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Connor raked his fork along the cut of salmon in front of him, its flesh tearing slightly as he did, leaving four distinct lines in the fish. He’d already removed the slimy and simultaneously flaky skin from the top, now laid upon the untouched salad leaves, ones smattered with oil that suffocated what freshness they may have with watery pools within their folds. From sight alone it was clear that-
“You even listening to me?” Gavin cut through Connor’s trance as he lifted his gaze to look at the man sitting opposite him.
“Pardon?”
“I was asking what you think of the girl’s alibi.”
“Uh…” He pulled his fork along the plate again, a harsh scraping produced as he did. “It seemed… reasonable…” He cautiously agreed.
He could only really summon a vague recollection of what he had been told only a few minutes ago, his mind still focusing on the meal before to a near oppressive degree. Half of Gavin’s words not even registering to him in the moment.
“Seriously?” Gavin continued, seemingly unaware of Connor’s near disengagement. “Shit doesn’t feel right. Something is off about this, someone is lying and I don’t like not know who. I mean, if you think…”
Gavin’s words filtered out again. He wiped off any of the fish that had gotten onto his fork back onto the fish and instead stabbed half a tomato, squirting out its insides around it. A tomato felt a safer bet, but he also didn't know how to tell if a tomato was good to eat or not. He picked it up and manipulated it in the air before pushing it off his fork again and wiped the prongs off on the lettuce leaves. It looked fine, but…
“You actually eat any of that?” Gavin asked, eyeing the carefully separated plate in front of Connor.
“Of course,” Connor mumbled, staring down at the fork. “What were you saying?”
“Lady’s a nut case if you ask me. If she didn’t do it, she sure did something.”
“The question then is whether or not its related to the case,” Connor responded, this time trying to focus on the conversation more closely whilst also using his fork to pull apart some of the fish.
The inside revealed was bright in a way that felt disconcertingly close to raw though trough prodding it he could affirm its texture seemed firm and properly cooked. Not that he felt very relieved. It came off easily and he stabbed it to his fork, tapping it on the side of the plate before lifting it in the air and inspecting it over.
“She barely has an alibi anyway.”
“What’s her alibi again?”
“She was with her boyfriend, who seemed whipped enough to confess to the murder if she asked him to.”
Connor laughed lightly and lifted the fork up only to drop it back down again. The nausea that settled into his stomach felt too great for him to manage to let anything pass into his mouth. It wasn’t from the food itself but from the anxiety around it, but it certainly didn’t help ease his concerns the fish wasn’t actually raw. He didn’t even want to put the fork into his mouth.
“It’s not poisoned, you know.” Gavin commented with a frown.
Connor pursed his lips and shrugged. Gavin was right, probably right at least and yet he managed to say exactly what he was worried about. He did want to eat it. He’d managed to force himself to touch the cutlery at least, cutlery he didn’t actual feel comfortable putting into his mouth and he wanted to think he could eat at least some of it but the idea any of it was contaminated meant the entire plate was too.
“I’m not particularly hungry.” He responded finally, dropping the fork back down onto the plate.
Gavin raised an eyebrow, “What, you’re finished?”
“You can have it.”
“Connor, you haven’t eaten any of it.”
Connor shrugged, pushing the plate forwards towards Gavin until it clinked against his empty plate. It wasn’t uncommon for him to let Gavin finish whatever he ordered, he always took time to eat to avoid going too fast and making himself sick, even if that usually only meant taking far longer than necessary, but this time his plate had been rearranged rather than eaten. “I’m not hungry. You can have finish it.”
Gavin looked at him for a moment with a confused and slightly surprised look, “I already ate, moron. You passed up breakfast anyway, if you don’t eat you’ll just be hangry later.”
“I don’t get ‘hangry’, Gavin. Besides, we should probably head back to the station.” Connor reasoned, sitting back in his chair.
Gavin was probably right. It wasn’t as though he didn’t feel hungry, just not hungry enough it would outweigh everything else. He could eat later anyway, when his stomach wasn’t churning with anxiety and there was something cleaner, safer, to eat. Because ultimately, nothing in his mind could outweigh the risk of being sick He knew his concerns were reasonably illogical. Least, the degree he was feeling them was irrational, but that didn’t curb their intensity.
“Are you sure the milk isn’t off?”
“You literally got me over there to check, it’s fine.”
