cocoon.
To top it all off, Humphrey had a habit of cranking his window open hours before retiring to bed because he swore that a low environmental temperature was the key component to a perfect night's sleep (and it also happened to air out a day's worth of flatulence while it was at it), and it was this contrast between the chilled bedroom and their oven-hot nest that Elliot enjoyed the most. He dreaded the possibility of having to ever emerge from it, and he hoped dawn took its sweet time in calling them back to consciousness.There was one area of this fantasy that needed improvement, however. Judging by the noises he was making – from his mouth, this time – Humphrey wasn't yet on Elliot's level of euphoria. He had heard him make his discontentment known when he stretched across Elliot to put his book away and turn off his bedside lamp (and comically knock out a loud fart in the process, which of course Elliot would never comment on when he knew he was in such a low mood.)"That was a big sigh," he observed. Humphrey's response was to groan anguishedly into his pillow. "Uh oh. Still thinking about today?""I'll be thinking about it all weekend.""Oh, honey...""This is the part where you're supposed to say it couldn't have been that bad.""It is," Elliot acknowledged. His hand had slid up the front of Humphrey's shirt and around the back of his neck to gently play with the little fine hairs, but now it crawled up toward Humphrey's scalp, to compensate for what he was about to say next. "But I know what your farts are like. Not so sweet as the rest of you, unfortunately."Humphrey moved Elliot's hand on his head to a better scratching spot. He felt Humphrey's body sag as he vented another dejected exhale. "I can't believe I'm still that guy.""What guy?""The guy who farts all the time," his boyfriend muttered peevishly. He was aware of how ridiculous it might come across, and he wasn't altogether unamused by it. Of course, it was easier to laugh at yourself when you were in a better place socially and emotionally compared to years of not-so-long past. Humphrey could sense Elliot's brain struggling to form the right words to lighten his spirits about his unfortunate status in life.
"Okay, fine, I can believe it," he amended huffily, "but I don't like it." He was glad that Elliot couldn't read the hurt on his face. He had barely managed to dampen it down in his tone. "First I'm the guy who always lets them go in class, now I'm the guy who stinks out the office. I'm that guy. Again. Always.""Hey, hey. HR knows you have things going on. Dante does too. It won't affect your job security or anything. It might not be endearing the rest of your department to you, but… that's life, right? We're all built differently." If someone said that to me, I'd think it was so lame, Elliot thought, his face pinching in self-reproach. "Sorry. I think I'm all out of wisdom for the day. Look, all those bodies packed in one room, someone's bound to be a little whiffy. You just happen to be a lot whiffy.""I miss my annexe. The only person that cared if I farted in there was me! I didn't mind that I was all by myself. And I don't mind that there's mold!" He cried. Elliot laughed at his defiance. "Maybe a little mold can be good for the body, huh? Huh? Why shut it down for two entire weeks?""God knows it can't be making your guts any worse," Elliot noted, poking the troublesome tummy in question. "Bodies suck, huh?""Tell me about it.""...so how many times did you crack one off?"Humphrey pouted at the mischief pulsing behind Elliot's question and playfully kicked his leg. "I don't think that matters, mister."
"True. A little of your butt goes a looooong way.""I was nervous, which didn't help. I'm not used to working around people. I was scared they were all laughing about how I sounded on the phone.""What? But you're great on the phone! Clients are always telling you that. How could we forget about–" "'Happy little elf'," Humphrey spoke over him, and Elliot could hear the growing smile in his voice. "I know, I know."Elliot was referring to one of the reviews that had come in months ago. Maybe even a year back. Dante, Humphrey's favorite supervisor, said it was historical; never in the eighty years that the company had been operating had any customer services agent been described as such."Dante still wants to put that on a plaque for me," Humphrey added."I'm sure he'll speak to everyone and remind them to not be assholes," Elliot said. Inwardly, he wondered whether Dante might want to consider getting HR involved. Humphrey had never fit in with the rest of the group of interns he was hired with and none of the supervisor's previous efforts had appeared to make a lick of difference. He knew Humphrey would hate it being made into such an ordeal, but Elliot wouldn't be satisfied until his main tormentors were getting more than a wrist-slap for teasing him about something he had no control over. He had suffered enough of that during his schooling years."At least Farty McFly is smarter than Humphrey Bofart," Humphrey went on, and Elliot made him flinch with his unbridled laughter. The brunette covered his mouth with his hand apologetically. "I know it's dumb! But that hurts when you're fourteen.""How do a bunch of kids know who Humphrey Bogart is anyway?""I dunno. I guess I attract cultured bullies.""Well, I think I win when it comes to unoriginal nicknames," Elliot said. "They called me Wonder Boy.""Why?" Humphrey had images of the bread in his head, which he suspected weren't correct. Elliot spent entirely too long explaining to Humphrey about who Stevie Wonder was.
