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It was a bad day for Emmet.
That was what he told himself.
Just a bad day, he insisted.
Because that was all it was. A bad day for him. He had fallen rather significantly from where he was supposed to be. It was bad. Bad could turn into worse. Worse could be square one. Square one could be even worse .
But it wouldn't be! Emmet would be fine. It never got that bad and it wouldn't get that bad now. Not now, of all times.
Really, healing wasn't a linear process anyway! This was expected! It should be expected. Emmet should've known.
It was okay if today was a bad day. Emmet was allowed to have bad days. It would just be a hiccup. A hitch in the tracks. A bump in the road. Tomorrow, he'd be back to where he was. Maybe better!
Emmet smiled to himself as he closed the fridge.
———
Today was… better! Yep! Definitely better!
Better than yesterday at the very least.
It was still worse than where he was for weeks before that bad day struck, but it was at least better than yesterday! That had to count for something.
Sure, it was still bad. One might call it another bad day.
But Emmet wouldn't.
No, no. It was a good day if anything! If not, painfully neutral.
Ingo always told him to sport optimism when it came to healing. He was just being optimistic.
And could Emmet have seriously expected himself to instantly rebound after how bad of a day yesterday was? No! That would be ridiculous! Unreasonable, in fact!
So the amount better he was doing today? It was more than enough. Healing was slow anyway. It had to be done gradually.
Assured, Emmet turned back into his room, having forgotten what he had even wanted from the kitchen.
———
The day was pretty alright by all accounts, the only account mattering being Emmet's.
He wasn't doing better than yesterday, but he wasn't doing worse. It was still better than Monday, and that was certainly good enough.
He had plateaued, which was a good thing. It was a basis to work back upwards. A foundation for new progress to bloom from. It wasn't bad, it was good. Great, if Emmet let his imagination fly.
He could think of all the progress he could make from where he was now.
"Boss Emmet? Are you going on your lunch break with Boss Ingo now?" Furze's question cut through Emmet's prospecting.
Was it that time already? It couldn't be, surely? He was still so full of energy. That itching need to do something. To complete things sooner rather than later. A buzz that Emmet had long since become acquainted with. Something that Ingo had infected him with.
"I am Emmet. I think I will try to get some paperwork done in the office. I will take my break there," he concluded frankly. Ingo would understand. His twin would admire Emmet's dedication to every aspect of their work he held. He had to be dedicated.
Furze chuckled. "Alright, Boss! Enjoy your break! Try not to work through it," joked as they lightly punched Emmet's arm.
Emmet giggled along, rubbing at the lingering dull pain as he walked off without a word, Furze's suggestion silently dismissed.
———
Emmet felt a hint of guilt begin to weigh in.
Today was a bad day again.
Worse than Monday.
His stomach gnawed at him like the shame did.
Ingo would be disappointed. He'd probably look at Emmet with that same kind of grief that he needlessly carried ever since he came back. He'd probably begin to lament the situation or blame himself. Or worse yet, pity Emmet. Look at him like a sinful thing that couldn't help but fall from the good grace and aid Ingo mercifully offered.
No, no Emmet could not let him know.
Ingo helped enough. Through everything, Ingo did far more than any brother should do for another.
Emmet would hate to be seen for what he was. Undeserving. Lacking. Weak.
The bruise on his arm throbbed.
Shaking his head, Emmet tried to dispel his negative thoughts.
Healing takes time , he told himself.
It's okay to stumble, he recited to himself.
It's just a bad day , he lied to himself.
His hands trembled under no weight.
The train doors in front of him opened.
Emmet boarded his next train after a break taken in the office.
———
It would be okay.
It would be okay.
It wasn't that bad, really.
He wasn't at square one, yet! That was good! He still had wiggle room. Things weren't devolving. He wasn't getting worse. It was just a bad week. He was stressed. He didn't have time to think about it. There was just so much else he had to do, it just sorta… fell to the wayside for a bit.
But it would be okay! Once the week started again, Emmet would be able to get back on track. Get better again.
It was just a hiccup. A hitch in the tracks. A bump in the road.
His stomach twisted as he passed banter with Ingo on the Multi-Line.
———
It was a good day!
Emmet was so happy to say that it was a good day!
He did so much better than yesterday. It was a hard fight, but he fought it! Now he was back at the plateau he reached in the middle of last week. If he could just keep himself to this, then he could establish the baseline from which to work off of.
Finally, he could get back to progress.
Emmet was nearly beaming. Ingo would be so proud.
"Emmet?" Speaking of which.
"I am Emmet," he smoothly responded as he snapped the lid closed on his lunch container. It wasn't finished, but a decent bit had been chipped away at.
"Are you done with your lunch break already?" he inquired, well over a quarter of the way through his sandwich.
Emmet nodded, beaming. "Yep! I will save the rest for later!" he concluded, putting the heavy container into the breakroom fridge.
———
The week had started again. Finally, it was Monday.
It wasn’t as good of a day as Emmet had hoped for.
He tossed moulded vegetables into the trash bin. He couldn’t fight back the grimace on his face.
Ingo was in his room, oblivious.
Emmet narrowed his eyes.
It had to stay that way. Ingo couldn’t find out how bad of a week he had. How bad today was. He’d be devastated, and Emmet would be left with no excuse.
It would be okay. He knew what he needed to do to get better. Healing would happen. Emmet would make sure of that. He and Ingo had very clearly outlined the steps that Emmet needed to take to get better. Emmet just needed to follow those steps again.
Again.
Emmet wanted to punch something. He would’ve if there wasn’t the risk of it splitting his knuckles open.
