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This was all his fault.
If he hadn’t forgotten his passport in his rush to the airport, he wouldn’t have missed his flight with his new mission companion and had to board several hours late. He wouldn’t have had to explain away a humiliating black eye to his new group of mission brothers the first time he met them tonight, and he wouldn’t have arrived at the mission hut so late, after everyone had already finished cleaning up dinner. Which meant, he wouldn’t have been here now, lying in bed trying to muffle the growls of his empty belly from his sleeping companion.
He hadn’t eaten all day, with the exception of a granola bar he had grabbed on his first trip to the airport. He was so tired from the long day of chaos and traveling, and he hoped, prayed, that the sheer exhaustion would outweigh his hunger and he could go to sleep and stop feeling the dull ache in his stomach. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time.
After all, this was his fault.
He closed his eyes in defeat as his stomach growled again, clutching his fingers over the shirt of his temple garments. He listened quietly over his shoulder for any sign of his companion stirring, thankful when his light snores continued without pause. James’s arms were shaking in the familiar way he had trained himself to ignore, his muscles tense and weak. If only he could just venture down the hall, grab something to eat, even something small. Just enough to take the edge off so he could get some rest.
But he couldn’t bring himself to do it.
Every time he thought about sitting up, sneaking out of his room and down the short hallway, his heart rate spiked in his chest, a cool sweat breaking over him. He had only met his district leader briefly before they had all been sent to bed, and he hadn’t mentioned any rules about the kitchen or the food in his quick rundown of the household. But James had learned the hard way, long ago, about the consequences of taking food without asking.
Elder McKinley seemed nice. He didn’t seem like someone who would be angry with him over something so small. Maybe if he understood the circumstances that led him here, he would be forgiving, even if it was all his fault. Which is why James felt like such a coward as he struggled to do something as simple as walk to the kitchen.
A sudden rush of nausea surged through him and he clamped a hand over his mouth, closing his eyes tight. No, no, no no. Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up, please. The pain he could deal with. The humiliation of waking the whole house up on his first night by throwing up stomach acid in the bathroom, he could not.
It was this conclusion, aided by the fact that he would have more control over the noise level of sneaking to the kitchen than he would violently throwing up, that had him shakily sitting up on the bed. He pulled his legs over the side, cringing at the sound of the rusty springs. Once standing, he kept his eyes glued to his sleeping companion’s form as he crept across the floor. He clutched the doorknob tight with his sweaty palm, biting down on his free fist as the door creaked on the hinges.
He never thought a house could be more noisy at night than the one he grew up in, but the decrepit structure of the mission hut was certainly giving it a run for its money.
There was a minimal relief as he closed his bedroom door behind him, sneaking a glance down the hall to make sure everyone else’s doors were shut. When he finally made it to the kitchen, he was grateful that the dim lighting from the single bulb wasn’t strong enough to spill over into the hallway too much.
He shuffled his socked feet to the tall cabinet next to the refrigerator, arms wrapped tightly around his stomach to quell any unsolicited noises.
“Hey there,” a voice from behind him nearly made James jump out of his skin. He spun around quickly, ignoring the wave of dizziness that overcame him, to see a short boy with blonde hair he thought he remembered as Elder Thomas from his earlier introductions standing at the mouth of the kitchen.
“Elder Church, right?”
“I’m sorry,” were the first and only words out of James’s mouth, “I’m sorry.”
The blonde boy frowned at him.
“Why are you sorry?”
“Sorry,” he said again, shaking his head and wishing that the hunger wasn’t making it so difficult to think clearly, “I was just… hungry.”
“Oh.”
“Please, don’t tell Elder McKinley.”
“What? Why would I-- Oh, my gosh! You missed dinner, didn't you?” The Elder exclaimed, way too loud for James’s liking, “Why didn’t you say something?”
“Oh. Um. I--”
“We don’t really have a lot of food in the house right now. Connor -- uh, Elder McKinley -- said we would make a trip to the market to shop for groceries tomorrow, so we really only had enough for dinner tonight.”
“That’s okay. It’s fine, really,” James was already brushing past him to retreat to his room when Elder Thomas grabbed his wrist. James cringed away ducking his head against his far shoulder. The hold on his wrist released immediately.
“Oh,” the smaller boy took a step back, and James felt a burn creeping into his cheeks, “I’m sorry, I just… You shouldn’t go to bed hungry.”
James didn’t look him in the eye, too horrified that he was already embarrassing himself in front of one of the Elders, But Thomas surprised him when he skirted around him, holding a palm out.
“Stay put. I’ll be right back.”
Too confused and ashamed and frankly exhausted to argue, he did as he was told. He heard some quiet rustling down the hall, and Elder Thomas returned a few moments later, proudly presenting a blue cardboard box.
“Pop-Tarts?” James raised an eyebrow, finally looking up from the ground.
“I hope you like the brown cinnamon sugar ones. Those are my favorite, so my mom packed me like, a bunch.”
James could feel his mouth watering at the very thought.
“That’s the best kind,” James nodded in agreement, a flutter of something erupting in his chest when his response elicited a bright smile from the boy in front of him.
“You’ve got good taste,” Thomas replied, digging into the open box to retrieve a shiny, silver package. He held it out for James to take, but James only stared at it.
“What?”
“It’s for you, silly,” the blonde kept smiling at him, holding the pastry out even further, “Take it.”
It seemed like a stupid and rather inappropriate time for his eyes to be welling with tears, and James knew better than to start crying, so he swallowed it back with practiced ease, and forced his trembling hand to take the Pop-Tart.
“Thank you.”
James struggled with the wrapper for a bit, all too aware of Elder Thomas’s curious eyes on him. Finally, the seal broke and he fumbled to pull one of the pasties between his fingers, hungrily taking a large bite.
He closed his eyes as the flavor overtook him, amazed that a ninety-nine cent grocery store pastry could taste like a gourmet meal given the right circumstances. He could practically feel the energy seeping back into his muscles as his body received the calories it so desperately needed. He was almost halfway done the first square when he became aware of himself and opened his eyes, face burning red for the second time this evening.
“Sorry,” he mumbled around a mouthful of food, raising a hand to cover his lips. But Elder Thomas was smiling again, a softer smile than the radiant one before, but no less pleasant.
He saw his gaze drop briefly to the socket beneath James’s right eye where he knew the deep purple bruise had only gotten worse throughout the course of the day, and he prayed the Elder wouldn’t ask about it. Maybe he would take his earlier story at face value, even if it sounded hollow and fake, even to James. Regardless, he tore his eyes away, moving down to the box in his hand. He cleared his throat and sat the Pop-Tarts on the counter, slowly sliding the whole box across to James, who looked at it briefly, then back to him with questioning eyes.
“Keep them,” Elder Thomas stepped back, “I have plenty, and my mom can always send me more later.”
“Are you… are you sure?”
“Yeah, of course,” he shrugged, opening a cabinet above him and stretching up on his tiptoes to retrieve a glass. “It’s no big deal.”
But that was where he was wrong. To James, this felt like a bigger deal than he could possibly convey.
“Thank you,” he spoke carefully, untrusting of his voice, “So much.”
Elder Thomas smiled up at him when he was finished filling his cup with water.
“Anytime,” he said, turning on his heel to retreat back to his room. He stopped at the wall before he turned the corner, looking over his shoulder.
“Goodnight, Elder.”