"Oh! I do know who that is," Humphrey said, triumphantly. He had no idea.
They chatted for a while longer, until Humphrey's responses became softer, eventually dropping into barely intelligible mumbles which sunk into snores. Only for him to jerk out of sleep seconds later, frightening Elliot and instantly evoking concern that he was about to experience severe intestinal distress of some kind."Gosh, I'm so sorry! I forgot your bedtime kisseys!""You – almost – gave me a heart attack!" Elliot passively protested as Humphrey pressed a cluster of enthusiastic kisses all over his face and neck. Humphrey resumed slumbering almost as suddenly as he had halted it, and Elliot tried his hardest to follow his lead.Yet as peaceful as he was – which made it even more vexing – Elliot found himself lying awake for the better part of an hour, with only the glub-glub of Humphrey's fishtanks to keep him company. Insomnia was not uncommon among blind people, and a few counselling sessions revealed that his insomnia was in part because of a negative perception of sleep and nighttime. Well, no shit, Elliot had said.His vision loss began the winter before he turned nine. He attended an afterschool drama club three blocks away from his father's skyscraper office, and it was during these subway rides back to their apartment that his father noticed his diminishing eyesight. An official diagnosis came two years later. They had drip-fed the inevitable to him, which in hindsight Elliot resented, though he understood why his parents, particularly his mother, the carrier of the gene that had caused all of this, hadn't the heart to tell him that one day he would see the moon and the trees and the sea and their faces in all their glorious clarity for the very last time.At the age of twenty-five he had some vision – not an especially generous share but knowing how quickly his condition was progressing, he was thankful for what had been spared. He had adapted more than he ever believed he could and he believed he would continue to adapt when what he currently had was his no more. But that didn't squash his fears for when the time would come that there would be nothing at all. He feared falling asleep for waking up in that reality, that permanent state where there was no switching on a bedside lamp to fend off the darkness, where darkness would be everything.He had exhausted his options. Medication, meditation, moving his bed to different corners of his room, visiting the gym an extra three times a week, cutting out caffeine, which he never cared much for anyway... and most crucial of all was his white noise machine. The steady frequencies broke down the barrier between normalcy and nothingness, so neither was particularly jarring when he drifted back to the present.
But now he had his own special brown noise machine. His partner's stomach was never quiet, no matter what he had digested. The gurgles and rumbles were reliably continuous, and because he naturally focused more on what he could hear rather than see, Elliot was strangely well-equipped to detect the difference between what was gas and what would probably require a toilet bowl imminently.
Currently, the rumbles were plentiful and sustained. He knew Humphrey was carrying a half-full tank. The farts he absolutely couldn't control had escaped him already, but there were pockets of air that he had been holding in purposely, afraid of irritating his coworkers even more than he had. No doubt this meant compromising on how musical his guts would become, and Elliot could picture him sitting in one of the open-plan cubicles with a permanent blush on his freckled countenance. They had been buried down so deeply that it would take some straining for them to surface and offer him some relief, and in the meantime, that would mean even more bloating and discomfort for his poor Humphers.
