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“I’m not hungry.”
It sits light on his tongue, breezy, as though it has been said countless times. It has.
He stares at himself in the mirror and says it again. And again. And again. Once more.
“I’m not hungry.”
Yet he holds his stomach in pain during his first class.
He is not starving himself for a play like last time. He does not tell his peers about any new exciting experiment Rui has been trying, because there is none. He tells himself he is not hungry.
“I’m not hungry.”
It’s easy, to say this. It’s become second nature for him. He says it like a record on repeat—so much so he finds that he himself believes it. He is not hungry. No, he is not.
Even when he holds his bento underneath a tree alone, he is not hungry. His friends are all busy, and Akito is sick at home from straining his voice and catching a flu. He allows himself a bite of rice, since he did his homework for history last night. No. The night before that.
(He unconsciously eats another bite of fish and he resists the urge to grab a piece of hair and pull. He didn’t deserve that piece.)
When the lunch period ends and he goes back to his class, the sharp, burning sensation in his stomach, while not gone, has become background noise. There is no gurgling anymore since the body has become in tune with the fact that there will be no more food.
Then all the classes are over, and instead of going home to his mother’s cooking, or Saki’s snacks, or leftovers his father brought a while back, he goes straight to Phoenix Wonderland to begin practice. He tells his stomach to stop being so fussy, and that he is not hungry.
His troupe does not suspect a thing. Rui notices the odd behavior of him being more solemn, but a flashy smile and bounds of promises of happiness gets the taller boy to back down. Nene might notice it as well, but a gigantic hug from an unknowing Emu distracts her.
Emu tries giving him one of her snacks from her bag as a ‘pre-show belly warmer,’ to which he takes. He does not open it, but he does appreciate the sentiment. He puts it in his own bag and tells himself he will try to eat it one day.
When they begin practice, Tsukasa is admittedly more forgetful of his lines. He gets angry at himself, and chokes back a bout of tears. He will not eat for a while because of this. If he can’t remember his lines even with food, what use is he without? It will not make a difference if he refuses to eat. He will forget.
He almost bites his arm out of spite when saying the wrong line. When he remembers the others are still there watching him, he declares he is done for the day and will practice the script at home. (But he will not eat.) They say their goodbyes and he walks home. He looks at his almost-bitten arm for a while.
Saki holds up a soda for him when he gets home. His mother rolls her eyes fondly and takes the can and puts it in the fridge. She says there is curry being made right now. He feigns a smile and says he ate with his friends already. His mother simply kisses his cheek as he heads to his room a little too quickly. Saki groans and says to their mother that, “Tsukasa is being weird again.”
Is it that obvious?
He closes his red curtains and shuts his door and opens his blinds and stares at the moon. He would call Akito, but the boy is sick and calling him would be unjust despite their romantic situation. He finally gets another gurgle in his stomach. It’s screaming. He wants to scream.
He just takes out his script from his bag and begins reading through it. He reads it a total of four times before breaking down into tears.
His stomach hurts. His head hurts. His mind hurts. He throws his script across the floor and squeezes his eyes shut. He hears his parents and sister laugh downstairs. He grips his hair with trembling fingers and feels the hurt from his body. He bounces his leg and shakes his head and grabs more hair and his throat is burning like lava from unspilled whines and the tears from his eyelashes make everything feel so fuzzy and he just wants—
His phone rings. It adds to the hurt for a second but he manages to answer it somehow. It’s Akito.
“Hello?” It’s wobbly. Unlike him. He sniffs and covers it up by shifting his stance and looking at the moon again. Were they looking at the same thing? How lame was that?
(He wishes they were.)
“Tsukasa?” Akito calls with his broken voice, “Are you okay?”
“I should be asking you that.” He tries to laugh, but it comes out as a mumbling noise. It’s quiet on the other end, so he shrugs despite Akito not being able to see. “I’m…”
(Hungry, in pain, sad, lonely, hungry, hungry, hungry.)
“I’m not bad. It could be better. What about you? How’s sickness treating you?”
“Tsukasa. Are you okay?” He says it with such certainty and a careful tone and warm and it’s—
He sobs again. He tries making it quiet, so his family downstairs doesn’t hear, bites his tongue so he stops. His stomach, it hurts. He must have said that part out loud, because the next thing Akito asks him is if he’s eaten. He’s not hungry. He’s not hungry.
“But have you eaten?” Akito says it sharper, but the softness is still around the edges.
He’s not hungry. He’s not hungry.
“Tsukasa, have you eaten?”
He’s not—
“I’m coming over.”
Tsukasa stops babbling. His tears even stop for a second. He hiccups and blinks at the moon. At the stars. “Huh? Y-You’re sick, you shouldn’t—“
“I want to.” Akito doesn’t give him much time to respond since he hangs up immediately after. Tsukasa sits there with his mouth open.
He waits forty-five minutes. Forty-five anguishing minutes full of that all-too familiar sting. He sniffles and wipes his tears with his dry hands, and waits for the doorbell to ring. When it does, he hears his mother gasp in worry. Aren’t you sick, she asks. He gives her a nod and tells her he brought something for Tsukasa and promises not to get him sick. Then Tsukasa hears him run up the stairs.
A bag of a restaurant’s sandwiches drops near Tsukasa’s foot. He recognizes the name and symbol and crumples. It’s one of his favorites. Akito sits next to him and decides against hugging him, grabbing the bag and opening one of the wrappers and holding out for Tsukasa.
“Eat,” he orders, voice hoarse and raw from coughing.
“I’m not—“
“Eat. I’m not telling you again.”
(He would. He would say it again and again just to see his star happy.)
Tsukasa blinks at the sandwich in front of him and then the bag, then finally Akito, whose eyes are ablaze with some sort of passion. Despite being sick with red ears and redder cheeks, Akito still keeps his mean features that admittedly get Tsukasa to blush.
He doesn’t say anything else and takes a bite.
He’s not hungry.
No.
No, he’s starving. He’s been starving for a week. Was it two? Whatever. The sandwich is so good. It actually probably isn’t, but he’s so hungry, and the thought of Akito buying it for him fills him up more than the actual food. Akito finally leans in and hugs him. He coughs into his own elbow but Tsukasa can tell the sickness will spread. Whatever. Whatever! He eats the sandwich with tears in his eyes, and he leans into Akito’s touch.
Thank you repeats in his mind instead of those cursed three words. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
“You’re welcome,” Akito mumbles into his shoulder. Tsukasa doesn’t pay attention to whether or not his mind is read or if he said it aloud. It didn’t matter. He finishes the sandwich and groans, kisses Akito on the forehead like it was the last thing he’ll ever do, and grabs the other one from the bag. Akito just laughs, snuggles tightly, closes his eyes.
‘I’m not hungry’ pops back into Tsukasa’s train of thought. But this time he can say it without the tower of pain that follows.