Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

thinasadime: I’ve noticed you on a bunch of the forums and you seem pretty cool so I thought I’d send you a message saying hey and stuff. srry for being creepy :/
until-it-kills: lol hi ur not creepy :) btw i like ur username
until-it-kills: tom waits, right?
thinasadime: lol thnx :) and yeah, not a lot of people pick up on that
until-it-kills: lol i feel you on that :P
until-it-kills: nobody knows who midtown is >:(
until-it-kills: i’m william by the way
thinasadime: I’m Ryan :)

“Ryan?”

“Shit, shit, shit,” Ryan murmured, though the words came out slightly garbled as he was still hunched over the toilet with two fingers stuck in his mouth.

“Ryan, sweetheart, are you okay? I thought I heard gagging,” his mother called softly from the other side of the bathroom door.

Ryan quickly pulled his fingers out of his mouth, wiping them on a towel before grabbing the water bottle beside him and taking a quick swig. He grimaced as it went down; purging always made his throat hurt.

“I’m fine, Mom. Just not feeling too well,” he lied, flushing the toilet and quickly moving to the sink. He ran his hands under the tap, grabbing a quick look at his reflection. His cheeks were a little puffy and his glands were starting to swell a little, but it wasn’t noticeable. He dried his hands off before opening the bathroom door and smiling weakly at his mother.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll be fine.”

Ryan needed to stop lying so much. Ryan needed to stop doing a lot of things.

thinasadime updated his status: uGH i was purging in the bathroom when my mom heard me and i had to stop and now theres all this gross food in my stomach :(
xXkevthinXx replied: dont freak, you prob wont gain too much and if u do itll only be food weight
thiNick replied: That sucks, at least she doesn’t suspect anything. I remember when my mom caught me, not a good memory :(
until-it-kills: aww im sry bb :( id purge 4 u if it would hlp lol

Ryan smiled as the last reply loaded. He minimized the tab, opening his Skype and quickly scrolling through to find the contact he was looking for.

Ryan Ross: Bilvy you didn’t tell me you were online :((((
Bill Beckett: miss me that much ryro?? ‘,:)
Ryan Ross: literally wtf is that emoji
Bill Beckett: uGH just call me already

Ryan clicked the call button, his smiling widening even more as William’s face popped up on the screen.

“How’s my favorite little ‘ana butterfly’ today?” William asked.

Ryan laughed softly, plugging his headphones in before replying.

“You’re the anorexic one, Bilvy.”

William rolled his eyes, letting out an overly exaggerated sigh. “Anorexia, EDNOS, same thing really. They’re both shit and make you hate yourself even more than you thought possible.”

“True,” Ryan replied, leaning his head on his hand and taking a moment to really look at William.

He was skinnier than the last time Ryan had Skyped with him. Then again, he was always skinnier than the previous time. The bags under his eyes were worse, though, his exhaustion being fairly obvious. He had his hair in a bun, but it was easy to tell he was trying to hide how dull and lifeless it was. “At least it’s not falling out,” he would joke, the “yet” that should follow being left unsaid.

“You have any luck with that guy you’ve been thirsting for?” Ryan asked, a single eyebrow raised.

“Don’t you give me that judgmental eyebrow, Ryan Ross. His hands make me want to sin so much, you have no idea.”

Ryan rolled his eyes, laughing as William pulled an indignant face.

“He’s in a band, RyRo, a band! And they’re fucking good as well.”

“He’s probably an asshole,” Ryan said. “Most guys in bands are assholes.”

“Ryan, you’re in a band.”

“And I’m an asshole.”

William laughed at that, nodding in agreement. He started suddenly though, looking off screen before quickly looking back.

“Hey Ry, I’ve gotta go. My mom is back and she’s going to need help looking after the kids. I’ll talk to you later.”

“It’s cool. Talk to you soon!” Ryan replied, smiling and giving a little wave.

William’s face disappeared and Ryan’s grin went with it.

Chapter Text

Chicago, the Windy City. Ryan wished he were so light that the wind blew him away.

Unfortunately, he was bound to the earth beneath his feet, unable to float away from all that troubled him. Currently inconveniencing him was the problem of walking to school without looking like a drunkard. Breakfast might have given him the energy to fully lift his feet off the ground, but he hadn’t had any. Ryan never ate breakfast; it wasn’t part of The Plan.

The Plan was the result of too many late nights spent searching the internet for information on basic nutrition and the effects of starvation on the human body, a series of trial-and-error that nearly ended in a trip to the hospital, and a mixture of every single Pro-Ana diet he could find. It was simple, really: Monday and Thursday were fast days (liquids allowed, but only black coffee, diet soda, and water), Tuesday and Saturday were 700 calorie days, Wednesday was a Mono, Sunday was a 900 calorie day, and on Friday he could eat whatever he wanted (but he had to purge what he ate, take 3 laxatives, and exercise at least half of the calories off afterwards). On days that he ate, he was never allowed to eat before 11 a.m. and he couldn’t eat after 6 p.m. He was never allowed to eat breakfast, because breakfast would make him binge and bingeing would lead to gaining weight, and Ryan could not gain weight.

It wasn’t that he thought he was fat; Ryan knew he was skinny, he just wasn’t skinny enough. That’s why he skipped breakfast that morning (and the morning before that, and the morning before that) and was trying desperately to not fall flat on his face, mostly because he wasn’t sure if he’d have the strength to get back up.

Despite the trip taking an extra few minutes than it usually would, Ryan was able to make it through the crowded streets with minimal damage; he ran into a trash can twice, but both times he managed to avoid spilling his coffee so he counted that as a win.

“Ryan!”

Ryan looked up as he heard his name being called, his head spinning slightly at the sudden movement. He saw Spencer weaving through the crowds of students to get to him, quickly falling in step with Ryan as both boys headed into the school.

“You’re not going to believe what happened this weekend,” Spencer began excitedly, trailing off into a story involving his pet salamander and Pete Wentz.

Spencer was probably the best thing that had ever happened to Ryan. For some reason that Ryan couldn’t comprehend, Spencer had put up with all of Ryan’s mistakes and blunders throughout the years (there were a lot of them) and was still Ryan’s best friend to that day. Honestly, Ryan had no clue what he did to deserve someone as amazing as Spencer, but damn him if he wasn’t going to take advantage of every second of it.

“Wait, Pete did what?” Ryan asked as the boys stopped beside Ryan’s locker.

Spencer nodded enthusiastically, smile wide and incredulous. “I know! I couldn’t believe it either!”

“So what happened to your salamander?” Ryan asked, throwing a questioning glance at the other boy before moving to open his locker.

“That’s the weird thing, Ryan. He’s totally fine!”

Ryan let out a laugh as he sorted through the binders in his locker, trying to pick out the ones he would need that day. He looked up as the bell rang, cursing under his breath before trying to stuff the rest of his schoolwork in his bag.

“I’m going to try to get to my locker before the late bell,” Spencer said before rushing off, calling over his shoulder, “See you at lunch!”

Ryan quickly finished sorting through his bag before he shut his locker and made his way to his homeroom. It was the first day of school, and he could already feel himself falling into the familiar and comfortable routine of being a normal, somewhat mentally stable teenager in highschool.

“Finished already, Ryan?”

Ryan gave a small smile and a nod as he handed Ms. Elizabeth the test he had just finished. He had finished his test early enough that he still had half the period left. Everyone else around him was still working, the furious scribbling of pencils breaking the would-be silence of the classroom.

Ryan really should have taken a more difficult class. He wasn’t challenged at all, he breezed through most of the homework and assignments and he hadn’t scored below a 96% on a test in the entire two weeks they had been in class. AP English would be more suited to him, but he couldn’t deal with both his anxiety and the workload from the advanced placement class. That was the case with most of his courses; he’d chosen mind-numbing boredom over semi-weekly panic attacks.

As he sat in his seat waiting for rest of the class to crawl by, he couldn’t help but think back to when this all began the previous school year. His anxiety hadn’t been so severe until he developed an eating disorder, and he hadn’t had an eating disorder until last January. It started with skipping dinner here and there because he had to study for one test or another and didn’t have time to take a break. Soon enough, he began to skip breakfast as he wanted to get into school early so he could do some library research for his English paper before classes started for the day (although the habit of not eating breakfast persisted long after he finished and turned in the paper). Eventually, he started spending lunch in the library studying or doing homework instead of in the cafeteria. He rarely ate full meals, just grabbed a sandwich or a bag of chips whenever the hunger in his stomach became too much to ignore. It wasn’t about the weight, not until he had looked in the mirror one day and could see the tips of his hip bones poking out.

He had been surprised; he never had that much fat, but he definitely could not see his hip bones before. He delicately ran his fingers over them, almost as if he was afraid they would disappear once he touched them. He proceeded to strip down to his underwear in front of the mirror, taking note of everything he liked or disliked about his body. He liked the way his collarbones stood out, extending and then rounding out to become his shoulders. He liked the way the his rib cage would extend out slightly over his stomach if he stretched and how his hip bones were even more prominent then. He liked that his spine would make a soft line down his back if he bent over and the way that his shoulder blades made a slight dip in the center of his upper back. He liked the way that there was a gap in between his legs when he stood normally, how his knees stood out from the rest of his legs. He especially loved his wrists, so tiny and fragile that they looked as though they could snap at any moment. He was almost tempted to try.

He couldn’t stand the small pouch of fat on his lower stomach. The waistband of his boxers would press into it slightly, leaving a red imprint on his skin. He hated that he could feel his legs pressing against each other when he stood with his feet together. His arms were disgusting, far too flabby for his liking. He could far too easily pinch the fat on his cheeks and neck. His stomach wasn’t completely flat, his thighs still shook a little as he moved, and his ass was massive. He quickly snuck into his mother’s bathroom and stepped on the scale, giving himself a moment to take in the number that showed up.

151.4

That was in March. It was September, he was a junior, and he weighed 119.6 pounds.

“Hey.”

Ryan startled as he heard the low murmured greeting. He looked around before realizing that the person speaking to him was the boy who sat to his left.

“Don’t worry too much,” he whispered to Ryan. “You did fine. You’re like the smartest person in this class.”

Ryan looked at the boy bewildered, not understanding the words leaving his mouth.

“What?”

The boy turned in his chair to face him, giving him a soft smile. “Sorry, it’s just that you looked really sad and someone as pretty as you shouldn’t be sad.”

Pretty? Ryan wasn’t pretty and he knew it, so why was this boy calling him pretty? He opened his mouth to reply, but found himself at a loss for words. How does someone reply to that?

“I’m Brendon,” the boy said, still smiling at him.

“I’m not pretty,” Ryan replied, finally regaining control of his voice.

The boy - Brendon - laughed quietly at that, before replying, “That’s a strange name, Not Pretty.”

Ryan shook his head vehemently at that, his cheeks turning red because of his inability to hold a basic conversation.

“No, my name is Ryan.”

“Ryan,” Brendon said, taking a moment to say his name. “I like that. A pretty name for a pretty boy.”

Ryan stared at Brendon. Who was this kid? Ryan didn’t think he had ever talked to Brendon before that day, let alone made eye contact with him. Now, this boy was calling him pretty and flirting with him. At least, Ryan thought it was flirting. Was it flirting?

“Are you flirting with me?”

Ryan mentally punched himself in the face. Apparently, he had lost all ability to control the words that came out of his mouth.

“That depends. Is it working?”

Ryan looked at Brendon for a moment, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. He still had no idea why Brendon was talking to him in the first place, but he was funny and sweet and he seemed kind enough. Not to mention the fact that he was cute. He was really cute. Ryan gave him one last scrutinizing look before smiling softly at him.

“Yeah, I think it is.”

“Hey Spence, do you know any Brendons in the school?”

Spencer looked up from his History textbook, swallowing the food in his mouth and placing his sandwich on top of a plastic bag. The librarians didn’t like people bringing their lunches into the library, but Ryan had become fairly well known by them when he was working on his research paper the year before and they always made exceptions when Ryan was involved.

“I know a few. Why?”

Ryan shrugged, clicking his pen a few times to avoid looking at Spencer.

“No reason. It’s just that a kid named Brendon was talking to me in English.”

“What did he look like?” Spencer questioned, his attention now fully on Ryan.

Ryan scrunched his face before replying, “Kind of like a hipster? But more emo. But not emo emo, you know?”

“No.”

Ryan sighed, exasperated. He made a vague gesture with his hand before continuing, “He dressed kind of like Pete, but better. Way better.”

Spencer looked thoughtful for a moment before replying, “Could it be Brendon Urie?”

Ryan shrugged, making a noncommittal noise. “Maybe.”

“He hangs out with Pete, so I could find out if he has the same English as you,” Spencer offered.

“No,” Ryan shook his head. “Don’t bother, it’s not that big of a deal.”

Spencer let out a snort, taking one last look at his textbook reading before decidedly giving up on it and choosing instead to focus on the conversation at hand. “If you’re actually talking about it then it’s a big deal. Now spill.”

Ryan gave him a withering glare, but Spencer raised an eyebrow in reply. They stared at each other in contest for a few moments more before Ryan broke, looking away and letting out a sigh.

“It’s really nothing, okay? He just- he called me pretty.”

Spencer looked at him, confused. “He called you pretty?”

Ryan nodded.

“Does he know you’re a boy?”

“Fuck off,” Ryan said, rolling his eyes as Spencer snickered at him.

“Sorry, sorry,” Spencer said, still laughing. “I just- pretty? Really?”

Ryan glared at him before going back to his homework.

thinasadime updated his status: a cute boy called me pretty and idk how to feel about that
fvnnwithgvnns replied: feel happy !! :DDD
skinny-sixx replied: from what i’ve seen of ur photos, he’s right :)
until-it-kills replied: WHO?!? i dnt wnt any1 2 steal my bby away from me
until-it-kills replied: in all sriousnss tho, u should feel good ry. u r supr prty :))
thinasadime replied: aww it’s okay Bilvy, you’ll always own my heart (and my ass lol)
thinasadime replied: thnx Bill :)
until-it-kills replied: damn rt ur virgin ass is mine
until-it-kills replied: :)

The next few weeks went very much the same way. Ryan would spend the majority of his English classes talking with Brendon in hushed tones, liking the boy more and more as time went on (Spencer laughed at him every day in the library). Brendon continued to flirt with him, calling him pretty and using cheesy pickup lines that would make Ryan laugh. Sometimes, if he had the courage, Ryan would flirt back. When he did, Brendon would smile so bright Ryan worried that the Sun had lost some of its shine.

Ryan learned a lot about Brendon in those few weeks and the more he learned, the worse his crush became. He found out that Brendon had two dogs, owned too many pairs of leather pants, and was a tad bit obsessed with Frank Sinatra. He was bisexual and, because of that, didn’t have the best relationship with his parents so he actually lived with his best friend Pete Wentz (he was the Brendon Urie that Spencer had mentioned). Ryan also found out that he was, apparently, interested in him when Brendon asked him out one Friday.

“What?” Ryan had replied, too stunned to form a coherent sentence.

Brendon had grinned sheepishly, his hand rubbing nervously at the back of his neck. It was the first time Ryan had seen Brendon act nervous around him, and he would be lying if he said that it didn’t make his heart melt just a little bit.

“I just think you’re really cool and I’d like to get to know you more. So, what do you say? Maybe we could go out for dinner?”

“No.”

Ryan had spoken automatically, not even thinking about his response. Dinner was an absolute impossibility. Most restaurants didn’t have their nutrition information readily available, and he couldn’t ask about the calories or else he risked Brendon finding out about his disorder. If he didn’t know the exact amount of calories in something then he couldn’t eat it, or else he’d have a panic attack. He couldn’t do dinner, he just couldn’t.

Brendon’s face fell, but he quickly recovered and put on a forced smile.

“Okay. That’s fine, that’s- Okay.”

They didn’t talk the rest of English.

“I can’t believe you.”

Ryan dropped his head onto the library table, letting out a pained noise as he did.

“Spencer-”

“You’re an idiot, you know that?”

“Yes Spencer, I know.”

“The guy that you have the biggest crush on asks you on a date, and what do you do?”

“I say no-”

“You say no! Because you, Ryan Ross, are the living embodiment of a shitpost.”

Ryan lifted his head off the table, narrowing his eyes at Spencer.

“That was uncalled for,” he said.

“It’s true!” Spencer argued. “You didn’t even think, you just spoke! That’s a shitpost. You’re a shitpost.”

“I am not a shitpost, so stop calling me that and help me figure this out,” Ryan said. “What am I going to do?”

Shouldering his backpack, Spencer stood up and started walking away. Ryan quickly grabbed his bag before jumping out of his chair and speeding after his friend, catching up with him shortly.

“Spencer,” he said. “Where are we going?”

“The cafeteria,” Spencer replied, still walking. Ryan felt a surge of panic at the mention of the dreaded place, but suppressed it as best as he could.

“Why are we going to the cafeteria?”

Spencer smiled somewhat triumphantly, not replying. The panic inside Ryan began to grow, the idea that Spencer somehow knew that Ryan wasn’t eating beginning to claw at Ryan’s mind.

“Spencer,” Ryan said, and there must have been something in Ryan’s voice because Spencer slowed down and shot Ryan a strange look.

“Why are we going to the cafeteria?” Ryan questioned again, the panic adding an edge to his voice.

“Because Pete Wentz spends his lunch in the cafeteria,” Spencer replied slowly, still looking at Ryan in a strange way. “And Brendon Urie spends his lunch with Pete Wentz. I thought you could maybe talk to Brendon, explain that you were just being stupid.” Spencer looked worried. “Ryan, are you okay?”

Ryan nodded, more to reassure himself than anything. Everything was fine, everything was okay; Spencer didn’t know about his eating disorder, nobody knew about it, and nobody was going to find out about it. He didn’t even realize that he was going to have to talk to Brendon until they walked into the cafeteria.

“So, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?”

Ryan bit his lip and looked away, trying to think about how to explain everything to Brendon. He was originally going to return to the library without saying anything to him, but Spencer had quickly dragged him over to Pete’s table where he had shot Ryan a pointed look before starting an avid conversation about drums with Pete’s friend Josh. Ryan had floundered for a second before quietly asking Brendon if he could talk to him somewhere more private, and they had ended up in the hall outside the cafeteria.

“Um,” Ryan stuttered. “Well, you asked me out to dinner earlier?”

“And you said no,” Brendon replied bluntly.

“Yeah,” Ryan said, embarrassed. “I mean no! I mean yeah, I did say no, but I didn’t mean it. I meant no.”

Brendon looked as confused about what Ryan had said as Ryan was. Maybe Spencer was right, maybe he really was a shitpost.

“Ryan,” Brendon began softly, but Ryan didn’t give him a chance to finish.

“I like you,” Ryan blurted out, still not looking at him. “I really, really like you. I think you’re funny and cute and you make me smile and I didn’t mean to say no. I want to go out with you, just not dinner, okay?”

Ryan startled as he felt Brendon take his hand, and he finally gained the courage to look up at Brendon. When he did, Brendon was giving him a sun-bright smile.

“I can do not-dinner,” he said, and Ryan’s smile was just as bright.

Chapter Text

“Ryan Ross!”

“Oh god,” Ryan muttered, attempting to hide in his locker at the loud exclamation of his name from the other end of the hallway. Unfortunately, his attempt was futile as he soon found out when a hand clapped him on the back. He resigned himself to his fate, turning around to come face to face with a shit-eating grin and too much eyeliner.

Pete Wentz was a force to be reckoned with. He was possibly the most chaotic person Ryan had ever met. That being said, he was also probably the kindest person Ryan had ever met as well. Despite his loud and somewhat obnoxious front, he was fiercely loyal to the people he considered his friends. Although Ryan wasn’t very close with him, Pete had always been kind to him and Ryan liked to think of him as a friend.

“I heard you and Urie tongue-fucked on Saturday.”

Ryan no longer considered him a friend.

thinsasadime updated his status: so i have a boyfriend now??
until-it-kills replied: get it bby ;)
vic-timoftheveil replied: congrats!
skinny-sixx replied: he’s a lucky guy
kellin-thinn replied: :D
TMcCool replied: hope you two are happy together :)

“So you guys are official now?”

Ryan looked up from his paper, glancing around the library to make sure no one was listening before replying, “Not so loud, but yeah.”

Spencer grinned.

“So why aren’t you spending lunch in the cafeteria with your boyfriend?”

Ryan shrugged. “We aren’t attached at the hip. We spend time together on the weekends, it’s enough.” He went back to writing, trying to ignore the curious look Spencer was giving him.

Being with Brendon was easy. It was comfortable, he didn’t feel like he needed to impress anyone or live up to a certain standard. Ryan could be honest with Brendon, talk to him about anything and he would understand. Even if he didn’t understand, he was always willing to listen and offer comfort. He picked up on Ryan’s subtle clues, knew when to give him space or pull him closer. He understood that Ryan needed time to himself and he gave him that.

Brendon liked Ryan, not just the idea of Ryan.

Their relationship wasn’t totally perfect though, no relationship was. Ryan had to lie a lot, pretending that he didn’t want to cry every time Brendon touched his hips or told him he was beautiful. False excuses as to why he couldn’t go out to lunch or try the new ice-cream parlor a few blocks from the school, lying with a smile to keep his self-destruction a secret. As long as Brendon didn’t know the truth, everything was okay.

In a way, it was easier to hide his eating disorder from Brendon because he didn’t have to lie about having eaten or try to stifle the sound of purging. At the same time it was more difficult; the guilt of lying was much worse.

“You guys going to go to Pete’s Halloween party?” Spencer asked.