Well, Elliot was awake. Why not make himself useful?He carefully rolled up Humphrey's shirt, bridging the gap between his hand and Humphrey's stomach, then drawing it back quickly when he recalled that his poor circulation would have turned his fingers into icicles. Once they were sufficiently warmed, he began to caress and massage his partner's gaseous tummy. Humphrey responded with a small groan and shifted his hips. Elliot smiled to himself and started to smooth his palm over the area near Humphrey's scar, where the rumbles seemed to be coming from the most. After a few minutes of varying the pressure and direction of his strokes, Elliot felt the bunched muscles in this area relax before the rest of Humphrey tensed. The blond uttered a short, huffing grunt. The bedsprings creaked and Elliot felt the covers move and knew that Humphrey would be angling his leg, allowing an easier exit for an enormous fart to bluster out. He bit into his lip to stop himself from giggling when, after a perfect beat, a still-asleep Humphrey sighed with distinct pleasure for having been rid of the leaden pressure in his gut.The stench billowed inside their cocoon and pricked at Elliot's unseeing eyes. Humphrey's stomach emitted a formidable rumble, indicating that his tank was far from empty. Elliot knew that another fragrant barrage was already inching its way down his tract. He would put good money on his being stirred in the morning by a frosty breeze when Humphrey started the defogging process, hoping to god he could have the room smelling significantly less sulphurous for the first day of their highly-anticipated weekend. It was adorably amusing to Elliot that Humphrey could never comprehend how his embarrassing symptoms were the ideal tonic for Elliot's anxieties. No matter how long the night seemed, he would always have his partner's warm, windy presence... and it would save him from the dark.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
art of god's strongest soldier by illugrace <3
"Do you think we're the gayest people in this Abode Warehouse?" Humphrey wondered aloud.In response, his partner struck him a devastating blow with one of his famous blankly incredulous stares. Since they had stepped foot in the store they had been surrounded by a soundscape of what could only be described as old man noises – labored grunts as they descended to reach the stock on the lower shelves, agonized groans when they rose back up again, dislodging what sounded like decades-worth of phlegm from their throats before they talked over the guidance proffered by the younger, and in their hardened minds, grossly inexperienced store employees. "Humphrey, I can't see – and even I know we're the gayest people in this Abode Warehouse. Have you found one yet?""Not yet," his partner replied. Elliot felt the guiding tug of the blond's hand, and they moved about half an inch down the aisle. It wasn't the distance he was hoping they would cover and he made this clear was a groan of his own. "I'm not really sure what I'm looking for, to be honest...""Oh, I would've never guessed."Humphrey returned his look with one of patience growing thin. "There are more factors than you might think that we need to consider here," he explained. "For starters, the height and width. And then all the other practical junk as well.""That's the technical term for it, is it?""You have to think about usability, although it's really hard to gauge how comfortable the seat is going to be from down here... plus, I need to make sure it fits in with the rest of your decor." He had spent more time in Elliot's bathroom than even Elliot had, so he knew it like the back of his hand. He was cautious of clashing colors and questionable features. "There's one here – it's a little more rectangular than your last one, I don't know how that would feel when you sit – oh! Here's a pink one that has a nice shape!"
"Now we're the gayest people in the Abode Warehouse," Elliot sighed."You know, you weren't very clear about what you wanted, either," Humphrey snipped, hinting toward his partner's unhelpfulness."Because I don't care what it looks like just so long as I don't have to use that litterbox anymore," Elliot griped. He supposed he should've been grateful to his father for the donation of one of his mobile camper toilets while they sorted things in his apartment. Still, he hoped to soon return to a way of living that didn't involve having to worry about how accurately you were straddling six pounds of plastic. It was like taking a dump in an accessory from a Barbie dreamhouse.He was lucky that he wasn't a particularly proud person, and even luckier still to have a partner who had no hesitation about physically assisting him with such delicate matters – and even more fortunate than that that the same partner had an uncle whose home boasted a functioning toilet. (Although they brought the camper toilet with them, just in case Humphrey had a flare-up and the actual bathroom became unavailable.)Humphrey unlinked their fingers so he could step back and angle himself as he needed to, in an effort to closely inspect the Warehouse's range. "The bowl is bigger on this one over here, and the color's boring but nice and... ah. Nope. The flusher is one of those button-y ones. Not very accessible.""They're not half as much of a connoisseur as you are, granted, but we could still leave all of this to my mom and dad," Elliot reminded him.He swore he felt himself being buffeted backwards by how quickly Humphrey must've turned around to face him down. "No. We've been over this. I'm paying."Elliot tempered his exasperation. "Babe, I appreciate that there's some guilt there, but they paid for the rest of the fucking apartment. What's one little toilet?"
