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It was a dreary, familiar scene in the dilapidated Dublin home. The air was thick with the scent of stale coffee and the inevitable bickering of Mac and Aran. Mac, meticulously organizing the cutlery drawer for the third time that morning, felt his internal equilibrium shatter. His friend was a whirlwind of chaos. Once inseparable, the two childhood friends had been drifting for months, their disagreements spiraling from trivial annoyances to soul-crushing conflicts. Neither was willing to yield.Aran tried to manage the task in the bathroom, but Mac's incessant shouting and the unpredictable change in the light filtering through the window made concentration impossible. Finally, he slammed the door in Mac’s face, seeking an immediate reduction in sensory input.“You drive me absolutely insane, Aran! What the hell is your problem!? I'm sick of finding your crazy products in my dresser—I had to re-sort the entire section by size and color! I'm fed up with cleaning up after the animals! Every single day, you pull some ridiculous stunt! Why am I constantly trying to get you out of the mental institution ? How does anyone even tolerate your complete disregard for order and precision!?” Mac shouted.
“Oh, I'm the one who annoys you!? Who devours my vegan food because he's too damn lazy to cook? Who steals my clothes? Who can't stop comparing me to everyone else in this house? Who keeps shoving 'medicine' in my face? Who invades my personal space?” Aran opened the door, his face now red with anger, the loud noises making his head pound. “You can't even give me 5 minutes to just do this one simple task in private…“If I give you 5 minutes we will never finish the conversation! You must complete this task right now and in the correct manner!” Mac shot back.Their voices rose in a familiar crescendo until Donny , his eyes twitching, slammed his whiskey cup onto the counter. He stormed over to a closet, yanking out a first aid kit, a cardboard box, and a marker. "All I want is a moment to myself without you nagging me all the time! You're 17 ! For crying out loud, learn to wash your damn clothes! I don't want to see your crimson underwear when I'm doing laundry! “ Mac hissed
“I would appreciate it IF you minded your damn business for once Mr. ‘I gotta know what Aran Ryan’s gonna do next!’” Aran interrupted, missing the sarcasm in Don's tone entirely. “I pee standing up because that is how one uses the toilet for that function. I have observed it is the most efficient method.” he hissed, the stress making him focus intensely on the literal function. “You always gotta gossip my shit! ‘Oh, Aran got suspended!’ Like, bitch, who are you, my news reporter?The two continued their heated argument, getting right in each other’s faces until Donny shot both of them with tranquilizers strong enough to knock out an elephant. Once they both fainted, the goth unwrapped some tapeHours later, Mac’s eyes fluttered the atmosphere was frigid and eerily silent. The lack of predictable sound and sensory input immediately put Mac on edge.
"Aran... Aran... Aran..." Mac called out, but his attempts to rouse him were in vain. As a faint light flickered, Mac became aware that both he and Aran were bound by a multitude of heavy padlocks, adorned in an oversized T-shirt that read, "Our Get Along Shirt." The sloppy, uneven stitching of the collar and the illogical placement of the locks were almost as agonizing as the chilling draft that brushed against his stump. When he glanced down, he was horrified to discover that his prosthetic leg was missing.
Mac poked Aran’s chest. “Aran... Aran... Aran...” Mac then poked his cheek. “Aran... Aran... AH!” Mac fell the opposite direction as Aran shifted in his sleep. Once Aran was asleep, it was nearly impossible to wake him up on his own. It wasn't until the sound of a TOOT TOOOOOT finally woke him up. “What is it!?” he groaned, immediately cringing at the high-pitched, unexpected sound. He turned around to Mac and noticed his chains.
And everything briefly faded to black as the engine roared.
"Mac, what compelled you to bind yourself to me?" Aran inquired, his voice laced with confusion. "Do you genuinely believe I made the choice to connect myself to you?" Mac found it difficult to hold Aran's gaze, as all he could see was an overwhelming void. "Yes, truly Mac, this isn't the way to settle disputes," Aran replied, interpreting the situation literally—Mac was the one who cared most about control and rules, so Mac must have initiated the binding. The wooden floor began to undulate once more, causing them to sway back and forth, with only a fleeting flicker of light illuminating their surroundings for a brief moment. "Aran... I didn't cause this... I would never do something so messy and disorganized," he attempted to lift his leg, yearning for one last glimpse of brightness. "Then what is going on..." Aran faltered, his voice tinged with uncertainty.
"Hey, hey, hold on..." Mac struggled to regain his balance. "I only have one leg to stand on..." "Then where is your other one?" Aran pressed, his curiosity piqued. “It is required for walking. It is not here.” Mac urged him. "I have no idea! I'm searching for it, just stay still," Mac urged him. In an instant, the floor shifted again, sending Aran crashing down. The chains constricting around his ribs tightened, unleashing a wave of agony. "OUCH!" he exclaimed, the pain evident in his voice. "I’m sorry... I’m so sorry..." Mac flailed his leg in the air, desperate to help.
