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Wilbur often finds himself feeling like a hamster in a wheel.
It happens whenever anyone finds out about his disorder. It happens when his weight dips a little below what's manageable, and there's no excuse to explain how he got so thin and why he isn't getting any better. That is the moment when those around him meet his illness. An ugly thing that loves making a dramatic entrance and vivaciously introducing itself to whoever's around to listen. They find out, they try to talk to him, and despite his resistance, Wilbur gets talked into some fake fucking recovery that makes him fat for a few months and only encourages him to starve twice as hard afterwards to get back what was taken from him. People who have never starved themselves don't understand what it actually means to recover from an eating disorder, but Wilbur can't say anything because he doesn't think recovery is ever something he'll truly have.
The 'recovery' period itself is just awful. Wilbur hates hiding behind his anorexia; he's a grown man, and he should be held responsible for his own actions, but no one ever listens to him. It's always, "it's alright, Wil, we know it's not you talking." And "that's the eating disorder taking over, Wilbur. You have to fight back. This isn't you." Always "this isn't you." Wilbur's getting pretty fucking sick of people standing inches from his face, staring into his eyes and saying it isn't him looking back. Of course, it's him, there is no one else in Wilbur's body, and he's sick of people telling him there is. Usually, after all of this, Wilbur ices out whoever's discovered his dirty little secret until they're entirely out of his life. It's a little harder now, considering his most recent intervention was held by his entire band, and Wilbur doesn't really have the energy to go and search for a whole new group of instrumentalists who share his style and aren't afraid of his fanbase.
There's no quick solution this time.
So Wilbur instead decides to stop fighting at all. If his bandmates know, he's sure they'll tell others eventually. He's sure it'll get out, so he might as well take what control he can over that situation now.
Wilbur's too tired to pretend anymore.
- - -
"I'm done with my burger. Wil, could you eat some for me?" Wilbur barely hears Tommy over the bustling mid-afternoon rush at the cafe. The boy pushes a plate towards him, and Wilbur stares at it, unmoving. To his left, Tubbo steals two chips off the plate and throws them onto his own.
"I'm alright, thanks." He says gently, his smile stretched thin.
"C'mon dude, I don't wanna be rude and leave a half-finished plate. It's not like you're full from your heaping plate of nothing. Help a guy out?" Tommy pushes like he always does, but Wilbur doesn't dance around it with his usual practised lies like the blond expects him to.
"Sorry man, no can do. I'm fasting." Wilbur shrugs apologetically and looks down to take a sip from his water. Cutlery crashes down on a plate right next to him, and Wilbur turns to see Phil staring at him in something akin to shock horror. (Wilbur's hoping it isn't because that's a bit dramatic.) "Everything okay?" He asks slowly. It's after he speaks that he notices no one else is. The once noisy table bursting with chaotic overlays of conversation has fallen to a hush. Wilbur doesn't have to look around to know everyone's watching him.
"Did you say you were fasting?"
"Yep," Wilbur confirms without much thought. He downs the rest of his water and leans across the table, hand outstretched. "Niki, could you pass the pitcher, please?"
- - -
They're on their way home from lunch when a fan stops them. She's got the thinnest wrists Wilbur's seen for a while, and when he raises a hand to do a thumbs up for the photo, he can't help but notice that his fingers look a lot fatter than hers do holding the phone. He isn't sure if this is just because of the extensive height difference and the fact Wilbur just has a larger frame and bone structure or if it's because he's not thin enough yet. He's still trying desperately to drop the weight Lovejoy had him gain in his forced recovery last month, but he swears he's back to where he was previously, and yet he feels like much more of a failure. Wilbur needs to be smaller.
"Do you think she's skinnier than me?" Wilbur doesn't intend to say it aloud, but he feels no need to retract the statement ever.
Ranboo smacks him and instantly begins apologising. "Sorry, that was harder than I- what the fuck, Wilbur?"
"Yeah," Tommy echoes quietly, eyes watching the fan fade into the distance. The poor girl that Wilbur's just called out for absolutely no good or appropriate reason. "What the fuck, Wil."