"Because I'm the one who clogged it!"
In this one instance, the universe spared Humphrey the humiliation of having been overheard. The only other person in this aisle was an elderly gentleman with an extraordinarily large hearing device, which evidently was in need of repair."And? You've got the best excuse of us all," Elliot continued. "The only one who feels like it's some crime you need to make reparations for is you, sweetness."Humphrey fidgeted with the hem of his jacket and whined. "It's just... it's the first time I have a decently solid poop in weeks, and that's what happens...""You were pretty backed up. Bizarrely. It must've been a rare moon cycle or something."
A shadow of a smile played on the blond's mouth. "I'm paying," he said, sternly."Okay.""I'm paying – with my money," he reiterated."And I believe you," Elliot reassured him with a playful salute.Humphrey craned his neck up once more. "Why do the bowls have to be so far off the ground? That's a health and safety risk if I've ever seen one."His partner grinned. "Maybe the old guys were using them when they were on ground level?"While amusing, the remark reminded Humphrey that there weren't any public restrooms in the store, and he had to fight the thought from becoming obsessively replayed in his mind. "The 'How To Choose Your Toilet' Guide on BathroomCentral.com mentioned–""The what on where?" Elliot interrupted, laughingly. "Maybe it's a good thing I can't see your browsing history!""It mentioned the three Cs. Comfort, Cleanability, and (Soft)-Close.""That should be the two Cs and the one SC," Elliot said, pettily.
Humphrey was no longer listening. For a store that was otherwise packed with useful but unexciting inventory, there was a range of unique toilet seats on offer, including one that was marine-themed, which was so unexpected and perfectly catered to Humphrey's interests that he openly gasped at it (and mercifully did not notice two of the store employees witnessing this and elbowing each other.)"Oh man, are we getting this! This is awesome!" He cried, having explained its quirky appearance to Elliot."I've never seen – wait...""What?""I was going to say 'I've never seen someone so happy to see a toilet seat', but that's not true. I've seen you this overjoyed in their presence plenty of times. Well, if it makes you happy." As if he wasn't just as buzzing for Humphrey's discovery, and to have a little piece of Humphrey in his apartment all the time (in the most appropriate room in the apartment, no less.) "It'd give a whole new meaning to turtleheading, wouldn't it?""Oh, stop it!" Humphrey shook his head in disapproval but couldn't fully suppress his giggles.As they started to retrace their steps toward the precarious wall of bowls, Elliot felt Humphrey's hand slipping out of his own to tighten around his wrist. He quickly realized that Humphrey was trying to place him ahead of him. Sweat lined his partner's palm, and Elliot sensed that he had noticed something dangerous in their environment that necessitated the renewed spring in their step. He controlled his feeling of alarm, but couldn't help his curiosity.
"What is it?" He asked in a hushed tone. "Is something wro–"
PPVvvRrRrTttHHHAbbbAARRP!
