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His father raised him with the importance of strength, of pushing past his limits.
So that’s what Gakushu does.
In highschool, his father backs off on him. Tells him to try to be more balanced with his social life in highschool.
After a lifetime of being pushed to his limits, constantly seeking perfection, he’s being told to relax and have a social life.
10 years of breaking himself over and over again to get his father’s approval and in the end he gets told to relax?
That desperate need for perfection and power doesn’t have any other outlet now, and the habits his father instilled in him won’t die that fast.
It all starts in his midterms. It’s his first midterm of high school and Akabane is a formidable competitor. Gakushu has to get back at him for finals last year.
That insufferable bastard won’t stop calling him Second place and teasing him during class.
(Though he had to admit, watching Akabane mock Seo was certainly interesting to say the least)
So he throws himself into his studies, foregoing sleep and skipping meals to study.
He gets first place on the midterms—take that Akabane—but he feels strangely dizzy—oh right. He skipped breakfast because he overslept.
He knows he should probably eat extra at lunch to make up for it, but he doesn’t really feel like it.
For some reason he likes the feeling of emptiness in his stomach.
So he eats a few bites of his rice, using the excuse of “I’m not hungry” to throw the rest away despite feeling his stomach still grumble.
His meal schedule is always a bit irregular during exam times but it usually goes back to normal once they’re over. After all, Gakushu does need to eat a lot to fuel all his sports and extracurriculars.
But after this midterm, he continues eating irregularly, small portions. He’s busy, okay, he doesn’t have time for this. He keeps up with student council and soccer, he’s playing the guitar on the side.
He’s really busy.
He can’t control the tumultuous world around him. He can’t control that some days his father is nice, but some days he snaps at him.
Sometimes he beats Akabane but sometimes he loses.
It’s out of control
Unpredictable.
But the one thing he can control is the emptiness in his stomach.
——————-
“You’re slipping, Asano.” Gakushu’s soccer coach tells him, when he loses the third soccer game in a row because he’s been too busy trying not to pass out, “Is something wrong? You look a bit sick lately.”
Gakushu jumps onto the excuse, “Yes sir, I’ve been sick. It’ll be better soon though, I swear.”
But Gakushu is already on a slow spiral.
He starts to test himself to see how long he can go without food.
He makes it through his classes with Diet Coke and black coffee, with a rubber band wrapped around his wrist that he snaps every time he’s hungry.
He notices his clothes are loose which is strange, he was never really trying to lose weight but he supposes that’s what happens when he eats less. He should go back to eating more, shouldn’t he?
He tells himself he will, but lunch comes by and he’s full only halfway way through. Same with dinner.
He just figures he doesn’t need much food then, and keeps restricting further.
He ignores the constant dizziness and brain fog.
He ignores the concerned looks.
He’s better than them all. He’s strong.
He has willpower.
———————-
Apparently human beings need more than just willpower to function though.
Gakushu realizes this as he fiddles with the NG tube down his nose. The therapist is looking at him with forced sympathy, and Gakushu looks away.
“Can you explain why you haven’t been eating, Gakushu?” She asks, kindly.
Gakushu ponders the question, the one with too many answers, and yet, not a true answer at all.
“It makes me anxious.” He says, at last.
“Do you know why it makes you anxious?” The therapist asks.
Gakushu closes his eyes. His hands are too cold.
“Because I’m afraid of being weak.”
“Do you think eating makes you weak?” Coming from her mouth, it sounds ridiculous.
But despite how ridiculous it sounds, Gakushu nods.
“Not eating made me feel strong.” Gakushu whispers, feeling tears well up in his eyes.
Stupid tears. Why is he crying now, of all times.
But he cries, curled up in the hospital bed because he knows how messed up he sounds.
He’s always been one for logic.
And yet, the words that came out of his mouth were far from logical.
That’s what scares him the most.
————-
“It’s rather embarrassing to hear your son passed out in the middle of the soccer field from not eating.” His father says, voice cold.
There’s probably concern hidden back in there somewhere.
Gakushu doesn’t bother searching for it though.
