The Bowl

aka the gummi bear fic

The yellow Gummi bear lying tipped on its side next to Adam has to be Kris. Adam is sure of it. He wouldn’t be able to explain how he knows it—it’s not like the bear is wearing plaid or has stupidly cute hair—but he’s completely sure. It’s a Kris Gummi bear. Adam would bet his life on it . . . sugary and worthless though it now is.

“Ow,” the Kris bear says, waking up. “What the . . .”

“Welcome to my hallucination,” Adam greets him. “Sorry about the insanity. I think someone slipped me something.”

The Kris bear sits up. “Huh?”

“I mean, I’ve been known to dream weird shit, but when you’re involved, it’s usually more—” he takes in the Kris bear’s expression. There’s something very raised-eyebrow about it. “Cuddly?” he offers. “Oh, who am I kidding. There’s usually more sex.”

“Adam?” the Kris bear says cautiously.

“I mean what a waste, right? We can’t even cuddle with these lumpy little arms.” He tries to flail his arms, but they just wobble and then settle back into shape. “Incredible.” He grimaces.

“I’m . . . you’re . . .”

“Gummi bears,” Adam agrees. “Yes, I noticed.”

If Gummi bears had eyes, the Kris bear would have huge anime eyes right now. “But—why?”

Adam tries to shrug. It doesn’t have the same effect with his new gelatinous body. “Who knows? Maybe someone wanted to teach me something. Humility? How to hobble on sugary lumpy feet? What it feels like to be orange-flavored?”

“Adam . . .”

“You know, I always thought I’d be cherry-flavored? If I was going to have a flavor, I mean. Orange is just so . . . so lame. So orange. I really need to dye myself or something. Dip myself in chocolate sauce.”

“Adam . . .”

“What’s your flavor? I’m smelling apples.”

Adam leans closer to Kris for a sniff, or possibly a lick, but Kris headbutts him back into place.

“Adam!”

“What?”

“I know this bowl!”

Adam looks around . . . “What bowl?”

Kris sighs. “The one we’re in? The Gummi bear bowl?” He gestures towards the other bears, thrown haphazardly around the two of them, lying perfectly still in their awkward positions.

They look kind of stale. Adam hopes he’s not stale.

“And?”

“I know where we are.”

Adam tries to make a duh face. “In my hallucination. Hello.”

“I wish,” Kris says, and plops down in defeat.

Adam does not like the sound of that.

~

“It looks more like storm clouds,” Adam says, squinting up at the print on the side of the bowl. “Are you sure it’s a rose, because I don’t see the resemblance.”

Kris sighs. “Yeah. It’s from the set Katy’s aunt gave us when we first got married. Katy managed to accidentally break the rest of them, but this one refused to die.”

“Hm,” Adam says, pushing himself to lie on his side. He can actually see through Kris from this angle. It’s creepy. “So . . . we’re in your place? In your bowl?” Adam still thinks it’s more likely that this is his hallucination. Kris gets giggly when he’s high, and touchy-feely, like seriously cuddly, but even when he’d mixed vodka with weed that one time, Kris had managed to stay pretty lucid. This is just not his style.

“I’m not sure. I don’t . . . I mean.” Kris looks up at the print again. “It just—it can’t be a coincidence. Last night, and Katy, and the bowl . . . and now we’re here.”

Adam really wishes he had eyes to roll right now. Or a hand to smack Kris on the back of the head with. “Yeah, try that again; this time in human-speak, please.”

Kris twitches. Adam is pretty sure he’s itching to run his nonexistent hand through his nonexistent hair.

“The Gummi bears was a thing. With Katy. It was like a tradition ever since high school. We’d fight about something stupid, and I’d buy her Gummi bears, and she would forgive me by the time she finished the bag.”

Adam feels kind of sick. The orange smell is beginning to turn his stomach. And he’s stuck in a bowl, oh God.

“The last time I bought her some—well, they’re still here, so obviously she didn’t eat them. But I couldn’t throw them out either, even after the divorce, I just left them there—here, in this bowl.”

Adam is pretty sure being orange and see-through makes his nauseous face hard to distinguish from his sympathetic one, so he doesn’t try awfully hard to mask it. He just makes soothing noises to keep in what really wants to come out, which is something along the lines of bleeeuuurrrggghhh. Kris seems to buy it.

“Last night, I decided to finally do it. You know, it was time? I mean, eight months; that should be more than enough time, right? And I do want to move on; I need to move on. And I felt like, if I emptied the bowl and got rid of Katy’s Gummi bears, then there could be room for something else, you know?”