"– oh great," Humphrey winced and hurried their pace. Elliot knew that the sudden passage of gas had been much louder than Humphrey had calculated. His instinct to laugh at the timing and unnecessarily dramatic build-up was severed when he heard some disgusted mutterings from other customers, and he felt Humphrey hastily leading them into another, emptier aisle before he got the chance to say anything about it."Thanks for keeping me away from the backdraft," Elliot told him, squeezing his hand reassuringly. "Hey, don't mind them. Like they've never farted.""Yeah," Humphrey weakly agreed. The heat was starting to dissipate from his cheeks, though the rouge remained. As humiliating as it was, he was at least grateful that the knot of pain in his stomach had been alleviated instead of worsened; there was always the possibility that the escaped gas would move other things along. "My stomach was still feeling funny from dinner last night, but I think that was the last of it.""It sounded like it," Elliot said with a snort."But I don't want to go back in that aisle for a while, in case they're still – oh, look, the fishtanks are just over here!""What a coincidence," Elliot said. "This counts as taking advantage of a visually impaired person, by the way.""Well we don't have to–""I'm kidding," Elliot said fondly. "Let's go get some new pebbles for Martha."For the next five minutes, Elliot listened patiently to Humphrey rambling on about the differences between the substrates and plants, and he was not in the least surprised to hear him accurately compare and recite the prices of these products across all the stores in their area. Humphrey was terrible at arithmetic, but strangely inclined to remember sequences of numbers. Before he placed any of his chosen furnishings in Elliot's basket, he let Elliot feel them to decide whether the fish – particularly his favorite congo tetra, Martha – would enjoy flitting in and out of the holes, or if they would be too small or jagged to be comfortable. Elliot approved of the bonsai driftwood and the mangrove root, and so trusted was his opinion in Humphrey's eyes that he even convinced Humphrey to buy a ceramic pirate ship, knowing it was largely for their own enjoyment, though he wholeheartedly believed Martha would make a fine captain.On their way back to what Elliot presumed was the toilet aisle once more, he noticed Humphrey had become quiet and withdrawn. He had good cause to be suspicious. "You feeling okay?""I think I might need a bathroom soon," his partner uttered gravely, and Elliot could hear how dry his mouth had become."How soon? Soon-soon?"Humphrey mumbled an affirmative. Elliot tried to remain calm for them both, although he knew that once Humphrey felt any pangs or cramps, it was hard for him not to panic, which in turn accelerated the process.
"Okay. You know the layout, right? I'll stay and you can go–""Elliot, they don't have restrooms you can use here," Humphrey cut in, the worry edging into his voice, and no doubt showing clear as day on his face.
Elliot's heart sank. Humphrey usually refused to go anywhere without knowing there was a restroom, and it dawned on him that he had come out of his comfort zone purposely for Elliot."Then we can go home, just dump this stuff and–" Elliot cringed at his choice of words but pressed on, "– if you want to run out to the car, I can stay and call a cab or something. You can just go, babe."He wasn't sure why he suggested it. There was no way Humphrey could hold it long enough to drive back to Uncle Ira's. Maybe there was a restaurant nearby? Or would they expect him to be a paying customer before he could use their facilities? Perhaps there was a woodland area he could pop a squat in, but at this time of day, it was sure to have at least some foot traffic... While Elliot's thoughts raced futilely toward a solution, he didn't pay much attention to Humphrey rifling around in his backpack until he felt Humphrey's slick palm pressing against his own."I'm going to find someone and show them my card," he said waveringly, and Elliot obediently allowed himself to be dragged to the closest store associate, haphazardly dumping their basket on a stack of pallet wood as they ran. Soon the sounds of the cashier till were noticeable to him. Silently, he willed Humphrey to find the courage to ask someone for help. He knew it was difficult for him to broach this subject with strangers. Anyone would find it hard when it was something so personal and oftentimes demeaning.Two lines stretched out on either side of the only check-out desk, near the automatic front doors. Humphrey overcame his anxiety to politely bypass the first customer in the line, though he withered under their affronted look. "Excuse me," he told them breathlessly, and as the store employee who looked fresh out of college faced him expectantly, he stammered noiselessly before holding out his card. He was pink in the face and ears, and his voice was almost choked with panic. "I'm s-sorry to be a pain–"The card was about the size of a credit card, and a little scuffed from all the years he had had it in his possession. It was blue and white, had the male and female silhouettes on it, like those found on bathroom doors, and a bold font that stated: I can't wait! The bearer of this card has a medical condition that means they need to use your toilet facilities urgently. Any assistance would be greatly appreciated.
It was agonizing for both young men as they waited for the employee to read the text and parse what it meant. Humphrey's expression surely would've conveyed his distress, and Elliot was cheering for him on the inside, hoping he managed to keep it together for a little while longer. Surely she couldn't turn him down."Uh, just a second. I gotta find somebody to cover," the employee murmured. She stretched on her tiptoes to look above the heads of all the customers, trying to source a superior. She wasn't striving to be unhelpful but Elliot inwardly fumed at this choice. He could feel Humphrey shivering as he no doubt clenched with all the strength he could muster. The cashier rang a bell underneath the desk, trying to attract the attention of her colleagues."If you can even give me the code," Humphrey suggested desperately, and other clients waiting in line seemed to become aware of how time-sensitive the situation was. Many looked away, but a couple stared imploringly at the young girl. No one wished to witness someone losing control all over themselves.The employee's finger was about to stab into the bell again but she smartly decided against it. Soon Elliot was hurriedly following the sound of Humphrey's footsteps as all three moved quickly to the back of the store. Elliot heard numbers being punched in electronically and felt a rush of cool air that smelled like woodchippings and wet soil."Is he...?""He's my boyfriend and he's visually impaired and he's coming too!" Humphrey blurted out. The toilet must've been in sight because Elliot detected a shred of relief in his voice. There was a pause, in which Elliot could just about make out the employee looking back at him.
