venus (taekook)(slowwwwwww updates)

1

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"Deep breath."

CIPA. Congenital Insensitivity to Pain with Anhidrosis. It's not a disease. It's a disorder in the nervous system.

"Out."

People call it a superpower—but, being born with CIPA and never knowing what it's like to feel pain, has its downsides. Sometimes it feels like all there are are downsides.

"One more time."

It's Sunday. On Sundays Dr. Choi comes to the apartment for my weekly check up—a basic physical to make sure everything's working properly. I've known him for as long as I can remember.

"This scratch here, Taehyung. What happened?" He asks, pointing out a cut on my pointer finger.

"Not sure," I say as I examine the cut. It was hardly noticeable. "Could've happened at the shop."

"You have to be more mindful Taehyung," My mother says—I don't think I've ever seen her without that anxious crease between her brows.

"It's just a cut," I say, trying to reassure her. She seems to think I wouldn't notice if I chopped my own hand off.

"You still have to be careful," She argues. "What if it gets infected?"

"He's fine," Dr. Choi says. "It's small."

My mother sighs in defeat but still worries her lip nervously.

"You do have to be mindful Taehyung," Choi says, wrapping the tiny cut in a bandage. "We want to avoid even the most minor of incidents."

"So, Dr. Choi, am I dying this week?" I ask, trying to change the subject as I sit up and pull my shirt over my head.

"No more than usual," He responds with a laugh. I could always count on him to indulge me.

"Anything new?" Mom asks. She hovers in the doorway of my room, watching with a creased brow. We did all my check-ups in my room so it was always kept sterile and tidy. We've only lived two places in my life—here in Seoul and in Daegu before dad died.

I don't remember my dad, I was too young. Mom tells me about him all the time and apparently they were exactly the same. Energetic, patient, caring—all the things you could want in a parent. They loved each other, and I think they could've been happy.

"I mentioned that he was anemic. I think you should speak with Dr. Park and maybe she'll get him on some supplements to help treat that," Choi says. "I doubt he'll need a blood transfusion."

"I don't understand." Mom folds her arms and shifts her weight—in full on caregiver role now.

"His blood is just thin," Choi reassures. "It's common in people diagnosed with CIPA."

They do this all the time—talk like I'm not in the room. I've gotten used to tuning them out. It's not like I won't hear it all again next week.

Mom shows Dr. Choi out before meeting me back in my room. She sits down next to me with a tight lipped smile.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Are you?"

"Of course." She's lying. "I have to go back to the shop so put your shoes on."

My mom doesn't leave the house without me unless she absolutely has to. And being that she works at her own coffee shop, we are very seldom separate.

After my dad got away all she had was me. I really don't think I'd survive a full day without her—sometimes I think she's always felt that way about me. She does everything for me. School is the only time I'm not attached to her by the hip.

Before we go, I grab a book—one that I've read a thousand and one times. You have a lot of time on your hands when you're either stuck in the house, hospital, or a coffee shop.

"You want me to help out today?" I ask as we walk down the road to the shop.

"No, honey. Jihye should be in today." Mom says, giving me a look.

Jihye—a worker at the shop. Mom says we'd 'be so cute together'. She says it over and over like she expects me to date Jihye just to shut her up.

"Hi, Taehyung," Jihye chirps as we walk through the door. "Mrs. Kim."

"Hi, Jihye," I say back, letting mom usher me to a table near the counter. "How's your day coming?"

"Great." She smiles brightly. "Yours?"

"Just fine." I pull my knees to my chest and open my dingy paper back, hoping to end the conversation there.

The door chimes signaling a new customer.
The bell was a my idea, and I regret it every time I sit in the shop. Every two minutes that damn bell jingles. I guess that's our own fault for being the only coffee shop in this part of town that opens before eleven in the morning.

"Taehyung?" Mom calls. "Mind taking the register?"

"No." I was always excited to help when I could. If being the son of the owner means anything it means free labour. But I never mind.

"Be careful," Mom reminds me—as she always does.

The bell rings, signaling another customer as I take my position behind the register.

    "How can I help?"

    "Can I have an iced green tea?"

    "Sweetener?"

    "No."

As I'm giving him his total I notice his school identification card. "You go to Yeongsan?" I ask.

"Yeah. Do you?" He asks, adjusting his hair.

"I start there tomorrow actually," I say, handing him his change.

"Maybe I'll see you there."

"Name?"

"Jungkook."

"I'll be right back with your drink, Jungkook," I say with a smile before going to the back. "Hey mom? Can you get me an iced green tea?"

"I'll get it for you." Jihye appears behind me, making me jump in surprise. I thank her and she smiles before going to the front to make the drink.

I would make it myself but mom refuses to let me come in contact with any of the equipment or coffee pots. She says they're too dangerous. I think she smothers me like a toddler that can't take care of themselves. But I guess I prefer that over having her not care at all.

I return to the register giving all the orders to my mum and Jihye as they come. When the line finally dies down I go back to my table. I take off the bandage that Dr. Choi applied this morning and examine the cut on my finger.

Only a few people actually know about my disorder. Those people being teachers and a few "friends" from my old school.

Mom pulled me out of public school after I came home almost everyday with a new scratch or bruise. Many of the kids at my old school thought it was fun to use me for their own entertainment. It's not like they could ever really hurt me. Besides emotionally.

Consequently, I start private school tomorrow. I really don't want to go.

"What are you thinking about, bear?" Mom asks, carding her fingers through my hair.

"Nothing," I say, shooing her hand and fixing my hair.

"Worried about school?"

"Should I be?"

"Course not. I can still speak with your teachers if you'd like."

"No. That's okay." That's the last thing I want. I don't need all my teachers giving me sympathetic smiles and small glances here and there to make sure I'm 'alright'. There's nothing normal about my home life. At least my school life could be somewhat normal.

Right?

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okayyyy i guess we're doing this :))
what day of the week should i upload? <3
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