"Oh, spare me the excuses!" he spat. “That was a direct result of your action, therefore, you did it on purpose!” Aran reasoned, unable to easily process the complexity of accidental harm in a chaotic environment. "Aran, can you just stop being so thick for five seconds?" Mac groaned. "I'm just trying to lend a hand here..." The room fell silent once more. The relentless thumping and familiar tracks echoed in the Irish man's ears. He inhaled deeply, attempting to push aside the searing pain that was clawing at his ribs. He rested his long copper hair back onto Mac. They still struggled to see each other, but Mac could tell something was wrong with Aran. A quiet Aran worried him more than a loud one. “Aran…are you okay ..” he asked. “Nope…” Aran replied, rocking slightly to self-soothe. “My ribs and stomach hurt like hell.”
"Oh..." Mac responded, as pain was an alien notion to him due to his birth with Insensia syndrome. Instead of pain, he experienced numbness and, at times, nausea whenever he was struck. "Sometimes... I forget that you can actually feel pain..." he confessed. "I wish I had your condition..." Aran remarked, his accent wavering. "No... no, you really don't want this... My life expectancy is significantly reduced because of this condition …it's like the CIPA but …a mutated version. I live longer but I'm extra fragile. I honestly have no idea when to stop. It's not efficient," Mac explained.
Aran murmured softly, his eyelids fluttering as he strained to hear the sounds around him. "I think we might be on a train... The rhythm of the wheels is Da-DUM... Da-DUM.." he said, noting the specific pattern. "A train!?" Mac exclaimed, trying to shift his position but struggling to do so without putting Aran in danger. "Yes... maybe we've been... kidnapped!?" Aran glanced around, catching sight of a faint glimmer of sunlight that burst into a brilliant beam through the small windows above. It wasn't much, but it was enough for him to make out his surroundings. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he managed to lift both himself and Mac a few feet before collapsing onto the unsteady ground beneath them. "Aran, are you trying to break your ribs or hurt yourself? Please, just stop moving! You're making a predictable situation completely unpredictable!" Mac urged, his voice tinged with frustration.
"I wish I could just stop this agony..." Aran exclaimed suddenly, his frustration showing . "My back and chest are agonizing. The light is too bright and the noise is too loud." He gasped, feeling the warmth of blood trickling from a wound at his side, soaking his shirt in a deep shade of red. "The pain is unbearable..." he lamented, his voice cracking under the weight of his suffering. "Take shallow breaths, Aran..." Mac urged him gently.
As his vision cleared, he realized the grim reality: both he and Aran were ensnared in a web of chains, secured with blue combination locks instead of the expected padlocks. Tears streamed down Aran's cheeks, a testament to his distress. "Why are they blue? The plan was to use metal padlocks. This is inconsistent," Aran mumbled, distressed by the deviation from what he assumed was the correct method. "You have to stay strong for me, Aran. This is going to sting a little, but we need to work together to get free... Follow my directions exactly," Mac began to maneuver himself. Being leaner and devoid of the sensation of pain, he managed to slip through the constricting chains and locks, while Aran continued to cry out in anguish.
"Just a little longer..." Mac reached out, skillfully freeing himself from the chains and tearing away his shirt. They both collapsed to the ground as Aran gasped for air. In a panic, he tore off his bandages and chains. Mac gave a thumbs up before closing his eyes. "Damn, I'm hurting..." Aran slipped into the oversized shirt and lay down beside Mac. Mac rose, placing his hand on Aran's abdomen; there was a trace of blood, but it appeared mostly dried, leaving behind bruises from their restraints rather than significant injuries.
Despite his desire to rest, he found it impossible with so many unanswered questions lingering in his mind. Who could have brought them here, and for what purpose? “Do you remember anything?” Mac inquired. “I recall us shouting at one another... then everything went dark,” Aran struggled to piece together the fragments of his memory. “I can't even recall what we were fighting about... it was likely something illogical and inefficient.” Mac sighed, leaning back. “Neither can I... it was likely something trivial, as always.” “Yeah…” Mac tried to rise, but moving around was significantly more challenging without a leg.
"Just lie down already! The surface is too unstable for standing!" Aran snapped. "It increases the likelihood of injury by 78%!" Mac questioned. "Do you even know anything about trains?" "Of course I do! I can't forget that summer when Donny and I went to Cork to see our grandparents... I have all the timetables and locomotive designs memorized," Aran paused, his eyes flaring with anger. "DONNY, YOU ASSHOLE!”