Ryan nodded, still writing. Brendon had asked him a few days ago, and he didn’t hesitate to say yes.

“Are you going to do a couples costume?”

Ryan thought for a moment before replying, “I don’t think so. That’s a little too kitschy.”

Spencer laughed. “What are you going to dress up as then?”

“A skeleton,” Ryan said with a small smile. He liked the irony.

“So you don’t need to buy a costume then.”

Ryan looked up suddenly, confused. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t need a costume,” Spencer said. “You’re already skin and bones.”

Ryan stared at Spencer in shock, not quite understanding the words that had come out of his mouth.

Skinny? Thin? Definitely. Skin and bones though? Definitely not.

“Dude, I’m not skin and bones,” Ryan finally managed to choke out along with a forced chuckle. Spencer just looked him over, brows furrowed, before shrugging and replying, “Whatever you say, man.”

Ryan was not skin and bones yet, but eventually he would be. He had to be.

Even through the grainy computer screen, William looked like shit. His hair was pulled back into a bun, but Ryan could still see that it had begun to thin out. His skin was sickly pale, so transparent that his veins were visible. His lips were dry and cracked, his hands were constantly trembling, and his words were slurred as though he didn’t have enough energy to fully open his mouth. Ryan tried to hide his worry, but his smiled and conversational tone seemed forced.

“And at the end of it, we couldn’t find the salamander anywhere!”

William laughed, although it ended up sounding more like a cough. “I’d like to meet this Pete guy one day.”

Ryan shook his head vehemently. “No, you really don’t. Anyways, how are you?”

“Fine,” William replied, lips stretched into a thin smile that wasn’t incredibly convincing. Ryan sighed softly before giving his friend a knowing look. “William-”

“I’m fine.”

Ryan didn’t reply at first, shocked at William’s outburst. He had never heard William snap at anyone before and it kind of scared him. His brows furrowed in worry and his teeth chewed at his bottom lip. He looked away, choosing his next words carefully.

“I don’t think you are,” he said softly, not daring to look at William through the webcam.

William rolled his eyes before replying, “Look, I get that you’re worried about me but I’m fine. I’m a fucking anorexic and it’s the middle of Autumn, so of course I’m going to look a little out of my element.”

“But it’s not just that,” Ryan interrupted fervently. “You don’t just look a little off, you look like you’re fucking dying.”

“Of course I do!” William yelled. “I am fucking dying! And fuck you if you think I’m the only one of us that’s standing with one foot in the grave.”

Ryan stared back at him indignantly. “And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”

William forced out a hollow laugh. “It means look in the fucking mirror, Ryan. You think I look bad? You should see yourself. Sure, you look somewhat healthy, but anyone can see that you’ve just given up on life. You just wander aimlessly, no plan for the future because you don’t believe you have one. I may look like I’m dying, but you look like you’re already fucking dead.”

William smiled ruefully before ending the call, leaving Ryan staring in silence at the blank computer screen.

“Black coffee, to match your soul.”

Ryan smiled at Brendon’s quip, remembering their first date. He took his boyfriend’s hand as he sat across from him, the soft atmosphere of the coffee shop allowing them to sit in a comfortable silence. Brendon rubbed his thumbs over Ryan’s knuckles, viewing him with an indiscernible expression.

“What’s up?”

Ryan tried to look confused at the question but quickly gave up the facade when Brendon gave him a pointed look. He looked away, trying to figure out how to explain the situation without revealing the whole truth. He took a long sip of coffee before looking back up at Brendon.

“I got into a fight with one of my really close friends and I’m not sure if things are going to be okay between us,” he admitted softly. “It was stupid and I don’t know how to fix it.”

Brendon was quiet, taking sips from his coffee as he thought on what Ryan told him. His thumb never stopped rubbing over Ryan’s knuckles, a constant small comfort.

“Well,” he began, “I don’t know the exact situation, so I’m not sure if my advice will help. But I think the best thing would be to talk it out. Apologizing always helps, but I don’t know who was in the wrong.”

Ryan sighed. “It’s not that either of us needs to apologize, you know? It’s just one of those situations that could have been handled better.”

Brendon squeezed his hand and smiled softly at him. “Sometimes we apologize not because we did something wrong, but because we need to make something right.”

“I’m sorry, did you say your middle name was Socrates or Plato?” Ryan asked, hiding his grin behind his coffee cup. Brendon laughed, interlacing his fingers with Ryan’s before leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“You’re pretty all the time, but you’re even prettier when you smile.”

Ryan smiled even wider, pressing a quick kiss to Brendon’s lips before trying (unsuccessfully) to hide his blush behind his coffee cup.

Ryan was in the middle of writing an English paper when his mother softly knocked, opening his bedroom door and standing in the doorway.

“Dinner’s ready.”

Ryan looked up, sending her a quick smile before returning to typing on his laptop. “I’m in the middle of a paper, I’ll get some later.”

His mother frowned, crossing her arms over her chest. “You haven’t joined us for dinner in a while,” she remarked casually. “Why don’t you take a break, join us?”

Ryan’s fingers froze, the clicks of the keyboard giving way to an abrupt, tense silence. He looked up, trying desperately to hide the fear that he knew would be evident on his face as he quickly considered his options. He could refuse, but then she would be more suspicious. If he ate it would put her at ease and he’d be safe for a little bit longer. He could try and purge afterwards, but there was always the chance of being caught which would mean immediate exposure. He could take laxatives, but he had school the next day and he’d rather not be up all night sitting on the toilet, bent over because of intense pain in his abdomen. He didn’t have time to exercise it off because he really needed to do more work on his paper, but Ms. Elizabeth liked him so he might be able to get an extension. Only the rough draft was due anyways, so it’s not like it was incredibly important.

He saved his essay before closing his laptop, forcibly smiling up at his mother. “You’re right, I could use a break.”

Ryan Ross: hey Bill
Ryan Ross: I know you’re online, please just reply
Ryan Ross: okay whatever, I don’t care if reply to this or not but I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what I said and I’m sorry about our stupid fight, I just really need to talk to my best friend right now
Bill Beckett: im srry as well, i was being a bitch nd what i said was wayyyyy out of line. whats wrong??
Ryan Ross: Thanks :))) I know it’s like 1 in the morning but I’m freaking the fuck out. I’m pretty sure my mom knows something up and I’m terrified she’ll find out. I ate dinner so she wouldn’t be too suspicious but I didn’t want to purge in case I got caught so I’m pacing in my room trying to burn off the cals but I just feel so fucking worthless.
Bill Beckett: aw hon :(((((( im srry
Bill Beckett: shit i have to go sry bby ttyl tho
Ryan Ross: Bill wait
Ryan Ross: Bilvy??
Ryan Ross: William please I really need help rn
Bill Beckett has gone offline

“Hey,” Brendon greeted with a smile as he walked up to Ryan, leaning against the lockers beside him.

“Hey yourself,” Ryan replied, leaning over to bestow a peck on the cheek before going back to sorting through the books in his locker.

“How’d things go with that friend of yours?” Brendon asked casually. “You guys make up?”

Ryan stilled at the mention of William. His friend had left him to drown in his own panic, frantic pleas doing nothing to bring him back. They had moved past their argument, though, so that was what was really important. Ryan was sure William had a good reason for leaving, he wouldn’t just abandon a friend in need.

“Yeah, we’re all good now,” Ryan replied eventually, shutting his locker and moving closer to Brendon. His boyfriend smiled, wrapping his arms around Ryan and pulling him close. Ryan smiled, placing his hands on Brendon’s chest.

“God, don’t make us that couple.”

Brendon laughed, leaning in obnoxiously to leave a smacking kiss on Ryan’s cheek.

“What’s wrong with that? More opportunity to suck face,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows ridiculously.

Ryan grinned, cupping Brendon’s face and leaning in to kiss him. Before he could do so, he was interrupted by a loud fake gagging noise.

“You guys are disgusting,” Spencer said, grabbing Ryan’s arm and pulling him away. “We’re going to the library now, you can tongue fuck your boy-toy later.”

Ryan laughed and waved goodbye to his boyfriend as he was pulled away, blushing as he heard Brendon yell after them, “Nice one, Smith, but we all know you’re just jealous of my oral skills!”

“Ryan, would you mind staying for a few minutes?”

Ryan looked up from packing his bag, surprised at Ms. Elizabeth’s request. “Yeah, I’ll need a note for my next class though.” She nodded and walked to her desk, Ryan following behind her. As she wrote out the excuse, Ryan fiddled nervously with the hem of his shirt.

“So,” she began, sitting up straight and folding her hands in her lap, “You didn’t turn in your rough draft yesterday.”

Ryan paled, having totally forgotten about the assignment. “I’m so sorry,” he babbled. “I completed it last night and I totally forgot to print it out and bring it in today, I didn’t mean to -”

“Ryan, relax,” she interrupted, looking at him curiously. “I’m not upset, you’re one of my most exceptional students and I have no problems with giving you an extension.”

Ryan sighed in relief, returning the small smile she gave him. “Thank you so much, Ms. Elizabeth. I really appreciate that.”

“Can I ask why you didn’t turn it in on time?”

Ryan was quiet for a moment, not sure how to reply. He didn’t want to lie to his favorite teacher but he didn’t have another choice.

“My dad started drinking again.”

The shock on his teacher’s face told him he was in the clear. It was vague enough that she could draw her own conclusions and personal enough that she wouldn’t ask any further questions. Anyways, it wasn’t a total lie; Ryan’s dad probably hadn’t stopped drinking since he left.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and Ryan couldn’t stand to look her in the eyes. He couldn’t stand seeing the pity on her face, knowing he was so undeserving of her concern. He lied so often recently, it was becoming a little too comfortable. Mumbling, he asked, “Can I please go now?”

Ms. Elizabeth nodded and handed him the excuse note, her gaze following him until he was out of sight.

Beeb: hey spencer stole you away before i could ask about halloween
RyRo: We’re still going to Pete’s party this weekend, right?
Beeb: yeah i just wanted to make sure :) one of my best friends gabe is going to be there, i really want you to meet him. also what are you going as
RyRo: Sounds cool, I can’t wait to meet him. And it’s a secret ;)
Beeb: baby pls :(((
Beeb: i need to know so we dont clash
RyRo: That’s your excuse? Really?
Beeb: when we both show up as sexy sloths im blaming you
RyRo: ha ha
Beeb: your sarcasm hurts me
RyRo: Sorry, I’ll kiss it better though
Beeb: alleyway behind the record store?
RyRo: Be there in 20 :)

Chapter Text

Pete’s Halloween party was insane. The house was filled with people, so crowded that Ryan had difficulty navigating through the crowd. Everyone was wearing a costume, Ryan included. He was dressed as a skeleton, wearing a shirt and black jeans on which he had painted the skeletal anatomy. The white paint was faintly luminescent, disguising his body shape and lending to the illusion. Spencer had done his face makeup, using black eyeshadow to softly contour his face into a skull. He had no doubt that it would be destroyed by the end of the night, whether from spilled alcohol or Brendon’s mouth he was unsure.

“RyRo! Moon to my sun, Scully to my Mulder!”

Ryan turned toward the voice and laughed as his boyfriend, unclothed except for a laurel wreath on his head and a bedsheet wrapped around his body in an attempt to recreate a toga, slung an arm over his shoulder and pressed a sloppy kiss to his mouth. He pushed Brendon’s hair back off his face, repositioning his wreath before gently patting his cheek. “You’re drunk.”

“You’re pretty,” Brendon replied, smiling wide and resting his forehead against Ryan’s. “Even as a skeleton, although you kind of look like a skeleton all the time.”

Ryan’s smile dropped as he pulled his face away from Brendon’s. He voice was shaky with repressed anger as he asked, “What the fuck, Brendon?”

Brendon become worried at once, his brows furrowing and his hands coming up to hold Ryan’s face. He looked at Ryan earnestly, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to his lips. “No, baby. No, no, no,” he slurred. “You’re so perfect, so fucking perfect okay? I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.”

Brendon leaned forward to kiss him again but Ryan pulled away, not appeased by his boyfriend’s apology. His shoulders slumped, the anger in his voice giving way to hurt as he asked, “Why does everyone say that? That I look like skeleton?”

Arms wrapped around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. He clung to bare shoulders and pushed his face into Brendon’s neck, allowing the boy’s soothing words to wash over him.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he murmured, his hands rubbing soothing circles on Ryan’s back. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, I never want to hurt you. You’re beautiful and perfect and so fucking pretty, Ry, you have no idea. I love you, baby. I love you so much, you have no idea.”

“I love you too,” Ryan said, slightly surprised by Brendon’s declaration but not in the least bit hesitant about his reply. Ryan pulled his head back and kissed Brendon hard, his arms wrapping around his shoulders and pulling the other boy flush against him. Brendon’s arms tightened around his waist, a hand falling lower and lower down his back until it rested just on his-

“Sorry to be a cock block, but I’m looking for a fuckboy with a big forehead. Have you seen him?”

Brendon laughed as he pulled away from Ryan and launched himself at the speaker. A ridiculously tall guy dressed in far too much neon smiled at Ryan, untangling an arm from Brendon’s death grip and sticking his hand out.

“I’m Gabe, and I’m guessing you’re Ryan,” he said, shaking Ryan’s hand with a firm grip. “I’ve heard a lot about you. This dickbag won’t shut up about you.”

Ryan smiled softly at that, looking away bashfully. Gabe turned his attention to Brendon, Ryan watching as the two talked animatedly with one another. Eventually he turned away, wandering off in search of the alcohol supply. He couldn’t get Brendon’s earlier comment out of his mind, but he figured he’d take a page out of his dad’s book on how to try to forget.

Beeb: i dont remember a lot from last night but i meant what i said
Beeb: i love you
Beeb: <3
RyRo: I love you too <3 Now shut the fuck up and let me sleep off my hangover
Beeb: we could meet up for breakfast at that diner, the one down the street from that record store you like
RyRo: Oh my god if you do not let me sleep I will break up with you
Beeb: okay srry bby
Beeb: btw, spencer found his salamander last night
RyRo: WAIT WHAT
RyRo: Tell me everything

“Are you guys still coming over for Thanksgiving next Thursday?” Spencer asked Ryan as they sat at their usual table in the library.

“Yeah,” Ryan replied, refusing to look up lest Spencer see the panic in his eyes.

Thanksgiving was going to be difficult; holidays were a hard time in general for him and anyone else with an eating disorder. His family spent a lot of time together and it was difficult to get away with not eating, not to mention that the food they were eating was rich and ridiculously high in calories. He always binged around holidays and he knew that this one would be no different. He had a plan though, and hopefully he wouldn’t gain too much weight. He’d eat nothing starting on Monday and break his fast Thursday night with Thanksgiving dinner. After dinner he’d purge as quietly as he could in Spencer’s upstairs bathroom, far enough away from the dining room that he wouldn’t have to worry about being heard. When he got home he would take five laxatives, one laxative every 10 minutes. He’d stay up the rest of the night and exercise in his room to burn more calories. Friday he’d fast again, and on Saturday and Sunday he would eat only yoghurt and oatmeal; the following week he’d be back on his normal diet. He hoped that the altered plan would be enough to reverse the damage that he would inevitably do.

“My mom is making a huge pan of her baked macaroni and cheese,” Spencer said, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his stomach as though the food was already in him. “She’s using six types of cheese, Ryan, six.”

“Can’t wait,” Ryan replied, trying to ignore the taste of bile at the back of his throat.

When Ryan opened his laptop and saw William’s online status, he abandoned any attempt at starting his homework, instead calling his friend and waiting for him to answer.

“Hey RyRo,” William said when his picture showed up.

“Hey Bilvy,” Ryan replied softly, taking in his friend’s appearance. Bill sounded tired and he looked it too. There was a weak smile on his face though and he didn’t look any worse than when Ryan had last seen him, so Ryan considered that a victory. He still looked horrible but at least he wasn’t getting any worse (yet).

They sat in silence for a few moments, tense and uncertain about how to continue from their earlier fight.

“So,” William said, his voice soft as though he was afraid to speak too loud. “I kind of met someone.”

The uncertainty disappeared and it was as though their fight had never happened. Ryan smirked and wiggled his eyebrows exaggeratedly, making William laugh. “Tell me everything, bitch.”

They ended up talking late into the night in an unconscious effort to make up for lost time. Apparently, William had gone to a party after a Midtown concert and the band ended up attending. He went out back for a smoke and the lead singer (Gabriel William said with hearts in his eyes, like the angel) was out there, and they ended up sharing a pack and a half of cigarettes and a cheap bottle of whiskey. They exchanged numbers before leaving and they’ve been texting every day since, even gone out for coffee a few times.

“Do you like him? And does he like you?” Ryan asked, after listening to William’s story and teasing him slightly.

William’s bright smile faltered a bit, and he let out a soft sigh before replying, “Absolutely, and I’m pretty sure he feels the same but I think he knows I’m anorexic. He looks at me like he’s in love but at the same time like he pities me; it breaks my heart every time.”

“Do you think you guys’ll get together?”

William’s smile disappeared completely. “Honestly, no.” He rubbed his hands over his face, frustrated. “I think he could love me but I don’t think he could ever love my eating disorder.”

Ryan felt a pang of fear in his chest at the idea of Brendon finding out about his own eating disorder. He gave Bill a comforting smile but he wasn’t able to hide the slight tremble in his voice.

“If he really loves you, he’ll want to be with you anyways.”

thinasadime updated his status: Thanksgiving dinner tonight. Kill me now -_-
anaandalex replied: good luck!! don’t let a bad day turn into a bad week c:
xXkevthinXx replied: i feel you, friend :p
oli-psycho replied: so happy I live in the UK, Thanksgiving sounds horrible :(
skinny-sixx replied: i snuck out my bedroom window so i wouldn’t have to eat ://
thinNick replied: I have to share my bathroom with visiting family members, hope they don’t mind the smell of puke :D

It was torture.

The actual eating and food part wasn’t too terrible, considering Ryan was actually starving. He controlled himself, surprisingly enough. He ate far too much but it wasn’t a full out binge. A single slice of turkey, a half portion each of stuffing and mashed potatoes (a spoonful of gravy poured over them), a small bowl of macaroni and cheese, half a piece of corn on the cob (the other half snuck onto Spencer’s plate), a dinner roll without butter, and a spoonful of cranberry sauce. Then there was the dessert: a few forkfuls of Spencer’s slices of apple and pumpkin pie and a single scoop of vanilla ice cream. It wasn’t as bad as it could have been.

The worst part was the waiting. He couldn’t go to the bathroom right after, he had to wait at least twenty minutes so it wouldn’t be too suspicious. He could feel the food in his stomach, weighing him down and ruining everything he had worked for.

He was sitting on the couch, tuning out the conversation that carried on around him. He couldn’t stop fidgeting, his knees bouncing and fingers tapping against his leg. He sat hunched over, doing his best to hide his disgustingly bloated stomach. He could feel his jeans digging into his waist, his shirt clinging to his torso. He had to force down the food that kept threatening to come up his throat. Six more minutes.

“Ryan?”

Ryan jerked up, realizing everyone was staring at him. He stared around in confusion until Mrs. Smith repeated herself.

“I said, you didn’t eat much at dinner. Are you alright? Not coming down with something, I hope.”

Ryan’s body went rigid, his fingers digging into his thigh so tightly he knew there would be bruises in the morning. Didn’t eat much? Didn’t she see all the food Ryan ate, how he completely pigged out? The thought that she was taunting him crossed his mind but he did his best not to think about it. He offered her a weak smile, replying, “I’m fine. Just wasn’t very hungry, I guess.”

“You’re never hungry,” Spencer said with a chuckle.

The comment was like a slap to the face. He was so shocked that he couldn’t bring himself to move or speak, forced to sit and watch the nightmare unfold.

“It’s probably got something to do with his size,” Mr. Smith commented. “He just doesn’t need as much to get through the day.”

“He’s always been small, but he used to have more of an appetite when he was younger,” Ryan’s mother replied.

“You and I know it, Danielle!” Mrs. Smith laughed, taking a sip of her wine before continuing.”I remember when Ryan used to eat an entire box of macaroni and have plenty of room for dessert. Now he only eats a small bowl. You’d think his appetite would grow with him, but apparently not.”

“And he doesn’t eat most of the things he used to,” Spencer piped in. “He never eats junk food anymore. I mean, good on him for eating healthy, but it makes me feel like a real pig sometimes!”

Everyone laughed and Ryan felt something inside him break. He looked at the people around him, not understanding how they saw what they did but didn’t manage to piece it together. On one hand he was elated that he had managed to keep his secret, but on the other it hurt to know that they weren’t paying enough attention to figure it out.

Ryan laughed suddenly, loud and brash and startling everyone else into silence. They stared at him as he continued to laugh, tears spring to the corners of his eyes. He stood, still laughing, and left the otherwise silent room. He laughed even harder when the tears began to roll down his face as he walked down the stairs; laughed and cried as he left the apartment and began walking. By the time he was two blocks away he was full out sobbing.

He ducked into an alleyway, scrambling behind a trash can before shoving two fingers down his throat and letting it all out. The ice cream came up first, easily, not cold like it normally is when he purges it but pleasant nonetheless. After that came the pie. The pumpkin was smooth enough, but the crust of the apple was harder to choke out. Next came the corn, tinted pink and slightly sweet because of the cranberry sauce. It didn’t taste as good as the ice cream coming back up, but it was easy to get out and the texture wasn’t too rough on his throat. The mashed potatoes were little bit more difficult to get up, but the texture was smooth. The turkey came up as well, bits and pieces mixed in with the potatoes. The roll and stuffing were horrible. They clumped together, sticky wads that got caught in his throat until he forcibly coughed them up.