It didn’t feel fine. He hadn’t dared to smell it or anything of that sort, gruesome crime scene be damned, it was milk before its best before date that was going to put him off. Even touching it felt like a transfer of bacteria and pathogens alike. He used one finger to turn the bottle around to check the best before date again for to say exactly what it had before. “I don’t know. I don’t want to use it if it is off.”
“We bought it yesterday, it doesn’t go off that fast.”
“It’ll make us sick,” Connor frowned, glancing to the fridge. “I’d rather not have any. I’m… I’m not even that hungry anyway.”
“You’ve just spent an hour in the kitchen and half made a mac and cheese to decide you don’t want anything because the milk might be but probably isn’t off?” Gavin questioned rhetorically, pulling himself up from the couch and joining Connor in the kitchen, “You know, you can tell if milk is off or not pretty easily. Shit’s worse than a dead body.”
“But it is. It definitely is,” Connor mumbled under his breath, struggling to swallow the anxiety welling in his chest, “I don’t mind not eating anyway, wasn’t even that hungry.” And not at all hungry anymore.
“Look, let me have some and I’ll judge it for you.”
“You getting sick isn’t a better option.”
“Yeah, but I’m not gonna be sick.” Gavin insisted, going to take the milk.
Connor picked up the bottle immediately and moved it away, quickly dropping it back down on the counter further away from Gavin’s immediate reach, “I’ll get us another one. We aren’t having that.” He stated firmly before looking down at his hands, the condensation from the bottle of them wetting his hands, a visible contaminant. “Shit, I need to wash my hands.”
Gavin frowned at that, unaware as Connor had kept him to his recent obsessions around food, those of hygiene were ones he was far more well acquainted with. Connor shifted around him carefully and went to the kitchen sink, using one, two, three pumps of soap that he lathered onto his hands thoroughly, carefully ensuring the liquid went over every surface of his hand before putting them under the warm water.
As he carefully rubbed his hands together, ensuring all the soap suds left his hands, Gavin put a hand on his upper arm and pulled him away gently from the sink. “It’s clean now, don’t worry.”
Connor stared at his hands with disgust still, grabbing the kitchen towels to wipe off his hands (much safer with their disposable nature compared to reused cloth) and started drying his hands thoroughly. He grabbed two more before Gavin stopped him again. “They're dry now.”
Connor inhaled shakily and nodded. Dry perhaps, clean? Safe? He wasn't so sure of.
“Connor, look at me,” Gavin requested, waiting until Connor met his eyes, “Off milk isn't gonna kill anyone. No-one's sick and no-one's gonna be sick either.”
“It doesn't feel... clean,” Connor sighed, crinkling up the paper towel and tossing it into the bin before reaching out again and picking up another one.
Gavin reached up and took it from him, folding it, “I know that. But I don't think there's anything to be concerned about.”
Connor looked at him carefully before his gaze dropped to his hands. His arms crossed in front of himself to stop himself from washing his hands again, regardless of what his mind told him. “Sorry,” he mumbled quietly, looking back to Gavin with an apologetic expression, “I'm being ridiculous...”
“No, you’re not. Well, you are, but it's not your fault.” Gavin replied honestly with a shrug of his shoulders. He put his hand on the nape of Connor's neck and pulled him in a little closer, leaning over to kiss him softly. “Everything will be alright, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Brought you some lunch.” Gavin announced, placing a brown paper bag onto the table beside where Connor was working and dropping down onto the seat beside him.
Connor could practically feel his heart stop at the idea of eating whatever Gavin had brought, not even knowing what was inside the bag yet. Or maybe that was why, because it was something that had been bought, something he couldn’t definitively know the contents of, that he didn’t know the details of preparation or conditions it was cooked in. It felt inherently unsafe.
“I told you I didn’t want anything.” He responded, unknowingly interrupting Gavin from saying something he hadn’t even heard.
“It was on sale.” Gavin shrugged.
“Why was it on sale?”
“Dunno how you expect me to know that.”
It wasn’t Gavin’s fault for not asking. As frustrating as it was, it wasn’t as his fault. He hadn’t eaten anything other than an apple yet anyway, it wasn’t as though it was unwanted necessarily. “Did you already eat yours?” He asked, desperately hoping hadn’t. It was always easier to eat with someone else having the same thing.
“Should I not have?”
“No, it’s fine, just wondering.”
