#and so we smoke. and its the middle of the night. and balcony and cig at night are purgatory its a liminal space of sorts

[sar3nka]

Wait I had a shower and remembered the rest of my dream. This is. Something.

[all-things-fic]

THE PEOPLE WANT A SNEAK PEAK 🗣🗣❣️

Because I’ve just seen the video of Ross and Matty sharing a cig at last nights show. This part of the situationship fic came to mind

***

Looking through the glass, you watched his body as it leaned over the balcony that overlooked the London skyline. From where he left the sliding door open, you could hear the play of the city below. A bustle was still prevalent regardless of the time.

Tip-toeing to the door, you leant against the door jamb and silently watched him inhale his cigarette. The hollow of his cheeks, and the deep drag he took gave you the impression that he was still firing on all cylinders. His shoulders were taut beneath his crisp white shirt, tension racking through him.

You swallowed nervously, rolling your lips into your mouth as you silently took him in.

“Can we go twos?”

The question was something you hadn’t said since you were a teenager. You actually weren’t a fan of smoking or smokers and he knew it. It was one of the things you always reminded him of when you first met him in a jokey way. How dirty the habit was, how he should try to quit. He had gone cold turkey for just over a week but then he spent a stressful few days in the studio with Matty and that was that.

You were a social smoker more than anything. It was why he stared at you with a dubious expression when he eventually moved his eyes away from the skyline and over his shoulder to look at you from your ask.

Without verbal expression, he held his cigarette out to you. Almost defiant in the way it was delivered.

It was held so firmly between his index, middle finger and thumb as it burned and the line of smoke from the end shifted through the night air, finding its way with the wind.

Not quite a white flag but something to work with.

[fire2forge]

Looking back...

March 15th 2020. My ship said goodbye to to our last guests. We pulled into Miami, let everyone off and left to go drift out with all the other cruise ships. At the time we all thought that it would truly be a 30 day pause in operations, we know now how naïve that was.

I’ll admit for awhile it was nice. Crew had the run of the ship, bars were open earlier, we had very little work to do, late nights out having fun, all kinds of activities. We were all so confident that covid hadn’t made it to our ship, that we were all safe, and this was just gonna be a 30 day vacation. 

Cut to the 21st:

We come to find out later that this unannounced drill was our super-spreader event. Because no-one knew it was a drill, everyone that was in isolation came out (we thought the ship was on fire)...by the time it was announced it was a drill and those confined should not leave it was to late...

Cut to the 24th:

I go back to medical later in the day, and after testing negative for the flu, am given a mask and told I was not allowed to leave my cabin (I luckily did not have a room mate), unless it was to come back for daily temp checks.

I find out later on that unknown to most of us we had a lot of people that had quietly been put into isolation (in a crew of 2000+, it’s easy to not notice). This was also the day of our first major repatriation effort 700 crew (mainly cruise division) where slated to fly...only a few did. 

Cut to the 28th:

The first PCR tests are done onboard, sometime in the afternoon the Captain comes on and says we have one positive case. A few hours later its 14 confirmed cases, and everyone is told to return to their cabins until further notice (We never had an official announcement given after the first 14, but it was well over 100 cases by the end). The ship has just entered lock down.

On the 29th All crew got moved into guest rooms, this was both because of an order from the CDC, and so that the many smoker’s would be able to smoke on the balconies. We had different zones to divide everyone up:

Red Zone for confirmed cases, Orange for suspected/been in contact with, and the rest for supposedly healthy. It’s here that I note that even though I had already been in isolation for days, had a constant cough, and had had a fever (that by then had broken) I was never tested, nor was I put into orange zone.

At this point no one can leave cabins (excluding those working crew) and the company has started to realize that they need to get everyone back home as soon as possible. Repatriation efforts start to really kick into gear.

We stayed in what would eventually be labeled Phase 1 for 29 days. We entered Phase 2 April 26th.

PHASE 1

During the initial phase, all crew got asked if they wanted to stay onboard (unpaid), basically for those who didn’t want to or couldn’t go home for any reason. This would become Group 3. I was part of this group, for many reasons I did not want to go home, so the free room and board was perfect for me, and many of my friends. This is the sole reason I was onboard for so long, not because of anything the company did.

Those that did want to go home became group 2, many of them would end up waiting months before their country opened up and flights could be made, I remember how at the end of March beginning of April, we would constantly here from the Capt that some nationality was going to fly that day, only for him to come back and say that the got denied at some point in the process and would be coming back onboard. 

Those few that were still getting paid, still had a job because someone had to run the ship became known as Group 1.