"Is that a no, then?" He mumbles quietly, mostly to himself. Ranboo and Tommy take off walking, leaving him in their dust. The rest of their group had been hanging back around the corner, not up for taking photos at the moment, so deciding to hide out of sight. They catch up to Wilbur and are none the wiser to the shit he's just spewed. Tommy and Ranboo don't spare him a glance the entire way home.
- - -
"How long are you fasting for?" Tommy asks when Wilbur once again declines food from him. They've gone back to James' flat and are scattered across the couches and floor in his living area. Tommy is holding out a bag of Doritos, and Wilbur may or may not be leaning back away from the offending calories.
"Not much longer. I'll probably make dinner when I get home. Or breakfast tomorrow," Wilbur lies easily. He's gonna keep going until his body makes him stop, he knows.
"When did you start?" James asks, not bothering to mask his concern. His hand clenches tightly around his phone.
"Uh… Tuesday? Technically, Monday night, but I wouldn't really count that."
"Four days?!" Phil gasps out. "Wilbur, that's not healthy." Wilbur resists the urge to remind Phil that he knows nothing about fasting.
"Well, sure it is. People do it all the time."
"Not for half a week," Niki argues.
"Yeah. Bodybuilders, models, just look it up."
"You're not a bodybuilder. Or a model," Ranboo pitches in carefully.
"So quick to deny me, Ranboo," Wilbur quips, with a forced expression of amusement on his face. "You're telling me I don't have the face to model?" Nobody finds him funny.
"Wilbur, come on. Let's go to the kitchen and end this fast of yours, yeah?"
"Kindly, Phil, fuck off." If the atmosphere was tense before, it's stifling after Wilbur curses at the eldest. "I'm a grown man. I'll decide when I eat, thanks."
"If you're going to break it when you get home, why can't you do it here instead?" Wilbur resists the urge to swear at James as well.
"It's fine, alright? I have everything prepped at home. You wouldn't even have the right ingredients."
"What do you mean the right ingredients? Surely you can have just about anything, can't you? What's the point in fasting if you can't stuff your face with pizza afterwards?" Tommy asks naively.
"You have to be careful after going a while without eating. Wilbur could make himself very sick if he has the wrong thing." Wilbur nods at Niki's explanation.
"Yeah, exactly. I have everything I need at home, hence why I'm not gonna waltz into James' kitchen and start 'stuffing my face'. So can we drop this, please?"
"I'm sure James will have something you can eat, Wil. Some eggs and avocados, maybe." Wilbur has to force himself not to flinch at the possibility of eating fats, healthy or not.
"No, it's fine." He repeats tautly. It's not enough for James.
"Niki's right. I bought fresh eggs just today, and I'm pretty sure there's an avo or two in the fridge, along with a casserole, if that's light enough?"
"I'm good, man," Wilbur insists louder, a decibel away from snapping.
"Why not?" Wilbur hesitates for only a moment before sighing in defeat. He slumps into the couch and begins to explain tiredly.
"I appreciate the hospitality, James," he starts flatly. "But your avocados and... casserole," Wilbur waves a hand in the air, "don't exactly fit into my meal plan."
"Meal plan?" Phil prompts immediately. Wilbur wishes they would let it go already, but he supposes he's brought the questioning on himself. He folds his arms over his chest to create at least some form of barricade between everyone else and his heart.
"Yes," he confirms slowly, unsure what more expansion Phil needs. The name is pretty self-explanatory.
"What kind of meal plan do you even have, man?" Tommy questions. Wilbur hates how this all feels like an interrogation. "Has it just said 'starve' for the last four days or something?" Wilbur snorts at that but cuts himself off at Niki's frown.
"It's not... It's not like a scheduled thing. It's more so just the foods I can eat. I don't eat avocados or unnamed casserole dishes."
"Why?"
"Because it's not on the meal plan, Phil," Wilbur spits out through gritted teeth.
"Why isn't it?" Niki and James ask at the exact same time. It pushes him over the edge.