Gavin started talking to him about something else again, and Connor couldn’t have cared less of what. All his mind could care to think of was the bag before him, he could already smell the food, the smell of chicken curry filling his senses before he even opened the bag. It smelt delicious and revolting. He pulled the bag closer to peer down into it, the black container with its translucent lid showing the messy arrangement of meat, rice and vegetables.
He tried to take it out with as little movement as possible. Without even opening the container, he knew it would be impossible. With everything clustered together as it was, one contaminant would ruin the whole dish. He didn’t have a benchmark either, it wasn’t something he had eaten before, least not from whatever store Gavin had gotten it from he hadn’t. Not to mention the gravy that could underneath it hide any sort of imperfection it so desired without him being able to verify. And that was neglecting his concerns to eat something made, touched, by strangers.
He still picked up the plastic cutlery and popped off the lid. The smell was stronger in an instant and a concern grew that through proximity alone he’d be infected. He had to try though. He had to at least try, especially when Gavin had brought it for him out of no obligation. Still though, only additional concerns arose as to where he could he put his fork that he could ensure wasn’t contaminated and wouldn’t make the utensil itself unusable as a result. What if the meat was off, the vegetables rotten, the gravy spoiled?
“What, don’t you like it?”
“No, it’s fine.” The answer came quickly, almost defensively, as he clenched his hand around the fork to try and hide the slight tremor of his fingers.
“You’re staring at it like I’ve handed you sewage on a plate.”
It felt like it. In his minds eye it was as harmful to him as sewage, but he didn’t dare admit that and end up sounding ungrateful and paranoid. But he couldn’t eat it, he just couldn’t. He didn’t want to be sick like that right now. “I just… still feel full from breakfast.”
Gavin seemed slightly confused or maybe upset but accepted the answer, “You know I can’t promise someone won’t steal it if I put it in the break room fridge.” He tried to jokingly argue.
“I’ll have it later.” Connor repeated, not that he planned to. He’d not been able to eat anything the day prior and barely forced himself to eat something for breakfast when it went against everything his mind told him to do. He didn’t have the energy to try stomaching discount curry from some strange shop.
Gavin had noticed. Connor knew that he had with full certainty. It was inevitable really, given they did live together. He’d suddenly taken to asking him if he ate, what he ate and offering him over and over again things Connor’s mind had barred him from eating. He’d kissed him all over and told him how perfect he was and that he never wanted him to change himself, as though he’d been trying to do this to his body.
“You actually gonna eat?” Gavin asked, in a tone not unkind but not exactly gentle either, his hand on Connor’s back as they sat on the couch together.
They'd been spending the majority of the afternoon together, of which included Connor vehemently declining lunch with the excuse of eating something later only to still not have done so several hours later. He was content not to though, simply avoiding it made it far simpler, especially when he could just distract himself talking with Gavin and watching mindless TV shows.
“I'm not really hungry.” He dismissed it again.
Gavin continued to insist though, “You should eat something,”
It wasn’t as though Connor didn’t know that. It was that he didn’t have the energy to spend checking things and looking for something safe. “I wanted to try going vegetarian again, actually,” he avoided the question and focus the conversation elsewhere.
That never worked with Gavin though, he already knew it wasn’t going to but he didn’t expect Gavin to be so blunt with it, “Why are you not eating all the sudden?”
“I have been eating.”
“Not enough.”
He shifted away from Gavin “I have a slow metabolism.”
“Says the guy who used to live off coffee with five sugars in it and fucking candy.” Gavin pointed out without missing a beat, “You can’t seriously think I haven’t noticed.”
“We ate dinner together last night, Gavin.”
“And you shifted through your food for like a full hour before chucking out half of it.”
“It was too much for me.” And eating too much would have made him sick.
“It was too little more like it. And you never fucking eat when we’re not at home. I asked Anderson and he told me you don’t before you try to deny it.”
He’d brought someone else into this? And the lieutenant of all people? He didn’t need other people to get involved with this, he didn’t even want Gavin to be involved in it. “Why did you ask him?”
“Because I’m worried about you!” Gavin shouted suddenly, standing up from the couch, “Do you think I don’t care about you? Do you honestly believe I’d just ignore the fact you're fucking starving yourself right before my eyes!”
“You could have asked me up-front instead; did you even think to ask me first?” Connor asked, also standing up from the couch.
He didn't understand why Gavin was so insistent on making this such a big deal. He wasn't going to deny it was a problem, but it wasn't as though he wasn't functioning.