I don’t really remember that much from this time, the days really started to blend and the isolation was not helping anything. While people in the US where throwing fits over “Shelter in Place” orders, I was not allowed to leave a room that was roughly 20′x10′. They complained about not being able to see friends, I only saw 1 person a day (one of my managers twice a day for temp checks, approx. 5 second visits each). They complained that stores had limited hours, I had no store, I had limited choice in food, I had no ability to get snacks, it was 3 meals a day that’s it, you want some chips at 3pm to bad dinner won’t come till 6pm. (eventually they sorted out a system so we could by snacks, beer, cigs, and bathroom supplies). To top this all off we had no access to laundry services till round April 5th, I was put in isolation before everyone else, I had not done my laundry for a week before hand....I was struggling.

Looking through some old notes, apparently at one point I had made a schedule, Breakfast 9-10...Read till 11....Listen to the crew radio show 11-1...Lunch 12-1...Nap...Dinner 5-6...Sleep. Very stimulating days we had.

A month of solitude was not easy, especially when you keep hearing about crew members being denied entry into their own countries, the media blaming the industry as a whole for covid reached the US, constantly thinking our quarantine was gonna end only for it to be extended, and not seeing or really speaking to anyone the entire time. But a light at the end of the tunnel...Phase 2

PHASE 2

April 26th we got let out....kinda...

Split down the Middle...people on Portside got let out for 3 hours, then People on Starboard got let out for 3 hours (this excluded anyone in red or orange zone). After our “yard time” we went back to our cabins. Once a week you could go down and purchase up to 4 items from the slop chest (the crew shop). Everyone was wearing masks, the only time we weren’t is if we were smoking, one person per ashtray spaced about 8ft apart. 

At some point during this time the Captain made a comment on how in hindsight we should of went straight into lockdown on March 15th, that we should of done 2 weeks then instead of over a month now.

We still had 2 temp checks a day (done door to door), and all meals were still delivered. There is a reason we joked about it being yard time, because it really was. You got to get some fresh air and maybe see a few friends that was it....Luckily it didn’t last long we entered phase 3 on May 12th. 

But before that a note. By this time the fleet had started using our own ships to transport crew home, aka one ship sailed a bunch of people over to India. Along with that some people were getting lucky enough to have flights. So my ship was constantly losing people, either because they got a flight home or where being moved onto another ship. If I remember correctly our largest sign off was ~500 Filipinos, it was a hectic time in crew movement, by the time we got into Phase 3 we only had a few hundred people on board if memory serves right.

PHASE 3

We could finally be outside for as long as we wanted, no more restricted movement. Meals where in the large guest buffet area (seating 1 or 2 people a table only, all distanced), temp checks where done at division based locations, for me that was the theatre (still two a day)....that’s basically the only change.

We still had to wear masks at all times, we were still supposed to keep distance, no groups, no going into each others cabins, no fun nights out...in theory.

The first few days in Phase 3 we ended up signing off almost everyone that was in Group 2, by May 20th we were at minimum manning +16 Group 3 (in total about 100 people). It was then that we went back to eating in the crew mess and the restrictions where unofficially forgotten about. 

When I say this you must keep in mind that at this point it had been almost 3 months since any of us had touched land, and a solid month and a half since we had a positive case. Much like New Zealand and Australia now, we no longer had to worry about covid. We still wore masks around the ship (thanks to the CDC), but unless Chief Safety caught you no one was gonna look twice at a large group eating at one table, or a group staying up late drinking and playing cards (guilty of that)...By the end of May it was almost like we had regained some normalicy...so of course it couldn’t last...

MOVING SHIP 

May 21st, Group 3 got a notice that we would be transferred to another ship in the fleet to consolidate all of us together. They said it would be a few weeks before this transfer...We finally got moved on June 22nd.

As of today March 16th 2021 a full year after we stopped sailing, the last remaining Group 2 and Group 3 people from my company have gotten home, those that were in Group 2 came from Vietnam, and Trinidad and Trabago it took a year to finally get them home...let that sink in.

...

And here is where i’ll end this tale, if anyone is interested in knowing about life on the 2nd and 3rd ship I got transferred to before going home in December, let me know i’ll type something up.

[mmmmmmmmmmmmphf]

Business art (1/???)

Pairing: TaeKey

Length: 2913 words

          New York was everything – spiral of streets, red brick buildings, shiny glass, dusty corners, smoking drainage catch pits – but peaceful haven, refuge of sleeping stars and few light points of windows. For Kibum red neon lights of American dream were like fitted crimson overall made from glossy leather from Fendi’s autumn collection; stylish, full of youthful silliness and tired pulsating energy. From the moment when a city has welcomed him with its unstoppable rush on John F. Kennedy airport, he knew that teenager from Daegu will find there everything Korea has never dreamt of.

