For five minutes, he huffed steam like a dragon having an existential crisis. The heat loosened the cement in his sinuses. A single, heroic drip appeared. He blew his nose into a tissue—and it was the most satisfying sound since the cork left a champagne bottle.
Leo gasped—through his nostrils—and laughed. It was 2:47 AM. He was sweating, tear-streaked, and tasting green hell. But he could breathe.
It was 2:17 AM, and Leo was pretty sure his nose had declared war on him. Both nostrils were locked down tighter than a jar of pickles his grandmother had sealed. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t sleep, and was starting to see patterns in the ceiling tiles.
He whispered into the dark: "How to unblock nose quickly."
His eyes watered. His scalp tingled. A volcano erupted in his throat.
Finally, the He found a leftover packet of wasabi from last week’s sushi delivery. He dabbed a grain-sized speck on his tongue.
And that, he decided, was a small miracle.