“Oh, yeah, like when I asked you if you ate lunch yesterday and you lied about it. Or how about before that, when I asked you if you ate anything and you said you finished leftovers except that those same leftovers were scrapped into the bin.” Gavin listed off and Connor just couldn’t look him in the eyes anymore, “If it’s about weight, you’re a toothpick already. You don’t have to—”
“I don’t care about weight. I don’t want to lose any more weight Gavin, I don’t…” He hated the weight loss, that he had to put holes into his belt to force it to fit him and how he could feel the toll it took on his physical strength when on the field. He hated it so much.
Gavin's face softened slightly. “Okay, okay…” The anger from before dissipated from his face, he sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten mad or yelled at you like that. I just…” He lowered his voice, “Just worry about you is all.”
“I don't want you to.” Connor responded with a hitching breath as Gavin put his arms around him, pulling him close to his chest and kissing the top of his head gently.
“No, but I will anyway.”
He felt sick. Perhaps it could have been from anxiety but it could just as easily be from the food he’d forced himself to eat. It was impossible to tell and he couldn’t manage to shift his mind to think of anything else.
The nausea wasn’t strong enough to be anything but uncomfortable. He didn’t feel as though he’d at any moment be sick, that would have caused a much greater anxiety but even as it were in the moment, he found himself shaking with shallow breaths. He’d sought out Gavin’s company. It was unprofessional, to be at work and go distract his boyfriend from his work because he was feeling anxious. But he needed the comfort, needed Gavin’s presence. He couldn’t even explain how desperate he felt at the moment. Just his presence would suffice.
Gavin was still mostly working anyway, while Connor sat beside him, almost scared to open his mouth should he end up being sick, one hand in his hair in a tight fist pulling at his hair while he watched Gavin type. Gavin must have felt him staring because he glanced up from his computer. “Hey. You okay there?”
“Yeah… yeah.” He managed, clearing his throat before speaking again. “Just uh, thinking.”
“About what?”
“Nothing. Nothing important. Really nothing.”
“Yeah, somehow that sounds the furthest thing from nothing,” Gavin replied, brow furrowing a bit. He leaned back slightly, giving Connor more space if he needed it. “You wanna talk about it?”
“No. I mean… yeah, I suppose, but… I just…” Connor paused, struggling to straighten out his thoughts, trying not to let them run away with themselves. He wanted to tell Gavin about all of these concerns he had, but his words kept getting tangled up and unable to form coherent sentences.
“You just what?”
He felt hot. Uncomfortable, nauseous and hot. The longer he waited the more likely it was that he was going to be sick. He felt hot. Uncomfortable, nauseous and hot. The longer he waited the more likely it was that he was going to be sick. He couldn’t stay, not for a moment longer, not with this feeling. He did not want to be sick here. He got up from his chair and quickly moved away – he needed to get it out of him.
“Hey, where you going?” Gavin asked him as he started walking off.
“I have to use the bathroom.” Connor responded, voice strained and shaky.
And use the bathroom he did.
He didn’t even bother to see if anyone else was there too. He dropped down to his knees on the grimy cold tiles before the toilet with enough force to hurt. He pushed his fingers to his tongue and did the only thing he could think to, made himself sick. Repulse originated from every sense as he did so but he had to do it. It was the safest option. It was utterly disgusting and repulsive but he had to.
He flushed the toilet and stumbled to the sink, frantically dispensing the foaming soap onto his hands in one, two three pumps, furiously scrubbing it over his hands, between each finger, under each fingernail, over his palm and then the backs of his hands. Once he dried them the first time he pushed his sleeves back and repeated it, this time letting the water and soap going higher than before.
He couldn’t wash his hands enough. He couldn’t dry them enough. He repeatedly washed and dried them until his already peeling skin was broken and his hands were a distinctive and familiar red. The pain registered only as a standard of hygiene in the moment, even though he only felt even more sick than before. He hated it more than words could describe. He hated how logically backwards it was to make himself sick because he feared being sick. Whatever could have made him sick may have now been out of his system but the act of being physically sick was hardly better. He hated how utterly disgusted he felt by himself. That he still felt sick, that if anything he felt even more sick than before.
He needed to shower. He needed to shower in boiling water and clean himself of everything. To scrub off the outer layer of skin and then shower again. He needed to lock himself in one room and try to contain things. He needed to be clean. To feel clean.
He grabbed a paper towel to open the door with which he then discarded just outside. He felt bad for littering but his heart was racing enough he barely thought of it as he went straight to his desk, hurriedly grabbed his things and escaped to the parking lot before being caught unable to catch his breath and caught in the worst of the panic.