          And if Kim Kibum, sixteen years old, who put his foot for the first time on American soil, hasn’t had a clue how to swallow an enormous dose of depravity, then Kim Key, currently twenty years old student of business school emitted it personally, with every trickle of smoke joining a process of ozone depletion. Cigarette sit between his slim fingers and fire relentlessly hollowed millimetres of tobacco, systematically changing into dust. Key moved his arms and gold sparkles fell into a darkness stretched under his balcony on Peter Cooper Village. Noise of cars from First Avenue blended in his ears into silence – to be honest he couldn’t remember last time without any form of noise around him. New Yorkers don’t have this type of luxury.

          Finally, there wasn’t anyone around, so he could let his thoughts off, which among numerous groups of friends didn’t have a chance to be thoroughly achieved. Few hot minutes on sticky air of American night were perfect nutrient for mind and spirit.

          He rested his cheek on hand and with bored interest observed grey smoke, wandering lazy circles in stuffy air. Great description of life, he thought, inserting a finger right in a middle of tinning smoke; like curious child, checking limits of various things. We circle only to be shortly forgotten.

          He was perfectly aware that with last possible inhale of cig he should leave a balcony and develop an interest in notes, waiting inside his room to put some information in his head with aggressive colours. He knew how necessary it was for his education – that’s why he threw still smouldering end of a cigarette to flower pot with a wilted palm decorated with lights and took next one from a package. Soft sound of menthol click got lost in the air followed by characteristic cradle of a lighter. Residents of tenements on the other side of a street could see again a red point against the black background of Kim’s windows.

          He couldn’t stop a memory of another town coming to his mind – different from his home in every respect. Drowning in pomegranate and yellow, under a care of cypress tree, stars and golden moon. Kibum looked up. Just like he expected starlight has been long gone, absorbed by all red neon lights and only moon was blinking to him from behind the clouds – even moon seemed to be dim, or was it always so grey? Skin above his elbow sting a little, still sensitive after a freshly made tattoo and he lowered his eyes, caught by falling sparkles from a cigarette. Definitely it used to be brighter.

          He wondered if Van Gogh would have gone crazy closed among skyscrapers – would illness hollow his mind if he lived in an expensive loft, paid forty thousand dollars in cash for annual tuition, made silly hurtful tattoos and smoked fifth cigarette, which were the last in painfully new package of Vogue. Kibum’s lips spread in smile lacking amusement. There wasn’t any other option, he had to go crazy, this moon would drive anyone mad. Anyone?

          He felt (at least he should, that’s why he told himself he did) excitement about a visit in Museum of Modern Art and he thanked God that his department didn’t limit its students only to subjects furiously boring – but he knew he won’t miss thorough analysis of B2C strategy and declining balance method regarding exhibitions, because life of a business student cannot be lean on naïve absorption of art, whydoIstudythis. Shamefully for all this years spend in New York, never once had he gone to this art sanctuary even if there was one of his favourite paintings there. Teenagers are busy with other matters and before anyone could think about it, they could only be embarrassed about losses in their life experiences.

          Maybe I should go to France, he thought, not seeing how lost air blow lifted next sparkles from an end of his cig. Maybe a little bit of sunshine would change me into walking example of happiness. His therapist would pleasantly nod his head and smile widely, looking for any progress in his fight with Kibum’s mind. Weather is often a catalysator of emotions, France would be great for you, especially south, Kibum, same goes for change of environment. The moon hid completely behind clouds and he hoped it was smoke from his five cigarettes that covered it from his sight.

          Kibum regretted he couldn’t do anything about an emptiness closing his mind in a painful darkness – maybe he would have found any comfort in painting over hollowing everything nothingness. Instead he could check GPD of South Asian countries, distinguish classical conditioning from operant and read a balance sheet with comprehension whydoIstudythis. His soul has shed more than one tear because of lack manifest of his feelings more significant than hours upon hours of unhealthy cry. Maybe Paris would wake up his dormant impressionist, and before end of everything he would make pieces of art only to die and double their value.

          Seven. Seventeen, twenty-seven thirtyseven, since childhood seven has been his favourite number – at the beginning only thanks to influence of Harry Potter, but with time it grew to a little bit mature approach. So typical that even such silly matter changed in his life into fucking tragedy. Van Gogh died at the age of thirty-seven.

          The moon showed on the sky the moment he shut a door and closed curtains.

