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Chapter Text

In hindsight, Anti should've known this was a bad idea.

In his defense, it didn't start like that.

He was merely trying to take control of his shitty life that seemed to be going downhill since the day of his existence. Don't get him wrong—Anti never blamed Seán for creating him to be like this. Being a glitch was who he was, and losing control of his power became a part of that. The random times that his glitches took over his mind had caused massive damage to the people around him, so Anti really couldn't fault the others for being wary of him.

Still, now months after he started living with the Septics, mayhaps Anti just hoped that his effort to contain his glitches could be noticed and appreciated. But no, they only ever focused on the times he fucked up. A small power outage here, then a messed up microwave there. It wasn't really Anti's fault that his glitches would affect the technologies around him!

He had stopped trying to explain, though. They'd never understand, and in all honesty, Anti didn't give a shit about them. JJ constantly averted his gaze when they crossed paths. Marvin went as far as warding his attic to ban Anti's entrance. And the god-awful hero that Jackie was. The bastard had threatened him out in the open enough times that he couldn't be bothered anymore. Though, Anti couldn't fault them for being on guard around him. His past accidents hadn't made their lives easier. But it sure still hurt when he saw Henrik sliding a shot of sedatives into his pocket before they came to the dining room together for lunch.

He wasn't some beast that would just attack out of the blue, for fuck's sake!

Then his effort to maintain a somewhat peaceful relationship all went completely crashing down for him when Chase swung an empty bottle at him late at night one day. To Anti's credit, he had been trying his hardest to not glitch in front of the others since he moved in, but thunderstorms always messed with his ability beyond his control. No exceptions.

Anti only wanted to get a cup of water from the kitchen that night. It was pouring rain, which to Anti simply meant that he wouldn't be getting any rest. The lightning outside would keep him up all night if the thunderstorm lasted. Deep in his own thoughts, the glitch didn't expect to stumble upon a half-drunk father when he entered. Anti flicked the light open and raised a brow when he saw Chase searching for more beers from the cupboard.

Bad day with Stacy again, huh?

"Brody?" After a moment of hesitation, Anti asked. No, he didn't really care about Chase, but the look on the father resembled a lost puppy. And Anti couldn't find it in himself to just walk away in silence.

Apparently, that was a bad move, because Chase looked startled and angered, as anyone who was caught red-handed would. The father whipped around with a half-emptied bottle in hand and a pathetic look on his face. "Wha—? Whatchu wan', glitch?"

Anti raised his hands to show that he meant no harm, not wanting to provoke the upset ego even more. "Fucking Christ, how many drinks did you have, Brody?" Now that he had a closer look at Chase, he realized that the father was for sure more than just half-drunk. Out of curiosity, Anti wondered what exactly happened.

"Non'oh yo business. Get ou' of here." The father retorted, his tone defensive.

Alright. Judging from how slurred Chase's speech was, definitely more than what was allowed.

Anti wanted to protest against the man on both his statements. He was about to open his mouth for a retort when lightning flashed outside the window, landing way too close to their house. His sharp demon ears picked up on the sound a tree falling down somewhere around the neighborhood. The burnt wood scent traveled through the dense rain all the way to Anti's nose. Thunder rumbled loudly across the sky as electricity ran through him, causing glitches to jump out of his hand. He shuddered at the current, now distracted from the father as he waited for the sensation to pass. It didn't hurt him, just unpleasant.

Then Anti was hit square on the head by an empty beer bottle. The glass shattered at the contact; blood trickled down his brow. He was stunned, unsure what happened at first. The first wave buzzing sensation finally washed over, and he looked up to see Chase's terrified expression. Unsure what to do, Anti took a step forward as if to show that he could offer comfort if needed. Didn't peg the father as the type to be scared of a thunderstorm, but Anti could get behind the sentiment.

Chase drew a kitchen knife and pointed the tip at him, his hand shaking for how hard the grip was.

Oh.

Oh.

He wasn't scared of the thunderstorm. He was terrified of Anti.

Anti had fled the scene that night.

The next day, he stayed cooped up in his own bedroom, not only because of the post-thunderstorm exhaustion but also...he had had enough of everything. Anti couldn't bear the looks anymore. The nasty stares, the taunts, and threats, the hidden weapons. He had done nothing. Absolutely nothing since the moment he stepped into this fucking house. Had he not tried hard enough? What more did he have to do to earn some fucking respect in the house?!

The glitch wallowed in his frustration and misery, the green sparks in his eyes flashing as his power slowly restored itself. Anti was always exhausted after a thunderstorm since his power always went out of its way to cause him grief. No one checked on him. Though, in all honesty, he probably didn't want anyone to see him like that.

Anti sprawled on the wooden floor and raised his hand to the ceiling. He stared at it intensely as if it was some alien object. Slowly, tiny green squares started shifting around his fingers. It traveled from the tips all the way to the bottom of his palm and stayed there. At times when he was drained like now, he could control his glitches to a certain level.

He never wished anything more than he wished to have that full control.

But no, the world still didn't like him, and Anti could only grunt in disappointment when the glitches spread to his arms the moment he stopped focusing. Small mishaps like these caused no harm to anyone, but when it overwhelmed his senses things got nasty. It wasn't just a fried wire or a popped light bulb.

Anti recalled when "he" tried to slice Seán's neck open. He woke up later that day with blood all over him and the knife still in his hand. His mind was blank in a void of memories, but when he looked around he knew he royally fucked up. There lay Seán in his own blood that continued to pool on the floor, his chest barely rising and falling. Anti couldn't remember how he managed to scramble over to check on the man. By the time he rushed the Irish lad to Henrik, Seán was barely breathing.

To this day, the dark crimson still stung his eyes.

Anti stayed in his room after his midnight kitchen visit with Chase, ruminating on his mistakes. Hours turned into days outside the windows, but he turned a blind eye toward it. He couldn't find the motivation to leave his room just to face more insults anymore. Perhaps Chase was the last straw, but hey, they probably preferred not seeing him, anyway.

They definitely preferred it that way, Anti realized as time went on.

His absence around the house brought no attention from other egos to his delight and dismay. His room was tucked around the corner, away from the noisy hallways, so they wouldn't really happen to walk past his door unless they specifically wanted to find him. Still, Anti hoped that maybe Chase or even Henrik would come to check up on him. He didn't leave the room for days, for fuck's sake.

If it weren't for Seán coming to town for dinner, Anti suspected that he'd just stay in his room until he rotted on his bed frame. The YouTuber promised to check on them every other month, and his visit was due. Despite what Anti thought was better, he knew his presence was required. Seán had a soft and big heart. Even after that failed "assassination" attempt, he still vouched for the glitch.

Begrudgingly, Anti got up from his bed to get ready. He didn't want to upset Seán.

The glitch ego swayed when he stood up, feeling strangely lighter. The world spun around him as he stumbled toward the bathroom, black dots almost drowned his vision for a brief moment. He steadied himself as he gripped the handle. The dizziness felt too much like the static that constantly hummed in the back of his mind, so Anti brushed it off as his power glitching due to the rising anxiety again.

Anti only connected the dots when he reluctantly joined a family dinner about an hour later. He waited as long as he could before walking downstairs, a signature scowl on his face when he entered the dining room. Instantly the talks died down. Seán, the stupid-ass oblivious man he was, walked around the table and gave him a bone-crushing hug.

He almost fell when the man withdrew himself.

The weird light sensation stayed with him through the whole night, up until Chase finished cooking and served dinner. As soon as Anti took a bite, he felt better. Dizziness died down and his body re-balanced itself. His mind was clearer and the room stopped spinning so fast. That was when it hit him he hadn't eaten anything for days. Was it almost a week, by now?

The realization didn't make Anti feel better, though. Hunger came back full force now that he started eating, and before he realized it, he was wolfing down the entire plate. He barely tasted anything as he shoved them down his throat to soothe his complaining stomach. Anti wanted to go for a second serving when he noticed the weird looks the other threw at him. It was that same wariness they wore around him again, this time with a feigned concern glazed over—probably because Seán was there.

It made Anti sick to his stomach.

Suddenly, all appetite was lost again, the food turned into ash in his mouth. He swallowed them mechanically, the flavors dissolved into tasteless bitterness.

Anti left wordlessly in the middle of that dinner against Seán's protest. As he walked down the hallway, he heard laughter flowing out again and felt the tension dissolve in the dining room.

It became a regular thing for him after that. Anti would just skip the meals whenever he could and hide in his own room, toying with his glitches to see if it'd bend to his will. Breakfasts weren't a necessity anyway, and not seeing Henrik's grumpy face was definitely a plus. He'd pop in to get a quick cup of coffee if he felt particularly tired, but even that was a rare occasion. Lunch was better, but Anti still preferred staying empty when he knew Marvin and JJ would be in the kitchen chatting their lives away. He hated how they always shut their mouths the moment he walked in on them as if he was some snitch. Anti wasn't even interested in whatever they were talking about.

And dinners? Dinners didn't exist in his dictionary anymore, no sir. Family dinners were a regular occurrence for the Septics, but Anti wasn't even a part of that family. Why bother joining when all he was gonna get was some shitty off-hand comments and side-eye glances?

Of course, there were times when the hunger was too much, and Anti would find himself going through the fridge in the dead of the night. He was always ravenous by then. Leftovers and condiments alike, they'd all just end up in his stomach before he threw it all up in discomfort. Sessions like those made Anti feel so painfully full, to the point he worried that his stomach would burst.

Still, Anti continued to avoid proper meals at all costs. Hunger was loud and painful, but the other egos were truly more unbearable in comparison. Truth be told, Anti had grown attached to the dizziness that came with the starvation. It brought him some peace, a sense of bliss, the calming feel of being washed under a gentle stream. Anti had only ever felt like that when he was hungry. Only when the dizziness started, the static would go away.

It took him weeks to get there, but eventually, the beast in his stomach stopped growling. The constant hunger became a low hum in the backdrop of his daily life, merely something he became used to. The feeling of emptiness gave Anti thrills now more than booze, because each time the dizziness took over, he knew he was in control. Through it all, his glitches grew weaker. They weren't fighting against him as much.

It made him feel good.

Anti chased for the dizziness and the thrill, despite what his body was telling him. Hours of fasting turned into days, and each time Anti pushed himself further and harder, just to see how long he would last before the hunger overtook him again.

Seven weeks in, the glitches stopped appearing around him unless he forced them to.

Three months in, they wouldn't show even if Anti tried to make it happen.

Then one day, the constant buzz that ran in his system disappeared. He woke up to a strange silence, then later realized that the statics in his senses were gone. Completely.

If only Anti could realize how fundamentally wrong it was.

Chapter Text

Anti sat on the side of the table and listened in on the conversation. He moved the meatballs around in his plate with his fork, cutting them into pieces. Beside him, Marvin was in the middle of telling some grand story about the time the warlock summoned a demon cat. He half-mindedly played with his plate of food and nodded along. Seán was in town for the weekend, so a get-together dinner was on the schedule. The said YouTuber was now arguing loudly with Chase and Jackie about some video shit. Anti sipped on his cup and sighed in content.