His phone vibrated in his pocket with a message from Gavin.
[ Gavin ]
Everything ok?
He considered responding honestly, or perhaps just tweaking the lie to pretend he’d been legitimately sick and not forced himself to be, but then Gavin would worry, and he really just wanted to be alone with his shame for the time being. Because he needed to clean the car after he’d showered before it could be used again -- So instead, he responded,
[ Connor ]
I’m fine, I’m going to go home early though
Somethings come up
[ Gavin ]
What’s happening
You ok??
Want me to come???
[ Connor ]
No need everything’s fine
I’ll see you later tonight
He knew exactly what had triggered it. Some stomach virus he’d picked up from who knows where that had him looking at everything he could recall eating the previous day as a culprit, regardless of the knowledge he’d most likely gotten it from another person than the food he ate on a daily basis. He’d spent the entire time he was sick (when not hunched over the sink) obsessively showering, washing his hands, bleaching everything he touched and insisting Gavin keep his distance. Not that Gavin listened to him at all, instead he’d helped Connor in his sick and dizzy state back to bed with the promise to clean up for him if he just laid down. He couldn’t do that though. Unless he was the one to do it, it wouldn’t satisfy the need his mind created.
Gavin knew about his OCD to some degree. They’d never sat down to talk of it properly, but he understood that hygiene was always a point of great contention for Connor to a rather abnormal degree. He couldn’t handle people coming over outside of one of two inconsistent exceptions, he couldn’t try on clothes until he’d washed them several times over, he needed the dishes to be both hand-washed and machine washed, he needed the cat to be an indoor, he needed to be the one to do the cleaning and cooking, and of course the excess showering and washing with the selection of specific brands and products he felt assured in.
Since living together, he’d not lapsed into anxieties surrounding food in such an intense manner though. It wasn’t the first time it had happened, not by far. The first time it had happened his parents had told him to get over himself and that he was wasting food, just like he was wasting water and wasting electricity and wasting money and wasting everything else that could only ever make him feel more guilty about everything.
He knew Gavin wouldn’t say those things to him. Least he didn’t believe he would. Gavin treated whatever he was worried about as something genuine even if not reasonable. He’d offer him whatever distraction or comfort he needed and tell him frankly when he thought it was getting out of control. Moreso than anything he’d try to understand. And yet, Connor still didn’t want to say it out loud.
He didn’t want to be pushed out of his comfort zone and simultaneously wanted to believe that he could manage to do the exact same thing on his own. It was shameful to think of how inhibited such ridiculous things could make him. It made him feel foolish and half witted when he was struggling with what was supposed to be so basic. It didn’t matter how understanding people were willing to be when it was regarding something so stupid like this.
It felt so humiliating.
And nothing made him feel more humiliated and disgusting than Gavin asking the fully justified questioned of him later that night, after he’d barely stopped himself having a panic attack in the bathroom, “Did you make yourself sick after lunch today?”
The question alone made him feel sick again. But he swallowed it down and just tried to focus on cleaning up the dishes, “Gavin, why would I do that?”
“You tell me.”
He wanted to. He really did, he wanted Gavin to tell him it was all in his head and he would also hate to hear those words. But the idea of actually saying those words…that was beyond him. So he just sighed and continued scrubbing.
“I felt sick from the wrap.”
“I had the exact same thing and I felt fine. And you don’t seem sick,” Gavin reached out and felt his forehead, “you certainly don’t feel warm.”
If his hands weren't occupied, he'd probably have pushed Gavin away, but instead he ducked his head away as best as possible while keeping his hands over the sink and Gavin took the hint to take a step back, and Connor really needed the space. He needed to breathe, he needed to stay calm enough to play it off.
“Maybe I was allergic to something inside it.”
“You don’t have any allergies.”
“You can develop allergies later on. It happened with my mother—”
“Connor, there was nothing we don’t eat at home in that wrap.” Gavin cut in before he could go on. Connor wanted to tell him he was wrong, he didn't see the people make it, he didn't know the brands of what they used, he didn't know what they cooked it on, how good the standard of hygiene were, but instead he just stayed quiet and started to take off the rubber gloves he was wearing.
“I don’t know why it made me feel sick either.” He pulled off the gloves, and left them on the side of the sink, only having half-finished washing the dishes. All this talk about sickness was too much for him to bear right now.