"We're not going to do anything funny in there!" He exclaimed jocularly. He was glad that he was too blind to register whatever expression overcame their silent faces in response to this."Just in there," Elliot heard the employee say, and Humphrey did a courtesy knock before barging into the bathroom with Elliot at his heels. Elliot slid his back against the tiled wall until he felt himself in a corner and listened to Humphrey flip up the seat and slam his backside down. By this point, he must've tossed off his jacket, because Elliot could clearly hear how noisily his guts were roiling, but after a few minutes, all that could be made out were the gentle grunts of his partner straining."I can't believe this..."
"False alarm?" Elliot guessed."Elliot, I really thought it was going to happen right at the check-out," Humphrey whimpered miserably. "My stomach turned to water, and I felt so nauseous... god, I'm so sorry...""Hey, hey, it's fine," Elliot soothed. "I wouldn't have known it was a false alarm. You were in distress either way. And at least we know the card works now, right? So now we know for next time.""Right," Humphrey admitted, knowing in his heart it was healthier to look on the bright side. Elliot leaned the back of his head against the cool tiles, then glanced up at what he thought was a boggy gurgle, and more concentrated straining."Just take it easy," he said, preparing for the inevitable surge. "Don't force it. It's going to come no matter wh–"Suddenly Humphrey's sphincter relaxed and with it, a robust and gusty fart blustered out. Seconds later, he released his pent-up breath in a relieved exhale. Elliot laughed and covered his mouth. Then he started laughing even harder."You're such a goof," Humphrey playfully chastised. "How many times have you heard that happen? And you still crack up!""No! Didn't you hear her walking away?" Elliot whispered and pointed his thumb over his shoulder, toward the door."No...?""Right! So she's probably still out there waiting for us!"Humphrey slapped a hand to his forehead when he clocked what Elliot meant. It was a very real possibility that this poor girl could hear him experiencing his gastric distress. The soft pink that seemed to be permanently lingering on his face these days burned a rich apple red when he felt movement in his tract. He tried to hold it, but the pressure built up swiftly and thickly at his hole. A massive expulsion of rancid flatulence rattled around the bowl for a comically long time and ended with a daft squeak. Elliot covered his mouth with both hands to trap his typical reaction. She really would think they were up to something, then, if he was busting a gut while Humphrey nearly busted the bowl in two, except god only knew what. It was useful for blocking out the smell, as well. Last night's dinner hadn't had a full-blown (pun intended) argument with Humphrey's innards, but they certainly weren't on good terms.Humphrey ripped off a wad of toilet paper. It all felt perfectly dry, but you could never be too safe. "I'm going to play eenie-meenie-miney-mo, and whatever I land on, we buy," he said, leaning forward to wipe. "Then we're going home and calling a plumber.""Ten out of ten plan." Elliot gave him a thumbs-up. "All clean?""All clean.""It's a miracle!"There was no such thing as inappropriate dinnertime conversation in Humphrey and Uncle Ira's home, because there was never any fear that anyone who was eating dinner with them (which, truth be told, was only ever Elliot) would be perturbed by the discussion, and possibly dissuaded from enjoying their meal. The carpenter's chicken noodle soup tasted as tantalising as ever even after Humphrey recounted the events at the Warehouse and how the employee had reacted when they at last exited the staff bathroom."She looked almost as unwell as I had," Humphrey said. Elliot cackled along in the background. "There was... more of an echo that I'd have preferred.""I suppose you're glad I chose to make something light," Ira said. It was the most he had said so far and was largely overshadowed by the scraping of his spoon at the bottom of his bowl, but Elliot was secretly delighted that it was directed at him."Me and the fish thank you," he said, thinking of the night ahead."I'm usually okay with chicken," Humphrey said, coming to his own defence, but without any particular conviction.