He paused a moment, leaning his forehead against the cool brick wall of the alley. It was the middle of November in Chicago and all he had on him was a thin jacket, but he felt as though it could be June. He was sweating, his shirt sticking to him uncomfortably and his pants too constricting. He unzipped the jacket and took a deep breath before forcing his fingers down his throat once more.

The macaroni and cheese was the worst. He knew from experience that pasta itself isn’t horrible, actually fairly easy to get out. The cheese was what really made it bad. It was disgusting when it came up, as though it had gone bad in the short amount of time it was in his stomach. It took a lot of effort to get it out, the thick and sticky consistency coating his throat and choking him. The breadcrumbs that had baked on top added injury to insult, scratching and cutting as they came up. It was one of the worst things he’d ever purged.

He spat, trying to get rid of the taste in his mouth. It wouldn’t work, though; it never worked. Snot dripped from his nose and his cheeks were wet from the crying. He stumbled back, hitting his shoulder on the other wall of the alleyway. He leaned there for a moment, willing his heart to calm down and stop trying to beat out of his chest. He tilted his head back, trying to reduce the pressure between his eyes that arose every time he purged. He pulled his sleeves over his hand, desperately scrubbing at his cheeks and eyes. He wiped his nose and mouth clean before pushing himself off the wall and walking away from the evidence of his self destruction.

“Hey Ryan, do you have an eating disorder?”

Spencer asked the question casually, as though it was a normal conversation topic. He didn’t even bother to look at Ryan, instead continuing to read his book. Ryan, on the other hand, wasn’t sure what he wanted more: to cry or to flip the library table. He couldn’t move or get his voice to work; it was Thanksgiving all over again. He had been so careful with hiding it and now somebody knew. His best friend knew. His fear quickly turned to anger. Anger toward Spencer for confronting him, anger toward his father for starting the downward spiral that was his life, anger toward himself for not keeping the one secret that mattered.

“What the fuck,” he eventually spat out. “Really Spencer?”

Spencer looked at Ryan over his book, his face unimpressed. “Well, I wasn’t the one who went fucking insane at Thanksgiving.”

“Excuse me if I don’t like being made fun of,” Ryan snapped, his face beginning to form a snarl.

“There’s a difference between telling people to tone it down and walking out without a word. You didn’t even come back!”

“Because I didn’t feel like putting up with your bullshit.”

Spencer shut his book forcefully before slamming it on the table, attracting the attention of nearly everyone in the library. “You have a problem, Ryan.”

The paper under Ryan’s hand crumpled as his hand clenched into a fist. He closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath before opening his eyes and forcefully telling Spencer, “I do not have a problem.”

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Spencer exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air. Neither boy gave thought to the small audience that had accumulated. “You fucking starve yourself, how is that not a problem?”

“You don't know shit, Smith. I’m perfectly fine.”

Spencer crossed his arms, leaning forward on the table toward Ryan.

“Look me in the fucking eye and tell me that.”

Ryan's gaze remained firmly on the floor, unable to meet Spencer's glare no matter how much he wished he could.

“That’s what I fucking thought.”

Ryan shut his eyes for a long moment, his entire body radiating his anger. “Fuck you,” he said before collecting his things and leaving the library.

Ryan Ross: Hey I really need to talk to you, I just had a shit day and I need someone to tell me it will get better

Ryan Ross: Where are you? You’re normally online by now

Ryan Ross: Bill what’s going on it’s nearly midnight and you haven’t been on at all today

Ryan Ross: William what the fuck is going on
Ryan Ross: I went to message you on the ed forum and it said you deleted your account. why??
Ryan Ross: where are you
Ryan Ross: bill im so scared pleas just tell me somthing

Ryan Ross: youre the only prson i dont have to lie to
Ryan Ross: im entirely alone wthout you

Ryan Ross: bilvy please

Chapter Text

RyRo: Hey, can I sit with you at lunch tomorrow?
Beeb: of course :)
Beeb: what abt spencer??
RyRo: Not to be cliche, but it’s a long story
Beeb: good thing ive always got time for you :)))

“What exactly did he say to you? It couldn’t have been that bad.”

“I don’t want to say, but believe me, it was.”

Ryan sighed, falling back on his bed and staring up at the ceiling. He couldn’t tell Brendon what Spencer said because then Brendon would get suspicious, and based on Spencer’s reaction Ryan didn’t even want to think about what might happen if Brendon actually found out.

“I’m not going to pressure you to tell me or anything, but you know you can trust me, right? Like, I’m not going to judge you for anything.”

“I do trust you,” Ryan said, confusion evident in his voice. “Why else would I tell you any of this?”

“It’s not that you’re keeping things from me, it’s just that you never tell me the full story, you know?”

“I’m sorry,” Ryan snapped, “I didn’t realize that I had to tell you about every single thing that goes on my life.”

“Ryan, I didn’t mean it like that-”

“Really? ‘Cause it sure as hell sounded that way.”

Brendon sighed and Ryan could imagine him frustratedly running his hand through his hair. “It’s just, sometimes I feel like you’re keeping secrets from me, really big secrets, and I don’t know how to feel about that.”

Ryan dropped his phone in shock. Brendon knew, he had to. Even if he didn’t know the specifics, he knew that something was wrong with Ryan and it was only a matter of time before he knew the full truth.

With shaking hands, Ryan grasped desperately at his phone before bringing it back up to his ear. “-an? Ryan, you still there?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice wavering. “Brendon, I have to go.”

“Ryan wait, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“I’ll talk to you later, bye.”

Ryan ended the call before rolling over and burying his face in his pillow, letting out a sob as he realized that the lies he had so carefully fabricated were being ripped apart by the truth he worked so hard to keep hidden.

Walking into the cafeteria was one of the most terrifying things Ryan had ever had to do. In a way he felt superior, seeing everyone else stuffing their faces with disgusting and fattening foods while he resisted the temptation. At the same time, he felt horribly alone; he couldn’t relax or enjoy himself like the people around him. His mind was constantly calculating the calories in the meals around him, running through all his excuses for not eating, irrationally wondering if he could absorb calories from just the scent of food before having to reassure himself it was scientifically impossible.

At this point in his eating disorder, Ryan didn’t even really have to try to resist eating. Starving came naturally to him. Food was no longer appetizing, it held nothing but self-hatred and cursed calories. He ate to survive and he knew just how much (or how little) food he actually needed to be able to function.

“Hey,” Ryan said, walking up to Brendon’s table. “Is it alright if I join you guys?”

He was met with a chorus of agreement and he hesitated slightly before taking the open seat next to Brendon. He was tense for a moment, unsure how his boyfriend would treat him after their fight the previous day. He relaxed, however, when he felt Brendon interlace their fingers under the table, knowing that things would be okay between the two of them. Ryan squeezed Brendon’s hand for reassurance before introducing himself to Brendon’s friends.

Ryan was sat at the end of the table, Brendon on his left. On Brendon’s other side was a somewhat scary-looking boy named Josh, who had a pink mohawk and stretched ears and a nose ring. Ryan learned that he was a passionate drummer and that although he looked like he could beat someone to a pulp, he was actually the human reincarnation of a kitten and his smile was bright enough to rival Brendon’s.

Directly across from Ryan was a small, tattooed kid named Frank. He also had a mohawk, though his was black and the sides were bleached blond, as well as a lip ring. Despite his small stature, he was a straight-up punk who looked like he could throw a mean right hook (and he could, which Ryan later found from Pete who knew based on firsthand experience). He was foul-mouthed and funny with a laugh that could be heard from halfway across the cafeteria, and Ryan took a liking to him despite the differences between the two.

On Frank’s right was a tall and lanky kid who seemed to pay more attention to his phone than his friends. Second only to Pete, he was the epitome of emo: skinny jeans with a band shirt, a beanie covering his flat-ironed hair, and black eyeliner visible underneath his glasses. Unlike Pete, however, he actually pulled off the style (Ryan received a tater tot to the face when he voiced his thoughts). He was quiet and didn’t contribute to the conversation very often, but when he did speak someone almost always ended up on the floor with tears from laughing so hard. He introduced himself as Mikey and gave Ryan a soft smile that instantly melted the boy’s heart.

Next to Mikey and diagonally across from Ryan was Pete, who welcomed Ryan to the “Emo Table from Hell” before going back to vehemently arguing his point that yes, you could be gay above the waist and no, Brendon, that did not necessarily mean that you are not entirely heterosexual.

All throughout lunch, Ryan couldn’t stop smiling even if he tried.

thinasadime updated his status: Started spending my lunch period in the cafeteria. WAY better than I thought it would be :D
skinny-sixx replied: :O i would be terrified!!
oli-psycho replied: good to hear :) I usually go into town and waste time lol
kellin-thinn replied: do you eat lunch?? or do you just ignore all the questions
thinasadime replied: I don’t eat lunch, I just hang out at my bf’s table. Surprisingly, I haven’t gotten any questions yet. Hoping it continues that way!!
kellin-thinn replied: damn you’re lucky
fvnnwithgvnns replied: nice, whenever I spend lunch with my gf she always tries to get me to eat. Not very fvn :(
thinasadime replied: I’ve kept my ED a secret from my bf and I honestly don’t know which would be worse, him leaving me or trying to “help me”
fvnnwithgvnns replied: tbh I kind of wish my gf had just left when she found out because it would be easier to restrict without her around :/
anaandalex replied: my bf broke up with me when I told him :’( I still miss him, but it’s easier to starve when you’re heartbroken
vic-timoftheveil replied: really?? last time my relationship with some1 ended I binged so much that I got back up to my hw
anaandalex replied: I guess it’s different for everyone ://

“Mikey!” Pete whined. “Get your bony elbow out of my stomach.”

Mikey didn’t bother to look up from his phone as he replied, “It’s not my fault you’re in my space.”

Pete rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, slumping over the table and resting his head on top of his arms. “It’s not my fault you’re a fucking anorexic,” he grumbled under his breath.

Everyone at the table went silent. Mikey went still, clenching his eyes shut as though he was trying to block out the world around him. His hand was closed into a fist around his phone, clenched so tight Ryan was scared he might break the screen. His shoulders were tensed, breathing forced.

“Dude,” Frank said, voice quiet but strained. “Don’t joke about that shit.”

Pete sat up, an apologetic look on his face as he realized his mistake. “Fuck, Mikey, I totally forgot, I-”

Mikey shook his head, letting out a shaky exhale before mumbling, “I’m gonna go,” and leaving the table. Frank was glaring at Pete, who resembled a kicked puppy. Josh and Brendon were whispering between themselves, trying to decide which of them should comfort Mikey. Ryan was sitting in silence, shocked that he had found someone else in real life - in his group of friends, of all things - who also had an eating disorder.

Thinking about it, Ryan reasons he probably should have realized sooner. Mikey was way too skinny to be so naturally, there had to be something disordered going on there. He always seemed to eat normally, but Ryan knew that appearances could be deceiving. He could have thrown food away or hidden it when no one was looking, purged it in the bathroom before the next class. Maybe lunch was the only meal he ate all day. He was also constantly on his phone, he could easily have been looking at thinspo or a support site. The more Ryan thought about it, the more he realized just how obvious it was.

Ryan stood up without a word and went after Mikey, to the surprise of everyone else at the table. He caught up with the boy in the hallway outside the cafeteria, calling out his name to keep him from getting further away.

“What, Ryan?” Mikey asked, his exhaustion evident.

“I just,” Ryan began, but quickly trailed off. He had no clue what to say, no idea how to talk to someone about this. Sure, he had talked to William, but that was different. Their whole relationship was based on their mutual issue. It was the main rope that tether them together, allowing them to build onto the bridge from there. With Mikey, it was completely different. It was almost like a part of their bridge had fallen away and Ryan had to try and rebuild it with a different material, except he didn’t have any instructions. All he could really do at this point was take a leap of faith and hope he landed on solid ground.

“I know. I know what you’re going through, okay?” Ryan said, trying to convey the true meaning of his words through the earnesty in his voice. “It’s horrible and it sucks and I just, I want you to know you’re not alone. People will say shit without knowing and it will really fucking hurt, but you can talk to me about it. You can talk to me about this, okay?”

Mikey stared at Ryan, a confused look on his face. It quickly turned to realization, then disbelief, becoming indecipherable for a period before it settled on pitying. He moved his hand to Ryan’s shoulder, squeezing it gently as though Mikey was trying to comfort him.

“Oh, Ryan,” he said, voice so soft it was practically a whisper, “I’m so sorry.”

He turned and walked away, leaving Ryan alone and confused in the empty hallway.

Beeb: hey is there a reason you never eat lunch?
RyRo: lol I eat lunch when I get home
RyRo: My family eats dinner super late cuz my mom doesn’t get home until like 7 or 8
Beeb: oh that makes sense lol
Beeb: thats a long time between breakfast and lunch though
RyRo: I eat breakfast in homeroom, so it really isn’t
Beeb: still
RyRo: why are you so obsessed with my eating habits
Beeb: im kind of worried, esp after the whole thing with mikey
Beeb: its just youre really skinny (which isnt a bad thing!) and i dont really see you eat so i just want to make sure youre okay cuz i love you
RyRo: I’m fine :) love you too

“I’m so fucked.”

Before he even realized what he was doing, Ryan was in the kitchen and eating everything in sight. He sighed internally, not even bothering to make an attempt to stop. It was going to be a long night.

“Ugh,” Pete groaned, practically falling into his seat. “I need it to be Christmas break already.”

Since the incident with Mikey, things had pretty much gone back to normal. Pete had apologized profusely to Mikey the next day, but Mikey had just waved his words off with a smile and started a heated debate with him about the benefits of LiveJournal versus tumblr when it came to online journaling.

Nobody else wanted to bring up the issue and that day at lunch was basically forgotten about by everyone except for Ryan. He couldn’t stop thinking about the interaction in the hallway, still not sure of Mikey’s actions. He was uncomfortable with the boy’s gaze now, not able to stand the blatant pity. Ryan didn’t understand why Mikey would pity him when they were both going through something so similar. Shouldn’t it have been sympathy or understanding in his stare?

“Oh, yeah,” Brendon said, turning to Ryan. “I totally forgot to ask you, but are you free on Friday? It’s kind of our Christmas tradition to go out for lunch on the last day before break, because it’s a half day. We’ll meet up with Gabe and Mikey’s brother, .”

“Gee can’t make it this year,” Mikey interjected, staring at his phone as always.

“Okay, so we’ll meet up with Gabe then. What do you think?”

Brendon was looking at him with a wide grin on his face, but Ryan could see below his excited exterior. He could practically see the gears turning in Brendon’s head as he analyzed the situation. This was a test, to see if Ryan was telling the truth when he said he was okay.

Ryan could say no, but then Brendon would definitely think something was amiss and he wouldn’t be able to be persuaded otherwise. If Ryan said yes, the entire lunch would be under scrutiny: what would Ryan order, how much would he eat, how would he act while eating the food. Everything he did would be taken into consideration in deciding his fate; if a single thing wasn’t perfect, the ugly truth would be revealed.

Ryan smiled as his heart broke and he gave the only answer he could.

“Sounds good.”

Chapter Text

Ryan was going to make it through this lunch if it killed him. He had a plan: only water to drink, no starters or desserts, and he’d order a small plate with no sides. He had to drink at least two full glasses of water before he ate anything and another glass of water once he was finished eating. He could only eat half of whatever he ordered (he’d put the other half in a box to take home and throw away) and he couldn’t order anything fried, cooked in butter, or generally unhealthy. If anyone offered something to him then he could try it, but he could only have one bite.

Rather than get a ride, he would walk from school to the restaurant and then take the bus to get back home. The walking would help balance out his intake and the cold December air would increase his BMR (he read online that he would burn more calories in the cold because his body had to work harder to keep warm). He didn’t have to purge, but he would take a laxative when he got home and then exercise in his room for at least an hour.

He couldn’t look at the menu for more than two minutes, not that he needed to; he had looked up the menu online days ago and he already knew exactly what he was going to order. He had to make at least two comments about how good his food tasted, as well as an additional comment about how excited he was for the meal. He had to pay attention to the conversation and participate whenever it was required. He couldn’t fidget, frown, smile too tightly, bite his lip, hunch his shoulders, avoid physical contact, play with his food, or anything else that might make him seem nervous.

He ran through the rules one last time as he walked the final block to the restaurant, head down and body hunched in against the cold. He knew everyone who was going to be there, there wasn’t any reason for him to be this nervous. He kept trying to reassure himself as he got closer to the restaurant, but his heart only seemed to beat faster with every step.

“Ryan!”

As he turned the corner, he heard his name being called and looked up, seeing Brendon waving at him. He picked up his pace, jogging over to his boyfriend who immediately pulled him into a hug. As he felt the familiar comfort of Brendon’s arms around him, he was suddenly overcome with tranquility. He could do this.

He pecked Brendon softly and smiled at him before pulling away so he could greet everyone else. He turned and said hello to Gabe, who was standing next to Brendon. Gabe laughed before pulling Ryan into a hug, disregarding the boy’s initial shyness. He pulled away and grabbed the hand of the almost equally as tall boy next to him and Ryan’s entire world stopped because holy shit.

“This is my boyfriend, William. William, this is Ryan.”

As the boys made eye contact they both froze, not quite able to believe what was happening. He didn’t even know that he and William lived in the same city, let alone shared a mutual friend.

As Ryan looked at his once-best friend, he realized that William didn’t actually look terrible. There were still dark circles under his eyes, but he wasn’t as gaunt and there was even some color on his cheeks. His hair, from what was visible from under his hat, looked healthier; it was glossy and didn’t seem as brittle. He had put on a little bit of weight; not enough to put him in the healthy range, but at least he didn’t look like he was about to die.

As Ryan looked between Gabe and William, everything suddenly clicked. Brendon’s friend Gabe was the lead singer of William’s favorite band, the guy that William had begun to kind of date. The guy that Ryan knew as Gabe was William’s Gabriel. As Ryan realized, he cursed himself for being so stupid. How could he not have realized that ‘Gabriel’ was Gabe’s full name?

As he fully realized Gabe’s relation to William, a feeling of panic began to overtake him. What if William had told Gabe about Ryan? Sure, Ryan had talked about William to Brendon, but he didn’t mention him by name and he didn’t mention anything about eating disorders. William had said that Gabe probably knew about his eating disorder, so Gabe might know about Ryan’s eating disorder too. What if he told Brendon?

Ryan had so many things he wanted to say, so many questions he wanted to ask. You look better. What happened? I’m glad you and Gabe figured things out. Where did you go? I can’t believe this is happening. Why did you leave me?

“Hi,” William said, offering him a tentative smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Beeb: u ok?

Ryan looked at his boyfriend with confusion they were sitting next to each other but he had chosen to text him rather than speak out loud.

RyRo: yeah, why are you texting me?? I’m sitting right next to you, fyi

Ryan heard the small chime as Brendon received his message. Fingers flew across the keyboard display and Ryan stared at his own phone as he waited impatiently for the imminent message.

Beeb: you just seem kind of out of it

Ryan bit his lip as he tried to figure out a response, but before he could begin to type he received another message.

Beeb: ik that youre pretty shy (and just pretty) and i didnt know gabe was bringing his bf, i wouldve let you know b4 tho

He smiled as he read Brendon’s message and rather than reply with a text, he chose to lean into his boyfriend and bestow a soft kiss on his cheek.

“Thank you,” Ryan murmured, entwining his fingers with Brendon’s underneath the table. “Just give me a few minutes, I’ll be okay.”

Brendon squeezed his hand before softly kissing him. “I’d give you the world if you asked for it.”

“I’ll have a cheeseburger, no onions, extra pickles, with a side of fries and a chocolate milkshake, please.”

Ryan smiled at the waitress as he handed his menu over. Fuck the plan, he felt like shit and he wanted to eat. Brendon laughed and squeezed his hand, which he was holding under the table. “I’ve never seen you eat that much,” he teased. “Are you sure you’ll be able to finish it all?”

Ryan smiled, although it came out as more of a grimace. “You’ve never seen me eat when I’m starving.”

William shot him a pitying look but Ryan refused to look back, instead listening attentively as everyone else ordered their meals. If William didn’t want to acknowledge him, then he wasn’t going to acknowledge William. Payback’s a bitch, Ryan thought. Just like betrayal.

“Hey,” Brendon murmured, leaning into Ryan so he could speak softly into his ear. “I probably should have told you before, but Gabe’s boyfriend is recovering from an eating disorder so just be careful about what you say, okay?”

Ryan nodded and tried his best not to punch his boyfriend in the face. He wasn’t angry, just hurt. He wondered how Brendon could be so oblivious, how he could easily believe the lies that fell effortlessly from Ryan’s mouth. He didn’t want Brendon to find out about his eating disorder so he should be elated at his conviction but he couldn’t stop feeling so dejected. Constantly conflicted about the truth, Ryan had no clue how he was supposed to feel anymore.

His conflicted emotions related to Brendon were far more preferable than his emotions regarding William, though. He felt relieved, to know that William was doing better. He was glad that the boy was trying to recover, but at the same time he was angry at him for doing so. He felt like William was giving up, like he was throwing away everything they had worked for. He wasn’t just throwing away his eating disorder, he was throwing away their friendship. From there, Ryan felt guilt; William had the courage to seek help and Ryan should be proud of him for that. He should understand that this was a difficult thing for William to do and he should support his friend, even if supporting him meant staying away so he wouldn’t trigger a relapse. Most of all, though, Ryan felt betrayed. Was he really so unimportant that he didn’t deserve an explanation?