Gavin grabbed his wrist before he could leave, looking him in the eyes with concern. “I'm not mad at you. I just want you to be honest with me for a minute.” His grip tightened just a fraction. “Okay?” He asked, waiting for a response that never came. “Can you at least tell me what’s going on?”
“You wouldn't understand.”
“Try me.”
Connor shook his head. He looked anywhere but at him, he was scared that if he looked at Gavin it was only going to make things worse. “I need to go take a shower.” He said as he pulled his wrist free from Gavin's grip. Gavin let him, not arguing.
“I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong.” Gavin reasoned.
Connor sighed as he stepped around Gavin. “Please, stop. I'm tired. Let's just drop it okay?” He added quietly before leaving the kitchen and heading upstairs to shower. Hopefully one long enough that Gavin would have already gone to bed by the time he got out.
He packed it himself, made sure to wash all the ingredients and checked the entire loaf of bread at least five times to make sure there was no mould. He tried to make it safe as possible for him to eat, both in the sense that it wouldn’t make him sick and that he felt familiar with it. But it still ended up being thrown out in the bin under his desk in the end, making the entire thing pointless to have even tried. If anything, it had probably only made things worse, because now everything else in bag was also contaminated.
He already knew Gavin would see it. He had thought of trying to hide it, avoid seeming as though he’d wasted food he should have eaten and avoid any questions, but he didn’t want to hide it in paper and waste more things and he couldn’t possibly touch what was already in the bin – even if he knew it was only paper and empty coffee cups. He could have taken it to another bin, but he didn’t want to touch it when the foil it was wrapped inside was so thin.
“Why is there a whole untouched sandwich in your trash can?” Was naturally Gavin’s first question for him, before even saying hello.
“It’s been sitting in my bag too long.”
“Looks pretty fresh to me.” Gavin looked between Connor and the sandwich dubiously. A beat of silence passed, Gavin inspecting him closely and Connor not having the motivation nor energy to defend himself, continuing his write up without even looking to Gavin. “What else are you having for lunch then?” Gavin eventually asked, crossing his arms over.
“I don’t know.” He said flatly.
“You gotta eat something.”
“I know, Gavin.”
“Then why aren’t you?”
“I’ll get myself something later.”
“Will you really?”
“Yes.”
Gavin sighed, unimpressed with Connor’s despondency to his question and tired of hearing it. Connor didn’t blame him for it either, he’d probably feel the same in the situation. “I’m sorry Con but I honestly don’t believe you.”
No. He didn’t want to do this conversation again. He couldn’t do this conversation again. He was so tired of hearing it, of lying for the benefit of nobody but himself and he just didn’t want to go through it another time. Not at work, not when he was already feeling so shitty about it all.
“Well then I guess there isn't a point talking about this,” Connor finally muttered quietly.
“Just eat something, I don’t care what it is and I don’t give a fuck how healthy or unhealthy it is, as long as it’s something. I’ll get you whatever you want.”
Connor looked down at the sandwich once again, then back up at Gavin. “Can we just do this later.”
“When's later gonna be? Cause last time-”
“Gavin, I don't want to have this discussion here. I need to go do an interrogation and—”
“You need to eat something.” Gavin insisted, “You're making yourself sick like this.”
“I have to leave, I can’t be late,” he lied getting up and scrambling to get his tablet. It didn't matter if he was going to be waiting in the interrogation room doing work in there instead, he couldn't cope with talking about any of this. Because he knew he was leaving himself vulnerable to so much more by not properly eating but he couldn’t. He didn’t have the strength for this conversation yet, not today, not tomorrow. Maybe not ever.
All he wanted to do was sleep.
He was tired all the time anyway, not sleeping because either anxiety or hunger, if not both, and running off only small quantities he ate slowly as possible to avoid any possibility of it making him sick afterwards only to be plagued by more anxiety immediately afterwards. So, he crawled into bed early hoping that he’d pass out (and if the dizziness was anything to go by, he could probably accomplish that without being in bed).
It was impossible though. Because he felt starving. The kind of starving that made his stomach hurt and his mind thing of one nothing but the food he’d declined. So instead, he laid in bed beside Gavin and fiddled with the sheets and waited for the nausea to pass. He was used to it, after all. At some point, Gavin stopped him, by grabbing his hand - probably because he'd been woken up by Connor's movement. Connor pulled away from Gavin's hands as soon as they touched his skin.