The beast hummed in his stomach; Anti took a gulp of water. Then another. Then another. Until he finished the whole cup in one go. Temporarily satisfied, the beast went back to hibernation again.

Across the table, Henrik frowned behind his glasses.

————

Now that his glitches were completely under control, Anti was much more included in the house. Chase would come and hang out with him to play video games. JJ and Marvin sometimes invited him to their backyard campfire sessions. Even Jackie tolerated his existence around the gym when they worked out together. The changes happened slowly, but Anti could see the progress being made every day.

When he emerged from his room to dinner for the first time in months, they were wary of his existence. Anti had stayed for almost the whole meal, though he barely touched the food served to him. There wasn't much to start with—they didn't expect Anti to join. At that time, he was more lurking in the corner than joining in.

It was different now, though.

"You just...don't have that weird, creepy energy anymore, I guess." Chase once told him after a beer or two, when Anti asked. It wasn't until the next morning did he realize that the energy Chase referred to was his buzzing glitches that went away.

Anti lied in his bed and tried to summon his power again for the rest of that day. It didn't happen. He couldn't even glitch a knife into his hand anymore. It was like he was created without that ability. And damn, it felt good to know he could live without it now.

Anti pressed a hang firmly against his stomach. The low, dull hunger pain throbbed under skin and muscle. He was on how many days of fasting now? It had been so long since his last meal, he couldn't really count the hours anymore. Anti breathed in, once, twice, and waited patiently for the hunger to go away again. It always came in waves, so he only needed to endure and control himself. Then it'll leave again.

The room started spinning. Anti closed his eyes and let out a soft sigh.

The silence in his room was only disrupted by his breaths.

----

Henrik's gaze followed Anti all the way until the glitch disappeared into the kitchen. Today marked the third day in a roll Anti claimed to be done with his food when he barely touched anything on his plate. Chase ordered pizza for tonight, Margherita and meat-lover. Both were Anti's favorites, and the glitch made it known even before they got close. He didn't take as much as a bite tonight, though. Come to think of it, Henrik realized that he never really saw Anti eat anymore.

When did it start?

By no means was Henrik someone who liked to pry into other people's lives, but his doctor instinct rang its alarm the more he observed the glitch. He had caught Anti steadying himself after getting up too many times at this point. The way he would blink and grip whatever surface around him until his vision cleared up again only made Henrik worry more. Anti looked like he was about to pass out half of the time he was present.

And no, Henrik never saw Anti at breakfast. Sometimes the glitch came for a quick run of coffee, sure, but that hardly counted as a proper source of nutrition. He wasn't around for lunch during the week due to his job at the local clinic, but Henrik doubted that Anti would join Marvin and JJ.

All the signs and symptoms linked to that one thing, but Henrik was reluctant to trust his diagnosis.

He stayed silent for a while, feeling that it wasn't really his place to say or do anything. They all had their own way of living and coping. Perhaps Anti was just different from the rest of them. He always was.

Henrik was growing restless, though. Being created as a doctor meant that those things came naturally to him. Physical and mental sickness alike, they could never stay hidden under his eyes. He was the first to pick up on Chase's depression and addiction before anyone else did. And Henrik worried that Anti was going down a wrong path that'd lead him to a dark place. Maybe it was time he intervened.

----

Anti stared at the glass of water in his hand with an intensity that'd burn a hole through the wall. He was parched, but he didn't want to drink. Water made him feel bloated and uncomfortable because he always chucked it down too fast to push away the hunger. Aside from that, he had just a sneaking suspicion that water could boost his energy level. He couldn't have that, not when he did everything to avoid it.

When was the last time he had anything solid in his stomach? When was the last time he had anything in his stomach period? Now, more than six months into his "new" habit, all Anti ever knew was to starve. Starve until he couldn't move out of the bed. Starve until he blacked out each time he got up. Starve until the dizziness drowned his senses.

The problem, well, one of them, was that Anti developed a fear of feeling full while he enjoyed the emptiness.

Being full meant that Anti lost control again. Being full meant eating out the whole fridge at three in the morning, then hurling over the toilet until the sun was up. Being full meant that the dizziness would leave. It was ugly and disgusting and pathetic and desperate.

Would water make him full?

Anti licked his dry lips and wondered. Slowly, he took a sip, then another. The beast in his stomach woke up to the tiny stream of liquid dripping down his throat. He heard it growl, then quickly started choking down the whole cup. Anti distinctly felt the water travel down his esophagus and entered his stomach, the icy sensation both sharpened and dulled his hunger.

He was shaking again. Drinking water didn't give him energy, and Anti could feel his body complaining. Despite his brain screaming at him to eat something more filling, he felt content for now. He wanted to get up and do something to distract himself, but even getting out of bed sounded like too much effort right now. Perhaps he could just nap a little more and sleep the time away. Dinner was only hours away.

"Anti, may I come in?" A muffled voice came through his door along with a few knocks.

Of course, nothing ever went Anti's way.

The glitch sat up from his spot, the familiar sensation washed over him, head to toe. He heard himself saying "come in" as he waited for the black spots to go away. They swam in his vision like bugs, then faded slowly. Anti looked up, raising a brow when he saw Henrik standing in the doorway. Usually, he'd detect whoever was outside the door even before they knock, but Anti found it harder and harder to concentrate and focus on those things lately.

So seeing the doctor was a surprise for sure. Only Chase ever came to his room.

"What do you want, Schneep?" Anti asked, his tone harsh. He knew he sounded rude, but he was fucking tired and exhausted. It already took too much effort to stay awake; Anti really didn't want to talk or do anything. It'd be better if Henrik just left. Maybe Anti could apologize after he felt better later in the night.

Henrik didn't say anything in response, only stared at him in silence. There was a mix of emotions on his face, somewhere between concern and anxiety. It was a rare look on the doctor, as he always appeared to be calm and collected. He looked like he was searching for something on Anti's face. The glitch grew more and more fidgety under his piercing gaze, feeling uncomfortable and oddly exposed.

"Have you been eating?" Then Henrik asked bluntly, deciding that it was better than beating around the bush.

The question caught Anti off guard. He didn't expect anyone around the house to notice his disordered eating habit, especially not when they all appeared to be fine with him not finishing meals or skipping. None of them ever questioned or appeared to be concerned. Plus, there was nothing that needed to be concerned about.

Unsure how to react, Anti looked stunned. He quickly gathered his act, however, and scoffed in disguise to mask his panic. "Duh. How'd you think I live otherwise? Surviving in the fooking sunlight? I ain't a plant, Schneep." Anti rolled his eyes, averting his gaze.

Henrik didn't look convinced.

"Seriously. Have you been eating?"

Anti gritted his teeth. He didn't like where this conversation was going.

Chapter Text

"Seriously. Have you been eating?" Henrik asked with a stern look on his face.

Anti gritted his teeth, a scowl fixed on his face in defense. "Yes. Now get the fuck out of my room, Schneep. I'm tired." Which wasn't a complete lie. It was too exhausting for him to even stay angry these days. Fabricating lies for someone as observant as Henrik definitely took too much mental effort.

"Anti," Henrik insisted, frustration bubbling up in his chest, "I just vanted to check—"

"Fuck. Off." snarled the glitch, "I'm not one of your helpless patients. Wouldn't want to be treated by you anyway, murderer." It was common knowledge within the household that Schneep lost another one of his patients recently, the doctor wasn't exactly subtle about it. Especially not after his ex-wife's boyfriend came over to rub it in.

The reaction was immediate. Henrik physically flinched away, toward the door, a hurt expression on his face. Anti almost felt bad, but truth be told he was too fucking tired to even feel anything. He simply stared at the doctor with a blank expression, waiting for the other to leave or retaliate.

Distantly, Anti wondered if he just wanted to cause a reaction. His life was so numbed it pained him to exist most of the time.

But Henrik wasn't one for confrontation. He merely stared at the other ego with a dejected look, then left the room without another word. A faint sigh could be heard down the hallway as Anti's door clicked close again, leaving the glitch alone in his own space.

"...Shite. I'm sorry." Anti muttered, regret climbing up a second too late. The fuck was wrong with him? Henrik was probably just worried. Granted, he didn't like that the other was all up in his business, but he didn't need to be a jerk about it either.

Oh come on, who was Anti kidding? He was always a fucking jerk. He was the jerk. That was what got him into this mess in the first place, wasn't it?

He ended up staying in his room through dinner again.

He probably deserved to be starved, anyway. Especially after what he said to Henrik. At least, that was what Anti managed to convince himself as sunspots once again fluttered in his vision. They danced along in the sunlight, blocking his views of the room. Slowly but surely white overtook his vision, his mind brightened and brightened until it dissolved into nothing. Then finally, darkness.

He closed his eyes, allowing the abyss to swallow him whole.

Anti wanted to believe that he merely fell asleep instead of passing out.

————

He woke up hours later feeling cold. It was a strange feeling because demons had never felt cold before. Anti curled up as the chill air pricked at his skin. He slowly sat up from where he drifted off, which, of course, happened to be the floor again. The hard wooden floor pressed into his sides rather painfully, digging into his bones.

Anti drowsily looked over to the window and realized that it wasn't open. Still, he shivered. It was nighttime already, judging by the darkness outside of their house. Anti couldn't be sure how long he was out, but the house quieted down already. Marvin and JJ usually would be in their rooms after dinner, Chase could be out at the bar again. Jackie wouldn't be back from patrol until after midnight.

And Henrik. God just thinking about the poor doctor was enough to give Anti another headache. Henrik would probably be in his laboratory downstairs.

With all that being said, Anti was pretty sure that dinner was long overdue. His mind slowly wandered, recalling whatever food they had in the fridge, but he couldn't muster the energy or the courage to get up just yet. He wasn't hungry, not really. He just needed control.

Control was easy for Anti now that he was used to it.

————

Henrik slumped in his office chair, staring blankly ahead at the headboard over his desk. The messy notes scribbled across different papers, some appeared to be lists of patient names and others just random certificates lying around. He knew, deep down, that he wasn't a real doctor. No real doctor got their degree from a cereal box. But Henrik was created as one, so the need to help and to cure rooted deep within him.

He reached over to the desk to grab his last patient's profile. Peter was a good man, supporting his own family and all. A father of two and husband to a kind woman. It hurt Henrik deeply when he lost the young man on the operation table, knowing that his children were waiting for their father's return. Even now, when he closed his eyes, he could still hear the sharp beeping of the heart monitor turning into a consistent alarming sound of distress.

Henrik kept wondering what he could've done differently.

He tried very hard to move on. To accept and carry on forward with other patients. Peter passed away three months ago, and his other patients deserved all his attention. Though, once in a while, Henrik would see Peter lying in the bed instead of others, cut open and bleeding out.

