could really use a strepsil

Ume perks his head up, temporarily drawn from his misery by a familiar shape. ah, Bancha. rising on heavy legs, Ume sniffles his way to Bancha’s side, almost knocking into the boy with the force of his sneeze. “can noses come off?” he wonders, red-rimmed eyes blinking owlishly at his littermate. snot sluices down his muzzle, gathering along his upper lip. “like, can, can a sneeze just knock it right off your face? cause i’d like that.” another sneeze, this one sending a spray of mucus flying. Ume emits a displeased little grumble and rubs at his nose, one white ear flopping comically through the air. slumping back on his haunches, he stares, unseeing, into the fire and waits to be tended to.

healing seems to come more naturally to Bancha, and Ume is certainly in no mood to play doctor when his own senses are so…blunted. it’s a terrible discomfit, like being blind or death. Ume decides, rather firmly, that he does not care for it. “this ish worse than those - achoo! - fleas,” he complains, gazing morosely at his feet. he still recalls that strange encounter sometimes, the purple girl with the foreign scent, their shared misery over those hateful bugs. he thinks about her sometimes, if she ever managed to rid herself of her itches. hell, had he? or had he simply learned to live alongside them, an unknowing host? grimacing, Ume stretches to examine his pelt, ignoring the strangeness of such a gesture. Bancha would understand, if he could bothered explaining it, because everything he was doing made perfect sense. but he couldn’t be bothered explaining it right now. so he wouldn’t.

wc: 862/1500