              If he were to be absolutely honest, Kibum would admit that one hundred and thirty dollars for bottle of perfumes is definitely too much – that’s why he used his Valentino Uomo only a little bit more to make sure he’s dramatic enough. Smelling mix of bergamot, coffee and hazelnuts drying on his wrists and neck he realised people want to highlight they are alive even with their scent. Otherwise why would they pour perfumes on their pulse?

          Kibum stood in front of a mirror and with characteristic move started fixing his fringe, which freshly blow dried seemed to be unusually fluffy – it gave him silly hope this day won’t be much worse than the others. He should have long abandoned such behaviour that brings him only disappointment, when darkness in his head wins again.

               With critical eye he evaluated his appearance in a mirror to make sure he looked fashionable enough – fact that majority of his course doesn’t bother about something so trivial doesn’t mean he would let himself be any less than perfect. Black and white creepers, high socks with embroidered characteristic double C, huge jeans jacket with rolled up sleeves covering stripped top, carelessly tugged into washed jeans with slovenly ripped leg. Yves Saint Laurent would be proud. His attention caught visibly marked under the material thighs and again he swore he wouldn’t eat anything more than two hundred and thirteen calories in his life.

               He bought a coffee in Starbucks while pretending to notice interested glance of barista. Kim saw it but didn’t actually believe it’s really there – such ill thoughts have been following him constantly for years now, even if his therapist detailed every reason why it’s absurd. He smiled with a flirt in a corner of his lips, took his venti ice americano on double coffee shot, turned on his heel and completely ignored cute message scribed with black sharpie on transparent cup. He made this boy a favour, ignoring his attend to get into Kibum’s life.

Quickly he got to Sixth Avenue, moving around as a true New Yorker – not looking at people among him, hurrying to his matters. They were supposed to meet with whole department at destination so texting with one hand and tightly holding a coffee in the other, Kibum took an orange metro line on Seventy First. For ten minutes he managed to empty half of a cup – why didn’t he think how awfully hot it is – and he jumped out at Fifty Third. With help of Google Maps he got to museum, which by mix of metal and glass truly put into mind word ‘modernism’.

               In no time he found Woohyun and Jack who also were drinking incredibly large and incredibly sweet ice coffees, trying to fight American sun, wanting to kill them for sure, it’s ridiculous how hot it was.

               ‘’I’ve finished my part of a report, so we can meet tomorrow at Kibum’s and put everything together” Key, Key thought with irritation, looking around people’s shoes to show his visible lack of interest on mentioned mutual assignment. Ending ‘bum’ in his name was quite unfortunate in English speaking society, so he put a lot of thoughts to make people call him only with his nickname. Only Nam seemed to not understand such a simple request.

          Unknowingly his eyes have caught familiar mix of colours – pomegranate and yellow, uneven brush strokes even more distorted by printing on the socks. Cypress looked like a tower, really, and a town has disappeared behind the edge of short martens. Before Kibum could see anything more than amazingly skinny legs in wide pants, these walked away along with their owner, who had to have extremely dramatic sense of humour to wear on their feet a reproduction of panting they will see in a couple of minutes in original.

          He quickly forgot about this person when Woohyun suddenly reminded him about his presence and Jack let them know their professors appeared with these enormously expensive entry tickets. They flood inside like only group of twenty years olds can and started their journey through modern art sanctuary. Kibum had to admit being impressed by what human beings can create with their only two hands and loads of imagination.

             While standing behind Cathy Wilkes’ installation Kibum tried to define if he’s amazed or confused by artist’s choice of showing woman’s body. Then he smelled familiar bergamot mixed with something extremely strong which make him think about sitting in full sun while wearing leather jacket with bouquet of sweet flowers. Key tore his eyes away from half naked figure of a women and with partial interest tried to find a person who would wear such wonderfully difficult and universal perfume in equally dramatic amount as Kibum his Valentino.

          He looked at a small group of students whose interest has been set on extremely intricate installation on a wall. Key didn’t know what was so familiar about them even though he was sure he hasn’t seen them at campus even once – he didn’t even know if it was someone from them who smelled so interesting. That’s why he moved to a next room, and shortly redhead hair of one of the boys has disappeared from his memory.

             After getting to know works of Marina Abramovic Kibum promised himself he won’t ever get interested in art of performance to have better night sleep of course when he could fall asleep at all.  He broke this resolve the moment he crossed a border of Bruce Nauman’s exhibition and completely fall for brilliant use of neon lights, photography and oh God Art Make-Up would drive their finance prof crazy, Kibum loved it.

