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Ezra didn’t want to eat.
His stomach clenched and shuddered as he poked at the food on his plate. Conversation ricocheted around him, the rest of the crew happily talking as if nothing was wrong. And to them, nothing was. He was the one who’d been butting heads with Kanan again. Who’d screwed up during training, once again showing what a mistake the Jedi had made.
Ezra really didn’t want to eat right now.
But he couldn’t just waste food. Especially not tonight, when it wasn’t just cheap, shelf-stable rations. Fresh meat and vegetables were expensive. Refusing it would be unforgivable.
He glanced around the table, trying to rid himself of that horrible feeling that the others were staring and watching him. But seeing that it wasn’t true didn’t make it feel any less so.
Ezra dropped his gaze back to his plate, his stomach fluttering as he stared down at it. He couldn’t let it go to waste. And he had to start eating before –
“You okay?”
Ezra’s head jerked up at Kanan’s question, that knot of something in his stomach drawing tighter. Now the others were looking at him.
“Yeah,” Ezra said, trying his best to sound like he wasn’t panicking (and he wasn’t, really, he wasn’t).
He stabbed at a chunk of meat with his fork and shoved it into his mouth. An easy way to avoid any more questions. He felt Kanan’s gaze lingering for a few extra seconds as the conversation at the table returned to normal. It just made that sickening anxiety worse. All he ever seemed to be able to do was let Kanan down.
Ezra forced himself to eat everything on his plate, even as the urge to bolt grew stronger with every bite. The second the plate was empty, he fled.
That night, as he changed into the old shirt Kanan had given him to sleep in, Ezra palmed the ration bar he kept in his pocket. He’d stolen it on his first day here, before he was even a member of the crew, and always made sure to keep it within easy reach. In his pocket during the day and—once he’d finally felt safe enough to sleep in something other than his regular clothes—under his pillow at night.
Logically, he knew he probably didn’t need to bother. As he climbed up onto his bunk, he was still fuller than he’d known was possible before he joined the crew. The odds of waking up unbearably hungry were slim.
But anything could happen. There was always the possibility of needing to flee in the middle of the night. Having even just one ration bar with him could make the first few days back on the streets a little easier.
So he tucked the bar beneath his pillow, just as he had every night since he’d come here.
But that fragment of security did nothing to ease the transition to sleep. It had never been all that easy for him, but it had only gotten harder since he moved onto the Ghost. At first he’d tried to blame it on Zeb’s snoring, but deep down he always knew that wasn’t the case. He’d slept in alleys with much more noise nearby. The old comms tower creaked and groaned with every strong gust of wind. It was just… this place. Just being here, with all of them so close by.
And tonight, it was that unsettling fullness in his stomach, too.
They’d wasted all that food on him, and he didn’t even want it. Still didn’t want it, really. Something seemed fundamentally wrong about the fact that they’d given it to him at all.
Between the close quarters and the guilt so strong it was making him nauseous, sleep didn’t come for Ezra for a long, long time.
Kanan’s lightsaber felt abnormally heavy in Ezra’s hands. His movements, normally slow and awkward as he learned the katas, were weak and halting. A faint dizziness buzzed in the back of his head, distracting him.
Still he pushed himself, fighting against the exhaustion that relentlessly prodded at him. He’d gone longer than this without eating before, and he wasn’t going to let hunger slow him down now.
Gritting his teeth, Ezra raised the blade in a defense against his imaginary opponent. But the shaking of his hands made the blade jerk up too high, leaving the left side of his chest exposed to attack.
“Stop,” Kanan said, and Ezra couldn’t help but flinch.
“I know,” Ezra said quickly. Defensively. “I know what I did wrong.”
As he transitioned into the next motion of the exercise, Kanan took a step toward him. Ezra froze, suddenly feeling like he was in terrible trouble for something.
“Ezra,” Kanan said, the tone in his voice leaving no room for argument. “Stop.”
Slowly, Ezra lowered the lightsaber and returned it to Kanan’s outstretched hand. Shame gnawed at his insides, even stronger than the hunger. He was screwing up again, just like he’d been doing since he got here.
“Sit.”
Ezra was shaking as he carefully lowered himself to his knees in the grass, secretly grateful that he was getting a break. At first he’d thought the dizziness and tiredness weren’t too bad, but they were starting to wear on him. Kanan sat across from him, carefully placing the lightsaber on the ground between them.
“Are you alright?” he asked. It was such a simple question, but it made Ezra freeze up, fighting the desire to bolt.
“I’m fine,” he said at long last, forcing the lie out past the block in the back of his throat.
“When was the last time you ate?”
That desire to run only increased. Suddenly Ezra found himself feeling inexplicably threatened even though Kanan hadn’t so much as moved an inch in his direction.
Ezra shrugged, the motion feeling distant and mechanical. He knew perfectly well that he’d last eaten three days ago, during that meal he’d frantically forced himself to choke down to avoid drawing any attention.
“It… it was this morning.”
He knew the instant the words were out of his mouth that Kanan didn’t believe him. Whether he sensed something in the Force or it was just that obvious of a lie, Kanan knew.
“I don’t think that’s true,” Kanan said. “And you can’t train with a weapon when you’re about to pass out.”