His eyes traveled up to his children's photo on the stand, his ex-wife in the background. Henrik swallowed a lump in his throat, reminiscing of his broken-up family. It was all Henrik's fault, though. He'd never blame Alyssa for taking the kids away and leaving him when he was the one that kept messing up on his job.

Tears streamed down his face, and Henrik finally let himself go.

————

Jackie came back to the house to a strange, strange sight that he never expected to stumble upon. Night patrols usually left him hungry late at night, so Chase often prepared something small to store in the fridge for his return. The hero was on his usual routine to grab a sandwich before retiring for the day when he caught his nemesis in the kitchen.

It wouldn't be a strange sight if that was the only thing. Jackie stood there as he saw Anti basically swallowing a whole plate of spaghetti in one go, the ego so quick to devour everything it made Jackie wonder if Anti was hungry or if there was something else going on. The cold, fluorescent light from inside the fridge reflected on Anti's pale skin, making the glitch appear even sicker than usual.

Jackie ended up staying hidden around the corner to observe the bizarre scene. Part of him felt the need to interrupt whatever was going on, if not out of concern then definitely out of curiosity. But the wild look in Anti's eyes almost frightened the hero, reminding him of who the glitch used to be. He stood there silently as Anti continued to empty out the fridge at a surprisingly fast speed.

It was when Anti moved onto a jar of peanut butter when Jackie started frowning. Eating a loaf of bread plain might just be boring, but scooping peanut butter straight out of the jar into his mouth had to be somewhat unhealthy. Plus, the glitch had already had way too much food, even in a demon's standard.

"Anti?" So Jackie entered into the light and called, feeling a bit concerned for the other ego.

The glitch froze up when his name was called. Then quickly he turned around, a startled look on his face that resembled a deer in headlight. The best way to describe Anti was a panicked child caught red-handed in some silly prank they planned to pull. He looked like he wanted to glitch away the moment Jackie found him. The hero wondered why he hadn't done so—nothing had stopped him before.

"You, uh," Jackie scratched the back of his head. Now that they were face to face, it appeared to him that he didn't have a plan or a question in mind for the glitch. Feeling a bit awkward, Jackie waved his hand around to point vaguely at the mess of their kitchen. Food wrappers piling on the table. Dirty dishes in the sink. Bottles and bottles of soda emptied out.

Anti looked ashamed. Ashamed. Jackie didn't even know the glitch was capable of such emotion.

What was there to be ashamed about, anyway?

He wanted to ask, but Anti quickly left the room before he gathered his thoughts together. Jackie let out a sigh as he moved to clean the counter up, wondering in silence just what the absolute hell all that was about.

Chapter Text

Anti gripped the lid of the toilet. He kneeled next to the toilet bowl, the bathroom tiles digging into his knees. Their sharp, rough edges scratched his skin raw open, it stung and itched. That was the least uncomfortable thing at the moment. The finger down his throat pressed hard again, and his stomach retched in response. Numbness washed over his brain as more food poured out of his mouth in the form of a disgusting liquid pile of goo. Anti stared at the reeking vomit with his bloodshot eyes. Anxiety twisted his inside and tied it into knots, it made him feel sick.

He had been sitting beside the toilet for probably almost an hour, stuck in a panicked mindset since the small encounter with Jackie. Anti didn't mean to eat. He didn't want to eat, but he was just. So. Fucking. Hungry. His stomach was eating itself by the time he finally managed to get up. Then Jackie came in and caught him at his worst moment when he lost all sense of control.

Never mind what happened before. All Anti wanted to do was to fix up his mistakes. He purged, again and again, each time with more food coming back up. Along with all the wasted energy, the shame crawled out of his stomach, too. Anit's throat was burning by the time he finished, even swallowing spit felt like fire traveling down. The inside of his mouth tasted like rotten blood, probably a result of the acid destroying his palate.

Purging wasn't a pleasant thing to do. Anti always felt like his stomach was going to flip itself inside out whenever he forced himself to throw up, but at times like these, he felt that he had to. It was a necessity for him to gain back control. None of these would've happened if he didn't fall off track and binge.

He would've opted for extra hours on the treadmill, but the sheer thought of seeing Jackie after the night was enough to make him want to tear himself to pieces. No doubt the hero would laugh at his pathetic attempt to make up for the slipup.

Anti rested his head against the wall, waiting for the pain to leave. It felt like needles pricking at his stomach lining as if he had nothing but metal nails for the night. Anti knew he emptied out everything, but still, he felt like there were stones weighing him down from the inside. Just thinking about the shocked expression on Jackie's face was enough to make Anti want to throw up again. He tried to get himself sick a few more times, but nothing aside from painful coughs came out. He choked and panted, hugging the toilet bowl to steady himself.

Since when did blackouts become a regular occurrence for him?

Anti wondered as he took the finger out of his mouth, his jaw sore from staying in the same position too long. He leaned against the tiled wall, letting the coldness shock some sense into him. Numbness washed over as Anti closed his eyes to regain his breaths. It was in moments like this when Anti felt that he was truly left alone, devoid of all his troubles. The generous calmness showered him from top to bottom and took away any leftover anxiety, only leaving a gentle hum that resembled his long-gone glitchy static.

Finally, Anti gathered up enough energy to get up. The dizziness hit him full force the moment he stood up straight, his heart struggling to pump his blood upward. Anti winced as a sharp ring overtook his hearing and swayed from side to side in an attempt to shake it away. The sound of toilet flushing penetrated his temporary tinnitus. The glitch sighed in contentment, watching the stuff drowning down to the pipe with a swirl. His vomit cleared out and water flowed in, and Anti felt that he was cleansed, too.

As Anti lay in bed, he promised himself that tomorrow was going to be a better day. He'd start fresh.

————

If starving and isolating himself for days counted as starting fresh, then Anti was the champion of the week. Somehow he managed to dodge all questions from the hero and avoid every room Henrik appeared in. Working out in his room wasn't ideal, but crunches would have to be done for now until Jackie laid off on his inquiries. The hero's patrols were shorter lately, so Anti wasn't willing to risk being confronted in their tiny gym.

Avoiding Henrik was easy, though. The doctor was out for most of the days until dinner for his work, and at nights he was usually either in his bedroom or in the lab, both places Anti never really explored. It wasn't that he didn't want to apologize to the doctor, but every time he thought about it he ended up chickening out. The few times he managed to sneak a look or two from Henrik, the doctor always seemed to be in a saddened state. Anti must've really hurt him the other day.

The irony of this whole situation wasn't lost on Anti. He started on this journey of fucking his body up because he wanted to interact with his brothers, but now he consistently avoided some of them and rarely joined the group activities. Nights after nights he lay awake in his bed wincing at his stomach pain, wondering if it was all worth it.

Anti knew it'd be worth it in the end, he just needed time to get there.

What waited at the end, though?

————

When Chase called them out, a dine-out lunch wasn't what Anti expected.

"We what now?" Anti stopped midair and interjected, sounding too nervous. The others were out of the house already, leaving him and Chase at the front step. He was moving to get his jacket when his slowed-down brain finally caught up with the father's words. They weren't just going out for a walk or to the shop. For fuck's sake, they never went shopping together. But since when was this planned? Why wasn't he aware of it?

Chase glanced over weirdly. "Huh? We're gonna go out for lunch. Stacy invited us, remember?" He replied, a bit dumbfounded at the sudden outburst. Stacy opened up a new restaurant downtown, and she invited all of them for lunch before its official opening at night. They had been planning this outing for about a week with the father breathing down their necks about gifts and manners, so there really wasn't anything to be surprised about. Ever since Chase began therapy, his relationship with his ex-wife rekindled. This was the first "big" event ever since they started dating again, and Chase really preferred that his brothers—brother, singular, specifically Anti—didn't mess this up.

The glitch stared blankly before the realization dawned on him. "Shite, I forgot," Anti muttered under his breath, "Sorry."

"That's alright," said Chase, even when he looked concerned and nervous, "you ready to go, though?"

"Yeah, yeah," Anti stretched a tiny strained smile, "Just, sorry, forgot to get anything for her."

Chase only huffed out a laugh, looking visibly relaxed now. "Don't worry 'bout that, Anti. Come on, others are waiting." He waited at the door as Anti got ready. It was late autumn, but the weather was rather nice, still. The father raised a brow at his brother putting up layers but didn't say anything. Demons didn't really feel any change in temperature; perhaps Anti was up for some disastrous fashion change. Wrapping a scarf around an oversized hoodie on top of a baggy jacket really wasn't a good look.

Anti tried to take as long as possible to put on clothes and shoes, still trying to wrap his mind about this. The truth was that he forgot about the lunch altogether. His brothers must've been talking about it over gatherings after dinner for the past few days, but, of course, Anti wouldn't know since he was usually on his own. Every time they were together, he was either busy distracting himself from the food or distracting others from noticing his action. Most of the talks on the dinner table were just a bunch of random bullshit, but apparently not for this week. Anti cursed internally at his stupidity.

For fuck's sake, he just binged two nights ago and was now in the middle of fasting. Dining out wasn't an option for him.

Anti's mind reeled, trying to come up with some excuses to get him out of the situation. Perhaps he could pull the sick card, or just say that he worried Stacy would be uncomfortable with him. Chase was known to be too soft, and Anti was willing to bet that just a puppy eye would make the father give in. But when he looked back up to Chase, all the words died in his throat. His brother looked so nervous yet hopeful.

Anti had ruined so many things in the father's life, both intentionally and unintentionally. The least he could do now was to be there for Chase when he needed some support.

"Alright, let's go." So Anti gave up his plan and walked out of the door with Chase. He'd just make up for the extra energy by exercising a bit more tonight. It was more important to hang out with his family, anyway.

Chapter Text

It was evident to any pair of eyes that Stacy was wary of Anti. As a classy English lady, she tried her best to be a welcoming host to everyone, but even the most oblivious of the group noticed how her hand shook a little when she approached the glitch. Chase took sympathy on both of them and made up for the majority of their little meet-up chit-chat as they filed into the little booth. Anti fell to the back of the group after greeting Stacy, feeling the stares crawling up his back again. Ever since he lost his ability, no one really criticized him for his potential fuck-ups anymore. They probably all assumed that he figured everything out. He did. He had it all under control.

He glanced at the host from the corner of his eyes and swallowed a sigh. Anti understood why Stacy wasn't comfortable with him. God, he would be terrified to be in the same room with the guy that kidnapped his children, too. Still, he'd be lying if he said it didn't sting. Now that Anti was accepted into the group, for the most part, he really got to see just how much damage he did to the others.

At least with the awkwardness that was spreading across the table, all his brothers got the hint to leave him alone. Anti looked through the menu to avoid conversations, keenly aware of how tense the atmosphere was even as he sat furthest away from Stacy. Anxiety had him overfull already with literal stones in his stomach. Anti really would prefer a can of diet coke over any main platters offered.

Chase looked ecstatic, though. The father was all lovey-dovey the moment he sat down next to Stacy, the two so apparently in love and sickeningly cute with each other. Why they would even divorce each other was beyond Anti. He was genuinely happy to see the two getting back together.

