When Kibum woke up, he realised he had accidentally fallen asleep on the couch. Someone had carefully tucked a soft blanket over him. It was dark and quiet, but when he listened, he could hear the sounds of the others breathing, rhythmic and gentle in sleep. It was almost like hearing the soft wash of ocean waves upon the shore. He inhaled, and from the blanket he smelled a hint of pine needles. It was Taemin's blanket, and the youngest had covered him with it. He smiled.

It was early in the morning. Even though it was still pitch black outside, he could sense the stirrings in the energy of the world as the horizon tipped inexorably towards the sun. He'd slept through the whole afternoon and night again. He wondered how he hadn't been woken by the others arriving home. Maybe they'd been extra quiet on purpose - or maybe it was the new ability Kibum seemed to have to be able to semi-control his own sleep, to pull himself darker and deeper when he could feel the sensory input around him would overload him. He remembered a documentary he’d seen once about wolves, and wondered if, like them, he might be able to learn to consciously control his own sleep patterns.

He pushed Taemin's blanket off him and sat up. For the first time since the accident, he actually felt like he had some energy, and exhaustion was not dragging at him. He stood up, picked up his crutches and used them to hop into the kitchen. He had the idea of making breakfast for the others. They'd all been working hard while he was attempting to break the world record for the most hours slept in a single day, the least he could do was make them something nice to eat. He also hoped it would show them that he was getting better and they didn't have to worry about him.

He opened the fridge. The glow of the inside light dazzled him and he squinted and blinked rapidly until he was able to see again. Then he searched the shelves for inspiration. A loaf of bread, eggs - and he knew the cupboards above the sink held spices like cinnamon and nutmeg. That was the right ingredients for French toast. He pulled out the ingredients he would need and began warming a frying pan over the stove while he cracked the eggs into a bowl and whisked them up with sugar, cinnamon and nutmeg. The scents of the spices surrounded him in a delicious haze, and he found he could actually taste the spices in the air. They seemed more real somehow than any other spices he’d come across before, as if all other cinnamon was nothing but a pale imitation of this cinnamon, as if this nutmeg was the blueprint for all other nutmeg. He laughed softly, amused at his own thoughts. His extended senses might be causing him a lot of difficulty, but already he could barely imagine not having them. It would be like going blind and deaf.

He heard a faint vibration from another room - someone's cell phone alarm - and after a couple of minutes light footsteps pad down the hallway. He smelt the faint fragrance of violets as the early riser paused in the kitchen doorway, their eyes fixed on his back.

"Good morning, Minho," he said cheerfully without turning around. He was at a delicate stage of levering up one of the toast slices from the pan without losing its spice coating.

The violet scent swirled a little, and Kibum was fascinated to find that he could understand this movement. It spoke of astonishment.

"How did you know it was me?" Minho sounded as surprised as his scent betrayed, and Kibum realised that he'd apparently just become psychic. Oops.

He successfully flipped the toast and turned around. Minho was dressed in a baggy black hoodie, track pants and trainers - he was obviously heading out for a run.

"Who else would be up at this hour?" He invented quickly.

Minho didn't seem particularly convinced by this, but he didn't argue. Kibum supposed there wasn't really any other acceptable explanation.

"Why are you cooking in the dark?" Minho asked next.

Kibum blinked. It didn't seem dark to him - but the lights were not on, and the pre-dawn sky outside was barely lightening. His eyesight was so sharp that he could see clearly with just the faint, dark orange glow of the city’s light through the kitchen window. How was he meant to explain this one?

"Um." He bit his lip. "Saving power?"

Minho just looked at him, dark eyes unreadable.

"Want some breakfast before you go running?" Kibum asked awkwardly.

"Maybe later." Minho's voice was flat and disinterested. Kibum listened to the door opening and clicking shut behind him. Then he went over to the light switch, squeezed his eyes shut and flicked it on. No point in confusing any of the others, he figured as he waited for his eyes to adjust.

As he made the rest of the French toast he wondered about Minho. He remembered Jinki telling him that Minho seemed different, that he was worried about him. It certainly wasn't like Minho to refuse food, even just before exercising - but then, it was still pretty early in the