He wasn’t harsh, exactly, but once again Ezra heard no room for argument or excuses. Suddenly he was very aware of the ration bar sitting in his pocket. Guilt clawed at his insides, making him feel like he’d done something horribly wrong. Not by going without food, but by getting caught. By being so obviously off his game that Kanan had become suspicious.
“I’ve gone longer than this without eating before,” Ezra muttered, giving up on the idea of lying.
“I’m sure you have,” Kanan said evenly. “But you didn’t have a lightsaber in your hand back then. This is dangerous.”
“’m sorry,” he mumbled. He wasn’t, but it felt like the thing Kanan might want to hear. The thing that could keep him out of trouble.
He stared down at his pocket as if he could see the ration bar right through it, trying to convince himself that it wouldn’t be so hard to eat it, really. And it shouldn’t be, he knew. He knew other people didn’t have this problem. Anyone else would just eat the kriffing thing, but that horrible feeling of being watched and in danger was a thousand times worse as he sat there with Kanan just a few feet away, concern and worry prickling at him through the Force and growing with every second.
Suddenly Ezra felt nauseous. It wasn’t supposed to be this hard, was it? None of the others seemed to have this kind of trouble. He never sensed them teetering on the brink of falling apart when they were faced with having to eat.
“Hera probably has chores for me anyway,” Ezra said quietly, dropping his gaze to the ground. “I can eat later.”
“Ezra,” Kanan said, catching his arm before he could stand up and bolt. His grip was gentle and loose. It would be easy enough for Ezra to break free. But he didn’t move. “Talk to me. I know there’s a reason you’re not eating.”
Ezra shrugged, gently tugging his wrist free of Kanan’s hand. He had no idea how to explain this to Kanan because he barely understood it himself. It just… terrified and repulsed him to think about eating. To know that they were wasting their food on him. Even as he stole scraps of food and hid it away, it filled him with a horrible, sinking dread. And every time the crew gathered for a meal, he felt like he was about to be snapped at or sent away.
Still, Kanan wanted an explanation, so Ezra forced himself to speak, hoping that if he just started talking, something that sounded reasonable would come out.
“I – I just…” he trailed off, the words sticking painfully in his throat. “I…”
“You don’t feel safe here.”
Ezra’s shoulders stiffened at Kanan’s non-question. He didn’t quite understand what that had to do with him not eating, but he suddenly felt as if his Master had punched him in the gut.
“I’m trying.”
His voice broke and he quickly clamped his jaw shut, grinding his teeth together. Crying in front of other people was dangerous. He knew that, and he’d gotten good at keeping his emotions buried, and yet here he was, with his eyes and throat aching as he fought not to break down.
“I’m trying,” he muttered again, his shoulders slumping.
“Ezra, this isn’t something you can force,” Kanan said gently. “You’ve only been here a few months. It takes time to get used to… any of this.”
Ezra’s shoulders crept up toward his ears, the closest he could get to shrinking away from Kanan when he felt like he was rooted to the spot. It was kriffing embarrassing. He’d spent nearly eight years on the streets, fighting tooth and nail to survive from one day to the next. After all that, he should feel safe here. It was a warm, dry place to sleep. That alone should be enough for him. But Kanan was right. Everything about the Ghost felt like danger. Those sturdy, secure walls and lockable doors felt like a trap, boxing him in. In the presence of the others he was always waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“You still need to eat,” Kanan said. “And we can do whatever we have to do to make that happen. If you can only eat a little, or you need to do it away from everyone else, we can make that work for now.”
Ezra didn’t trust the warm, anxious ache in his chest. Kanan might sound understanding, but all of it felt like some kind of trap. Like everything was going to collapse out from under him at any second.
“And you need to tell me if you haven’t eaten in more than a day,” Kanan told him. “You won’t get in trouble for it, but if there’s something that’s going to affect your ability to train or to do your part on a mission, I need to know.”
Slowly, Ezra forced himself to nod. It seemed simple enough to agree to now, though he had a feeling it wouldn’t be that easy.
“I will,” he said quietly. “I promise.”
Please don’t kick me out over this.
“Here,” Kanan said. He drew a ration bar from his pocket and held it out to Ezra, who forced himself to take it. “Go find a place to hide and eat this. Or at least use it to replace the one you’ve been carrying around in your pocket for months.”
Ezra blinked.
“How –”
“I was homeless once, too, kid,” Kanan said. “I’ve done my fair share of hoarding food.”
Somehow, that made the tight knot of anxiety in Ezra’s chest ease just a little. Not enough to rid him of the feeling that he was In Trouble, but it was still something. At least Kanan understood a little.
Ezra forced himself to his feet, clutching the ration bar tightly.
“Find me when you’re feeling better,” Kanan said. “We can pick up where we left off.”
It was supposed to be a reassurance, Ezra knew. But as he nodded and trudged away, a bitter sense of failure overwhelmed him. He should have been able to push through. He always had before.
Once he was hidden behind the ship, nestled away where no one would find him, he pulled the stale ration bar from his pocket, replacing it with the one Kanan had given him. He tore open the wrapped and forced himself to take a bite. It wasn’t so bad now that he was alone. At least that was what he told himself as he choked down another bite. The guilt and the weird, twisted feeling he couldn’t name were still there, but at least he wasn’t being watched, even if it felt like he was.
For now, that would have to be enough.