Much to Anti's dismay, the waiter arrived at the booth. The others looked like they already knew what they would order, causing the glitch to quickly read through the sheet again. Grilled cheese wasn't healthy; fish fillet had too much protein; the chowder probably contained heavy cream inside... Everything on the menu had too many calories for his safe limit. Anti cursed internally, noticing the waiter slowly moving his way down with the orders.

Jackie decided on steak with mashed potatoes as usual. The hero usually preferred something that was protein-packed, since his job required a large amount of working out. Chase went for the house's special burger, probably to show some support for his girlfriend. Both JJ and Henrik ordered a chicken sandwich with a side of soup. Anti paid attention when the doctor asked about the dish, frowning when he heard the soup of the day was corn chowder. Definitely not ideal.

He was running out of time to decide on something. Anti jumped through a few salad options as the waiter took Marvin's order. The magician seemed to be hesitant on the menu, too, asking details about things here and there. Marvin wasn't known to be a picky eater, but he did shy away from dining out a lot. Anti wondered why. Eventually, the warlock decided on a small Greek salad with dressing on the side.

"Is that all you're gonna have, dear?" Asked Stacy before the waiter moved to Anti, "That's barely enough for a kid. Perhaps we can have the chef cook up something else?" The woman gestured over, waving at the back kitchen.

"Oh, no worries, Stacy!" Marvin quickly interjected, "I'm good with this for now. Chase insisted on cooking us a large breakfast today, and I'm still pretty much full. Would love to save some stomach for dessert later." The magician smiled warmly and explained. He didn't want Stacy to feel like there wasn't anything on the menu that catered to him. Marvin told the father that a lighter breakfast would probably work better, but Chase always had the habit to overwork himself when he was anxious.

Stacy nodded in understanding and gave the chuckling father a playful glare. "Had me worried there, Marv. Chase told me that you usually eat a lot more to stabilize your magic." She assured the warlock, "we have bread puddings as one of the desserts, too. With homemade peach jam and cream. If you're feeling up for it after the meal, we can arrange that." Marvin's eyes sparkled in response to that. He was one of the rare egos within the house that was known to have a sweet tooth.

"Sounds grand!"

As Anti listened to their short exchange, he tried hard to shake away the sour feeling. Stacy genuinely cared for Marvin, it was apparent in the way she showed her concerns. Hell, Anti was worried for his brother too when he only ordered a small salad. He knew of hunger more than anyone else on the table, and the suggestion that Marvin could be restricting himself was enough to raise his concern.

It'd be lying if Anti said he wasn't jealous, though. He had to starve himself to keep in check with his power, to stay in control. The constant deprivation of nutrition put him in a permanently numbed-out mood. And here Marvin was, in all his warlock glory, struggling to meet his daily intake of nutrition because he could just so carelessly eat "not enough" due to a small appetite. Did he not feel hungry? Or was he not really bothered by it?

Anti felt wrong to think like that, but he wished that he could be like Marvin.

"Anti?" Chase's voice broke his trans. He quickly looked up from the menu, noticing the others staring at him. "What're you gonna get? Maybe Leon can recommend a few options for you if it's hard to decide."

"It's fine," Anti rejected. Main dishes definitely weren't an option. "I'll have a small Greek salad as well. No feta cheese or tomatoes, please... Oh, and no onions or green pepper. And dressings on the side as well."

"...I'll put that in right now," Said the waiter with a weird look, "Would you prefer a house salad instead, sir? It mainly mixed greens with our home-cooked salad dressing."

"I'm fine with the greek salad," Anti insisted, handing back his menu. At least he knew how many calories were in dijon mustard and red wine vinegar. As long as he kept his lunch light with leaves, he should still be on track.

That was what Anti tried to convince himself. He knew he already broke his fast.

Across the table, Henrik looked like he wanted to say something but kept silent instead. The waiter left the booth with all their orders, then quickly conversations began to flow. Marvin was being his dramatic ass like he always was, poking into Chase's love life with Stacy. The couple didn't seem bothered, though. If anything, the father looked like he was more than willing to share their progress. JJ was listening in, a gentle smile fixed on his face. The silent ego was always rooting for the pair, so it wasn't a surprise to see him being so happy for them.

So Henrik ended up busying himself talking to Jackie. The hero's health check was long overdue anyway. As the residential doctor in the house, he was very adamant about everyone's health. And being a hero wasn't necessarily a great job in terms of physical and mental health. Every time Henrik noticed Jackie's hands shaking he worried it was some early sign for developing PTSD.

Jackie never really talked about his patrols, but everyone knew he had lost people during rescue missions. It was inevitable—even heroes couldn't guarantee success. And Henrik knew what it was like to lose someone he tried to save. His dead patients appear in front of his eyes every night he went to bed.

Henrik trusted that Jackie would come to see him if anything went downhill. He had stumbled upon the hero sulking in the gym a few times, but overall he seemed to be doing alright. To say that they were a dysfunctional bunch would be an understatement.

Which led Henrik back to thinking about Anti. He admitted that he avoided the glitch for a bit after their exchange in Anti's room. He didn't blame his brother, though. Anti was never known to be very well-versed with emotions nor words. Talking about a potential problem so bluntly probably made him feel cornered. This was more of Henrik's oversight. Plus, Anti wasn't exactly wrong either. He had lost way too many patients due to malpractices.

Henrik shook away that thought as he glanced over to the glitch. He noticed how anxious Anti was getting. Others probably mistook it for meeting Stacy, but he knew there was more than that. Henrik could confidently say that this was more about the meal itself than anything else. It took Anti longer to order his meal than all of them combined. If that didn't indicate food struggle, Henrik wouldn't know what else could.

The bottom line was that Henrik was still a doctor and Anti's brother. Hurt or not, his concern for the glitch would never change, and that was enough reason for Henrik to try to talk to him again.

Though, he carried a heavy feeling in his heart that Anti wouldn't be willing to accept that help.

Chapter Text

Cheesecake, pizza, Chinese takeout, frozen tater tots.

Eyes bloodshot, throat burning, left hand slick with saliva.

Frozen tater tots, Chinese takeout, pizza, Cheesecake.

Hunched over, knuckles white, knees scraped.

Coughing, panting, crying.

Purging, purging, puking.

Anti stood up, light blew up in front of his eyes. The cold fluorescent bathroom lamp casted a beam with silent judgment weighing him down. He swayed. Blinked. Stumbled forward. Then he fell back, distantly feeling his mind giving up on his body. The white light overtook his vision, perfect mimicry of heaven, somewhere he would never end up at. It wrapped its wings around his arms and embraced him with an unconscious bliss. The angels sang, it ringed in his ears.

His eyes rolled back.

"...ti...! ...oh my... Hen... Help!"

————

Anti woke up feeling like he was floating in the air, distant from his body. It was like when he glitched through different devices and became formless. Sluggishly, he opened his eyes and squinted at the light, then registered that he was in a different room. The glitch turned his head and realized a second later that he was downstairs at Henrik's lab.

The said doctor looked so relieved when he noticed Anti waking up. "Anti," He addressed the glitch and went over to grab his notes, "You had us worried. Chase and Jamie found you passed out in the bathroom and took you downstairs."

Anti looked over to see the other two standing by the tail of the bed, a matching worried look in their eyes. His mind reeled, trying to catch up on—fuck.

"You threw up." This time it was Chase who spoke, his tone too vague but definitely nothing close to positive. There was a certain glint in his eyes, something that Anti couldn't quite put his fingers on. "This isn't the first time, is it, Anti?" He sounded so certain, too, as if he was there to witness the whole thing.

[Are you okay, A-N-T-I?] Signed JJ, [H-E-N-R-I-K said you also weren't eating.]

Anti sat up, back pressed into the soft pillow. He felt cornered as if they were accusing him of doing something wrong. "I'm fine. Just a stomach bug." He said in defense, sounding way too weak to be anywhere convincing, "Let me go."

"Anti," Henrik insisted, a frown growing between his brows, "I knew zhere is somezhing wrong. Talk to us, pleaze. You don't eat anymore, and now we find you out cold with vomit in the toilet—"

"Fucking leave me alone!" Anti huffed out, whether out of anger or panic he couldn't tell apart, "It wasn't anything, alright? I have everything under control! Stay out of my fooking business—"

"Bullshit," Chase yelled back. He looked angry. He sounded absolutely infuriated. Why was he angry, anyway? "You have everything but control! This is sick! Talk to us or we can't help!"

Deep down, Anti could feel that Chase also sounded scared, as if he had seen something like this before. As if he was afraid of losing Anti.

How ridiculous was that? They'd never care about him.

"I don't want your help!" Anti screamed back, also growing frustrated. He was finally seeing some progress, for fuck's sake! He wasn't sick, and he didn't need any help. They always wanted this, too, didn't they? They all wanted his glitch power to be gone! Anti moved to stand up but instead was pushed back by the doctor.

"You can't leave now, Anti," Henrik said sternly, "Not until you talk to us."

"I'd like to see you try and stop me, then," Anti scowled. He knew he was pushing himself and his luck, but he felt like being choked in the room. The air was too dense; their words were dripping venom to his heart. The concern in their eyes burned a hole through him.

In a flash of green light, Anti glitched away and fled the room.

The pixels spit him out at some random alley in the back of a bakery. Anti bit his lips to prevent whimpering escaping his mouth as he suffered through the aftermath of forced teleportation. Every cell of his body reconstructed with shocks sending waves down his nerves. This was the first time in almost a year he used his glitch, and they were not happy with him. Nausea roared in his stomach and chest, causing him grief. Anti leaned against the brick wall, a hand covering his mouth. Saliva dripped without his control, preparing for the vomit that wasn't going to come. He dry heaved a few times, then finally stopped when the leftover white static left his senses.

Anti closed his eyes and released the tension in his limbs. What happened back at the house looped in his head.

The ego sighed and pulled his hood up and over his eyes. He knew they meant well, but really, he wasn't prepared. The wind blew through the alley, and Anti felt that it traveled through his skin and bones. He shook and hunched over, moving out the crowded backstreet to where the sun still shined. It was late afternoon, judging from the pink sky on the west. The cloud bled with redness as the blazing ball of flame descended. Anti wandered aimlessly, trapped in his own mind.

He just needed some time alone, then he'd go back home. And it'd be all fine again. He'd apologize for lashing out, and explain to them that he just had a bad day. They didn't need to worry about him.

He had it all under control.

————

Anti must've been walking for a long time because when his mind caught up with him again, he found himself standing in front of Stacy's restaurant. He didn't know what time it was, but judging from the closed shops and empty street, it was probably pretty late. He shook when the chilly night breeze blew through him down the street. Around his slim figure, the dim streetlight cast a depressing shade of orange on the brick sidewalk, the ugly red a perfect reflection of the mess of his emotions.