He hated his hands. He hated that they were always cracked and dry because how often he’d wash them, he hated how they’d hurt most of the time from how much he washed them, from how he’d wring them together as part of his nervous pacing when he didn’t have the composure to balance a coin only causing him to further flake peeling skin.
“Your hands are shaking.” Gavin pointed out quietly.
“I know,” Connor pulled his hands back, to under the blanket as Gavin shifted to look at him properly. “They’re always shaking.”
“No, they aren’t.” Gavin sighed softly. "Can't sleep?"
“It's fine.”
“I know somethings wrong, you know." Gavin said bluntly, “Maybe I don’t know what, but you’re always tired and you're doing all those old habits again and you’ve lost a shit ton of weight.”
“I can't explain it.” Connor admitted, "Not right now anyways, I just…”
"You know I love you right?" Gavin said softly.
Connor swallowed hard, "Yeah."
"So, please, tell me." Gavin whispered.
"I can't. It's not what you think, I promise, but I just can't tell you, Gavin."
Gavin sighed heavily and took Connor’s hand in his, rubbing his thumb on the back of it, “Remember a few months after we got together, when you started wearing gloves 24/7 and avoided going outside all the time? Like you’d cancel our dates and used up all your sick days and even ended up asking me to groceries ‘cause you just didn’t want to go out that much. And I mean, even for you with your germaphobia, it was just like another level. It something like that?”
It was exactly like that, more than Gavin knew. It was all the same voices that had told him the air itself was polluted and that contact of something from outside would risk life threatening disease. It was as daunting as it had been before, an invisible barricade he hadn’t the tools to bypass. And he hated it, because he should’ve past it by now, not be letting it find new roots.
“Gavin, let’s just go back to sleep now.” he asked quietly, pulling his hand back.
He did feel faint. He needed something to eat but standing up made him dizzy and nothing in the break room was clean, everything there had been touched or breathed on. Nothing was clean. Nothing felt at all clean and it was driving him insane.
The desire to eat lunch and inability to do so only lead to him having a break down at the idea of it ending up leaving work early because he felt so fucking dizzy and still only managed to come home and eat a sleeve of crackers that just made him thirsty rather than really helping. And the lack of food was starting to make him nauseous, abolishing any courage he might have been able to pluck to try and eat something more adequate.
He felt so terrible he decided to just sleep. Sleep until Gavin came home, sleep until the sun went down, sleep until it came up again and just maybe he wouldn’t ever have to wake up from it and be forced into the same dance again.
Instead, Gavin came home and told him not to worry about dinner because he had something planned, a statement that was only able to arouse more anxiety than before at the idea of having to eat something he could be unfamiliar with and couldn’t he there to enforce a standard with. He’d hovered around the kitchen while Gavin cooked. Trying to find an excuse to inspect things and reassure himself but with how overwhelmed he felt it was difficult to keep track of anything and he had no idea what was happening when the final dish was prepared.
“Where did you get the recipe?” He asked, staring down at his plate of spaghetti that Gavin had set before him. A red sauce covered the sides and noodles were piled on top of each other haphazardly. Cut up pieces of bacon sat on top of it, along with other garnishes and flavourings. The smell alone was enough to make his stomach rumble but, as usual, the thought of it only sent him spiralling into an anxious state.
“Some youtube video. Just try a bit,” Gavin urged.
He tried to smile as he looked to Gavin. He wanted to eat it, he trusted Gavin's cooking but he just didn't know how. He twirled it onto his fork, pushed it off, repeated it and decided instead he should try a single strand to start with - something more manageable. Something simple, easy.
It tasted delicious but he still immediately put his fork down, waiting to see if it made him feel sick.
He didn't understand why Gavin had decided to do this. Gavin was always the one to suggest take-away or eating out instead of cooking and he happily let Connor cook instead, so why now did he decide to do this? Why did he have to cook things that made him feel so anxious? It wasn't that Connor disliked it, far from it actually but why now?
He tried to focus on the conversation instead, as he worked on pushing off anything else touching the next pasta noodle he planned to eat and trying to push back the nausea as best as he could and hoped it would end soon. As his fork pushed back a small cube of bacon, he felt a spike of fear that the meat was undercooked, now having touching his fork and making it too poison.
“Do you like it?”
“Yeah.” Connor swallowed hard, “It’s good, thank you, Gavin.”
Gavin smiled and nodded, “Anytime.”