Ryan was pulled out of his thoughts as the hand around his squeezed, prompting him to turn to look at Brendon. You okay? He mouthed, the concern apparent on his face. Ryan nodded and gave his boyfriend what he hoped was a reassuring smile before turning his attention to the current conversation of the table.

“I’m not gay, but if I was, I would totally let you fuck me into the mattress.”

“Pete,” Mikey said. “That’s pretty fucking gay.”

“How’s your burger?” Brendon asked, stealing a few fries. Ryan rolled his eyes, softly slapping Brendon’s hand in a pathetic attempt to discourage his thievery. The more fries Brendon stole, the less Ryan would eat.

“Good, how are my fries?”

Brendon laughed, stealing another couple of fries. “Good. Could use more salt though, to balance out how sweet you are.”

“Ugh,” Josh groaned, swallowing his mouthful of sandwich before continuing. “Can you guys, like, not? It’s kind of depressing, having to constantly be reminded of my loneliness.”

“Hear, hear,” Frank seconded. Pete laughed loudly at Frank’s response, spraying Gabe with bits of lettuce and tomato. “This coming from the guy who’s hooking up with Mikey’s brother.”

“Dude!” Frank and Mikey said simultaneously, Frank with anger directed toward Pete and Mikey scandalized at Frank. The table erupted into laughter as Mikey threatened Frank if he did anything to hurt his brother. Despite his lanky and generally non-violent demeanor, Mikey could be surprisingly intimidating and Frank was practically shaking by the time they were through.

After finishing his lunch, Ryan excused himself to the bathroom. He pointedly ignored the hard stares of both Mikey and William and prayed that they wouldn’t try to intervene.

He knew it wasn’t a good idea to purge in the restaurant but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He felt so heavy and weighed down, not only by the food but also by the events of the day. He just wanted to rid himself of his emotions and problems. Purging allowed him to shut down his mind, focus on one thing without distraction. It was the eating disorder version of cutting: temporary relief for when life became too much.

Thankfully, nobody walked in while he was ridding himself of his lunch. It didn’t take him very long; the milkshake came up easily and helped the burger and fries along. It only took him a few minutes before he was throwing up only bile. He was washing his hands in the bathroom, doing his best to get the permeating stench of vomit off them when the door opened and William walked in.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Ryan replied casually. “William, right?”

He watched through the mirror as William’s face crumpled. “Don’t do this, Ry.”

“You bitch,” Ryan snapped, turning around to face the boy. “How fucking dare you. You pretend like you don’t know me, like we weren’t best fucking friends, and then you come in here and tell me not to do this? Fuck you.”

"Ryan, I’m sorry. I just, a lot of things happened in a short amount of time and I couldn’t deal with them.”

“Yeah,” Ryan said, crossing his arms and leaning back against the sink. “What the fuck did happen? Because I thought you fucking died, you know, considering you didn’t tell me anything.”

William started sobbing suddenly, and Ryan didn’t know what to do. On one hand, he wanted to walk out and abandon William the same way he had been abandoned, but he didn’t really want to hurt the boy. He tentatively moved towards William before awkwardly pulling him into a hug, tightening his grip when the boy practically collapsed into him.

“I’m sorry,” William mumbled into his shoulder. “I should have told you what was going on. I was just so scared you would hate me or call me or weak or-”

“Bilvy,” Ryan interrupted. “I’d support you through anything, including recovery.”

William pulled away, wiping at the tears still falling down his cheeks. “I know. I was still scared though. It was really difficult, and I felt like I had to choose between Gabe and my eating disorder, and you went with my ED. I know that’s not true now, but that’s what it felt like at the time. For the first time in my life I felt like this wasn’t forever, like recovery was actually an option.”

Ryan couldn’t help but scoff at that, ignoring the look of hurt that crossed his friend’s face. “So what, you met this guy and your life turned into an inspirational teen romance novel?” He asked sarcastically. “Did he ‘save you from yourself?’”

“God, I forgot how much of an asshole you are,” William spat, his mouth twisting into a frown.

Ryan rolled his eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that, I just think it’s kind of bullshit that you’re recovering because of your boyfriend.”

“Fuck you, Ryan Ross,” William said, his voice steady but seething with anger. “This isn’t for Gabe, it’s for me. I’m the one who signed up for an outpatient program, I’m the one who works through the stupid fucking therapy exercises, I’m the one who threw myself into Hell and now I’m the one who is pulling myself out. I didn’t think recovery was an option for me, not until I had someone who helped me to realize I was worth the effort. I’m not doing this for anyone but myself.”

As Ryan stood speechless, William’s anger drained away and he was left looking drained and tired. He smiled apologetically at Ryan, although the expression seemed more sorrowful than anything else. “You should think about recovering, Ryan.”

Ryan shook his head, walking out of the bathroom so William couldn’t see the tears that were beginning to fall from his eyes.

“I don’t need help for a problem I don’t have.”

Chapter Text

109.3

It had been four months and all Ryan had lost was 10.3 pounds. 10 pounds wouldn’t have been a horrible amount if he didn’t still look as fat as ever. After all, the mirror didn’t lie. The pouch of fat below his navel, the flab that hung from his arms, his thighs that were still too thick; it wasn’t enough.

Something in him snapped. He picked up the scale and threw it as hard as he could at the bathroom mirror, cracking the glass. Grabbing the scale again from where it had fallen, he smashed it repeatedly against the counter until it broke apart, bits of plastic scattering about the bathroom. Looking up and seeing his broken reflection in the mirror, Ryan screamed and began pounding on the cracked surface with his fists. He ignored his mother whom he could hear outside the door, knocking frantically and begging him to let her in.

He didn’t realize but at some point he had stopped screaming and started crying, collapsed against the sink and surrounded by shards of glass and plastic. His mother was crying as well, pleading with him to open the door or at least talk to her so she would know he was alright. He opened his mouth to tell her he was okay but he choked on the words, a strangled sob the only noise escaping him.

It was difficult to stand up when he was shaking so hard, but he managed it eventually. He made his way to the door, trying his best not to step on the glass and plastic that littered the tile beneath him. It took him a few tries to grasp the lock, turning it slowly before doing the same with the doorknob. His mother stood in the hallway, tears running down her face as she took in the scene before her. In the back of his mind Ryan thought he should feel guilty for making such a mess, but he was too emotionally exhausted to care.

“Hey mom? I’d really like some spaghetti.”

He felt it the second he woke up.

Scrambling out of bed, he only made it halfway across his room before everything came up. He fell to his knees, puking uncontrollably. It spewed out of his mouth and his nose, cutting off his airway and filling his mouth with the all too familiar taste of regurgitated food and stomach bile. He couldn’t stop it, couldn’t stop his stomach from forcing it all out.

Eventually it stopped but Ryan still couldn’t move. He was shaking and crying, sitting in a puddle of his own vomit; he almost laughed at the familiarity of the situation. It wasn’t until the early morning light began to shine through the window that he made a movement to stand. He was methodical in his movements, first cleaning himself and then his floor in an attempt to scrub away any evidence of his mishap. He returned to the comfort of his bed and tried to go back to sleep but he couldn’t calm the racing thoughts in his mind.

He’d heard about refeeding syndrome but had never really thought that it would be an issue, not unless he was forced into recovery. He hadn’t read much about it, but he did remember that someone who had been malnourished for more than 20 days was at risk. With horrified shock, Ryan realized he hadn’t eaten a proper meal in months.

The tears began anew as he fully understood just how serious this might be. He buried his face in his pillow to try and muffle his broken whimpers, his body shaking almost violently with the force of his sobs. He felt as the familiar hollow feeling of dread began to grow in his chest and for a moment he feared he would be sick again. His stomach was empty, though; the only thing left to choke on was fear.

thinasadime updated his status: so I ate some spaghetti last night but I threw it all up at like 4 this morning?? I didn’t purge, it just came up on its own. Any advice?
oli-psycho replied: go see a doctor. now.
TMcCool replied: please get help, you’re in real danger of doing irreversible damage to your body if you’re throwing up without trying. I know that getting help might be scary, but dying is scarier.
skinny-sixx replied: pls take care of urself
xXkevthinXx replied: try eating something lighter maybe??
kellin-thinn replied: stay safe please :(
weekefromfasting replied: Yeah that’s happened to me before. I think it has something to do with your stomach having shrunk from eating so little for so long, so once you eat more than usual it’s stretched out way more than it’s used to and it ends up forcing the food back out. You should probably try to drink some Gatorade or vegetable broth before you try to eat anything else.
fvnnwithgvnns replied: when that happened to me they had to put a tube in
fvnnwithgvnns replied: you’ll be better off if you get help before it gets worse
vic-timoftheveil replied: i’ve never had that happen so idk exactly why it’s happening, but maybe you could up your intake for a little bit? like eat to maintain for like a week or two and see if it happens again
thinNick replied: that really isn’t good :( please eat something
anaandalex replied: if your body is rejecting food then you’ve gone too far. please get some help.

“You can never push yourself too far,” Ryan murmured into the darkness of his room. “There’s no such thing as ‘too skinny.’”

New Year’s Eve found Ryan lying in bed, not even bothering to try and catch a glimpse of fireworks through his window. Brendon had invited him to the group’s New Year’s party but Ryan couldn’t stand the thought of facing William or Gabe after the disastrous affair that was their lunch outing.

RyRo: Sorry I couldn’t make it

It was almost half an hour before he received a reply.

Beeb: it’s fine, just wish I could kiss you at midnight :/

Panic surged through Ryan at the thought that Brendon might kiss someone else at midnight. He suppressed it as best he could, trying to mask his worry through humor.

RyRo: lol we’ll see each other on Monday??
RyRo: Am I that irresistible? ‘,:)
Beeb: it’s new years tho so it’s different
Beeb: WTF IS THAT EMOJU OMFSGOS IMDINYE
Beeb: yes
RyRo: lol
Beeb: it’s true tho. I can’t keep my hands off you
Beeb: I wanna be with you
Beeb: in every way

Ryan actually dropped his phone in shock. He had thought about sex with Brendon before, how could he not? He just never imagined the thought was mutual.

Of course, there were countless problems when it came to being intimate while suffering from an eating disorder. Extremely restricting one’s caloric intake led to a decreased sex drive, which wasn’t really a problem for Ryan until he had a boyfriend. Then there was the fact that he’d have to be naked. He’d be freezing and uncomfortable the entire time, not to mention that he would be absolutely vulnerable. He hadn’t been unclothed in front of anyone for years; if he hated his body, what would Brendon think of it?

Looking down at his phone, Ryan realized he had forgotten to reply and hurried to type out a reassuring message.

Beeb: fuck was that weird
Beeb: I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to freak you out
RyRo: I want that too

“Shit.”

Beeb: really?

Against his better judgement, Ryan replied.

RyRo: yeah

It’s not like he didn’t want to have sex with Brendon. He did, he really did, he just wasn’t sure that he would be able to get through it without crying.

The sound of fireworks going off in the distance echoed throughout the city, their lights in the sky flashing through Ryan’s window and illuminating him in a watercolor painting of bright lights and insecurities. The progression of his eating disorder, meeting Brendon, dating Brendon, William’s betrayal, falling out with Spencer; he thought of all that had happened in the past year and everything the new year might bring.

Beeb: happy new year, Ry
RyRo: Happy New Year

Ryan couldn’t feel his face.

The realization came to him as he was putting his books in his locker, or at least when he was supposed to be doing so. In reality he was paralyzed, books still in his bag which had fallen to the floor. He was slumped against the wall of lockers, half of his body falling into his own open one. The metal should should have felt cool on his face but all he felt was the way it pressed bluntly into cheek. He tried to smack some feeling back into his face but for some reason his arms wouldn’t reach that high.

He tried to look down to figure out what the problem was but he couldn’t see anything except for the rippling black that lay at the back of his eyes. The general sounds of the high school hallway were muted; he heard everything as though he were underwater. His knees buckled, not all at once like people always describe, but clicking back and forth too quickly for him to keep up. He managed to lock one leg, keeping him held up against his locker until he could wait for the spell to pass.

He counted the seconds and reach 34 before his vision started to creep back in at the edges. He lifted his arm, now managing to get it all the way up, and rubbed at his eyes in an attempt to speed up the process. Eventually he was stable enough to go back to the task of putting his books away, not noticing the gaze levelled at him from the other side of the hallway until he turned around and locked eyes with none other than Spencer Smith.

They stood, gazes locked, for five seconds. Ryan could feel his heart in his throat, choking him with anxiety. Spencer saw him, he had to have seen him. Obviously he was going to tell someone, the school nurse maybe? Or would he go to a teacher? Maybe he’d call Ryan’s mother, tell her the ugly, disgusting truth. Or maybe he’d confront Ryan again, like in the library, and tell him that he was going to recover. He didn’t want to get help, though. He didn’t need help, not Spencer’s or anyone else’s.

Five seconds spent motionless, breathless, hopeless. Five seconds spent waiting for the help he didn’t want. Five seconds spent in anticipation of the end of his world.

Spencer just shrugged and walked away.

Beeb: my house this weekend?
RyRo: Yup, just like every weekend lol
Beeb: cool :)
Beeb: petes playing a show that night, so we’ll have the house to ourselves
Beeb: that ok??
RyRo: yeah

Ryan really thought he could do this.

It had all been so nice at the beginning. He and Brendon had curled up on the couch in the living room, eating (or in Ryan’s case, trying not to eat) cold pizza and watching old episodes of the X Files. They were jokingly arguing about whether or not Roswell was a government cover-up when Brendon kissed him. Off course, they had kissed before so it wasn’t anything new, but it felt different. It felt like a promise.

They pulled apart and everything was suddenly heavy and awkward and not enough and all Ryan wanted was Brendon.

“Should we—”

“Yeah,” Ryan breathed out, nodding enthusiastically. Brendon grabbed his hand and they were running to his room, tripping over steps and hitting walls but it didn’t matter because soon enough they were in the bedroom, against the door, on the bed, together. It wasn’t grace or finesse, it was clumsy and awkward and inexperienced but at the same time it was them and they couldn’t care about anything else.

Brendon was on top of Ryan, legs tangled and hips pressed together almost painfully, hands on hips and in hair and they weren’t kissing anymore but Brendon’s mouth was on Ryan’s neck and neither of them could hold back soft moans and mewls. Brendon was pulling away and Ryan didn’t, wouldn’t, couldn’t let go, mouthed at his neck as he groped inside the nightstand drawer and scratched at his sides through his shirt just to hear Brendon’s broken voice whisper his name as he did so.

Suddenly they were apart, embarrassed, nervous as Brendon laid the condom and lube on the bed next to Ryan and neither wanted to be the first to push it further but they didn’t want to back down either. Without warning Brendon was placing a promise to his lips again and they were back to before but it wasn’t the same because this was slow and scared with an undercurrent of excitement, it was softly rubbing circles into hipbones and shaky exhales and softly whispering “I love you” into the other person’s neck.

Fidgeting and fumbling they managed to get Brendon’s shirt off and Ryan ran his hands over the skin wanting to feel every inch. Somehow they had switched and Ryan was on top of Brendon now but it worked because he could press kisses to all his favorite parts, his sternum and right beneath his left rib and on his hips right above his… scars.

Ryan traced over the almost invisible lines, not wanting to say anything so instead just looking up at his boyfriend and hoping he would explain. Brendon sighed and sat up, pulling Ryan into his lap and softly stroking his cheek with one hand while the other held him close.

“It was a long time ago,” he said, voice low and soft. “My parents aren’t the best people and I blamed myself.” He closed his eyes as Ryan ran hands through his hair, softly massaging the nape of his neck. “I’m proud of you,” Ryan whispered, resting their foreheads together. “For stopping.”

For a moment Brendon just stared at him like he had galaxies in his eyes. Then Ryan was on his back, Brendon’s mouth was on his and it was graceless and gawky but so good and hands were underneath his shirt and Ryan wanted to push them away but he let them wander and explore and suddenly his shirt was off and Brendon was looking at him but Ryan couldn’t stand to see what he might think. Eyes shut and head turned away and he really thought he’d be okay until Brendon softly kissed his cheek and whispered with a broken voice, “You’re beautiful.”

He was crying and he couldn’t stop, couldn’t let Brendon see him like this, couldn’t let Brendon see him at all. He grabbed the first shirt he could and pulled it on as he ran to the bathroom, locking himself and falling onto the floor where he tried to remember how to breathe. He was panting and gasping and sobbing and he was choking on his own spit and tears, how could anyone think that was beautiful?

Brendon wasn’t pounding at the door, wasn’t asking to be let in, and Ryan wanted to resent him for it but he found he just loved him even more. Brendon, the boy with the sweet smile and stupid lines that actually worked. Brendon, the boy who didn’t run from love despite the scars on his hips. Brendon, the boy who was too good for Ryan to ruin.

He forced himself to take deep, even breaths, doing his best to calm down. Eventually he stopped sobbing, instead crying silently with the occasional sniffle. He sat up and leaned against the wall, bringing his knees to his chest and staring off into nothing. Once the tears had stopped he made himself stand and wet a washcloth, gently cleaning off his face. He stared at his reflection once he was finished, nearly starting to cry again when he realized he had put Brendon’s shirt on instead of his own. He managed to hold himself together, though; he prayed that he’d be able to continue to do so for the next ten minutes.

He took a deep breath before opening the door, surprised when Brendon practically fell into the room. With shock, he realized that Brendon had been leaning against the door, waiting for him, and his prayers went unanswered as he burst into tears once again. He tried to shut the door but Brendon wouldn’t let him, pulling him into a hug and lowering them both to the floor of the bathroom. Brendon was sat leaning against the wall, arms around Ryan who was practically curled up in his lap. He didn’t try to say anything, just held the sobbing boy until the tears stopped sliding down his cheeks.

“I have an eating disorder,” Ryan whispered, surprising the both of them by being the first one to break the silence. Brendon didn’t say anything at first, torturing the other boy with every second that went by in silence. His mind was a mystery that couldn’t be solved and it was terrifying. When he finally did speak, the words were worse than Ryan could have ever imagined.

“I know.”

Chapter Text

“How long?”

“What?”

“How long have you known?”

They had moved so they were sitting side by side, backs against the wall. Brendon was sat cross-legged, his fingers nervously tapping on his knee. Ryan was sitting next to him, but he had purposefully moved far enough away so they wouldn’t be touching. His knees were drawn to his chest, his arms wrapped around his legs. They had been sitting together quietly until Ryan had, once again, broken the silence.

“Since the restaurant,” Brendon said, tiredly pushing his hair back from his face. Ryan looked at him in shock. “Gabe had told me. Said he saw all the signs. I didn’t really believe him until tonight, when I saw— when you took your shirt off.”

He couldn’t bring himself to reply. Brendon knew, had known for a while but hadn’t said anything. Did he not care about his boyfriend enough to tell somebody? Not that Ryan would ever forgive him if he did, but he still should have done something if he really loved him. But then again, did he love Ryan by not saying anything, by trusting him when he said everything was okay?

Ryan didn’t understand why he was so conflicted between wanting people to help him and wanting to be left to his self-destructive habits. He looked at Brendon, who was staring at him with a worried look on his face. Neither boy knew where to go from there.

“What does this mean for us?” Ryan asked, voice barely more than a whisper. It took everything left in him to continue to look at his boyfriend, to not look away from the pitying gaze that was levelled at him.

“I don’t know,” Brendon said, voice breaking. “I love you, I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone, but I don’t think that— you’re not—” He broke off with a frustrated sigh. “Ryan, you need help.”

Ryan bit his lip so hard he tasted blood. He didn’t need help, not from Brendon or Spencer or William or anyone. He’d been dealing with this shit for more than a year and he knew what he was doing, he didn’t need some perfect person to come in and save him from his mind or whatever the fuck any of them thought his problem was. He didn’t have a problem, he just had a bunch of shitty ‘friends’ who didn’t know when to back the fuck off.

“The only thing I need,” Ryan said, voice seething with anger, “is for you to leave me the fuck alone.”

Brendon’s face crumpled. “Ryan—”

“No,” Ryan snapped, standing up suddenly. “I don’t give a shit what you, or Spencer, or fucking William have to say—”

“William?”

“—I don’t have a problem!” By that point Ryan was screaming, his voice cracked and broken as he continued his tirade. “Yes, I use unhealthy habits to lose weight, but it’s okay because it’ll all be done once I reach my goal weight! And I know not to push myself too far, okay, I can stop if I need to.”

Brendon had stood up and was yelling as well. “Do you even fucking hear yourself? ‘I can stop when I want to,’ Jesus fucking Christ, Ryan.”

“It’s not a fucking problem, okay?”

Everything that happened next went by so quickly that Ryan thought he might have missed it if he blinked. Brendon shaking, his hand raised and curled in a fist, a harsh thud, blood dripping down his hand and a crack in the plaster of the wall. Ryan had stumbled out of the bathroom and into the hallway, not realizing he was crying once more until his cheeks were soaked by the tears.

“You stupid bitch,” Brendon practically snarled. “Do you see yourself when you look in the mirror? Because you look like you just walked out of fucking Auschwitz. You’re a walking corpse. And I’m pretty sure you can’t eat without throwing it up because every time I kiss you I can taste the vomit in your mouth.”

“I never asked you to kiss me,” Ryan forced out, choking on his tears and rage. “You chose this, you chose to love me.” He roughly scrubbed at the tears on his face. “Sorry if it’s harder than you thought it would be,” he tried to say sarcastically, although it came out more broken than anything else.