"Fancy seeing you out here," A voice startled him. Anti looked up and realized it was Stacy. He shifted his weight, a bit awkward to see the woman standing by the entrance. Their last encounter wasn't necessarily pleasant for either of them. She stared at him with a disinterested look on her face, maybe a hint of criticism in her eyes. Anti stared back, a bit uncomfortable with the sudden encounter. He knew he wasn't welcomed here.

But then Stacy invited him when Anti was about to turn around and take his leave. "Come on in."

Anti stared at the women in surprise.

Stacy shrugged, "You're shivering. Come on, I'll have Leon fix you a drink." She turned on her heels and went back to the restaurant, flipping the open sign to close. The ego hesitated, standing under the streetlight as if he was trapped inside the orange beam. Half of him believed that the woman was just luring him into a trap, but Anti realized that he didn't care if he died today.

The world was going insane for sure.

The glitch shook his head as he followed Stacy. It was getting cold and windy outside; no use in strolling around on the empty street. He looked around once he was inside and saw Stacy sitting by the bar on one of the red stools. She nodded at the seat next to him just as Leon pushed a glass over the bar table. Anti shuffled over, deciding to keep his jacket on.

He looked down at the glass. Inside was a bubbly brown liquid with ice cubes, the sweet, pungent smell told him it was something related to Coke. A can of it was a whopping 39 grams of pure fucking sugar, 140 calories. With alcohol, too. The glass looked like... what? Around 650ml? Anti would bet this had at least 300 calories just within this one drink.

"Leon made it with diet coke and only a shot of vodka. 97 calories. Round it up to 100—hell, 150 if you're too worried." Intruded Stacy, "Drink it, it'll warm you up." It again surprised Anti because—how did she know that he was calculating all that?

As if reading his thoughts again, Stacy side-eyed him with a bitter smirk. "I saw what you did the other day." And when Anti gave her a questioning look, she only rolled her eyes. "Spitting the food out down your sleeve? Anti, that shit's centuries old."

"How—?" The glitch asked in astonishment. No one ever noticed him doing that, not even the other Septics.

"Takes one to know one, I guess." Stacy chuckled, her laugh too dark to pass as a delightful one. "That, and also Chase called me earlier."

"... About what? Me?" Asked Anti as he gingerly took a sip from the glass.

Stacy stared at him with a blank look, sarcasm blooming on her face. "No, about why he couldn't find his red cap that was on his head all along." Anti looked away, feeling too exposed in front of the woman.

Stacy sighed, "yes, about you. He was worried. Said he's sorry."

Anti blinked, feeling dumbfounded. "W-what? No, no I'm the one that should say sorry," he stumbled on his words, "I ran away."

"I'd ran away too if he said that to me," Stacy shrugged, "Hell, I'd rip him a new one if I were there. He should know better...Not the first time he's dealt with things like this anyway."

Anti didn't know what to respond. Anxiety was eating him alive. The ego always thought that he was the only one that was doing all these. Well, he knew there were people out there struggling with whatever eating disorders they had, but he thought that he was different.

Leon handed a glass of wine over to Stacy, then left the bar wordlessly. He left the bottle of wine by the table, too. Brilliant man, no wonder Stacy hired him to be around. "Cheers," Stacy said as she clicked her glass with him, then downed the whole drink. Anti found himself chuckling a little, then took a gulp of his own as well.

"No wonder Chase likes you." He snorted after a burp escaped his throat.

They sat in silence after that. Maybe for a few minutes. Maybe an hour. Anti couldn't really tell the time. By the time he was halfway done with his drink, he was already feeling buzzed. Despite popular belief, Anti was lightweight. That, and he had close to nothing in his stomach prior to tonight.

"What do you mean?" Finally, he asked.

If Anti was any less drunk, he'd just walk out of the restaurant and never speak to her again. Perhaps it was the right time, the right amount of vodka, the right mood, and the right person. Or maybe Anti was just too fucking alone in his misery and needed to talk.

"Hm?"

Anti clarified, "That it takes one to know one?"

Stacy blinked. "Don't act like a fool now, Anti," She scoffed, though there was no real bite in her tone, "I mean I was like that, too. One of the 'wannarexics' y'know." Her speech was also slightly slurred at this point, the bottle half-emptied. The bar light on top of her made her look unusually ominous at the moment, but somehow Anti saw the vulnerability despite the sour scowl on her face.

"What happened?" He was almost hesitant to ask.

The British woman stared at the glass, swirling the crimson liquid inside. Something foreboding glistened in her eyes, Anti felt like he could see her past playing like a movie in her head. The silence stretched and stretched, he almost expected her to leave instead of answering. Maybe he stepped over the line. He definitely overextended his welcome.

But then Stacy started talking again, after a long, deep sigh. "My mom died in a car crash when I was 17. She was in the ICU for two days before her body gave out. My dad, my brother Max, and I were all there when she passed away." She explained with a blank expression, "The morning before her funeral I walked into the kitchen, then walked out of there with an empty stomach. Mom used to cook for all of us. She made the best Shepherd's pie. When I was inside the kitchen, all I could see were traces of her. By the stove. Around the island. Next to the fridge."

"...I'm sorry." Yet another thing Anti never expected himself to say to the woman.

She waved her hand, seemingly not too bothered by retelling her past. "I couldn't eat after that. Even months later when we moved to Brighton, I still couldn't walk into the kitchen or the dining room without seeing her. I stopped having breakfast or dinner at home, skipping the meals with shitty excuses here and there. Dad and Max thought I just wanted more time to be around my new friends."

She snorted, her voice a bit watery. "I knew no one at my new school. There weren't any friends. I didn't even go to the cafeteria for lunch. I'd hide in the bathroom with my backpack gulping down water because I was still hungry. I still felt hungry back then."

Anti listened, something in him ached as Stacy went on. Her story was alien but so similar to his own, somehow.

"I started dropping weight like mad," a ghosty smile flashed across her face, "it was the only thing going on in my life at the time. Losing weight, counting calories, burning fat. It felt good, too. At least at first. Everyone around me was complaining about being unable to drop the numbers but I was slipping. It was like-"

"A fucking power trip." Anti finished the sentence, earning a short laugh from both of them. Like that, the tension between them lessened and reduced, then dissolved into a new understanding. The ice melted into water, then the stream hugged them close. The stream called eating disorder. They weren't so different, were they?

"Yeah," Stacy sighed. She sounded nostalgic, almost, as she recounted her life. "It made me feel like I'm worthy of something when absolutely fucking nothing, no one was there. Anorexia was the only thing. It's like how we used to say, 'Ana' is your toxic best friend."

Anti shared the sentiment on a bone-aching level. He looked at the woman, seeing Stacy reminiscing about her younger self, and he could almost make out the grieving, broken teenage girl that she was. She looked so alone at the moment.

It hit him that he felt the same, too. He felt alone in a way that no one other than Stacy could understand. Eating disorder was the only thing that stayed when everyone left, the only thing that kept them sane but also sick.

He didn't realize that he was crying until Stacy pushed the tissue over. Anti stared at his empty glass through the tears, and finally, he admitted it to himself.

He was sick. He had an eating disorder.

The revelation was awful. There weren't any other words to describe how Anti felt. It was like dozens of serpents writhing inside his stomach, spilling venoms of foulness.

"I'm sorry you're going through this, Anti," Stacy whispered, her voice so distant yet so genuine. It pulled at his heartstring. "Trust me, I know it hurts."

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He was drowning in his oblivion for so long that he almost managed to bury the truth down completely. Stacy was right, it fucking hurt. Not just his stomach.

She tilted his head toward her and wiped away the tears trailing down his cheek, a gentleness that resembled what a mother reserved for her child held in her hand. "Talk to someone, anyone. Even if you aren't ready to recover. It's alone and I know it is. I was like you, too."

"But, Anti, there's always help," muttered Stacy, her smile tinted with grief but also painted in so much love, "And you deserve every ounce of it."

Anti shattered in her hand like knocked-over glass.

Chapter Text

Anti wasn't expecting to see the whole house awake and waiting for him when he returned to the house after midnight. Stacy was generous enough to allow him to stay until they finished the drink but soon kicked him out with a pack of rice cake tucked in his pocket. Anti pushed the door open and saw the others sitting in the living room, tension loomed over their shoulders. He half-considered backing out when they looked over. Chase was the first to stand up and approach him with a frown.

"You can't just walk out on us like that, Anti," The father sighed, the slightest hint of alcohol breathed out as he got close enough. "Look, I'm sorry I said what I said back there...not cool. But we were worried sick...you literally passed out earlier! Jackie couldn't find you anywhere around the city, we nearly called the police!" He looked worried. He was worried.

Anti felt a headache developing in the back of his head, and definitely not from the drink he had earlier. Logically, he knew they were just concerned about him, and they had every right to be. Still, it didn't make things easier. If anything, he only felt things in his stomach threatening to crawl back up again. The throbbing, aching sensation felt too real to be a phantom. Anti bit on his tongue to swallow a retort, but the look on his face showed that he was less than willing to talk. Hunched over and hands shoved deep into his pockets, the glitch stared at his brothers dismissively.

Anti wasn't some circus freak trapped in a zoo. He was sick, sure, but they needn't gawk with eyes of terror as if he was too far gone to be rescued.

His silence irritated others. Chase clearly grew frustrated, judging from the raise of volume. "Well, aren't you going to explain anything? You weren't eating, then you threw up. And look at yourself, you're so...thin! Anti, I-"

Anti stared back blankly. He felt as if he couldn't understand what Chase was saying. The words morphed into a foreign language, alien to his ears. He was floating again, away from his cumbersome body and this mess he made.

The father said something else, his voice completely muffled and dulled.

Then Henrik interrupted, "Chase, drop it." He watched the glitch as he approached Chase, gently squeezing the father's shoulder. Anti's state of being worried him, he looked too detached and dazed. "I'm sure Anti is tired as it is. Ve vill talk tomorrow." Chase looked like he wanted to argue, but Anti was left the room before he could spill out another word.

The demon ego's consciousness clicked back as he climbed upstairs, reality chaining him down once more. With shaky hands, he turned the doorknob and open the door. The old, depressing furniture greeted him in silent mockery. Anti locked himself in the room, then sank to the floor. He buried his head in his knees and took a deep breath. The smell of diet coke with whiskey lingered in the air as he inhaled; it almost calmed him down. The pack of rice cake turned flaming hot in his pocket as if it was a bar of melting iron, just screaming for his attention.

He was turning mad, wasn't he?

Anti found himself eating the whole pack to chase the numbness. But was he chasing the numbness, or was it to chase it away? He chewed on the food, flavors all vanished as he swallowed again and again mechanically. His mind slowed down to a comforting rhythm, finally, and all the whispering thoughts showed enough mercy to leave him be.

Stacy's last few words wormed their way to the front of his mind when Anti stared at the empty plastic package.

There's always help, and you deserve every ounce of it.

He wondered how much empathy it took for the woman to say something like this to the man who almost destroyed her life.