He cautiously took another bite, then another. It was only a few bites until he felt sick. He pushed the pasta noodle aside, his appetite gone. But there was enough anxiety if not more from having eaten some of it compared to the plate in front of him. What could he do now if he'd let it enter his body already.
But he couldn't just leave now, could he?
“You alright?” Gavin asked. “You seem tense.”
“I can't eat anymore,” he said, taking in deep breaths, trying to calm down.
“You've barely had, like, three bites.” Gavin frowned, “I thought you liked it.”
That stung Connor as well - because he really did love Gavin's cooking, he loved the taste but the feeling of it in his mouth made his stomach churn, unless that was the anxiety. He wanted to eat more. He didn't want to be viewing things purely as safe or unsafe but it was the only thought his mind could conjure.
“I can’t. I just I can’t do this today, Gavin. I need to - I need to go wash my hands,” he stood up quickly and Gavin moved to grab him, “Gavin stop-”
“You haven’t even-”
“Gavin, I need to- please.”
“And I need you to eat something,” Gavin tugged lightly on his arm, “You're so thin and so fucking pale.”
“It’s not safe, you don’t understand. I - I need to - I can’t breathe.” His breathing hastened and it felt like his throat was closing in and he couldn't force his chest to move enough to get enough air. He wasn't sure if it was a reaction to the food or the anxiety, but it brought on another wave of panic and he felt frozen. “Gavin, Gavin-”
“I'm right here, Con,” Gavin instantly shifted his tone and reached for his hand, “What's wrong?”
“I - I can't,” He mumbled. He still couldn't breathe properly and it was making him dizzy, the floor beneath him feeling as though it had become soft and unstable. He could hear as much as he could feel the pounding of his heart. He felt lost suddenly and breathing was starting to hurt.
“Let's sit down for a moment, okay?” Gavin grabbed him gently.
He nodded and allowed Gavin to drag him towards the couch. He didn't know how long it took until he managed to control his breathing again, slowly calming down. He leaned his head against Gavin's shoulder and listened to the sound of his heartbeat, focusing on the rise and fall of his chest and tried to match his own breathing to it.
“You okay now?” Gavin asked softly once he seemed calmed again.
Connor nodded, keeping close to Gavin to stop the anxiety creeping back. “Yeah.”
“What happened?” Gavin asked, concerned.
He shrugged meekly, pressing closer. “It was just... too much.”
“Too much what?” Gavin's voice was gentle, comforting.
“The food.” He admitted looking down to his hands, still shaky from his panic, “It just didn't feel clean.”
“What do you mean it didn't feel clean?” Gavin tilted his head, looking at Connor with confusion. “Like you didn't like it or it was unhealthy?”
He shook his head. “It's not your food. It's everything. I don’t want to get sick, I really don’t want to get sick and everything feels so dirty and unclean I just don’t want to risk it.”
Gavin frowned, leaning away slightly to look at him better, “Is this like... to do with your OCD?”
If he wasn't so exhausted, he might have cried but as it was he could just nod, “I think so.”
“Connor, why didn't you just tell me that?” Gavin sighed. “I could've helped.”
“I thought I could handle it. It wasn't impairing my functioning,” Connor said, fidgeting with his fingers. “not as much as others things have anyway. I want to eat, I really do, it's not like I don't, but it's not safe and I don't want to risk being ill. I'm sorry. I should be able to handle it on my own by now but I just...”
“Don't you start with that again,” Gavin said, moving his arms around Connor’s shoulders. “I'm not mad at you. I'm not gonna be mad at you for having problems, that's just part of being human. God knows I got problems of my own. But the point is we work through them together.”
“It's so simple though, it's just eating.”
“Then we'll figure out what works. Together, yeah?” Gavin suggested and he squeezed his shoulders briefly. “Right now though, you gotta eat something more than a few bites of pasta. If what I made is too much, why don't I order us something?”
Connor shook his head sitting up properly and pushing his hair back, “That would just be harder. I need to know what's in it.”
“You wanna make something together then? That's pretty great, isn't it?” Gavin offered. “We could even do breakfast tomorrow too, if you feel up for it?”
“Yeah... yeah, that sounds nice. I don’t know about the breakfast, but I think I can manage dinner, I think.” He nodded and let out a quiet breath, “Thank you.”
“You don’t gotta thank me, idiot,” Gavin gave him a soft smile and pulled him in for another kiss, “We'll work on it together, okay?”
“Okay.”