Meanwhile, Donny relaxed on the couch watching a Spanish soap opera. “Was it really a good idea to drug Aran and Mac and send them off to our grandparents in Cork?” Maeve crawled on the couch. “I did the right thing because they needed a little bit of discipline. To a normal person it sounds downright psychotic, but I did the right thing. Besides, Granny and Granddad already know, so it's all good. I created a controlled environment for change.” Donny showed no remorse.
Meanwhile, Aran roared, his bare feet pounding against the floor as he kicked the door open with a furious slam. "Donny, when I finally get my hands on you! He did not follow established rules!" he growled, cracking his knuckles menacingly. "Wait! We need to follow a sequence of logical steps!" Mac tried to hop forward, desperation in his voice, "Aran, please!" But Aran turned, his anger momentarily halted as he saw Mac struggling, a painful reminder of his missing leg. It was clear as day that Donny had done this on purpose, and it made Aran seethe even more.
"Did you really take Mac's leg!?" Maeve gasped in disbelief. "I understand that this might paint me as a villain, but at some point, they need to learn to support one another. Aran must grasp why it's unacceptable to keep taking Mac's leg, just as Mac must understand the wrongness of stealing Aran's clothes. I'd prefer them to resent me than to harbor animosity towards each other... because, ultimately, they only have one another. I had to force a resolution." Don expressed a hint of regret in his voice, yet still convinced of his righteousness.
Mac clung to Aran's neck during the piggyback ride, feeling utterly humiliated. As an amputee, he hated needing help. "You really don't have to do this... I could devise a more efficient, less dependent method," he muttered. "Unless you suddenly grow a new leg, I absolutely do. This is the most logical transport method given the circumstances," Aran shot back, heading to another room.
When they entered, they found a group of people just sitting there, minding their own business. But the moment they saw Mac's missing leg, their expressions shifted to shock, as if he were some kind of freak show. "Just toss me in a corner! The exposure and attention is unnecessary and violates my sense of privacy and control!" Mac snapped, feeling completely degraded. Aran did as he was told, looming over him. "What the hell are you looking at!? Do not stare!" Aran barked, making the nosy onlookers scatter.
The silence was excruciatingly awkward between the two. Mac was still mortified about everyone witnessing his missing leg, while Aran was seething at Donny for putting them in this disaster. The train ride to Cork felt like it would never end. "I'm going to beat the shit out of Donny... He violated my trust and predictable routine," Aran spat. "But seriously, what was his problem? What did WE ever do to HIM? Our disagreement was a contained event!" Mac demanded. "Like our fight has nothing to do with him!" Aran gritted his teeth and clenched his jaw. "I was just... tired, you know? You're always invading my personal space, watching everything I do. I get that you're going to be my caretaker for the rest of my life, but could you at least NOT gossip about what I'm doing? When you discuss my actions with others, it changes the variables of my life.”
"I apologize... I'm merely trying to take care of you, so you don't mess up and create more chaos," Mac turned his gaze away. He then rested his head on Aran's shoulder. "You sort of invite it upon yourself, you know? You're constantly finding yourself in trouble, getting suspended, always fucking things up they were this close to sending you back into the mental institutionbecauseyou cried over hot Ramen noodles…” ; I end up having to pick up the pieces for you... it disrupts the order of my life," he confessed awkwardly. He sensed his Irish accent fading as his Irish slang became more pronounced. "At times, I feel like a burden... you realize I don't always mean to stir up trouble, right?" Aran inquired. “No... I don't... But I need to protect what is mine,” Mac replied in a soft tone. “Despite the fact you are a pain in the ass, I couldn't ask for a better ……” Mac looked the other way “you know what I'm about to say …even though I'm an only child ..”.
“Yeah…” Aran gave a light nod, laying his head on the table. “I'm not... happy with a lot of things anymore ..,life is a constant distraction from my special interests and it makes me irritable.” Aran smashed his head on the table while Mac rubbed his back. “You're right... I don't understand... hell, no even the doctors understood what you were, but that doesn’t mean that I don't care. I would rather have us work together and earn money for manga the honest way than you taking unnecessary risks. I need you to be safe and predictable.” Mac mentioned.
“I'm never going to be good at expressing myself to you... but I promise I'll always be there to protect you. That is my obligation to you,” Mac admitted. “I love you too. We may not be perfect... but we have each other. That is a constant fact.” Aran hugged Mac. “No matter how much we fight... you will never be considered a burden... and I'll never bring myself to say I hate you.” Mac admitted then hugged Aran back . “Holy shit Ari you are so small ! “ Mac laughed “You're like 5ft6…are you ever going to get taller small fry ? “ Mac smiled. “Probably not “ Aran admitted.
Low thoughts lead to sleepy nights.
Their grandmother got on the train, watching the sleeping Mac lay on Aran's stomach.
In a way, the two finally got along.