————

Downstairs, the group sat in silence, all immersed in their own thoughts. Chase had gone back to the kitchen, no doubt to grab another bottle of beer if not a glass of hard liquor. Henrik had half of a mind to stop him, but he was riddled in his own plight.

The doctor stared at their roof, seeing the floor lamp painting it a soft shade of orange with its artificial light. The color reminded him of the faded ginger hair Alyssa had. It used to be his favorite color before they divorced, and truth be told, it was probably still his favorite color. Henrik remembered how her hair used to fall in the way of her face when she laughed. She had the brightest laughter in the world, the kind that would bring joy to the saddest man on earth.

It disheartened Henrik to remember how few of those Alyssa had by the end of their marriage. He was causing nothing but grief to her and the kids. While Henrik knew that divorce was the best thing he could do for them, he still agonized over the decision during every waking moment. His last conversation with Alyssa before they signed the papers would haunt him for the rest of his life, but Henrik willingly surrendered to it.

Jackie left the house without another word shortly after the clock hit one, mumbling something about the patrol. Chase felt a sour bitterness scratching at his throat when he saw the hero leave. Of course, it was so important to save the world, the ego couldn't spend even a night with his family, not even when one of his brothers was in trouble. His eyes traveled with the shadow of red until they disappeared behind the doors. Chase scoffed, taking a gulp from his glass. The whiskey burned its way down to his stomach, then shot up to his brain. Siren whispered in his eyes as he emptied the glass. They were luring him into a trap built with fake promises and fabricated reality.

He shouldn't get drunk. He was sober for months.

Chase tossed the beer can into the trash behind him without looking and pulled open the fridge. Something broke inside of him as he cracked open another beer. Serpents hissed in delight, bubbles flowed into his vein.

Back in the living room, Marvin stood up abruptly. JJ looked up in question, wondering if the warlock had thought of anything to do. "I'm going to bed," Marvin announced instead, "Would you like a sleepover, Jamie? I feel that we can both use some comfort." He adjusted his cloak while looking at the silent ego. His hands were shaking, it almost went unnoticed in JJ's eyes. A wild storm of emotions was brewing behind the warlock's mask, something dark and secretive.

It suddenly struck Jamie that none of them really knew about Marvin's past.

"Jamie?" The warlock's voice sounded strained as if he was worried or nervous. Snapped back to reality, JJ nodded and stood up as well. He glanced over to Henrik, seeing the doctor unresponsive to their interaction.

They all just needed a bit of time, perhaps. [Let's go.] Jamie signed with that thought in mind and linked his arm with Marvin. The warlock smiled in relief and gave a look of appreciation.

"Well, good night, Hen. I hope you may rest soon. The morning awaits." Marvin said for the two of them, then guided Jamie out of the room. His cloak flowed behind him like an ominous, violet cloud hiding pockets of secrets.

Jamie turned off the lights before they went upstairs. Whispers echoed in the hallway, then with a click of the wooden door the house returned to silence. It was so loud it almost deafened Henrik.

The tears slid away, darkness became his only audience.

————

Jackie sat by the edge of the skyscraper, his eyes roaming around the city. He always thought that Brighton was the most beautiful at night when it was at its quietest with the lights sparkling. Nothing really went on during nights in the city, his night patrols usually served more purpose for himself than for the people. A strong gust of wind blew across, it wept faintly in his ears. Jackie stared into space as his mind wandered.

There were many things he wasn't thinking about. Like the group of drug dealers that he still couldn't find. Or the three high schoolers he didn't rescue in time when the shooter went on a rampage on their campus. Or when he saw Anti wolfing down the whole fridge one night after his patrol. His mind was a busy train of thoughts but also a pool of emptiness, a paradoxical object that constantly screamed inside his skull.

The wind froze him up in complete disregard of his superhuman body. The icy blades sliced his skin open, thousands of invisible cuts bloomed on his body. Jackie took off his mask and pushed it into the depth of his hidden pocket. His suit felt so constricting, cutting off his airway. His breath picked up, Jackie opened his mouth wide to take in more air. He was falling to the ground, he was dying. The world came crashing down on top of him, thunder rumbled along to the rhythm of his heartbeats.

Someone touched his shoulder. He was still sitting by the edge.

It wasn't thunder. He was panting.

Someone touched his shoulder, Jackie didn't look back. He kept staring at the edge of the city, where the horizon divided the world into two. The top half lightened until the first ray of tender yellow sunlight started chasing away the oceanic blue. The veil of the night lifted, stars on the ground ceased their lives. The city woke up again, as it always did, with or without him.

He stood up and turned around, no one was there.

Chapter Text

Anti woke up with his stomach aching again, the sensation all too familiar for him. Last night's interaction hadn't caught up to him completely. He yawned as he stood up, stumbling into the bathroom while he grappled with his "morning dizziness." He pressed his forehead into the cold tile wall, the familiar welcomed sensation made him feel at least semi-awake.

He stood in front of the mirror as he got ready for the day. At times, Anti felt that it was unnecessary. He wasn't needed nor welcomed anywhere or by anyone, so why bother getting up? The glitch drifted in thoughts as he finished brushing his teeth. The sharp mint toothpaste irritated his taste bud, the taste of iron laced his tongue as he spitted out the foam.

Doors kept shutting and opening downstairs, probably just his brothers rushing out to catch their buses to work. Only then did Anti recall what happened last night. The dread finally settled in, turning up knots in his stomach.

Right. He was being questioned because others were concerned about him. Their upset expressions and angry words rushed back to his brain alongside the guilt. The moment of vulnerability Anti shared with Stacy last night crawled back inside the thick wall of lies again.

He briefly debated on going downstairs for a quick coffee run but decided that it wasn't worth the risk of being cornered and questioned again.

But, of course, nothing ever went his way. Just as Anti settled in front of his desk, someone knocked urgently on his door. He had half of a heart to tell them off, but only to turn around and saw JJ standing in the hallway, his door wide open.

"If you're going to barge in, then there really is no point to knock," Anti scoffed, but couldn't find it in himself to add any real heat to the words.

Out of all his brothers, Anti found it the hardest to reject Jameson, of anything, really. The man had a heart made out of pure love, and even before Anti lived with him, he had liked the puppeteer. Anti stood in the doorway and tried to feign a disinterested look on his face in the hope to chase the man away, but the effort was ignored when Jameson raised his hands up.

[Sorry. A-N-T-I,] he carefully read the signs as JJ's hands moved, [Could you come downstairs with me, please?]

No. No, he couldn't, and he'd like to stay in his room and not be bombarded with questions, please.

"...Sure," was what he said instead.

Anti felt like his heart was being pulled by the puppeteer's strings, or maybe it was his body because the glitch found himself agreeing to the plea and following the man downstairs. He gripped the handle as they descended, half-debating to run away again. But, perhaps the sooner he got over it, the sooner they could all go back to normal. With the thought in his head, he allowed JJ to lead him into the dining room, expecting to see Chase and Henrik by the kitchen counter.

Instead, it was Seán. Oh, Chase and Henrik were behind him, and surely by the kitchen counter alright, but that was beside the point. Seeing their creator here was the last thing Anti wanted for this morning. "Why are you here?" He asked in a panicked voice, too sharp and nervous to pass as an irritated yell, "Why is he here?"

Logically, Anti knew they called Seán because they were worried and they couldn't find any other ways to talk to him, but he couldn't help but feel like they only brought in the YouTuber to back them up and make his life more miserable than it already is.

His face must've shown something because his brothers were all frowning. "Anti," Started Henrik, but he was quickly cut off.

"I came here because I am worried about you, Anti," Seán said as walked over slowly as if to approach a startled animal. The man stared at the demon with pure concern, the emotions so raw and sincere in his eyes it burned Anti, "I heard that you aren't eating, and you are throwing up. I think we need to talk."

"No," Anti raised his voice, "We don't need to talk. Just, leave me the hell alone, alright? I'm fine and—"

"Anti, this isn't healthy—"

"I SAID, I'm FINE and I don't need to talk!"

"Could you just listen and let us help you—"

"NO!" He yelled, his breath picking up pace, "I. Don't. Need. Your. Help." It made his head spin to exert this much energy so early in the morning. He didn't need the help because he could figure it out himself. He just needed to be left alone.

Left alone.

If Anti wasn't so worried about being forced to talk about his habits, he would've laughed at this. He did it all just to be included, but now that he was, he only wanted to suffer in silence. Maybe he wasn't built for the family.

Anti was so focused on his own thoughts that he almost didn't hear Seán. The man called his name multiple times before he got the glitch's attention. And when he raised his head and saw Seán's expression, he wanted to run.

Instead, he was stuck freezing on the floor, unable to move a single muscle to get himself out of the room.

"Anti, please, just...listen to me. I'm not going to assume anything or judge you," Anti could tell the words were carefully chosen by the way Seán spoke, "I'm not angry. Or disappointed. I just want to help."

He didn't know when the others left the room, but by the time Anti was pulled into a hug by his creator, he was the only ego there. "I'm..."He wanted to say that he was fine, but the word was stuck in his throat. The arms around him were so warm that it made him shuddered at the contact.

"It's alright," Anti whispered instead, trying to shake off the emotions that he barely kept at bay constantly, "I've got it under control."

"This isn't control, Anti," Said Seán, firmly.

"Seriously, don't worry. It's alright," He tried to lighten it up, but his voice wavered.

"It's not," Seán replied softly, "nothing about it is alright."

"I—"

"You're not fine, Anti," The man interrupted him, finally, before he could let another lie roll off his tongue, "You're not alright, and you're hurting."

You're hurting.

"And it hurts me to see you in pain."

Those words landed on Anti like a sucker punch. They were so straightforward that he had nowhere to dodge or hide or wave it off like a joke. Admitting to himself that he had an eating disorder was painful, like ripping a bandaid off, but this? This was peeling off the poorly cauterized skin from his deepest wound.

He wasn't fine. He was hurting.

He was hurting, and Seán saw it.

And that was it. Anti never wanted anyone to "solve his problems" or "fix him up." He only wanted them to see him as who he was. Who he really was. Not just Anti The Glitch Who Got His Shit Together, but the one behind his mask, the Anti that was tearing himself apart because he was hurting.

The ego wept as he felt himself being pulled into another hug, the waves of sob wracked his body. Anti didn't know he could cry out more tears after the breakdown last night. "I'm sorry," He whispered in between hiccups, "I'm sorry."

The YouTuber brought his head upward to look him in the eyes. The tender sadness and concern were so real that Anti could never mistake it as pity. "It's not your fault, Anti. You have nothing to be sorry for." If anything, they should be sorry for not discovering it sooner, but that could be brought up at another time.

"No one deserves to starve themself, including you," Seán continued, also getting a bit choked up from the tears, "Ya hear me, lad? You don't deserve to feel the need to starve."

Didn't he deserve this?

"No, Anti," It was only when Seán replied to him in a shattered voice did Anti realize that he must've asked it out loud, "You don't deserve this."

Oh, how he desperately wanted to believe those words.