Brendon let out a humorless laugh, blatantly ignoring his boyfriend’s distraught state. “Honestly, Ryan, do you have any idea how difficult this is? How do you think I feel having to sit here and watch you die?”

“How do you feel? I’m the one that’s actually fucking dying!”

Ryan broke down again, not even trying to keep himself from sobbing. It was surprising to him that, despite all the crying he had done that night, his body still managed to produce more tears. Brendon stood staring at him, silent and stoic; Ryan didn’t know how to feel about the fact that his boyfriend didn’t come to comfort him. These days, Ryan didn’t know how to feel about a lot of things.

Both boys jumped at the sound of a door shutting downstairs, not expecting anyone to interrupt them that night. Even though he was trying desperately, Ryan couldn’t quiet his sobs so he wasn’t surprised when Pete came up the stairs to see what was going on. He was surprised, however, when Pete let out a low growl of “Motherfucker” and proceeded to punch Brendon in the face.

Ryan didn’t remember much of what happened after that. He remembered screaming at Pete, begging him to stop. He thought he saw Brendon trying to push the smaller boy away before he was suddenly dragged out to a car and pushed inside. He was surprised when he looked over and saw Pete in the driver’s seat, not Brendon. One hand on the steering wheel and gripping so hard his already split knuckles began to open further, the other hand dangling out the open window and holding a cigarette that he would take a drag from on occasion. Ryan didn’t realize it was possible for someone to angrily smoke.

“He didn’t hit you, right?” Pete asked, teeth clenched so hard that Ryan’s jaw hurt in sympathy.

Ryan shook his head, letting out a quiet, “No.” Pete relaxed at Ryan’s answer, his shoulders slumped and his jaw untensed. They drove in silence, the wind from the open window and the soft hum of the radio providing a welcome distraction.

“The thing about Brendon,” Pete began suddenly, “is he’s— he’s not abusive. You know that right?” Pete didn’t bother to wait for Ryan to answer before continuing. “He doesn’t want to get so angry, but he— his parents, that’s a good place to start. You know about his parents, right?”

“Not much,” Ryan admitted.

“Well, they’re pretty shitty people. He doesn’t realize that what they did was abuse, but then again not many victims do. He wouldn’t hurt you, not intentionally.”

“If you’re trying to apologize for him—”

“I’m not, I’m really not,” Pete said vehemently. “What he did wasn’t okay and he needs to apologize for that. Whether or not he deserves to be forgiven is up to you, I’m just trying to explain it.” He paused, waiting for Ryan to stop him, but continued when he was met with silence. “What he says, how he fights, that’s how he was raised. Mean words and angry fists, and he can push away some of it but other parts are so deeply ingrained in him. He would never hit anyone, but he would punch walls and throw things and scream words he didn’t mean.”

“I’m pretty sure he meant what he said.”

“What was that?”

Ryan took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down enough that he wouldn’t start to cry again. “He said— he said I look like I came from a concentration camp—”

“I’m going to kick his ass.”

“—and that I was difficult to love.”

Pete flicked his cigarette away and then rubbed his hand across his face, groaning as though he was in pain. He pulled the car in front of Ryan’s apartment building and stopped before turning to face the other boy, meeting his gaze properly.

“Brendon is a stupid son of a bitch, okay? He would not shut up about you since the first day you talked. Seriously, he fell so goddamn hard for you. And everything he did tonight was really fucking awful and you should not forgive him. He’s my best friend but that doesn’t mean he can’t be a shitty person and you’re my friend too, Ryan, so I care about you. Honestly, I’m pretty sure I like you more than I like Brendon.”

Ryan gave a small smile at Pete’s attempt at a joke.

“I know you probably feel really alone right now, but we’ve all got your back. Me, Josh, Frank, Mikey, we all care about you, okay? Just tell us what you need and we’ll be there.”

Ryan couldn’t bring himself to look at Pete, at the boy’s brutally honest expression. He didn’t want to hear that people cared about him or wanted to help him, not after all that had happened.

“I think,” he said, opening the door to step out of the car, “I need some space.”

thinasadime updated his status: So I think my boyfriend and I just broke up
vic-timoftheveil replied: i’m sorry to hear that :( if you want to talk about it my inbox is always open
fvnnwithgvnns replied: oh no D:
fvnnwithgvnns replied: what happened??
thinasadime replied: We got in a huge fight over my ED, he said some really nasty stuff and I left before we could talk anything out for real
fvnnwithgvnns replied: i’m sorry, message me if you ever need to talk
skinny-sixx replied: aww, i was rly rooting for u guys :(((
weekefromfasting replied: I’m so sorry to hear that. Just remember that relationships aren’t always forever and you’ll fall in and out of love countless times throughout the years. Try not to let the heartbreak get you down too much.
thinNick replied: hmu if you need someone to talk to :)
anaandalex replied: please get some help, your ed is not worth losing the people you love

He should have known that his mother would wake up when he got home. It was nearly 1 a.m. and he was stumbling into their tiny apartment, still sniffling. He didn’t expect her to be so angry, though. Thinking back, he shouldn’t have been so surprised. Their relationship had been slowly growing more strained since Ryan’s eating disorder began and they had barely talked since the scale incident. It only figured that their problems would come to a head on the same night that everything else did.

“Ryan, do you have any idea what time it is? I thought you were supposed to be staying at your friend’s house tonight anyway, what’s his name— Brandon?”

His mother was leaning out of her bedroom door, staring at him through bleary eyes. Ryan didn’t respond, instead focusing on untying his shoes.

“Ryan, when I speak to you I expect an answer.”

Silence. A door slamming.

“Why don’t you respect me? I give you so much freedom, do you know any other parents that are as trusting as I am? I let you go out on the weekends, I don’t ask questions about what you’re doing because I trust you, Ryan. For all I know, you could be out getting some girl pregnant—”

“I’m gay.”

He didn’t mean to say, it just sort of came out. He mentally slapped himself. Now is not the time for queer puns, Ryan.

“What?” His mother was fully awake now, staring at him with shock.

“I’m gay. Brendon’s my boyfriend. Was. Maybe still is, I’m not entirely sure. It’s kind of complicated.”

His mother was still just standing there staring at him, absolutely speechless.

Ryan figured he was already totally fucked by this point, so he thought he might as well keep going. “We were going to have sex tonight.”

“Jesus Christ, Ryan,” his mother choked.

“He didn’t like my body, said I was too skinny,” Ryan continued, voice cracking. His mother’s face fell and she moved to hug him, hold him as he cried and softly whisper words of consolation. “And the worst part,” Ryan said, voice muffled by his mother’s shoulder, “is that he said loving me is hard.”

“Oh, baby,” his mother said, heart breaking for her little boy. “He doesn’t deserve you, okay?”

Ryan didn’t reply, just continued to cry into his mother’s shoulder as she rubbed soothing circles on his back. He was partly crying because of everything that happened that night, but also partly because of his mother. He had put her through so much and she was still here for him, still here to hold him and comfort him. Hell, he just came out to her and told her he had been planning on having sex with his boyfriend that very night and she had just gone along with it.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, “for everything I put you through. I know I’m difficult to deal with, but—”

She shushed him, not letting him continue with his apology. “Ryan, you’re a teenager. I know that you’re going to be trying things and going through different phases—” He stumbled back from her embrace.

“Is that what you think this is?” he asked, incredulous. “A phase?”

“Well,” she said awkwardly, clearly not expecting such a spirited response. “I think you’re too young to know anything for certain.”

Ryan laughed, not entirely believing what was happening. “Of fucking course. The one time I open up to you, share something personal with you, you just have to go and fucking— fucking invalidate me!”

“Ryan, I’m just saying you might change! Think about it, you might go back to being straight one day.”

“I never was straight!”

His mother sighed and closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I don’t understand why you have to make such a big deal out of this.”

“Because you can’t accept me!” Ryan said, voice slowly increasing in volume as he became more and more infuriated. “You’ve never been able to accept a single thing about me, not since dad—”

“Don’t you dare talk about him.”

“—since he left! I’m just another godawful reminder of the biggest mistake of your life, aren’t I?”

“Ryan, I swear to God—”

“Or, even better, I am the biggest mistake of your life because I’m the only thing that still ties you to him!”

The apartment fell silent with the sound of skin against skin, Ryan’s cheek stinging where the back of his mother’s hand had hit. She looked horrified, tears already spilling down her face and her lips formed wordless apologies. She reached out to him but pulled her hands back, conflicted by the decision to comfort him or not. Ryan was too shocked by the fact that his mother would lay a hand on him, especially considering all that his dad had put her through.

He wanted to be angry, wanted to spit out a stabbing insult that would cut through to her core and hurt her deeper than she had ever been hurt before; in reality he was just tired. All he really wanted to do was collapse into his bed and sleep the whole day away. He turned away from his mother, ignoring her choked cries of his name and pleas for forgiveness as he walked to his room.

For the first time since his dad left, he locked his bedroom door before he went to sleep.

School was a nightmare.

He couldn’t stand to look at Brendon or Spencer or anyone he was once friends with, instead choosing to walk everywhere with headphones in. He was ignoring Brendon’s messages and calls, not listening to the voicemails he left behind; Ryan couldn’t bring himself to delete them, though.

Ms. Elizabeth was a godsend, the only person left that didn’t know the disgusting truth. He was so thankful to have her as a teacher. Her class was tough and she expected a lot out of her students, but she was fair and just and always willing to listen as well as give help when it was needed. She welcomed Ryan into her room with open arms and a warm smile and Ryan almost cried at her kindness. At first, she had asked about what was going on as he very clearly was not okay, but when he had shook his head and refused to respond she just smiled sympathetically and told him, “That’s okay. Just remember, my classroom is a safe space and you are always welcome here.”

He had explained to her what had happened between him and Brendon — the very censored version, anyway — and she had moved him across the room before their class that very day. She also let him spend his lunch in her room, as he had nowhere to go with the library being taken by Spencer and the cafeteria by Brendon. They sat together in companionable silence, Ms. Elizabeth grading papers while Ryan did schoolwork or wrote in his journal. She didn’t ask questions and he didn’t have to give answers; it was as close to perfect as his life could get.

Of course, that was when it all had to go to shit.

He had been feeling awful all day, probably because he hadn’t eaten in four. He was pushing himself, trying to see if he could fast for six days and beat his previous record of five, but it was a lot harder than he had expected. The last time he had fasted for that long, he weighed around 140 pounds. Now he was closer to 105 but that was just a guess because he had broken his scale during his childish tantrum and he couldn’t buy a new one without his mother freaking out.

Surprisingly, he hadn’t binged at all after his fight with Brendon; if anything it was easier to starve. He was numb to the hunger and the thought of food only made him nauseous. Despite their original intentions, Brendon’s comments only made him want to be skinnier in some fucked up form of vengeance. Ryan wanted to rub it in his face that he could be and would be even thinner. Brendon had no idea what a walking corpse looked like, not yet.

He should have known that he’d eventually push it too far. He ignored the signs and symptoms, ignored everything his body was telling him and continued to resist. Resist or regret, he thought, but he was beginning to regret all the choices he’d made that led him to that point.

It happened during his English class because cosmic irony. The stars had aligned themselves in a perfect ‘fuck you’ and Ryan couldn’t help but feel personally victimized by the universe. Sometimes his life felt more like a bad fanfic than anything else.

Ms. Elizabeth had called on him to come up to the board and write down his answer. He had stood up and begun walking, except it was more like he was stumbling because he couldn’t seem to pick his feet up off the ground. He had made it to the end of his desk before he lost feeling in his face and limbs, made it to the end of the desk in front of him before his vision went black. He tried to keep walking as most of the times when he began to black out, all he had to do was to just push through it and everything would soon go back to normal, but he quickly realized that wasn’t the case when his knees buckled and he fell to the floor.

Fainting is always made out to be so dramatic, but it really isn’t like that at all. There isn’t some hushed moment of silence as he falls in slow motion, gracefully hitting the floor. There aren’t people rushing to his side to make sure he’s okay. His eyes don’t flutter as he slowly regains consciousness, cradled in the arms of the love of his life.

He hit the floor suddenly and with a loud thud, nothing to break his fall except the side of his head. Everyone whispered and talked but no one moved; it’s not every day that someone faints in class. Ms. Elizabeth was already on her class phone, calling the nurse’s office and requesting that an ambulance be called to the school and Ryan’s parents be notified. Everyone sat and stared at Ryan as they waited for him to wake up until Ms. Elizabeth told them to leave the room and wait in the hall without blocking the door. Eventually the nurse arrived and came into the classroom to give him a preliminary examination, make sure he wasn’t seriously injured. She tended to him until the paramedics arrived and he was lifted onto a stretcher, put in an ambulance, and then taken to the hospital.

In the ambulance, the paramedics took his blood pressure and pulse as well as put an IV in his arm to increase his fluids. Once they reached the hospital, his mother had already gotten there and was waiting anxiously for her son to arrive. It was obvious she had been crying but she managed to hold back tears as she followed her son’s stretcher inside. Inside the hospital, the doctors determined that an electrolyte imbalance as well as slight dehydration was most likely the cause for his fainting spell and that he would probably not suffer from any major side effects. Of course, there was also the matter of Ryan’s eating disorder that needed to be resolved. After having her fearful suspicions confirmed, Ryan’s mother couldn’t keep herself together anymore and broke out in sobbing anew.

Ryan didn’t have to deal with any of this. He was totally unconscious throughout the entire ordeal, waking up in the hospital to the view of his mother and a doctor having a hushed conversation at the foot of his bed. He was filled with dread as he realized where he was and just what was happening. The doctor, after realizing Ryan was awake, simply repeated the information that he had told Ryan’s mother before leaving the room to give them some privacy.

His mother began to speak, telling him about the eating disorder treatment program that the hospital offered. She told him he would join the residential program that the doctor recommended, rambling on about the eating disorder treatment program and how it was rated to be one of the best in the country. Ryan tried to protest, tried to convince her that he didn’t need treatment because he didn’t have a problem, but she just started crying and angrily ranting about how much damage he had done to his body and that he weighed 104 pounds, Ryan, do you have any idea how bad that is?

She told him he didn’t have a choice, the decision was out of his hands; he was getting help whether he wanted it or not. He was still a minor and she had a duty as his mother to do what was best for him, and she really believed that this program would help. She told him she loved him and tried to reach for his hand but he pulled it out of her reach, glaring at her with tears running down his cheeks. They stared at each other in complete silence as Ryan fully digested all the information he was given. He didn’t feel angry or hopeless, overwhelmed or desolate; to be perfectly honest, he didn’t really feel anything except for a pervasive sense of numbness.

His entire world was burning and he had struck the match.

Chapter Text

Ryan hated hospitals.

They had tubed him while he was out. He remembers waking up to pain and uncomfort, able to feel every inch of the plastic tubing as it pressed against the inner walls of his throat, food moving through it and into his stomach. He had cried, begged for them to take it out and, when they refused, tried to pull it out himself. That only resulted in restraints and being put under constant observation. He had the tube in for four days, which was a relatively short time compared to others but for Ryan it seemed like it had been his entire life.

Throughout his entire stay, he was subjected to constant interrogations from different doctors that would all ask him the same questions. Doctors, primary and secondary therapists, psychiatrists and psychologists, social workers; the list was endless. Mostly, he just stayed silent throughout their questioning, but occasionally he would snark a reply when someone pissed him off more than usual. That always seemed to be more trouble than it was worth, though, as the doctors would then make a more energetic attempt at getting him to answer his questions once they knew he could talk.

He was in the hospital for a week before he was transferred to an inpatient program that was a few hours outside the city. He spent the entire car ride there staring out the window in silence, ignoring his mother’s strange mixtures of threats and apologies as conversation starters. She hugged him before she left, promising she would visit every as often as she could. He didn’t bother to lower his voice when he asked the nurse attending him if he was allowed to refuse visitors.

The center was really just a glorified hospital, thirteen different floors, each treating a different group of patients. The eating disorder unit was on the eighth floor, which was split into two halves: one for the boys and the other for the girls. The girl’s unit could house up to fourteen people, but the boy’s unit could only house up to six; Ryan supposed that he should be impressed that they even had a boy’s unit, but it was difficult to be impressed with anything in that place.

The unit was really just a short hallway, three rooms on either side, that led out into a small rectangular room with a TV, a piano, and some tables and chairs. There were shelves full of books and games, but most of the books were for children and most of the games were missing pieces. The TV was really the only thing there that was even mildly entertaining. People would sprawl out over chairs and on the floor, staring at the screen. The shows were shitty but they watched them anyway, laughed at jokes that weren’t funny, because there was nothing else to do.

Their rooms weren’t much better, just a bed and a dresser with two drawers in which they could put their belongings. Ryan spent most of his time there, sitting in bed and reading book after book. He didn’t want to be out on the unit, interacting with the other boys, nor did he want to attend the groups or talk to the therapists. All he wanted was to be left alone.

The clock on the wall ticked by, its rhythm accompanying the low hum of the air conditioning and the scratching of pen on paper. If he listened hard enough, Ryan was almost positive he could hear himself screaming.

“Ryan.”

The scratching stopped. He felt a hard gaze on him, not rough like the couch he sat on but even and flat like the glass paperweight currently being used to hold open his folder. He didn’t look up, instead continuing to stare at the myriad of swirling colors that made up the droplet, not a flaw or imperfection on its smooth surface.

”Ryan.”

There was a plant on the windowsill, its ivy green leaves stained yellow at the tips. The brief thought that it needed more water crossed Ryan’s mind, but perhaps it just needed relief from the suffocating atmosphere of the room. Ryan liked the plant.

A frustrated sigh. “Ryan, you need to talk to me if you want to get better.”

The walls were beige. Ryan hated beige.

He had only been there for a week but he was certain he had discovered the eighth circle of Hell.

Every morning he would wake up at 8 a.m., not that he had gotten much sleep the previous night; he’d memorized the night nurses’ routines so he could exercise in between the ten minute checks. He’d get weighed (facing away from the scale, he wasn’t allowed to see the number) before heading back to his room and waiting for the adjoining bathroom to be unlocked so he could shower. He didn’t really understand why they were given bathrooms if they were always locked, but it was better than a communal shower so he wasn’t complaining. His roommate was courteous enough to wait in the hallway while he bathed, and he thought it only fair to do the same.

After his shower came breakfast. He sat at the same table as all the other male eating disorder sufferers, although it was only because he knew absolutely no one else at the treatment center. Truthfully, he didn’t even really know the boys that were sat around him. He would brush off any greetings they might make, refusing to engage in group therapy or activities. He didn’t want to hate them, but he couldn’t help it. They were all there because they wanted help, and Ryan couldn’t help but resent them for their weakness. (Late at night, as he was pacing relentlessly in his room, he had an inkling of an idea that maybe his dislike for the boys was derived from jealousy. Perhaps he wished he could have had the courage to ask for help instead of being forced into it, but he dismissed these thoughts as soon as the morning light began to shine through the thin curtains and he lay down in his bed to sleep for a precious hour before the depressing drill that was his day began.)

Breakfast gave way to group therapy, although he wasn’t sure how much of a group four boys and an exasperated therapist made. Ryan could understand the man’s frustration, though. It seemed like every meeting was a contest to see who could overshare the most. At the moment, it was the chubby kid and the one with greasy hair vying for the lead with Ryan’s roommate following close behind and Ryan in the solid position of last place. He didn’t speak at all, just chose to sat and listen as the other boys talked about their problems like no one else in the group was going through the exact same shit. Ryan could practically feel the glares levelled at him every time he sighed.

Despite his best attempts to ignore everyone surrounding him, Ryan couldn’t help but learn about the boys that he was living with.

Gerard was the one who talked the most and, coincidentally, had been there the longest: nine months. He was bulimic, purging with puking, exercising, and laxatives. He seemed to enjoy making everyone as uncomfortable as possible, going into detail about just how fucked up his digestive system was after years of laxative abuse. The therapist that was leading the session, different to Ryan’s personal one, would rest his head in his hands, massaging circles into his temples as Gerard rambled about all the abuse his ass suffered. (“And not just from bowel movements,” he said, a lewd smirk on his face.) Ryan couldn’t help the occasional smile that made its way onto his face at the disgusted and uncomfortable expressions of the boys surrounding them. If Gerard noticed, he’d send a wink in Ryan’s direction, a small sign of solidarity and understanding; Ryan wouldn’t return it, but if his grin grew a little wider, well, it wasn’t anyone’s business but his own.

Patrick had been there the shortest amount of time (excluding Ryan), just under a month. He had binge eating disorder, although he was officially diagnosed with EDNOS. Half of the things he’d say were about the injustice of BED not being recognized as an eating disorder, while the other half were complaints about the center’s music instruments (apparently, the piano was out of tune and the guitar needed new strings). “It’s such bullshit,” he’d say, obviously upset. “I can be diagnosed with an eating disorder, but it’s ‘not specified.’ Like, the fact that my eating disorder is acknowledged but not actually named for what it is— it’s ridiculous! Think about how many other people have BED but can’t get help for it, or they’re told they’re just lazy. There’s a difference between overeating and bingeing.” He wasn’t loud like Gerard, but if he was passionate about something then it showed. He tried to talk to Ryan the most, always invited him into conversations even though he knew the boy never joined in. Still he tried, every meal and group session accompanied by an attempt at conversation; Ryan couldn’t help but feel guiltier every time he returned the boy’s kind gestures with silence.