“In the bowl?” Adam asks, intrigued.

“Yes, I mean, in the metaphorical bowl that is my life. I guess.”

Interesting. “And you would fill this bowl with . . . what, exactly?”

“I don’t know,” Kris whines. “With something else that reminds me of someone else, probably? It’s a metaphor! That’s not the point. The point is, I couldn’t do it. Again. I left them there. And now I’m in the bowl, and I don’t know what the hell that means . . . but at least I’m pretty sure we’re not in your hallucination.”

Obviously. Only Kris would have deep, meaningful hallucinations about Gummi bears. “I think the point is,” Adam says, “that you’re clearly disturbed and need help.”

“Oh, thank you,” Kris grumbles.

“And that for some reason, I’m here.”

Kris freezes.

“Instead of Katy’s Gummi bears, I’m filling your bowl.”

Kris visibly gulps.

“And not in the fun way,” Adam says sadly.

“That’s not . . .”

Adam has never taken a lot of chances where Kris is concerned. He’s ignored the hints and the signs every time and played stupid instead. Even when he was sure that Kris wanted him, Adam always had the niggling feeling that Kris didn’t know what it really meant, and that as intense as anything between them would be, it would also be short-lived. That’s always been unacceptable for Adam; resisting all temptation, he’d chosen friendship instead.

But now he’s a Gummi bear. This might just be the last straw.

“Anything you wanna tell me, Kris?” he asks, rolling closer and closer until their sides are pressed together. It’s categorically unsexy, but also kind of nice. They stick together like maybe they’ve been melting a little, and the pale yellow color of Kris looks really pretty next to Adam’s orange.

“I . . . I wasn’t . . .”

“You weren’t?” Adam prods.

“I wasn’t sure,” Kris says.

Adam scoffs. “Well, your subconscious seems sure enough.”

“No, I was sure about me. I am sure about me. I just wasn’t sure about you. Because it’s been too long, and we’ve been friends for years now, and you do date kind of a lot—”

“Shut up.”

Kris shuts up.

“Now, I’m going to try something, and if it doesn’t work, we’re not telling anyone. Ever.”

Kris nods tentatively.

“And just so we’re clear; if we get stuck in this stupid bowl for all eternity and we run out of food? I’m eating you.”

Before Kris can reply, Adam pushes himself up and over Kris and hopes to land on his lips.

~

When Adam wakes up, he knows he’s in Kris’ bed before he opens his eyes. He recognizes the smell of Kris’ detergent, and his cologne, and worryingly enough, his sweat. He hums contentedly; it’s nice waking up like this.

His eyes blink open to find Kris sitting on the bed, looking sleep-tousled and harried.

“Hello,” Adam says, leaning closer so he can nuzzle Kris’ ankle. It smells a bit like . . . “Hmm, apples?” Adam asks, licking the soft skin down the side of Kris’ foot.

Kris jumps as if tickled. He clears his throat. “Pineapple, actually,” he says, and raises the bowl with shaking hands.

“Oh,” Adam says, sitting up. “That actually happened?”

Kris nods jerkily. “Seems like it. You weren’t here last night when I went to sleep. So. You either teleported in your sleep or . . .”

“Or we were somehow turned into candy?”

Kris shrugs.

“What—um.” Adam licks his lips. “What are you going to do with them?”

Kris looks shell-shocked, his grip on the bowl white-knuckled and trembling slightly. Adam wants to say it’s just candy for God’s sake, but it’s so obviously not—not to Kris—and Adam doesn’t know if he has any right to interfere with this. But still, “Do you want me to—?” He can’t not offer. Fuck not having the right; it’s Kris.

It’s become habit for Adam to claim more than he should ever be allowed when it comes to Kris, anyway.

Kris offers him a forced smile, and then gets up, his expression determined. He walks into the bathroom, head held high, and after a moment, Adam hears the unmistakable sound of the toilet flushing.

When Kris comes back into the room, he hands the empty bowl to Adam. Adam pulls him down onto the bed with it.

“Your life is not an empty fucking bowl.”

He throws the bowl against the far wall—it’s supposed to be a gesture and maybe a metaphor and feel really, really satisfying—but the damn thing just bounces off and lands on the carpet with a soft thud.

“That is one tough bowl,” Adam observes.

Kris smiles with one side of his mouth. He looks bashful and soft and pretty—and everything Adam wants from life right now.

“I think this is where I kiss you,” Adam informs him.

Kris schools his features and nods, all serious and ready for it.

Adam leans down to seal their lips.

~

“You know, you do taste like oranges.”

“I do not. Shut up.”

The End

August 25th, 2010