"Because it's too many calories!" Wilbur finally barks out, and from the look that passes over both of his friends' faces, Wilbur knows that was the penny dropping. He keeps talking anyway, hoping to distract from the c-worded bomb he's just dropped. "Because the macros aren't optimal, and it's not trackable either. It doesn't fit, alright? Neither is enough of a protein source to warrant the amount of my daily budget they would use up, so they aren't on the plan, and so I won't be eating them. Are we clear?"
"It's called discipline, Phil. You could try it sometime," Wilbur snarks before he even thinks about what he's saying. Did he just accidentally body-shame Phil? "Wait, I didn't mean-"
"You think it's discipline?" Ranboo asks quietly, interrupting whatever poor attempt at backtracking Wilbur was about to begin.
"What? Yeah, obviously. It's my dedication to living a healthy lifestyle. I'm kinda concerned by how shocked you guys are; I'm just taking care of myself," he fibs. He has no concern for his friends' unfamiliarity. He hopes they never come to understand the way his mind works. Niki makes a sound, and Wilbur is forced to recall that she knows all too well.
"No, that's... having a ride-or-die behaviour to your food plans and diet isn't just healthy living. That's an eating disorder." He can't exactly scoff at her like she isn't aware of what she's talking about because he knows she is. Niki is one of the only people in this room with the experience to talk to him like this. "You have an eating disorder, Wilbur."
"But… but I'm fat." Wilbur doesn't think before speaking, and consequently, all hell breaks loose. He rushes to correct himself over the orchestral outcry from his dearest friends. "Fatter, sorry. Fatter than I have been. Why would you think now that I have a, uh, issue?" He feels like they may think he's stirring the pot for the sake of it, but Wilbur genuinely feels too big for this conversation right now. The main reason he's been so obvious today is that his extra weight has made him feel invincible to these types of claims.
"A disorder, Wilbur. An eating disorder." Niki pressures firmly. Wilbur rolls his eyes.
"An eating disorder," he parrots tonelessly. "I'm way too big for one of those, don't you think?"
"If you're big, then what does that make me?" Phil remarks, and, oh, if that doesn't piss Wilbur the fuck off.
"It wasn't really intended to be about you, Phil," Wilbur snaps. He can't find it within him to feel apologetic.
"Right, of course. Sorry, I didn't mean that. I was just trying to, uh, get you to see that… Wilbur, you're not fat. You're nowhere near fat."
"Right, well, that's your opinion, Phil. And none of this matters, anyway. I don't have an eating disorder, and even if I did, it's my choice when I do and don't eat. Not any of yours."
"You're right. It is your choice. But it's not fair for you to take mine away," Niki speaks calmly, but it sends waves crashing down all around. Wilbur feels seasick.
"…What?"
"You've been really triggering today, Wilbur. And I don't think all the comments you've made about your diet and exercise routines have been necessary."
"What- but, you guys asked. I was only being honest-" Wilbur stumbles over his words, every second syllable being forced out and making him feel like he's choking.
"I understand that. But some details could be excluded for the sake of others, don't you think?"
“Okay… but Niki I… Niki, I'm not even skinny right now. Why would that-"
"It just does," she interrupts, tears of frustration filling her eyes. Wilbur feels an unspeakable hurt that she didn't correct him or tell him how thin and frail he actually is.
"Well, sorry, Niki. It wasn't my intention to trigger you. It's probably best I just leave, then." Wilbur stands and makes it halfway to the door before he's interrupted.
"Please don't walk out of here, Wil," Phil pleads desperately. "We can't just drop this. Does... Can we tell someone? If we... You're still living with Joe, aren't you? Wilbur, we have to tell your band about this, so they can help when you-" Wilbur interrupts him with a cold, slightly hysteric laugh. He begins to pace the room.
"Oh, they are well fucking aware." He lifts an eyebrow at the surprised expressions shot his way. "What? You thought I gained a bunch of weight cause I felt like it? Obviously, there was an outward intervention."
"Then why are you… are you relapsing?"
"You can't relapse if you never fucking recovered in the first place, Niki. Of course I didn't. For some reason, you people don't clock that shoving food in my gob until I pile on the pounds won't change my mindset."
"Wilbur..." Tommy utters out in a tone Wilbur's never heard from him. It does nothing to stop him.