Finally came Tyler, Ryan’s roommate. He had been there for two months, apparently being checked in by his mother after only eating oatmeal for a week. He suffered from Orthorexia, which (like BED) wasn’t a recognized diagnosis. He was quiet, talking mostly when prompted but talking nonetheless. He always seemed to be writing in a small journal, and Ryan was fairly certain that he hadn’t seen the boy without it. He was tempted to ask Tyler about it, but to do so would involve actually talking to him so Ryan just allowed his curiosity to eat him up. Tyler was a good, though strange, roommate. He stayed out of Ryan’s business and left him alone, which easily made him Ryan’s favorite person at the treatment center.

They were all genuinely kind people, and he supposed that if they had met in in a different place and time then they might be friends. But right then, they were his competition and Ryan took a sick pride in knowing he was winning by being the skinniest boy there.

After group therapy was a snack, and then an activity. Ryan usually ended up sitting out, watching as the other boys played games or completed therapy exercises together. Afterwards they went straight to lunch. Once a week they’d be taken out to a restaurant of some sorts, but Ryan couldn’t go on those trips even if he wanted to; his therapist hadn’t cleared him for that yet. He probably would if Ryan didn’t refuse to talk to him during his individual therapy session, which came right after lunch. He spent the full hour sitting silent on an uncomfortable couch as his therapist, Brian, tried unsuccessfully to get him to talk.

Brian was an overweight man in his early 60s, pure white hair pulled back into a ponytail and a silver hoop in his ear. His spoke with a slow and constant rhythm in a voice like soft gravel, his mouth often turned up into a hint of a smile. Throughout the course of their sessions, however, that hint of a smile would slowly turn into a deep frown.

After individual therapy was another snack, classroom (which was really just free time that they were supposed to use to do schoolwork), dinner, recreational time, and then sleep. Again, Ryan didn’t really sleep, though.

When he had first arrived at the center, he was naive. He tried to refuse to eat, but they threatened to tube him again. Then he tried to hide food in his pockets, even going so far as to shove it down his pants, but they caught on almost immediately. He couldn’t purge either, as they monitored everyone for an hour after meals. So he resigned himself to exercising religiously during the night, pacing around his shared room and doing countless squats, sit-ups, and jumping jacks. Tyler noticed, he had to, but he didn’t say anything to the nurses, instead giving Ryan a look torn between pity and disapproval.

Ryan knew he wasn’t gaining weight, or at least as much as he was supposed to be. He saw it in the confused eyes of the nurse who weighed him every morning, he heard it in the increasingly frustrated voice of the therapist he refused to talk to, he felt it in the worried glances the other boys would throw his way. He wasn’t getting better.

He wouldn’t get better.

Two weeks.

“Hey Ryan?”

Patrick was standing in the door to his room, arms crossed over his stomach and teeth chewing at his bottom lip.

“Can I come in?”

Ryan shrugged. Patrick shuffled inside, moving to sit on Tyler’s bed. Ryan went back to his book.

“Hey Ryan?” A hum. “We’re really worried about you.” Ryan froze, closing his book before looking up at Patrick.

“I’m eating, aren’t I?”

Patrick shrugged, eyes focused on the floor. “We know, you know. About the exercising?”

“Why do you care?” Ryan asked. Patrick shrugged again.

“I’ve been there. The only reason I’m here right now is because of a court order. I was shoplifting food and I got caught. When I first got here, I was angry. I lashed out at everyone, I screamed and cried and refused to let anyone help me.” He paused before continuing. “Then I realized that the only person I was really hurting was myself.”

Ryan stayed silent.

“Look, recovery is awful and most of the time you feel like shit, but it’s better than how you feel now. You don’t need to suffer like this, Ryan. You don’t need to hurt, okay? You don’t deserve the pain you inflict on yourself.”

Patrick looked at Ryan, expression hopeful and pleading.

“Are you going to tell the nurses?”

Patrick’s entire body slumped with disappointment and he looked like he was about to cry. He shook his head before standing up and padding out of the room, leaving Ryan alone with his guilt.

Three weeks.

“Your mother wants to see you.”

There was a new painting on the wall. It was an abstract Picasso-esque piece, vague geometric shapes made up of soft greens, pinks and blues. Ryan supposed the colors were supposed to represent emotions or something else equally as symbolic. He thought it was bullshit.

“Why don’t you want to see her, Ryan?”

Brian was drinking his coffee from a thermos today, instead of from the usual green and white disposable cup. It was a dull silver, an outline of a bone with the italicized wording “It’s going tibia okay” beneath. Ryan almost smiled.

“Do you blame her for your eating disorder?”

Ryan’s jaw clenched. He did his best to focus on the plant on the windowsill. It’s leaves were even more yellow. He wanted to yell at Brian to take care of his goddamn plants.

“Do you blame her for what happened with your father?”

Ryan’s hands clenched into fists. Brian’s pen began scratching again.

“Or maybe you blame your father for everything.”

Ryan stood up and walked out before Brian could see him cry.

A month.

“You’re not strong, you know.”

Surprised, Ryan looked up from the floor where he was doing crunches, not expecting Tyler to still be awake. The boy was curled on his side, looking down at Ryan from his bed.

“What?”

Tyler sighed before turning over, speaking softly once more before falling into silence. “You’re not strong for not getting better.”

Five weeks.

Brian had given up on trying to talk to him. They just sat in silence for an hour each afternoon. Ryan wasn’t sure if he was happy that Brian had finally given up or if he was depressed to know that he wasn’t worth saving anymore.

“Gerard, your brother’s here!”

The boy jumped up from the couch, ignoring the yells from the nurses as he raced down the hallway and launched himself at the lanky figure that had just walked onto the unit. He was speaking loud and animatedly, and Ryan had poked his head out of his room to ask him to please quiet down when his words died in his throat.

“Mikey?”

It was shocking, to say the least. Inside the ward, it was almost as though his whole life was on pause, like the outside world just didn’t exist. His life before the hospital felt as though it was lived by a different person and he had just watched the story as a movie. It was a distant memory despite, as tangible to him as a dream. To see someone from that time, from that world, was like being jarred awake.

“Hey, Ryan,” said Mikey, smile more like a grimace. Gerard was looking between the two boys, obviously confused by their awkward interaction but, for once, having enough tact not to draw attention to it. Ryan retreated to his room and Gerard dragged his brother along, now talking in a hushed whisper that Ryan didn’t have to hear to know that he was the new subject of their conversation.

He sat in his bed, book forgotten as he began to process through all the information he had just received. Mikey didn’t have an eating disorder, his brother did; his sensitivity to ED jokes, his reaction to Ryan’s confession outside the cafeteria, his brother not being able to make it to their group lunch, everything was starting to make sense. The one thing Ryan couldn’t figure out was why he didn’t say anything. Why didn’t anyone say anything?

Ryan was startled out of his thoughts by a knock at the door, calling out a slightly strangled, “Come in!” and somehow both surprised by but expecting Mikey being the one to open the door.

“Can we talk?”

Ryan nodded, putting his book on the nightstand and shuffling along the bed to give Mikey room to sit along the edge. They sat together without saying anything for a few moments, Mikey taking in the room around him and Ryan picking nervously at a loose string on his pants.

“So,” Mikey began, but never getting the chance to finish as Ryan interrupted him.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Mikey looked confused for all of a few seconds before understanding set in, and then it was back to that same pitying look from the hallway that seemed so long ago. “I wish I did,” he said, voice soft. “I don’t know why I didn’t, considering I’ve been through this before with Gerard. I just thought that you might get over it.”

“You don’t just ‘get over’ a fucking eating disorder,” Ryan spat, venom in his voice.

“I know. Trust me, I know. I just— I guess I thought that you weren’t sick enough. Like you were skinny, yeah, borderline unhealthy even, but you weren’t on the verge of death. I thought Brendon might help you.” Ryan winced at the mention of his (ex?) boyfriend, but the other boy seemed not to notice. “Honestly? I was scared. I was the one to find out about Gee, you know. Heard him throwing up in the bathroom in the middle of the night, eventually told my parents about it. He didn’t like that too much, didn’t talk to me for almost a year. It’s only been in the past couple of months that we’ve started to grow close again, and even now it’s strained.” Mikey sighed before continuing. “I couldn’t deal with you hating me, with Brendon or Pete or Frank or Josh hating me.”

“I wouldn’t’ve hated you,” Ryan mumbled, the other boy laughing bitterly at his words.

“Yes, you would have. You can’t help someone that doesn’t want to be helped, and even now you still don’t want it.”

“Because I don’t need it!”

Mikey sighed, shaking his head. “Sure you don’t,” he said, standing up and walking to the door. “I’ll see you around, Ryan.”

And just like that, Ryan was alone once more.

He couldn’t stop pacing.

His thoughts were moving as fast as his legs, one after the other in an endless stream of incomprehensible panic. Everything that he’d ever screwed up in his life came racing back at him in the memories of hurtful words and disappointed faces. His mom, Brendon, Spencer, William, his father, himself; everyone he had ever ruined, left his memory on in the form of a rotting mark that would only be remembered with disgust and regret.

He never wanted this: the over exhaustion from doing too much on too little, the constant denial on a physical and mental level, pitying stares mixed with glares and a disappointed smile; crying and panicking when he tried to have sex, screaming caustic words at those he loved in an attempt to hurt them more than he hurt himself, pushing away anyone and everyone who tried to help him because he didn’t want them to give up when they realized that he was too deep and couldn’t be helped.

Ryan never wanted to kill himself with an eating disorder.

Chapter Text

A month and a half.

“I didn’t start this on purpose.”

Brian paused from his writing, staring at Ryan in shock. They had been sitting silently for the past half hour, and he obviously hadn’t expected the boy to break his silent streak. He was frozen for only a moment before he grabbed his notepad and flipped to an empty page, pencil already scribbling away. “Really?”

“It just kind of happened. I was busy with school and I didn’t have time to eat full meals, so I just grabbed something small whenever I could. One day I looked in the mirror and liked what I saw, but I hated it too. It was good, but it could have been better. Should have been better.”

“Are you talking about your body or yourself?”

Ryan couldn’t look him in the eye. “I don’t know.”

“Okay guys, today’s group is going to be on forgiveness. Would anyone like to start us out?” Andrew, the therapist leading their group session today, looked around eagerly, waiting for one of the boys to speak. For once, nobody seemed willing to speak; Patrick was picking at his nails, Gerard scribbled away in his sketchbook, Tyler was focusing intensely on the ceiling, and Ryan was just staring at his socks. They all sat silently, waiting for someone to take the plunge and speak up first.

“I’ve never really forgiven myself,” Tyler said, surprising everyone. His voice was quiet and unsure, and he cleared his throat before continuing, a little louder. “I uh, I used to believe in God. I guess I still do, but it’s different. I have a lot of questions, a lot of doubts, but I can’t really talk about them, you know?” He sighed, his hands gesturing animatedly as he tried to get his point across. “Like, I come from this super religious family so I can’t talk to them, and I definitely can’t talk to anyone at church, so I’m just left with all these awful, guilty feelings. I want to believe in God, but it’s hard to believe in something that can’t be proved, or whatever. Half of me believes and the other half doesn’t, and the half that doesn’t is the part that makes me want to be better, be purer for Him.”

“So you thought that by ‘purifying’ your body, you might purify your soul?” Andrew asked, voice soft and non judgmental. Tyler shrugged, curling back in on himself and refusing to meet the man’s gaze. “Do you think you’ll ever forgive yourself?” Tyler let out a heavy sigh.

“I don’t know. People say that God loves everyone, but how could He love me? I doubt Him and ask for His help in the same breath, condemn Him and praise Him in the same sentence. I don’t feel like I deserve His love but I can’t stop looking for it.”

“Doesn’t it get exhausting?” Ryan asked, speaking up in group for the first time in his entire stay there. Everyone stared at him, shocked, and he shifted uncomfortably from where he was curled up on the couch. “Chasing after something you feel like you’ll never deserve to find?”

Tyler looked at him, a strange expression on his face. “Yeah. It used to feel that way. But now I feel like I’m moving forward a little bit, you know? Like, with recovering from my— my eating disorder, I’m forgiving myself, and even a little like God is forgiving me, too. It’s like a second chance.”

“Thank you for sharing, Tyler. Ryan, would you like to share as well, perhaps?” Andrew, and everyone else, looked at him eagerly as they waited for his reply. He shook his head and went back to staring at his socks.

Letter to “ED”
Write a letter to your eating disorder, or “ED,” expressing your thoughts and feelings.

It’s funny because as pointless as I think this stupid exercise is, you’re even more pointless. With you, I’m trying to reach this ‘perfect goal” that is unattainable unless I’m in a casket. I try anyway, though. I always used to say, “It’s my life, not my death,” but now I’m starting to think it’s both. Love and self loathing, til (my) death do us part.
I remember being ten years old, excited to be alive and free to make my own mistakes. I don’t know how excited I would have been if I’d known just how many there would be. The worst part is that I can’t seem to stop making the same ones, over and over again. I know what I should do, what I need to do, but I just can’t do it. I’ve become comfortable in my coffin and I don’t know that I’ll be able to claw out of the grave I’ve dug.
Recovery is difficult. I’m not getting worse, but I’m not getting any better either. I still don’t want to be here, I don’t want help, but I know that, ultimately, this is what I need. I’m not going to tell anyone that, though; I’m afraid of looking weak. My dad… well, he didn’t like it when I cried. Didn’t like having a faggot for a son.
I don’t like you. I don’t like me either, but I hate you more than I hate myself. I don’t want you but I need you, I don’t love you but I can’t let you go. I’m constantly fighting a war in my mind, whether I should let you stay or make you go. I know if I give in then you will win, but my thoughts are slowly killing me and you seem to be fine with my decomposing body.
I wish I had never met you.

Seven weeks.

“Okay,” Gerard said, shuffling the cards expertly as he looked at the other two boys. “What’ll it be today: Egyptian Rat Screw, Bullshit, or Spades? I vote Egyptian Rat Screw.”

Patrick rolled his eyes; he didn’t know why Gerard bothered asking, as everyone always gave the same answer every time. “BS.”

“Spades,” added Tyler.

They all glared at each other, none willing to back down and vote for something else, until a quiet cough startled them from their staring contest. They all looked up to see Ryan, awkwardly hovering next to the table as though he was unsure if he was allowed to sit down.

“Can I play?” he asked, voice so quiet that the other boys barely heard him.

Patrick nodded, kicking out a chair and motioning for Ryan to sit down. “You’ll be the tie-breaker, then.”

“So, what’ll it be, Ry baby?” Gerard said, voice with a teasing edge. “Egyptian Rat Screw, Bullshit, or Spades?”

“I don’t know what the other two are, so Bullshit I guess?”

After an exaggerated groan (Ryan thought it sounded more like a moan, honestly), Gerard began to deal the cards, Patrick scoffing at the boy’s dramatics and Tyler promising Ryan that he’d teach him how to play the other games before the end of the week.

“Can we talk about your parents today?” Brian’s voice was quiet, almost as though he were afraid that Ryan would run away if he spoke too loud. Ryan didn’t answer for a while, and Brian worried that he had undone all the progress he had made when Ryan mumbled and unsure, “Okay.”

Brian gave him a minute before continuing. “How do you feel about your mother?”

“I love her.”

“You haven’t let her visit you.” Ryan looked down, a blush making its way onto his cheeks. “Why is that, Ryan?”

“I’m don’t want her to see me in here,” he whispered.

“Why’s that?”

“I’m pathetic. I’m the biggest mistake of her life, her anorexic, fag of a son.”

Brian was silent for a moment, taking in everything Ryan had told him. “Why do you talk about yourself that way?”

The boy shrugged. “Because it’s true?”

“Ryan, do you know what intrusive thoughts are?” A head shake. No. “They’re thoughts that are reactionary. We may not always believe them or agree with them, but we can’t control them. Now, an intrusive thought on its own isn’t very harmful, but when there are a multitude of these thoughts that occur over long periods of time without any intervention— well, look at what you just said. You described yourself using a slur and an illness which, while very serious, is often used with a negative connotation as an insult. You call yourself pathetic, a mistake, words that are very emotional and reactionary. Do you see what I’m trying to say?”

Brian was leaning forward in his seat, notepad forgotten as he tried desperately to convey his meaning to Ryan, who was picking at a loose string on the couch.

“You keep talking but all I can think is that you have no idea what’s it’s like to hate yourself this much.”

They spent the rest of the meeting in silence.

“Okay, time for everyone’s favorite group: body image!”

A collective groan rose from the four boys, eye rolls and scoffs following soon behind. Andrew only smiled brightly, but to them it seemed as though he was predator about to lunge for his prey.

“Before we start, though, I’d like to commend Patrick on getting his discharge date.” He beamed at the aforementioned boy, who smiled shyly and ducked his head. The rest of the boys cheered and congratulated him, all except for Ryan who was just looking confused.

“You’re leaving?”

Patrick nodded. “In two days.”

Ryan was conflicted. He was happy for Patrick, of course he was; the boy was finally getting out after over a month and a half. He was also sad, though, because Patrick was by far the person he was closest to. Well, they weren’t close, per say, but he had been the friendliest person there and definitely the most invested in trying to get Ryan to open up. He was also jealous of Patrick, though. He’d been a different case than most of the people there, actually losing weight as a result of getting his eating habits back to normal. Ryan couldn’t help but be envious of him, but he refused to let it show. He put on a smile and congratulated his friend on finally getting discharged.

“Okay,” Andrew said, clapping his hands together to get everyone’s attention. “Patrick, since you’ll be leaving, why don’t you start out by talking about how your perception of your body has changed throughout recovery?”

“Okay,” Patrick nodded, although he sounded reluctant about it. His fingers moved to fiddle nervously with the hem of his shirt. “Well, when I first got here I was ashamed. It’s hard to have an eating disorder when you’re fat, you know? You don’t really fit in with everyone else.”

“Amen,” Gerard chimed in.

Patrick giggled. “Anyway, I eventually realized I was just trying to hide. Food was my comfort, it protected me from the events in my life I couldn’t face. I didn’t even realize that my— that being a rape victim was why I was bingeing.” A few tears rolled down his cheeks but he wiped them away quickly before continuing with a shaky voice. “I was r— assaulted five years ago, but my eating disorder didn’t start until about three years after that. Trauma’s like that, I guess. It sneaks up on you when you think you should be over it. But the thing is, there’s never going to be a time when you’re really over it.”

“I don’t think you ever get over something like that,” Andrew said, speaking softly. “You do get through it, though.”

Patrick nodded, smiling weakly at the man. “And that’s why I’m here, I’m getting through it. I’ve come to terms with what happened, and I know now that it’s not my fault.

“Part of the recovery process is accepting my body, which has definitely been the most difficult thing to do. Getting over the shame, disgust, the intense hatred that I had was awful. I still don’t love what I see in the mirror, but I don’t hate it either.” His smile widened as he jokingly added, “I don’t have time to feel bad about the way I look, I have much more important things to feel bad about.”

The boys all laughed while Andrew just shot them exasperated looks. Technically, they weren’t supposed to be making self-deprecating jokes because it could be ‘counter-productive to their treatment’ but none of them particularly gave a shit. Sometimes it was even helpful because joking about it made it easier to talk about, opened the floodgates to allow the conversation to flow.

There was a lull in the conversation before Tyler spoke up.

“For me, it wasn’t ever really about my body. It was mostly the act of purifying myself, if that makes sense.”

“Yeah, definitely, it does,” chimed in Gerard. “I don’t give a shit about my weight. Purging is self-punishment.”

“Why do you think you need to be punished?” asked Andrew.

Gerard shrugged. “I guess it’s not so much self-punishment as it is self-harm. Like, I just have all these emotions and thoughts and shit inside me and I can’t get them out. I used to cut but scars are easy to find, so I needed something that people wouldn’t see. I didn’t think about them hearing it though,” he added under his breath, and Ryan was reminded of his conversation with Mikey.

“I started on accident,” Ryan said, mildly terrified of opening up to people but forcing himself to do it anyway. “I was really busy with school, so I just sort of… forgot to eat, I guess. It wasn’t until I looked in the mirror that it became about my weight. I liked some of the things I saw, disliked more, and it all sort of spun out of control from there.”

“What didn’t you like about yourself?”

Ryan laughed, hollow and sarcastic. “It might be easier to just tell you what I did like.” He sighed, the smile falling from his face. “Sorry. I don’t know, it’s just really difficult, being in this place. On one hand I know that this is what I need, but on the other I feel like I’m not sick enough to be here.”

“There’s no such thing as ‘sick enough,’” said Tyler. “You’re sick, and that’s enough.”

Gerard smiled at him in an attempt to be comforting, but Ryan thought it looked more like a grimace. “That’s the shitty thing about recovery. Well, to be honest, everything about recovery is shitty, but the worst thing is that you’re not going to get better until you decide that you’re worth it.”

“I don’t know."

Chapter Text

The biggest revelations can occur at the smallest of moments.

Ryan was sitting in the rec room, playing cards with Gerard and Tyler. Patrick had left almost two weeks ago and with him had gone the little bit of sunshine that managed to illuminate the ward through the fatiguing fluorescent lighting. They all knew it was only a matter of time before Tyler’s turn would come and all that would be left is Gerard and Ryan, a boy who couldn’t bother to care and a boy who didn’t think he deserved to be cared for.

He had just managed to slap the deck a fraction before Tyler, taking the huge pile in and organizing it as quickly as he could, when it slapped him across the face like he was the stack of cards. It wasn’t like he hadn’t noticed hints of it before, subtly spying on him around corners and beneath beds. It shouldn’t have been shocking, but it was.