Chapter Text

Anti didn't know how long it took them to control their emotions again, but they were already out of the kitchen and cuddling on the sofa. He had a throw blanket over him, a warm cup of tea in hand. Chase insisted on making him something but fortunately, was warded off by JJ. Anti poked at the bruises on his knees mindlessly, feeling Seán's weight beside him.

"So...You gonna tell me what happened?" Asked Seán, after the silence between them stretched for too long. It wasn't a comfortable silence, more like the calmness before a storm, brewing for troubles.

Sure, Seán had seen this happening to people. Not anyone that was close to him, but he had seen scars on the knuckles. He had seen the sunken eyes and the easily bruised skin. Seeing those on Anti, his fierce demon that never bargained with anyone or gave up on anything, was like having his brain get whiplashed repeatedly. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't fathom why the glitch would do this to himself.

Anti gripped his cup a bit tighter and swallowed a lump in his throat. The past few months were a blend of mind and body fuckery that happened to him, conducted by himself, and it had all become a blur of hunger, guilt, and depression. "I..." He replied with his post-crying raspy voice, "I just wanted to be in control."

When and where it went wrong, Anti honestly couldn't be sure.

Seán turned around to look at him, and the glitch saw genuine confusion on his creator's face. "In control of what?"

Anti knew that it wasn't Seán's fault that he was created this way—yes, he intended to create him to be this wild, uncontrollable monster, but he didn't know that Anti would come alive back then. Still, he was often bitter about the situation, especially Seán's obliviousness to everything.

"I want to be in control of my power, and..." Anti tried hard to think back on what happened first, "hunger makes the glitches go away." He jumped around the topic, unwilling to admit the unspoken part of his story. "It is easier to control when I don't have enough energy. Less jumpy."

Seán kept silent as he waited for Anti to continue, but the emotions swirling in his eyes indicated nothing about peace. He carefully reached a hand over Anti's shoulder to pull the other into a side hug, once again struck by how weak the demon felt under his grip. What used to be muscles that stored incredible power was now replaced by tender flesh that was almost too fragile for a demon.

"So...I just stopped eating, I guess," Anti shrunk under the touch, mumbling into his cup, "It became easier the more I did it. Counting hours and calories to fast or diet, exercise, and sleep to avoid meals...Not that anyone wanted me to be at the dinner table."

The last part was spoken as light as the softest sigh. Anti was basically speaking to himself at this point, but the sentence didn't fall deaf to Seán's ears. And it shattered him. Of course, the creator knew that letting Anti move into the same house with other egos would be a slow bonding process, but he didn't know it'd go down this hellish path.

Behind them, JJ stood by the living room's entrance, a saddened look on his face. He had a breakfast tray in his hand, courtesy of Chase's anxiety-driven cooking. Jamie didn't mean to eavesdrop on the conversation purposefully, but he couldn't move into the room anymore as he heard Anti explain everything more.

Was it their fault all along? Would none of this happen if they tried to reach out a little earlier?

The tray in his hand became so heavy and hot, like a pot of melting metal burning into his palms. Jameson felt tears pricking his eyes when he heard Anti's voice perk up at the mention of losing his power completely as if the demon was happy that this had happened.

"JJ?" Chase tapped his shoulder from behind, worry bleeding through his voice, "are you alright?" He walked around the man and then saw the youngest ego crying silently. His parental protective instinct instantly kicked in because something bad must've happened and brought the soft-hearted puppeteer to tears. Gently, he pried JJ's hands open and took the tray away so the other could sign.

"Are you alright? Something happened to ya, kid?" Chase asked in his typical, hushed, dad voice, usually reserved for his kids. However, nowadays, he felt it was more reserved for his brothers than the little ones.

The puppeteer didn't respond to him at first and whipped his head around in a panicked motion. He sighed relieved when he saw that the sofa-lounging pair didn't notice them. Before Chase could ask further questions, JJ grabbed him by the arm and pulled the father further down the hallway.

"Hey, hey, slow down," Asked Chase, "What happened?"

Wiping his tears off, Jameson signed in slow motion. [Our fault. A-N-T-I stop eating, our fault.]

"What? No, JJ," Chase frowned lightly, "it's not..."

[O-U-R F-A-U-L-T,] The youngest ego fingerspelled it out, his hand movements exaggerated as he tried to emphasize it more. [A-N-T-I lost his power by starvation because we are scared. This. Our fault.]

"Wh- Anti lost his power?" The father let out a small gasp, disbelief evident by the way his eyes widened, "I...I thought he just...got everything under cont—Oh."

It was, indeed, to get his power under control, wasn't it?

Seán's mind reeled as he tried to come up with something to say. Seeing Anti being so relieved and even...delighted that the glitches went away was agonizing to him. He created the egos with their powers as a fundamental part of them, one could say that they were the cornerstones of the egos. Stripping the power away from an ego was like shattering the ego completely. It was why Seán didn't agree to take away Anti's power back then, not even when their relationship was still on thin ice.

"It's fine, honestly," said Anti, "I ain't lying here, Seán. I can live without it. More power to me." He tried a joke, but it sounded way too depressing to pass as light banter. Seán frowned when he heard Anti's conclusion for everything. Aside from his deepening concern for the demon, he couldn't help but feel like something was missing in the story.

"No, no! Anti, it's not fine," Seán quickly countered, his tone urgent and laced with distress. His egos would slowly cease to exist if they lost their powers. After all, they were what made them come alive in the first place. Praise all the divine beings out there that they found this out soon enough before Anti was too far gone to be saved.

Seán let out a soft sigh when he caught the confusion in Anti's expression, then explained, "It's not fine, Anti. Because you can't live without it." The rest was left unspoken but definitely understood by both.

He turned around to look at his demon, and something sank to the pit of his stomach when he saw the way Anti dodged his eyes. He ducked his head down as he tried to get a clear look at Anti, but the glitch hid away once more.

Oh, he found the missing part alright, and the revelation crumbled him to ash.

Chapter Text

"...Anti?" Seán whispered. A shakiness in his voice indicated that the man was on the verge of tears.

Anti swallowed nervously. He was looking at himself from above again. Dizziness swarmed him, but this time not to ground him. "It's just," he heard himself speaking—he sounded so alien to himself nowadays, "have you ever wondered that...that maybe my creation was a mistake?"

A mistake. Not your mistake.

Seán's eyes widened, his breath picking up as he rushed to explain, "No, no, what? Never! Anti, your creation...your existence is not a mistake." His heart broke when he lifted his gaze to observe his oldest ego fully.

Anti was a husk of his former self, in every sense of the word. The demon's overly thin frame could no longer hold up his baggy clothes. The green glow in his eyes had long disappeared, reduced to an identical shade of faded blue that the creator himself had. His cheeks were sunken, and he looked ghastly pale. His once neatly shaped nails were now bloodied and scarred, a result of his overly anxious biting habit. Through his body, Seán saw a tortured soul.

The demon remained silent as if he was no longer of this world.

Then, he heard himself say, "If you say so."

'Had he not caused enough trouble to this family? Had he not brought enough grief?' Anti could hear his own voice taunting him from somewhere afar. He wanted some understanding, and perhaps a little patience with him. But now, he knew he was undeserving.

Despite what Seán said to him, Anti knew deep down he was undeserving of love. Undeserving of forgiveness. Undeserving of food.

Undeserving of a decent life. Of living.

Anti craved death. He was a moth, clinging to fire.

He was deserving of many things as well. Misery, madness, agony, and all wretched things in this world. Starvation was merely a little punishment compared to all the layers of hell he deserved. Yet, Anti was given none of those because his brothers and his creator were kind beings.

Unlike him. He was a monster. He still would be until there was nothing left of him. Only then could he be cleansed of his sins and mistakes.

Only death could wash away the blood from his hand.

Yet, Anti could say none of it. They wanted him alive and here with them for some inconceivable reason. He didn't understand any of it but could at least give them that. He could suffer in his undeserving life and carry on for them, stretching every inch of his soul paper thin until he began dissipating into nothingness.

"Anti?" Seán's voice broke him out of his musing, and he felt himself suddenly snap back into reality. "Did you hear what I said?"

Anti gazed back with black stares, but he nodded nonetheless. "...yeah."

The Irish man looked half-convinced but didn't push further for whatever reasons. He sighed, a tiny, hopeful smile blooming. "Alright," he said, pulling Anti into a hug, "You'll be alright, mate. I'll make sure of it."

"...Thanks," Anti responded as he looked down to his feet. His head swam with dizziness—it was still early in the morning, but he already exerted much energy in this conversation. The room was closing up on his; even the air was thicker the longer he stayed.

Besides him, the man continued, "I already talked with Dr. Iplier. Edward is a very professional counselor, fully qualified despite his status as an ego. He promised full confidentiality, so don't worry about Damien finding out—"

Anti blinked in astonishment. That was what he missed and agreed to? Therapy? His head snapped back, words rushed to his tongue. He wasn't ready yet. He wasn't ready to stop or to recover. He needed this. He needed to starve himself. It was the only thing going on in his life—

Seán looked so hopeful with that characteristic glint of kindness in his eyes. He had looked at Anti with these eyes so many times before, even as he bled out in the demon's arms. Anti knew that Seán wanted him to get better. Genuinely, from the bottom of his heart.

Rejection died in his throat, just as bile began climbing up. "When do I start, then?" Instead, Anti asked, plastering a smile on his face to match Seán's. He had developed awfully good acting skills during the past few months, all thanks to having to hide his behaviors. Somewhere remotely, in his mind, he wondered if he would be any better on screen now than before.

"Edward mentioned that he has an available time slot from 1-3 next Wednesday afternoon. I'll ask him to sign you up," Seán explained, already pulling out his phone to text, "he'll send you his office address and schedule confirmation."

"Cool. Didn't know he had his own office," Anti mused out loud. He thought he'd go to Echo Manor, the Iplier's house. The knowledge and the fact that he barely knew Edward brought him some comfort. He would not want Damien or William to see him like this. The pair had been trying to reach him for the past 6 months. For obvious reasons, Anti hadn't responded.

Seán nodded, "Yup, said something about patient confidentiality and all." The man put his phone away and looked up again, gingerly observing Anti's reaction.

"...I'll look forward to the session, then." Anti loathed how easily these lies rolled off his tongue. But judging from his creator's expression, he knew he passed with flying colors.

————

Chase sat by the kitchen counter as he comforted Jamie, repressing his urge to eavesdrop on the pair in the living room. As someone who struggled with mental health himself, he knew better than anyone else not to pry on other people's struggles in their moments of weakness.

Half of him was regretful, the other half furious. It might've come across to others, including Anti, that he was mad at Anti for doing this, but that couldn't be further from the truth. Make no mistake, he was not mad at Anti but at himself. At the very least, in this case.

Chase knew how Stacy struggled with an eating disorder in the past; he was there to help her recover, which meant that he should've been the first one to pick up on the signs.

Looking back, there were many.