"You guys should've let me do this," Humphrey's uncle went on. He was all out of soup to cram his mouth with, so the words had no choice but to flow. "I stop by the Warehouse all the time. I can't believe you forgot to take my discount card. That place isn't as cheap as they like to make out.""I didn't deserve a discount," Humphrey solemnly told his noodles. "After the incident..."His partner bumped his leg underneath the table. "And you call me a goof," Elliot said. He heard Ira push out his chair and head for the kitchen, so he took the opportunity to call out, "Thanks for calling that plumber, Ira. That was a big favor you did me. I owe you one.""No, you don't," Ira said, matter-of-factly. "Lots of crooks out there, and I didn't want you getting messed around. You want more of this?" He knew his nephew's limitations, so the question could only be for Elliot."No, this was just right. I can't believe it's still soup weather! We had so much sun last week.""Fool's Spring. I'll pack it away as leftovers. You can take some back with you, if you want.""So how was your day, Uncle Ira?" Humphrey asked, collecting his and Elliot's bowls and cutlery.
"Spent most of it in a traffic jam in the middle of main street. I was waiting so long at one point I jumped out, grabbed donuts from Rebecca's, and got back in the truck, and we still hadn't gone anywhere.""Rebecca's donuts! I might take my tea warm tonight," Humphrey told Elliot with a beaming smile. Elliot smiled back indulgently, though he was distracted; marvelling at how much Ira was talking tonight, and what that must mean in terms of how he felt about Elliot's presence."I must'a just missed you guys," Ira said. "I was at the Warehouse too.""No more squeaky window?" Humphrey suggested."She squeaks no more," Ira said, adopting the pronouns Humphrey and Elliot used for virtually every non-animate object.
Humphrey wasted no time in leaving the table and Elliot figured Ira raised some concerns, by what he said next. "Just to whizz," the blond assured him. When they were gone, Elliot only felt a little smattering of the awkwardness that used to exist between himself and Humphrey's relative still knocking around inside his chest, and was encouraged to join Ira in the kitchen to help dry the dishes."You think you could give me your recipe, Ira? I suck at soup," he confessed, feeling his way for a dishcloth. "I never seem to get the portions right, either.""Well, sure," Ira grunted, swirling the suds around as he rinsed a cup. "But how will you read it?"Elliot liked that Ira was so direct about his condition. His questions always felt genuine, and his tone was never impolite or overly coddling. "If you email it over, then I can use this text-to-speech thing. It's funny, actually. Some of the accents are wild. I use the German lady option when I need to feel motivated. She scares me."Ira laughed, which was a huge win in Elliot's book."Uncle Ira!"Elliot jolted at Humphrey's cry and was confused even further by more of Ira's gentle laughter."Is that a-?!""Yup.""Did you get it at the Warehouse?""Yup.""We didn't see them there! I suppose we weren't looking, though. Gosh, it's much bigger than I thought it'd be!""Someone please fill me in," Elliot begged, his head turning to and fro between the voices."It's a bi-det!" Humphrey said, purposely mispronouncing in a throwback to the first time he had ever tried to say the word. "Before my very eyes! Is it ready?""Sure is," Ira said, tapping Elliot on the elbow as he handed him a wet plate."You had a busy afternoon," Humphrey cheerfully declared. "Made soup, got donuts, and you installed a bidet!""Jack of all trades," Elliot remarked.Humphrey's feet retreated into the bathroom, where they shortly heard the light spray of the nozzle being activated. "Wow, just like that, huh! But how do I dry myself?""I think it's a drip-dry situation," Elliot said."Won't my pants get soggy?" Humphrey asked."I was thinking about that. I asked one of the people there if there was a dryer or some kind of blower attachment," Ira said."I think his butt does enough blowing as is...""Hey! I heard that.""I guess I could get you your own towels?" Ira suggested."Please, for the love of god, let's label those ones clearly," Elliot pleaded.