Because there’s something broken between them that no amount of family based therapy can’t fix.
He pokes at his uneaten plate, and pretends like he didn’t hear him.
————-
“Hey, second place. Fancy tube you got there. Makes it easier to shove wasabi down people’s noses, mind if I borrow it once you get discharged from here?” Akabane asks, grinning his usual fanged grin.
“Bold of you to assume I’m getting discharged from here.” Gakushu stares out the window.
That makes Akabane falter.
“You don’t even look that sick. Why do you need to stay here?” Akabane whines.
Gakushu just smiles sadly.
“It’s a mental illness, Akabane. Not a physical one. You can’t tell by looking at me.”
By now his bones no longer protrude, and yet, he’s no where near better.
“Oh.” Akabane says, the gears whirring in his head. He’s recalculating.
“Then take this.” Akabane shoves a carton of strawberry milk into Gakushu’s hands.
Gakushu stares at it, and then back at Akabane.
“I don’t know much about this illness of yours, but I’m willing to learn.” Akabane’s eyes are earnest and bright, and Gakushu can’t bring himself to let him down.
He jabs his straw into the carton. And takes a sip.
“Lesson number one. Calories give me anxiety.” Gakushu announces.
Then he spits out the milk, painting Akabane’s white shirt bright pink.
“Especially sugar calories.”
—————-
It’s the first time his eating disorder lands him in the hospital, but it’s certainly not the last.
At some point the doctors stop being sympathetic and start getting annoyed.
His relationships are torn apart, and it’s rare that people visit anymore.
“I’m not going to show up to watch you suffering in that hospital bed.” Karma whispers, tearfully. “I can’t do it anymore, Gakushu.”
When did it become Karma and Gakushu instead of the usual sneered Akabane and Asano?
Oh, right. Maybe it was the day they walked down the aisle together, or the day Karma held his hand as he conquered a fear food.
The days were often long and painful, but they were worth it.
But now, Gakushu is back to his dear old friend the nasogastric tube. Back to the hospital bed.
This time, his father comes to visit. He doesn’t say much, just sits in the corner, eyes distant.
“Karma made you visit, didn’t he? Since he couldn’t bring himself to himself.” Gakushu whispers, his voice weak and frail.
It’s hard to talk through the tube down his throat.
“He said it’s the least I could do.” His father says. The years haven’t been kind to him, not that he deserves the kindness anyway.
After several minutes, his father stands up and heads for the door. But before he leaves, his father pauses.
“Your mother went the same way.” He says.
Gakushu jerks up.
“What did you say?” Gakushu breathes.
“Your mother. She died when you were just one. She had an eating disorder too. She warned me when we were planning for kids that it could be genetic. I never thought it was serious back then so I told her we’d take the risk. I regret it now.”
Gakushu stares.
So the last thing his father wants to tell him is that he regrets ever giving birth to him?
Just great.
Gakushu slowly sits up, thinking of what would happen if he met the same fate as his mother.
What if he died too.
Would Karma grieve?
Gakushu clenches his fists tight, boney knuckles digging into dry skin.
It’s strange. He was Gakushu Asano. The greatest. His business is one of the best, he’s a fantastic CEO.
And yet, he has a panic attack every time he eats breakfast.
It’s such a tragedy, the papers would say.
He stares at the heart monitor, at the way his heart beats at 40 beats per minute.
He’s been through this cycle too much, his heart can’t take much more.
If he doesn’t recover now, he’ll die.
Even if he recovers he’ll probably still die.
But Gakushu’s heartache is more emotional than physical at the moment.
Never being able to see Karma again—it hurts.
It’s never dawned on him as much as it does now.
The painful realization that it’s over. He’s dying. He’s fought it time and time again, and yet it keeps coming back to haunt him.
There’s no promise that fighting it again will work, but if he doesn’t even try—-he can’t forgive himself.
It takes more energy than he knew he had just to reach over to his backpack, and pick out the one item he had to fight the security to let him take in.
He jabs the straw into the strawberry milk.
And takes a sip.