It had crept up on him, bits and pieces making their way through the cracks but the full recognition didn’t hit him until the glass was shattered and everything fell through. The shards cut him as they fell, the stinging realization of what he was finally feeling slicing through his skin and making him bleed as he tried desperately to believe that this was really happening.

For the first time in a very long time, he actually wanted to get better.

Triggers
Triggers are factors in the environment that precipitate eating disorder behavior. Not everyone who has an eating disorder has the same triggers. Make a list of things you consider to be triggers for your eating disorder behavior as well as a coping plan to handle the triggers.

- people touching my body
- people making comments about my body
- people making comments about what I’m eating
- people making comments about anything I do tbh
- thinspo. pictures, quotes, all of it
- being forced or pressured to eat things
- people watching me while I eat
- being naked in front of people
- seeing other people with EDs being more successful at restricting
- looking in the mirror

“Hey mom.”

“Hey, Baby.” She made a move as though to hug him, but quickly stepped back, her uncertainty obvious. Ryan stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, trying not to cry as he felt her practically fall into the hug. She pulled away, looking like she was about to cry despite the smile on her face.

“You look good,” she said, starting to tear up. Ryan rolled his eyes, grinning and trying to ignore the way his throat started to close up.

"You don’t have to lie, Mom. I know I look like sh— crap.”

She really started to cry then, pulling a tissue out of her pocket and wiping at her cheeks. “I mean it, Ryan. You look really good.”

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, unable to hold it back anymore, “for everything I’ve put you through the past couple of months. Mom, I’m so sorry.”

She shook her head, pulling him back into a hug. “Oh Baby, you have not to be sorry for. I’m just happy you’re getting the help you need.”Ryan closed his eyes, letting himself cry as his mother held him.

“Me too.”

Ten weeks.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Spence. It’s Ryan.”

“Fuck, Ryan, are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I’ve just been stuck in this place for a while. Umm, my mom mentioned she had talked to you?”

“Yeah, after you fainted in class. I was really worried, man. I’m still a little freaked out, to be honest.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, you were— well, you know.”

“No, not for that. Well, yes for that, but— everything. I’m sorry for everything I said and did and—”

“You’re not the only one that needs to apologize, Ryan. I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have— it was a dick thing to do, confronting you the way I did, and in front of people too. I’m sorry, I should have been a better friend.”

“No, you’re a great friend. I was just— I was really messed up at the time, still kinda am. But I’m getting better, or, at least, trying to.”

“That’s good to hear. I’m— I’m really glad you’re okay, man.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Listen, man, I should probably warn you, when you get out, Pete and Josh and all of them might go a little crazy.”

“You know them?”

“Yeah, I uh, I updated them on stuff from your mom, you know. They’ve sort of dragged me into their group now. Keep calling it the Saving Anorexic Ryan Squad.”

“Oh my god.”

“I know, man. I know. Anyway, they’re all really worried about you, and they kind of might be planning some insane party for when you finally come back.”

“Oh no. No, no, no, Spencer, do not let them do anything stupid.”

“As if I can control them. Anyway, I just thought I’d let you know, so you can prepare and stuff.”

“I don’t think I can ever prepare for one of Pete’s parties.”

“True. Uh, hey, speaking of, when you get out, we should get together, you know. Do something like we used to. The new Lara Croft game came out, we could pull an all-nighter and play through it. How does that sound?”

“That— that sounds perfect, Spence. That sounds really, really perfect. As— as long as you, umm, have candy, I’ll— I’ll be there.”

“Yeah— yeah, Ryan. I can do that.”

“Ryan, how do you feel today?” Andrew asked, looking at him with an expression far too happy for a psych ward. The boy shrugged, looking away so he wouldn’t have to see the disappointment that was sure to make it’s way onto the man’s face.

“Fat, I guess.”

Gerard snickered. “You have an eating disorder, you always feel fat.”

The laughter was cut short as Andrew gave them all disapproving looks, remarking that, “Fat isn’t a feeling.” Ryan couldn’t help but roll his eyes at that.

“Fat is a feeling, though,” he argued, surprised when Andrew stayed silent, motioning for him to go on. “Fat is… it’s when you’re painfully aware of every aspect of your body, every inch of skin and how it’s all wrong. Every roll when you sit, the way your thighs spread out when you sit down, how your body pushes at clothes that will never be big enough.”

Tyler nodded. “Or how every time you look at someone else, you can’t help but hate them because they’re far better than you. But really, you hate yourself for not being good enough.”

“Or when your body feels like it doesn’t fit, but you know you can’t change out of it,” Gerard added. “Not fast enough, anyway.”

“Well,” Andrew said, “I can’t really argue with that. I’ll be honest, though. What you’re describing sounds a lot to me like insecurity.”

Ryan shrugged, saying, “In a way it is, but it’s not just ‘I don’t look good’ or ‘Everyone is staring at me because there’s something wrong with the way I look,’ you know? It’s deeper than that.”

Gerard giggled to himself before adding in (with finger guns), “One might say it’s… bone deep.”

“Oh my god,” Ryan whispered, burying his face in his hands as both Andrew and Tyler groaned. Gerard nearly fell off his chair with how hard he was laughing.

As much as he hated being stuck in the ED ward, there was a part of him that was going to miss being there.

Eleven weeks.

“Don’t forget to text me when you’re out so I have your number, okay? Oh! And don’t forget to say hi to Patrick in partial, give him all our love and best wishes. Also take care of yourself, alright? I’ll kick your ass if I see you in here again.”

Tyler laughed, hugging Gerard tight as the boy babbled on. Besides Gerard, Tyler had been there the longest. Ryan could see that even though he was putting on a brave face, Gerard was pretty torn up about it. Even though they hadn’t know each other as long, Ryan was torn up about it too.

Time in a psych ward passes strangely. Every day seems to stretch on forever yet weeks fly by in seconds. The world outside didn’t exist, their existence consisted of the few rooms available and each other.

Tyler and Ryan, being roommates and all, had grown pretty close, staying up way too late on far too many nights just talking about things. They shared their writing and music, humming melodies at midnight and giggling as the nurses yelled at them to shut up and go to sleep. Ryan couldn’t help but feel like Tyler was taking a piece of him along as he left.

“Come here, don’t think you’re getting out of this!”

Ryan suddenly found himself stumbling sideways as a body collided into his, nearly knocking him into the wall. He laughed and hugged back as tight as he could, squeezing Tyler one last time before letting him go.

“Text me too, alright? I’ll give you Josh’s number as soon as you get out.”

“Ryan,” Tyler whined, cheeks turning pink.

“I’m serious!” he said, smile cheeky. “You two could make some sweet music together.”

“And some sweet, sweet love,” Gerard crooned, dodging the slap that Tyler sent his way.

He rolled his eyes and looked at both boys fondly before pulling them both into one last hug, smiling and waving as he made his way out the door and off the ward. Ryan and Gerard were left standing in eerie silence, their faces donning only a ghost of the grins they wore seconds ago.

He knew he would get yelled at for it, but he slipped his hand into Gerard’s anyways, holding on tight and smiling at the squeeze he got back.

Short-Term Goals
Make a list of short-term goals that you would like to accomplish within the next year or so. These goals might relate to your career, school, health, hobbies, or relationships.

- finish high school
- make healthier choices
- get a tattoo to remind me how far I’ve come with my ED
- read more
- write more
- hang out with friends - specifically, go out to lunch (without ending up in the bathroom after)
- rebuild relationships
- gain at least 5 pounds after leaving the hospital, 10 is ideal
- talk to Brendon

“I wrote my dad a letter.”

Ryan couldn’t help but fidget nervously, crinkling the folded up piece of paper that was weighing heavy in his pocket. Brian looked surprised by his admission; obviously, he didn’t expect for Ryan to follow through with his advice about confronting his dad.

“That’s good,” he said, slow and measured and scared to say something that would upset the boy in front of him. They sat together quietly, Brian waiting for Ryan to continue and Ryan waiting for Brian to change the subject.

Eventually, Ryan conceded and asked in a small, unsure voice, “Do you want to read it?”

“Do you want me to read it?”

The boy shrugged, looking at a particularly fascinating spot on the wall. “No, not really.”

“That’s fine,” Brian said, nodding. “What’s in it is between you and your father, I don’t need to see it.”

Ryan just nodded and continued to crumple the paper. Silence lay like a blanket over the room, comfortable and warm; it was no longer awkward and heavy, laden down by stubbornness and frustration. Now the silence was content, apt even. Neither of them felt the need to fill it, instead just allowing it to fill the holes in their conversations.

“You know, you’ve made a lot of progress,” Brian remarked.

“I’ve been trying. To get better and stuff.”

“You’ve been doing a good job of it,” he said, pausing to take a sip of his coffee. Ryan almost hated him for it; they weren’t allowed caffeine at all, and the nurses wouldn’t even let them get decaf. “You’ll be able to go home soon.”

“What?”

“That’s good news, Ryan.”

“No, no,” he said quickly, “I know it is. I just…” never thought I’d get out of here.

Brian nodded, understanding his unspoken words. “It can be difficult to go back out into the world, but you’ll have some time to prepare. About two weeks or so. We’ll set the date for certain once we get closer to it.” It took the boy a while to respond, but eventually he did.

“Okay,” Ryan said, breathless in fear and anticipation. “Okay.”

Four months.

“Ryan, you have a visitor!”

Ryan looked up from the book he had been reading, although he used the term loosely; really it was just staring at the same page as he found himself in a fit of giggles as Gerard monologued about the difficulties of giving blowjobs as a bulimic. His laughing stopped abruptly as soon as he saw the lanky figure uncomfortably hovering by the entrance to the rec room.

Without bothering to mark his place, he closed his book and made his way over to the boy, unable to mask the shock on his face.

“William?”

The boy smiled tentatively. “Hey Ryan.”

Before he had finished speaking Ryan had lunged for him, wrapping him in a tight hug that nearly knocked the breath out of the both of them. William hugged him back just as tightly, and soon enough both boys were a blubbering mess of unintelligible apologies. Eventually they were able to make their way to Ryan’s room, still wiping away tears. They ended up huddled together on Ryan’s tiny bed, legs tangled and noses nearly pressed together as they talked about everything that had happened.

“I’m so sorry,” Ryan said, voice choked, “for everything. I’m sorry about what I said to you about Gabe and you being weak, God Bill, I’m so fucking sorry.”

William nodded, trying unsuccessfully to keep from tearing up again. “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have just abandoned you like that, I don’t know why I thought that was okay. I didn’t— I just wanted to get better, and part of that was deleting my accounts and everything and I just— I couldn’t face you after that. I’m sorry, Ryan.”

The boy just shook his head, smiling as he did his best to wipe at wet cheeks. “No, I get it. You needed to do what was best for you. I get it now.” He ignored as the door opened and shut quickly, a nurse coming to check on him. “I actually want to get better, can you believe that?”

William laughed. “My little Ana Butterfly has finally broken out of his cocoon, huh?”

“Oh my god,” Ryan groaned, smiling as he pushed at the boy’s shoulder. “That was so bad.”

After their laughter had died down, William told him, “I’m proud of you, you know. For recovering. I know that it must have been difficult, being thrown into a hospital and all that, but I’m so glad that you’re starting to get better.”

Ryan smiled, starting to tear up again. “I am too. Now tell me everything about Gabe before I start crying again.”

He noticed as William’s smile turned bashful, his cheeks turning red as he refused to meet Ryan’s eyes. “Well, he’s really— he just gets me, you know? No judgement, no disappointment, just total understanding. He doesn’t push me to do anything I’m not comfortable with, he’s just there to support me. You know, he picks me up after every therapy session. Like who does that?” He laughed fondly before continuing. “He just— he makes me happy.”

William sighed, content, before turning solemn. “How’s stuff with Brendon?”

Ryan’s smile fell from his face. “We got in a fight before I came here. I haven’t talked to him since.”

“Maybe you guys just need some time.”

“Maybe.” Ryan sighed. “I can’t help but feel like this is it for us.”

“He’s a mess,” William said, Ryan looking confused until he explained. “Gabe’s his best friend, remember? He’s been— I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but he didn’t take the news so well. He, uh, he talks about you all the time. Blames himself for not helping you sooner.”

Ryan groaned, burying his hands in his face. “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” William said. They fell quiet for a while, both lost in their own thoughts, until William spoke up again. “Do you think you’ll talk to him? When you get out, that is.”

The other boy sighed, hands dropping from his face. “I don’t know,” he replied, shrugging. “I honestly don’t know.”

He looked nervous all of a sudden, and William understood why when he said, “I haven’t told anyone yet, but umm… they’re saying I’ll probably get out before the end of the week.”

“That’s great!” William said, smiling wide. At Ryan’s continued nervousness though, his expression turned soft. “That’s a good thing, RyRo.” The boy smiled at the use of the once-familiar nickname.

“I know, I’m excited. I’m just…”

“Scared.”

Ryan smiled, pulling the boy into a hug. “I’m so glad you’re in my life, Bilvy.”

He almost didn’t hear the choked whisper of, “Me too.”

Longer-Term Goals
Make a list of goals you would like to accomplish in the future. These goals might relate to your career, school, health, hobbies, or relationships.
What are your goals one year from now? Five years from now? Ten years from now?

- go to college
- move into my own apartment — maybe William would make a good roommate
- get a cat, or two, or twelve (^-.-^)
- learn how to play the guitar
- spend some time in new york
- write a book
- as cheesy as it sounds, find myself
- fall in love
- get engaged
- get married
- have kids?
- spend my life doing something I love
- be okay

13 weeks

“Don’t you dare forget about me, motherfucker.”

Ryan laughed, gripping onto Gerard even tighter. “I don’t think I could ever forget you, Gee.” He pulled back from their hug, smiling at the boy. “Besides, I’m kind of friends with your boyfriend and brother, so I’m pretty sure we’ll see a lot of each other once you get out.”

Gerard smiled. “Two weeks, hopefully,” he said, holding up crossed fingers. Ryan mirrored the gesture, giving him one last hug for good luck before heading out the door one of the nurses was holding open for him. His mom was outside waiting for him, holding a bag full of all his confiscated items; they walked down together, neither saying anything as they made their way to the check-in table.

Ryan ignored his mom’s conversation with the lady at the counter, instead looking over longingly at the freedom that was just a few steps away. It wasn’t until his mom called his name for the third time that he finally looked back over, noticing her and the nurse staring at him in anticipation.

“Are you ready?” his mom asked, pen hovering about the release forms as she looked at him, not even trying to mask the worry on her face. He took a deep breath and nodded, giving her a tentative smile, and ink began to dry on the page.

Chapter Text

“It’s my destiny to destroy you!”

“…in Monopoly?”

They were all at William’s house for the weekly ‘let’s get together and pretend we’re not all fucked in the head’ sleepover, as Gerard liked to put it; true to his word, he had gotten out just two weeks after Ryan and joined the rest of the boys in outpatient therapy.

They spent five hours a day, three days a week in a recovery center, doing check-ins and group therapy and other shit that was supposed to help but really seemed pointless. When Ryan first got there, he was surprised to find Tyler and Patrick there, along with some other girls who had apparently been on the other side of the ward while the boys were there. Gerard joined all of them when he got out, yelling, “WHAT’S UP, BITCHES,” the moment he walked through the door.

Outpatient was, surprisingly enough, worse than the ward. It was mind numbing boredom, sitting and listening to therapists drone on and on about censored bullshit. At least in the ward they didn’t bullshit around; here, they censored everything, saying that the kids weren’t allowed to use negative language because it could be ‘counterproductive to their recovery.’

The boys helped make it bearable for Ryan, though. Patrick’s exasperated facial expressions, Tyler’s sarcastic remarks, Gerard just being Gerard; everyone played a part in making their 15 required weekly hours less torturous. Ryan didn’t think he would have been able to make it through recovery without any of them, not to mention William.

After they had finally worked through everything, the two boys were nearly inseparable, spending most weekends at one or the other’s house hanging out and talking and crying over stupid rom-coms. Unfortunately, William was in a different recovery program than the rest of the boys, but after taking over a corner of a local coffee shop for nearly four hours it was as though William had been with them all along.

Right then, Ryan should have been enjoying (or detesting) playing board games with the rest of the boys, but he was too busy staring at the five unopened voicemails on his phone from Brendon. He’d been staring at them for the past month but never listened to them, too terrified to hear what they might say. He’d had countless ideas, of course, and he was bordering on obsessive with how often he imagined what Brendon might have said.

He’d been so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice his phone had been snatched from his hand until Tyler was halfway across the room with it. His impish grin soon turned to one of concern, moving back over and handing Ryan his phone back.

“Have you listened to any of them yet?”

The room went silent, everyone staring at Ryan; they all knew about the messages, about the mess of a relationship Ryan wasn’t even sure still existed. Despite that awful night, Ryan wanted to believe that if he didn’t listen to those messages, he could still pretend that Brendon loved him.

He shook his head.

Gerard stood up suddenly, clapping his hands together once and grabbing the attention of the room. “I know you,” he said, looking at Ryan with a wicked grin, “and what you need is a distraction.”

None of them were surprised when Gerard pulled out a nearly full bottle of Smirnoff from his overnight bag, wiggling his eyebrows at everyone. He uncapped it and took a swig, before passing it to Patrick who did the same, gagging at the taste. Patrick passed it Tyler, who mumbled something about not wanting to be hungover at church the next day but took a large gulp anyway, and William threw back his mouthful with almost as much ease as Gerard. He held out the bottle to Ryan, who stared at it disdainfully before giving in and gulping down as much as he could without puking.

It was going to be one hell of a night.

“Oh God, Ryan, please, please tell me you’re alright. I talked to your friend, Spencer? He said he didn’t know, your mom wasn’t answering her phone either— Jesus Christ, Ryan, please be okay, fuck.

“I should’ve— I should’ve done something, fuck! I— I’m sorry I couldn’t help you, Ryan. I just— everything happened so fast and— oh God, I should have been there for you. I knew, I fucking knew and I didn’t do anything, God I’m such an idiot. I’m so sorry, Ryan. I’m so fucking sorry.

“Look, just— call me when you get out of the hospital, please? You know what, you don’t even have to call— just text me or one of the guys or someone and just— let me know you’re okay. Please be okay.”

The boys probably should have been concerned when Gerard showed up, drunk, to OP one day, but it was too fucking funny for them to worry over too much. Nobody knew how he managed to keep it on the down low, hiding it from the therapists as well as the rest of the patients, but somehow he did it, acting— well, not completely sober, but clear-headed enough to not raise suspicion.

“Listen,” Gerard said, speech miraculously not slurred, “I’m not saying that this group is fucking stupid, but it’s fucking stupid.”

Patrick tried to conceal his laugh with a cough but from the harsh glare that was sent his way, he didn’t do a very good job of it. After more titters and giggles, the therapist leading that group just sighed and shook his head, giving up before they had really even started.

“For real, though,” Gerard continued, either ignoring or not noticing the dirty looks sent his way by all the adults. “Like, do you really think this helps? Sitting in a circle and talking about what five items we would bring if we were trapped on a desert island? What the fuck does that have to do with eating disorders.”

Tyler had his face buried in his hands, entire body shaking with the force of his silent laughter. Ryan used his hand to cover his mouth, trying to hide the smile so wide it hurt his cheeks. Most of the girls were in similar states.

“I’d rather have my mouth stapled to someone’s ass and be forced to eat their shit than—”

“GERARD,” the therapist practically screamed, and everyone in the circle straightened themselves out except for the boy in question, who was just staring back at the man with a bemused smile on his face. “That is enough.”

Gerard fell silent at that, and the rest of the group passed along as boring and dull as everyone had expected in the first place.

(And if a remarkably realistic illustration of their therapists in a disturbing position, drawn in sharpie, appeared on the whiteboard before the end of the day, not one of them would think to point a finger.)

“Sometimes I wish I had never met you.

“You ruined me, Ryan Ross. How the fuck am I supposed to love now that you shattered my heart? All I ever want to do was love you, you know. I wanted a future with you. I wanted something more than empty promises. Guess I should’ve known better, huh?

“I gave everything to you, you selfish son of a bitch. I gave you all that I had to give, and you took it and demanded more. No matter how many times I told you I loved you, told you that you were beautiful and gorgeous and prettier than the fucking moon, you never fucking believed. It’s never enough, is it? I’m never enough. I could bleed myself dry for you and you’d still have your doubts.

“You know, maybe if you actually bothered to pay attention to people other than yourself, you’d realize that not everyone hates their life as much as you. I was happy before I met you, and I’m happy now, so I guess my life’s a little better without you around to try and please.”

“He hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you.” He was helping his mom make dinner, chopping up the vegetables as she cooked them on the stove. His dietician had given him some recipes as part of his meal plan options and his mom had gone a little crazy with them; they had home cooked meals every night, unless Ryan was hanging out with the other boys, in which case it was pizza and takeout and junk food galore.

“I appreciate the optimism, but he hates me.”

She tutted at him as he handed her the onions, which she added to the stir fry before turning to him. “Now Ryan, I don’t want to get all preachy on you or anything—”

“I’m sure you don’t.

She swatted him lightly with a dish towel before continuing. “You’re too young to know this, but love isn’t always a permanent state. It comes and goes, and that’s just a lesson — a not very fun one — that you have to learn on your own.”

He sighed, giving her a smile that was more of a grimace. “I’m tired of trying to figure out what love is. I’m tired of love in general, to be honest. I just want to eat dinner, take a nap, and stop worrying about other people.”