"You know what's funny? They always say it will. Every nutritionist and therapist I've seen always tells me I just need to feed my body more, and the thoughts will go away. That I'll get my starved brain will return to a strength where it can start fighting back once I reach a specific BMI. And you know what? That's fucking bullshit. All I ever get is a fuckton of unwanted weight and a load more self-hatred that I didn't ask for."
"Maybe it's cause you don't give it enough of a chance, Wilbur. Maybe you have to gain more than what's gotten you to a normal BMI to give it a proper go," James tries, voice like sandpaper against Wilbur's skin.
"No. No, it's not fair. They don't get to make me gain all the weight and then just sit with my thoughts as I fucking tear myself to shreds. That's not fair. It hurts. It hurts so fucking bad. You also can't just throw more ambiguities at me like, 'oh, maybe you just need to gain more' haven't I gained enough? All I do is gain weight, and all it does is ruin my life." Wilbur heaves when he's finished, winded from all the talking and pacing he's done, supported by zero food in his system and limited amounts of water. He feels like he's floating down a stream and eyeing up the fast-approaching rapids. He doesn't know which direction he should be swimming in. His mind sticks like glue to one little detail of what James had said. He goes towards the rapids. "And.. what did… did you just say I was a normal BMI?"
"They didn't push you over that, did they?"
"Over?! Fucking- I haven't been a normal BMI since I was fifteen."
"Alright, Wilbur," James warns, shooting a worried look at Niki, who's sagged against the couch in defeat and is shaking her head.
"Don't 'alright Wilbur' me. Normal BMI, my arse. What, do I look normal to you?" James doesn't give him the answer he wants. He gives him no answer at all, instead just glancing away and looking the saddest Wilbur has ever seen him. He doesn't care. He just wants answers. "Tommy?" Wilbur turns to the boy. Suddenly, Tommy is a mere fawn staring into blinding headlights, and Wilbur is a monster truck.
"Don't answer that, Tommy," Phil interjects quietly. Not quite enough to escape Wilbur's wrath.
"Oh, here comes dad to the rescue, eh? Not gonna stick up for your eldest then, Phil?"
"Hard to when you're in the wrong, mate," Phil responds cooly, not intimidated in the slightest by Wilbur's crazed antics. "Look, Wil, we're just looking out for you. We're worried, alright?"
"Well, you're all doing a shit job of showing that. None of you could correct me on my body dysmorphia once, really?" Wilbur spits before he can stop himself.
"What?"
"He's talking about us not calling him skinny," Niki explains to Phil in a whisper. He shoots her a daunted look. Wilbur rolls his eyes.
"I… Wilbur, we aren't going to validate your sickness. That'll just make it worse," James exclaims.
"Validate? Oh, man," Wilbur chokes on a raucous laugh, "you have no idea." He's had enough of the pacing, of the eyes on his form as he rants and raves about how shitty recovery is to a room full of people that look moments away from pulling him, kicking and screaming, right back into that process all over again. He's had enough trying to explain himself to people who'll never listen. "You lot have given me a shit load of validation today, believe it or not, so thank you for the incentive to starve." He throws out a wicked grin at the choked sounds that earn him from the two youngest in the room. He doesn't feel real. At this moment, Wilbur feels like a character from one of the stories he makes up in his head to fall asleep at night. He feels like a fantasy because the real him would never say these things to his friends and would never hurt them like he is right now. He takes four large strides towards the front door.
"If you walk out of here, don't expect to be welcomed back. I don't want you in my home if you're going to treat our friends like this," Niki says boldly. "If you're going to treat me like this." Wilbur doesn't turn around. He simply scoffs, snagging his coat off the rack by the door and removing the deadbolt.
"Fine by me. Fat lot of friends you were. Besides," he fishes his phone from his pocket and begins sifting through his contacts. "I've got better places to be."
He's not even halfway down Niki's apartment stairs when Joe picks up the phone.
"Hello?"
"I don't know about you, my man," he takes a moment to pause, hoping it seems like it's for dramatic effect and not because he needs a minute to catch his breath at the building's exit. "But I am fuckin' ready for this tour."