          ‘’I’d like to go to Paris’’ someone sighed the very same moment Key took off headphones after listening to dramatic dialogue in mix of every languages in the world. He wouldn’t have put a second thought to this because who wouldn’t if it weren’t for next words, said with a familiar accent. Kim tried to get rid of it for long and difficult years. ‘’All real artists are from Paris”.

          The boy was an inch taller than Kibum, had longer ginger hair loosely tied at the top of his head and was someone that could be name ‘an art person’ in Kibum’s opinion. Piercing through whole ear, colourful tank top freely hanging down to mid-thigh, pants with wide leg and… post-impressionist socks. So dramatic boy was an impressionist enthusiast and even shared Kibum’s dream, very often misunderstood by his friends so far.

          Before anyone from the boy’s group has realised someone paid them more attention than to art around them, Kibum withdrew from a room to find a toilet and then go straight to his favourite piece of art in 1880-1950 paintings exhibition.

             It could be expected that ‘The Starry Night’ would be catching attention of great number of visitors so Kibum didn’t frown too much seeing a lot of heads and not the painting. He couldn’t be named a patient man but for his inspiration he would wait just enough time for people to move and let him see everything clearly.

          Deep peace of a town, quiet still cypress’ peak and church tower patiently watching over it touched Kibum in a difficult to explain manner, especially when taking under consideration artist’s biography. Nobody was sure if Van Gogh has created this painting while having an anxiety attack but Kibum was sure that if it was a case, then recreating the village from his memories brought him temporary relief. That he put all his worries into dramatic sky and guarded them with powerful stars and moon and maybe that’s why he wasn’t pleased with his work who would be pleased, looking at their rotten soul taking a form.

          Bergamot, pepper and lilies of the valley. Key knew this scent and for a couple of seconds he wondered how much he was insane, who remembers random people’s scents. Kibum discretely looked at his left and he would lie only a little if he said he didn’t expect to see this strange boy who caught his attention numerous times in museum full of people.

          Dark eyes lined with kohl looked intensively into mix of shadows of the painting and if Key weren’t a serious business student because he was he would have thought that the boy left New York long ago. That he observed quiet Saint Remy in June 1889 with Van Gogh and that’s why he got to understand everything a painter wanted to show – he was far in a journey while Kibum only just began his. Impression was electrifying and soothing at once and Key would only think about a sun radiating from certain posture of a stranger.

          ‘’You’re aware it’s really rude to stare at someone like that?” the boy asked, not taking his eyes from a painting which made Kibum realise that he had to see him looking all the time.

          ‘’You’re aware you have a reproduction of painting worth millions on your socks?’’ an answer was so much Kibum – fast and aimed on keeping his opponent off guard. Boy’s eyes firstly moved to his shoes then following to Key’s face who suddenly wanted him to stare again at the painting. He couldn’t exactly put a word to the feeling that got him, but Kim knew it went beyond his comfort zone and he wasn’t sure if it bothered him.

          ‘’As long as it’s only reproduction it’s fine. It’d be worse if I decided to wear an original, don’t you think?’’ Kibum didn’t expect such an answer, it was in the middle between serious question and joke and he didn’t know which route he should take to not be considered insane.

          ‘’You should try” he said eventually, deciding to take a game with completely serious face, just as he really considered running to a piece of art, throwing it off the wall and making a perfect suit for this boy. ‘’It will match your socks”.

          A stranger smiled slightly and leaned over to Kim, as he’d like to reveal him a secret. Sweet lilies of the valley prevailed pepper and Kibum didn’t know if he’s still breathing.

          ‘’I’m more for Monet and Dali, but I will help you here, if you help me later’’ no, he wasn’t breathing. That’s why when he burst into laugh, he smelled again an intense doze of perfumes that surely mixed with his own scent of mellow evening. For a second Kibum wondered what’s the effect of their composition, but he quickly waves off this thought to focus on a strange talk.

          ‘’First, I have to know with whom will I steal and ruin quite good impressionism” he said in fluent Korean, almost sure a boy won’t have any problem with understanding. And if his surprised face was any indication, Kibum felt proud of successfully covering his accent of sixteen years. He was also satisfied to surprise a stranger who seemed to be a bunch of interesting secrets in Kibum’s eyes.

          ‘’Lee Taemin” he introduced himself, bowing a little and oh Kibum almost forgot about excessive politeness of Koreans. He didn’t know where his reluctance towards strangers went. He forgot for a little while about a moon.

          ‘’Kim Key’’ answered, not paying attention to any piece of art anymore.

             A few weeks later Kibum discovered that Taemin uses Tuxedo from Yves Saint Laurent, two hundred and three dollars for a bottle and he admitted Lee was dramatic enough to steal pieces of art together.