“That’s sounds like a good plan,” she said, going back to her cooking, “but RuPaul’s Drag Race is on tonight—”

“Mom,” he interrupted, exasperated. “Just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I watch RuPaul’s.”

She shook her head, sighing and taking the stir fry off the stovetop to portion it on their plates. “I know that, but I happen to like it. I’ve learned so much about hair and makeup in just a few seasons, it’s crazy how much I was doing wrong before…”

Ryan smiled as he listened to his mom ramble on about the show, both of them sitting down to dinner like a normal family. For all he’d put her through, she still loved and accepted him, and he couldn’t hold back the surge of fondness he felt for her in that moment.

“I love you, Mom.”

She stopped talking then, looking for a moment at her son, who had come so far in the past couple of months, before smiling at him with pride and admiration and unbridled happiness. “I love you too, Ryan.”

“Hey, I— sorry. About my last message. I was just… upset. Really, really upset. I’m sorry.

“I don’t know if we can still be together after this. I want to make you happy, but I’m starting to think that’s someone else’s job. It was never me. I wanted it to be— I needed it to be. But… I wasn’t. I wasn’t the one to save you. I thought I could be enough for you. I guess I thought wrong.

“I love you, Ryan, I love you so much, and I just want you to be happy. I just don’t think you can do that when you’re with me.

“I’m so sorry, Ryan.”

Ryan loved his friends.

That day’s group was focused on relationships and Ryan was nervous, as he’d decided to open up about his issues with Brendon. The moment he’d mentioned the boy’s name, Gerard, Patrick, and Tyler had all leaned forward in their chairs, ready to sprint across the circle and comfort him at a moment’s notice. He’d been okay though, feeling a surprising sense of pride at being able to not break down when talking about the boy.

When he’d talked about the voicemails though, what Brendon had said and how that made him feel — “like I wanted to starve until I became nothing, so he wouldn’t even have a memory of me to hate” — that the boys went from ‘passive listeners’ to ‘aggressive participators.’

“I’m going to kick his ass.”

“Tyler, you’re tiny.”

“Then I’ll get Josh to kick his ass, and when he’s down I’ll hit him in the nuts.”

Ryan smiled, though not convincingly enough apparently as he soon found himself tackled out of his chair in a hug, ignoring the group therapists yells of “No touching!” as he clung tight to Gerard. They pulled apart after being threatened with a formal citation, and as Ryan climbed back into his chair, Patrick promised that as soon as he gave the word, Pete would fill Brendon’s bed with bees.

Ryan really loved his friends.

“Hey, Ryan. It’s Brendon, although you probably knew that. You know, caller ID and all that, ha.

“Look, about my last message— just ignore it. Actually, ignore them all. I’m really drunk. I, uh, I haven’t been doing too well. I don’t know, I blame myself for a lot of it. Like, what I said to was so, so out of line, and I knew about your— your eating disorder so I— I should’ve done something. I should’ve gotten you the help you needed.

“The truth is, I don’t know how to fix you. I want to be there for you, but I’m in no state to emotionally support anyone right now, and we all know how that worked out the last time. I wish I could be the person you need me to be. I can’t though.

“It isn’t me, I get that, I understand that now. It’s our stupid situation. You could have loved me, if the timing was right. But you have plenty on your plate without dealing with a fucked up boyfriend. I still love you, Ryan, but I think you should stay away from me. I want you to get better, you know?

“I love you so much, Baby. Take care.”

“He only calls me when he’s drunk.”

Tyler snickered. “Isn’t that an Arctic Monkeys song?”

“I’m never having serious conversations with you again,” Ryan said and flipped off the giggling boy before going back to perusing the records. William had recommended the music shop to them, said they had a lot of local and indie stuff. Ryan had already picked out three vinyls and was just about to reach for a fourth when he saw him.

Squeaking in panic and shoving his records at Tyler, he quickly ducked under the table, curling up into a ball and praying he hadn’t been noticed. The other boy had looked at him confused and totally unaware of what was going on, until he noticed Brendon fucking Urie on the other side of the store, looking through the guitars the shop was offering up.

“Oh crap,” he whispered, placing the records on top of the table before crawling under, sitting next to Ryan and whispering frantically

“What the hell are we supposed to do?”

“I don’t know!” Ryan replied. He dared to sneak a quick peek at the shop and, not seeing Brendon, grabbed Tyler and started to crawl out. “If we stay low, we can probably make it out before—”

“Ryan?”

The boy turned to look at Brendon, who was staring at the two boys with a strange mix of confusion, horror, and a tinge of sadness in his expression. Ryan sighed, turning to Tyler and mouthing “FUCK ME IN THE ASS” before standing up and coming face to face with his (ex?) boyfriend.

“I love you,” Brendon blurted out, surprising both Ryan and himself.

“Is that supposed to be an apology?”

The boy shrugged. “I don’t think I can ever apologize for what I— for everything I did,” he said, quiet and insecure, and Ryan felt his chest ache with the want to hug the boy in front of him and never let go. But he couldn’t and he wouldn’t do that, instead wrapping his arms around himself and pretending they were someone else’s.

“I have to go,” he said, not able to look the other boy straight on. “Tyler and I are going to—”

“You don’t have to make excuses, Ryan. If you don’t want to talk to me that’s— it’s alright. I understand.”

Ryan nodded, whispering, “Bye, Brendon,” before turning away and walking out of the shop with Tyler.

He didn’t realize he was crying until they were a block away.

“Hey, it’s me again. Umm, look, I know I’ve already left you four messages, but if you listen to this one first, don’t listen to the rest of them, okay? I, uh, I was really messed up when I sent those, and if you did listen to them, I’m sorry.

“Don’t ever think that it doesn’t matter, you being here, alright? Because even if I’m not in your life, I still want you to be here. There are a lot of people who love you, Ryan, and who want to see you get better, and I’m one of them.

“I miss you. I’m sorry if that’s weird or uncool but I can’t stop having feelings. I wish I had been there for you. I wish I had been a better boyfriend. I wish I could go back and change everything. But I can’t.

“I know you probably hate me, and that’s okay. I don’t blame you, I’d hate me too. But on the off chance that I haven’t totally ruined our relationship, I— I’d like to try things again. Even if you just want to be friends for a while, or forever, I’m cool with that. I just— you mean a lot to me, Ryan, more than you know, and I just want to make sure you’re okay.

“If you want to, you know, give things another shot, just— just let me know, okay? I’m here, Ryan. When you’re ready, I’m here.”

Chapter Text

“Welcome to the sad club, where everyone is sad!”

Gerard, being the mad animal he was, did the honors of throwing them all a back-to-school party (or ‘funeral pre-game,’ as he called it). After pestering texts and a few vaguely threatening phone calls, all the boys ended up hanging out in his basement, along with Frank and Mikey, both of whom practically crushed Ryan in hugs when he arrived. He hugged them back just as tight, and that’s when Gerard figured it was a good time to bring out the alcohol.

Eventually, after some stupid party games and strange challenges, everyone was at least a little bit tipsy, if not full out drunk (Gerard and Tyler really needed to work on knowing their limits). They were all relaxed and having a good time, trying to enjoy the last of their freedom before heading back to Hell. Gee, the lucky fucker, was celebrating going back to school; he attended art school and actually enjoyed his classes.

After a little while, Ryan found himself retreating to the corner where it was far less crowded, watching with mild interest as Patrick recited a ballad while Mikey and Gerard got ready to joust on rolling chairs. If he was being perfectly honest, it hadn’t been such a good week for him. He’d been eating fine but he couldn’t seem to sort out his head, constant thoughts dashing past before he could catch anything more than a glimpse of them. He’d had trouble sleeping, migraines, aches and pains in places he knew weren’t supposed to be hurting. He just couldn’t stop stressing over how he looked and school and—

“Hey,” William said. "What do you think you're doing, all alone in the corner?"

“Sorry,” Ryan mumbled, lips pressed against the rim of his cup. “Didn't wanna be a bother.”

“Stop that,” William said, taking a seat next to him and nudging his shoulder against Ryan’s. “I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again: you are never a bother. Not to me, not to those idiots, not to anyone. Now talk to me. What’s up?”

Ryan sighed, trying not to sound as pained as he was, and looked away. “School starts next week and I have no clue what I'm going to do.”

“About what?”

“Brendon.”

“Oh,” William said, finally understanding. Ryan hadn’t talked to the boy since their run-in at the record store, which William had apologized profusely for even though Ryan kept insisting that he couldn’t have known, it wasn’t his fault. “Have you thought anymore about what you want? Between you two, that is.”

Ryan shrugged. “I— I still love him, even after everything. Is that bad?”

William shook his head. “No," he answered slowly, before quickly adding on, "I don't think so, anyway. I mean, he obviously feels like shit about everything and wants to make it right, I just don't think he knows how."

“Pete said I shouldn’t forgive him,” Ryan said. “After that big fight we got into, the one I told you about? Pete told me I shouldn’t forgive him.”

William shrugged. “Pete’s a pretty smart guy. But that fight was when, March? April? It’s August now. Things have changed. You’ve changed, and I'd bet Brendon has too.”

“I just don’t want things to go to shit again,” Ryan said, choking on the words, and William nodded, understanding.

“Even the strongest relationships will fall apart if you don’t work for them. Look at me and Gabe! We seem great together, and that’s because we are.” Ryan rolled his eyes at William's smirk, though he was still laughing fondly. “What I mean is, we work because we work at it. I can’t even begin to tell you how many times he’s had put up with my anorexic bullshit, and how many times I’ve had to put up with his general Gabe-ness bullshit.”

He smiled at Ryan, wrapping an arm around the boy’s shoulder and pulling him close. “My point is, you still have a chance with Brendon. You always will, as long as you’re willing to try.”

“Thanks, Bilvy,” Ryan said, voice muffled from his being pressed into the boy’s neck. William smiled, wrapping his other arm around Ryan and pulling him into an actual hug.

“I’m here for you, okay?” William said, voice barely a whisper. “I’ll always be here for you, I promise.”

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It was too chilly for August, but Ryan wasn’t bothered by the cold. It was invigorating, keeping him sharp and aware as he made his way to the public mailbox. It would have been easier to mail the letter from his house, but it was nice to get out and the walk gave him time to reflect so there he was, ambling his way along eight blocks as he tried to both think about and ignore the envelope weighing heavy in his pocket.

Reaching out to his father after all these years was… terrifying. His father might reply, might want to meet him and see the man he’s become; or he might see the return address and throw away the envelope immediately, not even bothering to read the letter inside. Ryan wasn’t sure which of those scenarios he preferred, but his favorite one overall was that the letter would get “lost” in a storm drain before he could even make it to the mailbox.

His time window was growing short, however, as he could see the large blue box just down the street. He started to panic a little, second guessing himself. What should he do? Brian had said it would be good for him, to confront the source of his anger and hurt, but Ryan wasn’t even sure if he still felt those things anymore. No longer was there hurt, anger, hatred; after all, it was hard to hate a guy you’ve never known. Sure, his dad was a shitty parent who couldn’t be bothered to stick around, but the more he thought about it, the more he understood that all he really felt toward the man was disappointment.

All too soon he found himself standing in front of the mailbox, letter in his hand and halfway to the slot. He took one last moment to think about everything, about what this letter meant. He thought about what he had written, and who it was really written to. The more he thought about it the more he realised that he didn’t care. He didn’t care what this man, a man who had abandoned him without a word almost a decade ago, a man who he didn’t even know, thought of him.

He. Didn’t. Care.

Sighing tiredly, he made his decision. He stared at the envelope in his hand one last time, at the neatly-written address to a person he didn’t know. He looked at the mailbox and took a deep breath before walking away, letting the letter fall into oblivion and a gutter.

Dad,

This letter isn’t for you, it’s for me.
I know I need to stop blaming you for the world’s my mistakes, but what can I say? I’m an angsty teenage boy who doesn’t know how to deal with his own shortcomings. Hell, I developed an eating disorder because of it.
You were a mean drunk and a mean man, and I hoped if I just hid under my bed and pretended I couldn’t hear Mom crying then it wasn’t happening, that you could still be the hero I made you out to be. I used to look up to you, you know. You were my hero, my inspiration, my dad. But I was 8 and naive and too young to know any better. I didn’t understand the hate that spewed from your mouth or your fists, but now that I’m older I get it. For I while I hated myself, because I was one of “those homo fags” that you despised so much. I still do hate myself, in a lot of ways. But now, I hate myself because I don’t think I’m good enough for /me, not for you, and I much prefer it that way.
I know what you must be thinking right now, ‘I never had a chance.’ But that’s the sad part: you did. I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t approve of my life, but I think I like it better without you in it anyway. You don’t have a heart or a soul. You’ve never given selflessly in your life. You would charge a dying man for his last breath of air if it meant you could buy yourself another fifth. You neglected me for 7 and a half years, but I’m glad. I’m happy you left… but how happy I am doesn’t concern you.
Go fuck yourself.

Your (former) son, Ryan

It was the night before the first day of school, and (predictably) Ryan couldn’t sleep.

Last year, being up all night would have meant that he was exercising frantically, pacing for hours on end with jumping jacks, sit-ups, and squats interspersed. This year, however, it meant that he spent most of his time either writing in his journal or scrolling through tumblr, updating his blog which consisted mostly of memes and aesthetics (William had no right to judge him with all the “choke me, daddy” shit that he reblogged).

It also meant that he was worrying about how the next day would go. Or, more specifically, he worrying about the whole Brendon situation.

Despite all the advice his friends had given him, Ryan was still conflicted over what to do. He really did love the boy, and he knew Brendon loved him as well, but Brendon had also hurt him; Ryan was tired of being hurt. For the first time in over a year, he was finally starting to take his life back, to really be in control, and it felt good. He didn’t want to ruin that with a relationship that would only crash and burn.

But what if it didn’t? He thought back to coffee shop dates, watching old movies and missing half the film in favor of lazy makeouts; he thought back to holding hands under the lunch table, drunk escapades that must have been miracles considering no one ended up in the hospital; he thought about soft brown hair and melodic laughter and sunny smiles and—

Ryan sighed, rolling over onto his back and staring at the ceiling, still as lost as ever. His fingers drifted to the phone at his side, pulling up his voicemail folder and hovering over the one message he hadn’t erased. He’d deleted the other ones, figured it would be fairer given Brendon was drunk and overly emotional at the time. The last one was the one that really counted. He’d listened to it more times than he could remember, found that he’d almost memorized the damn thing. It probably wasn’t healthy or helpful, but he still found himself playing the message yet again.

“Hey, it’s me again. Umm, look, I know I’ve already left you four messages, but if you listen to this one first, don’t listen to the rest of them, okay? I, uh, I was really messed up when I sent those, and if you did listen to them, I’m sorry.”

He wished he hadn’t listened to them. He knew that Brendon was drunk, was speaking from a place of hurt, but that didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt him too. It just made everything more complicated, knowing just how fuck up Brendon had been while he was in the hospital. Ryan wanted to hold Brendon, tell him everything was and would be okay, but he was tired of making promises he couldn’t keep.

“Don’t ever think that it doesn’t matter, you being here, alright? Because even if I’m not in your life, I still want you to be here. There are a lot of people who love you, Ryan, and who want to see you get better, and I’m one of them.

“I miss you. I’m sorry if that’s weird or uncool but I can’t stop having feelings. I wish I had been there for you. I wish I had been a better boyfriend. I wish I could go back and change everything. But I can’t.”

Ryan wished so too. What he wouldn’t give to meet Brendon at a different time, at a different place in both of their lives, when Ryan didn’t have an eating disorder or after he recovered and when Brendon had worked through his own issues; Ryan didn’t think there was anything he wouldn’t give to go back to that one January and never start skipping meals in the first place. Unfortunately, that wasn’t their reality and now they were stuck with a mess neither of them knew how to fix.

“I know you probably hate me,” — he didn’t, he never did, he’d only ever hated himself — “and that’s okay. I don’t blame you, I’d hate me too. But on the off chance that I haven’t totally ruined our relationship, I— I’d like to try things again. Even if you just want to be friends for a while, or forever, I’m cool with that. I just— you mean a lot to me, Ryan, more than you know, and I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

He wasn’t okay, he realized, and he hadn’t been okay in a very long time. But now, with recovery and his new, close-knit group of friends, he could believe that ‘okay’ was somewhere in his future. He just had to decide if Brendon was in it too.

“If you want to, you know, give things another shot, just— just let me know, okay? I’m here, Ryan. When you’re ready, I’m here.”

Ryan knew he had to learn to be enough for himself before he could try to be enough for others, but that was one of the reasons he’d fallen in love with Brendon in the first place; he didn’t have to be enough for him. They were two separate people, independently dependent on each other. Brendon didn’t need him to be enough, he just needed him to be Ryan.

Confused and tired and still undecided, he played it again despite knowing it wouldn’t help. He played it again, and again, and again, and again, until he found himself falling asleep to the sound of Brendon’s voice, still lost.

Ryan thought he knew just how terrifying walking into a cafeteria could be; he had no idea. He wasn’t afraid of the food anymore. Anxious, a little bit, but scared not so much. No, he wasn’t as terrified of what was in the cafeteria so much as opposed to whom.

He debated not going in, spent almost ten minutes pacing in the hallway outside before taking a deep breath and rushing in before he could stop himself.

He was immediately drawn to his old table, tucked away in the corner of the room. He smiled as he heard Pete’s obnoxiously loud laugh, audible even in the din of a high school cafeteria. As he slowly made his way over, sliding past tables and stepping over bookbags, he remembered with bittersweet fondness all the good times he’d had there. As he came close, he saw Pete, Frank, Mikey, and Brendon, all in their usual spots.

(Josh had graduated last year and, according to William who heard it from Gabe who was told by Brendon, he’d had a falling out with his parents when he told them he wanted to pursue music. He’d moved into Brendon and Pete’s place, playing drums for a couple of local bands and working weekdays at Guitar Center.)

Mikey noticed him first, giving him a small smile before going back to his phone, trying not to draw too much attention to the boy. That failed spectacularly however, as Pete noticed Ryan almost immediately after Mikey, screaming, “RYRO!” before practically launching himself at the poor kid. He nearly knocked the breath out of the boy with his hug, holding on tight and dragging him over to the table where he received a similar welcome from Frank.

“I’m so happy you’re back!” Pete said, almost vibrating with his excitement. “You missed so much— oh my god, you’re never going to believe who Josh is dating…”

Pete rambled on, not realizing that Ryan wasn’t listening to a word he said; his attention was on Brendon and Brendon alone. Frank, the lifesaver he was, managed to herd Pete away to a different table, Mikey following along but not before mouthing “Good luck” to Ryan, who all too soon found himself alone with Brendon.

He stared at Brendon, unable to place the expression on his face, until the other boy spoke.

“You look good, Ryan.” Relief.

“Thanks,” he said, nervously fiddling with the strap of his bag. He found himself shifting on his feet, clearing his throat every now and then to try and dispel the awkward silence between them. It didn’t work.

Eventually Ryan had enough, sighing tiredly before asking, “Can we talk?”

Brendon nodded, practically jumping out of his seat before allowing himself to be led by a hesitant Ryan into the hallway, the same one Ryan had been pacing in just minutes before, and also the same one where he told Brendon he liked him. It was funny how everything managed to come full circle, ending in the same place it began.

“I miss you,” he said, and he could see as Brendon’s pretense of being okay crumbled. “I miss your stupid jokes and your stupid face and your stupid smile and your stupid, perfect everything. I miss us. I want to be with you but I’m still not okay and you’ve got your own stuff to deal with too and I just—” Ryan sighed.

“You had to get better on your own, and you think I need to do the same.”

Ryan nodded, unable to meet the other boy’s eyes. Brendon cleared his throat nervously before continuing. “I, uh, I started going to therapy? It’s— um, it helps, I think. Better coping skills and all that. So I am. Getting better, that is.”

“Sorry,” Ryan said, shaking his head with a sour smile. “Sometimes I forget that the world kept moving while I took a break.” Brendon smiled at him, and he took a deep breath before metaphorically jumping to his quite possible demise.

“I’m scared. I’m scared of this not working out, I’m scared of being hurt again, I’m scared of fucking relapsing, Bren. I’ve finally managed to get to a place where I’m kind of sorta okay, and I don’t want that to be ruined by a half-assed attempt at trying to save a relationship that was never going to work out in the first place.”

“I’m scared too,” Brendon admits, much to Ryan’s surprise. “I’m scared of hurting you again, I’m worried that I could be the reason for a relapse. I just— I want you to be okay, Ryan, but as selfish as it is, I also want you to be with me. But I can’t be the one to decide whether you stay or leave.”

Ryan made a noise of frustration, running a hand through his hair. “I know that,” he said, obviously upset. “I know I have to make that decision, but I— I can’t make it rationally.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that after everything you did, I still love you. I don’t know why, or how, or if this is even healthy, but I don’t care. I just— I’m tired of doing what’s best for me. I want to make mistakes, I want to fuck up, but more than anything I want a chance at something real, even if it means I might get hurt again.”

He looked away then, too scared to meet Brendon’s gaze, too scared of being judged. His heart was pounding in his chest, thumping against his ribcage so hard he was sure the loud sound was echoing through the hallway. His throat felt choked, his hands wouldn’t stop shaking, and he couldn’t help but wonder if love always felt so terrifying.

It wasn’t until he felt a hand take his, fingers slipping between his own, that he dared to look up again. Brendon was smiling at him, bright as the sun, and he smiled back just as bright.

“I’m ready.”