For starters, Anti hated bitter things. He couldn't even tolerate the taste of beer. But then, mysteriously, he developed a taste for black coffee. Besides, whenever the demon was present during meals, he always said he wasn't hungry, had already eaten, or might eat later. When he did get food at the table, he'd cut it into incredibly small pieces until there weren't many edible pieces left or bring it upstairs "to finish the plate."

Let alone, there was the most obvious thing—Anti was dropping weight like madness.

In truth, Chase saw the signs, but he was wallowing in his misery so much that he didn't care. Besides, he was petty and angry. He was always so angry, as if every failure in his life could be blamed on Anti's accident when he knew deep down that it was unfair.

In every way possible, he was not a good brother.

He was not a good man.

[Do you think A-N-T-I would listen to S-E-A-N about therapy?] JJ signed, breaking Chase's train of thought.

"I...I don't know," the father averted his gaze, unsure if he was the right person to ask. It was a struggle for him to start therapy back then. If his own experience were anything to go by, Seán's suggestion would probably be met with great resistance. Though, he had not the heart to tell Jameson that. They've had enough bad news recently.

Albeit, resistance to help usually was the first step uphill.

Jameson sighed silently, toying with the breakfast tray on the side. [I think we need to apologize.] The puppeteer looked at Chase, his eyes still red from crying. [If we paid more attention, we might have noticed sooner or prevented it.]

A hard pill to swallow. No one trusted Anti or threw him a bone when it mattered. Sure, they all had reasons not to, but neither were they innocent and pure. They had no right to cast stones. Anti had made mistakes, but he was hardly himself when he did those things. In fact, one could argue that he was also suffering himself. None of them knew what it was like to have their power overtake their consciousness and wake up having committed something horrendous.

Chase hated how he only saw how similar they were after the fact. Was he not also overcome with inner turmoil when he committed atrocities? Of all the people here, he had the least right to play the blame game with Anti.

"When he's a bit calmed down, yeah. I think we should," Chase affirmed the mute ego, "at least we owe him that."

————

Anti needed some food. Sean had never been more acutely aware of this fact, when he saw a mere autumn breeze through the window was enough to bring the demon chills. Damien never felt cold. Nor Yan. Demon egos were not created to be human; they did not feel cold and would never get sick.

The fact that Anti was shivering meant that he was already fading.

Tentatively, Seán asked, "Do you wanna join me for breakfast, Anti? We've been talking for a bit. I'm, uh, well, I'm pretty hungry."

Anti bit his lips, his head already running through a slew of excuses that could get him out of this. He was not even 12 hours into his newest fast. God knew how long it'd take that alcoholic drink's calories to be digested and leave his body. Food would not be ideal.

Despite what Anti agreed to merely minutes ago, he knew he couldn't do it. Recovery was intimidating for the demon. He wasn't ready.

He wasn't ready, but he had to be. Not for himself, but for others in his life.

Anti wondered if this would finally be how he could atone for his mistakes in the past.

Seán glanced at the demon beside him, still awaiting a response. "Man's gotta eat," he tried to crack a joke to lighten the mood. However, when he saw Anti's growing reluctance, he quickly backtracked, "How about just some coffee and light food, huh? Maybe some yogurt? Or just some fruit?"

Anti's expression did not change for the better.

The Irish man cursed internally. Fuck, he was bad at this. He was not equipped to help someone struggling with an eating disorder. If only he knew someone who had experience with this before.

Seán's eyes lit up again. Of course, how could he miss that?

Surely, Chase would know how to help!

Chapter Text

Seán's mind raced with thoughts. He knew Stacy had a complicated past. Her psych used to teeter on a fragile edge because of a haunting loss and the eating disorder that followed. Chase could help with this—he had helped Stacy before with his steadfast resolve and unwavering support, even in the throes of his addiction. Seán sat there, pondering as a plan began to take shape within the labyrinth of his mind.

Meanwhile, the said demon remained silent, his restless fingers tracing invisible patterns upon the fabric of his sleeve. Anxiety coiled at the pit of his stomach like a relentless serpent squeezing at his core. The weight of other people's concern and care pressed down on him. He had no appetite to begin with, the emotions alone enough to fill up his empty stomach. Even the idea of breakfast was too much.

A whirlwind of despair and self-loathing consumed his thoughts, and Anti felt so sick—so sick of his frail body, so sick of the onslaught of his mind. Lies and excuses danced upon his lips, a desperate gambit to escape this suffocating feeling.

So he interrupted the other man's typing, blurting out sentences, his voice pitched higher than usual, "Actually, I think I'll pass." Guilt clawed at his throat when he noticed the immediate worry in Seán's eyes, but he pressed on, "I'm just really tired. Bad sleep last night. I'm just gonna catch a nap and join for lunch, alright?"

It wasn't a complete lie. Anti hardly had good rests nowadays, and he always woke up with this stone-heavy discomfort in his stomach. Napping was how he spent most of his mornings. When he slept, the beast within him remained dormant.

Seán's brow furrowed, his concern etched upon his face. "How about you just sit with us, hm? No need to eat or anything," he offered instead, recalling that one article he read on his way here this morning. Something about including the person in group activities to stop isolation.

Anti hesitated, his initial instinct urging him to decline. Still, the weight of Seán's concern and the genuine sadness in his eyes made it oh-so-difficult to refuse, even though every fiber of his being screamed to retreat into solitude...No, he had denied the others of many things before; at least he could give them this.

Anti's mind reeled. He could do this—he had done this before—he was practically a pro. He could sit down and chat to keep people distracted until the end.

"...Fine," with a resigned sigh, Anti acquiesced, unable to meet Seán's gaze as he begrudgingly agreed to join them. The words tasted like ash on his tongue, a bitter reminder of his weaknesses. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he felt...angry. Angry that he agreed simply because others would want him to. Angry that he let himself into this mess. Angry that he had allowed himself to become so weak.

Yet, in more ways, Anti felt numb. The once vivid emotions had now dulled as an old photograph left too long in the sun. He peered inward through a haze as if viewing his being through frosted glass. Hunger gnawed at him incessantly, leaving whatever he felt as insubstantial as a passing breeze.

Seán eyed the demon with a glint of sympathy and regret. In some strange ways, Seán almost wished the demon would fight back and protest like he used to. He couldn't shake the feeling that something fundamental had shifted within Anti, so much so that he feared that they might not be able to bring him back completely. Anti's usual sharp retorts and biting sarcasm had always been somewhat of a trademark, something fueled by Anti's inner fire. Albeit unpleasant to deal with, it still carried Anti's true self.

The more he watched Anti, the more he wondered if the fire that had once burned so brightly within him had been extinguished forever, leaving nothing but the cold, empty void of desolation in its wake.

Still, the Irish man's smile remained unwavering despite his internal wild, entangled thoughts. "Thanks, Anti," he said in a tone that he hoped to be encouraging, standing up from the couch.

Anti grunted in response as he stood up, trudging over the table. As he entered the kitchen, he could feel how the other two egos immediately shifted their attention to him. Whatever their previous conversation had been immediately came to a halt.

A sense of unease crept up, replacing Anti's usual bravado. He felt too exposed and vulnerable, as if he was stripped naked under others' eyes. Their gaze lingered on him, lighting his skin on fire. He ducked his head and slid into one seat by the edge of the dining table, remaining silent.

Seán sat beside Anti, circling an arm on the demon's shoulder to offer some silent support. "What's for breakfast, Chase?" he asked, tone light, feigning ease even as the air hung heavy around them.

Across the table, Chase and JJ exchanged a look. The father looked like he wanted to say something but gave the other two a quick smile instead. "I made scrambled eggs and toast. Would that do? Jamie can probably help with coffee," He rambled as he turned around to grab the dinner plates. Beside him, Jamie gave the two a thumbs up.

"Sounds perfect," Seán smiled back at Chase, appreciating his effort to maintain some semblance of normalcy in their unusual situation. He turned to Anti, squeezing his shoulder gently before releasing it. "Do you want anything? No pressure, of course." A hint of concern lingered beneath the surface as he asked.

Anti averted his gaze, his eyes transfixed on the marble countertop before him. His stomach growled and clawed at the mention of food—he was hungry. No, not him. Anti wasn't hungry; it was only his body. "Just coffee," He replied, attempting a smile at Jameson. "Thanks."

[No problem, brother.] Jameson signed, turning to Seán. [And you as well, S-E-A-N? Black, I assume?]

"You know me too well," Seán laughed.

As Chase bustled around the kitchen to heat the food again, Anti's fingers drummed nervously against the countertop. Amidst the clatter of utensils and the sizzle of cooking, Anti could feel the weight of unsaid words lingering in the air. Yet, his brothers remained silent for whatever reason, leaving him some space to breathe. Anti was grateful for it.

Brother. Anti silently tested the word on his tongue. They had never called him brother before. He was uncertain of his place, unsure if he truly counted as a brother in their eyes.

Maybe he could be a brother to them, after all.

Meanwhile, Jameson poured coffee into mugs, and the rhythmic clinking of porcelain against the countertop filled the silence. As the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the kitchen, the tension dissipated. Anti felt his shoulders slightly relax, his strained expression softened as the familiar scent permeated every corner of the room and wrapped around him like a comforting embrace.

[There you go!] Jamie signed after he pushed over the mug, leaving a cup for himself as well.

Anti reached for his coffee, and the warmth seeped into his hands, a much-welcomed sensation. He was always cold nowadays, always shivering. Anything that could lend him some warmth was appreciated. "Thanks, Jamie," he mumbled into the cup, a grateful smile climbing to his cheeks.

It must have been the right thing to do because when he looked up, he saw Jameson returning the smile. The puppeteer's hands moved fluidly as he signed his response. [Anytime, A-N-T-I. Just let me know if you need anything else.]

Anti nodded, his gaze drifting back to Seán, who seemed lost in his own thoughts. At times like this, he couldn't help but feel that he had failed his creator. He had caused Seán so much pain, whether directly or through the harm he had inflicted on other egos hurting other egos. Though he knew he never intended to harm anyone, the damage remained. There was no excuse for his mistakes, no justification that could absolve him of his guilt.

Funny how much reflection Anti had done since stepping into the Septic house almost a year ago. Day after day, he had ruminated on how to atone for his wrongdoings, make it up to them, and protect the brothers from himself. Yet, amidst it all, he had forgotten something—a fundamental truth: he was also Seán's ego.

Besides Anti, the conversation around him shifted. Chase settled down next to JJ after serving breakfast, and the atmosphere lightened as they engaged in casual chatter. Seán seemed momentarily distracted by the change of subject. The Irish man glanced up at the other two, a faint smile playing on his lips as he listened to their banter.

So Anti found himself enveloped in the familiar sounds as he sat by his brothers—forks clinking against plates, the soft murmur of voices, and the occasional burst of laughter. He took another sip from his coffee, savoring the familiar, comforting bitterness that spread across his tongue.

Anti decided it wasn't the worst thing in the world. He couldn't bring himself to eat just yet, but for now, sitting by his family was enough.