———
Emmet wanted to scream and cry and tear apart his room.
He didn’t, staring down at the plastic under his feet.
It was worse.
It was far, far worse.
He was at square one again.
That niggling thought, that haunting reminder struck Emmet upside the head.
He was at square one again.
Whatever progress that was made had been swiftly and effectively lost. Gone. Evaporated, like smoke.
As if no progress had ever been made at all.
Emmet looked in the mirror.
He was at square one again.
Defiantly, he put on the baggiest clothes he could in order to hide.
———
Emmet was marching through the station, face steely with determination.
He didn’t care if it was a “bad day” anymore.
He didn’t care about good days or bad days or square ones.
It was all so overwhelming and exhausting. Daunting to the point of suffocation. He was so dragons damn tired of it all. Constantly checking and assessing and counting and checking and remembering and forcing .
In the end, he was just so tired of having to force himself to get better. Every day was a valiant and often futile push towards a day that used to be so easy. A day from before Ingo was gone from his life like a whisper in the night. Back when life was so effortless and easy without the constant struggle to fight for what should be natural and normal.
Emmet would’ve wanted to cry if he wasn’t so plainly done with it all.
He was simply done with all the effort.
He was fine.
He was fine before. He was fine now. He’d be fine later.
What was the point of all this struggle if he just got kicked back down again?
It was a trick question. There was no point.
Emmet didn’t need to get better. He could just live his life like he always had since Ingo left him a shambling mess. It would be fine. It wasn’t like he was going to die. He was fine enough, with the added bonus that he didn’t have to fret every moment of the day.
Truly, this was the best option.
This was getting better.
Emmet idly picked at a gnarled scab from when he had nicked his hand on the corner of a table.
———
Emmet was tired.
He could feel the overbearing weight of air on his body. The pressure was oppressive, seeping through his draping coat that hung on him like a billowing curtain.
The whole world just felt so heavy.
He had abandoned his ideals of getting better about a month ago. The decision was supposed to be liberating. A return to the way he was before, no longer worrying about making sure he was fine. Just being fine. Not thinking about it.
Unfortunately, his hopes didn’t quite pan out like that.
For some reason that Emmet couldn’t place, he was even more exhausted now than he was struggling to return to the normalcy he had lost with Ingo. Except now, it wasn’t tiredness that hung over him every time he went on lunch break or went into the kitchen in the morning, it was a constant feeling of being drained that came with every action.
Conducting battles was tiring. Driving trains was tiring. Paperwork was tiring. Walking was tiring. Sitting was tiring. Breathing was tiring.
He had no energy for anything. Not even the kick of stress or the boost of caffeine could get him moving the way he could while Ingo was gone.
It didn’t make any sense.
No matter what Emmet tried, it seemed like he was doomed to come out of it tired.
His clothes flapped noisily as the train pulled into the platform, beating against his lithe form. Emmet let out a resigned sigh.
The subway didn’t care if he had the energy to do his job.
———
“Emmet?”
Blinking into awareness, Emmet looked over to his side where Ingo sat with him on the couch.
He cast a quick glance over to the TV. There was a movie on, but it was paused.
Looking back over to Ingo, he tilted his head with a small smile. “I am Emmet. What is wrong?”
Ingo’s eyes flickered across Emmet’s body. Scrutinizing. It made Emmet want to grip the long sleeves of his sweater or hug himself to protect him from the probing gaze of his brother. But Emmet refrained. Surely, it would be an admission of guilt for whatever idea Ingo had in his head.
“You haven’t eaten any of the popcorn.” His statement was quiet. Tentative. Like he was trying to broach a delicate subject. “I even made a bag of kettle corn for us,” Ingo noted, a nervous edge to his voice as he glanced down at the bowl sitting on the coffee table. It was nearly half gone, the rest presumably having been left for Emmet.
Emmet could only blink at it before smiling at Ingo again. “It is okay, Ingo! I am not hungry,” he dismissed with a wave.
Instead of assuaging Ingo’s concerns, it seemed to just harden his resolve. “Are you sure? I don’t think I’ve seen you eat much of anything today.”
The accusation got Emmet to shift around in place. Nerves started to flare as a creeping dread moved in. “That is silly,” he tried to dismiss again, his smile growing strained as he tried to assure his brother. “I have eaten plenty today.” He really had. He ate far more than he did yesterday.
Nothing seemed to detur Ingo. “So what have you had today?”
Emmet… had to think. He knew he ate more than yesterday (which wasn’t hard to do), but…
The days blurred together. Meals were hard to discern from one another.
After a second more of contemplation, Emmet was able to retrace his day. “Ah! Right! I ate toast with butter and jam for breakfast and an apple for lunch! I also snacked on Goldeen-fish crackers during the train lines today!” he declared with a sense of pride.
Yet, when Emmet looked back to Ingo again, he was met with a look of… horror?
“Emmet! That’s terrible!” he shouted, his face growing ever more distressed. “That’s all you had!?”
Emmet had to… process that.
That’s all? That was all? Was there… supposed to be more? It didn’t quite connect in Emmet’s mind.
Yes, while it would be a little less than what he would’ve had before Ingo had disappeared, this wasn’t before Ingo disappeared. It was after. For after, it was certainly better than what he was touting during Ingo’s absence. If he had cared about keeping track of his meals like he had a couple of months ago, he might’ve called it a good day.
His confusion must’ve been clear on Emmet’s face, because Ingo practically lunged at Emmet, his fingers sinking into his sweater as he gripped his shoulders. “How long have you been eating like that!? Why didn’t you tell me!?”
Emmet’s brain stuttered and stalled as he tried to find the answers to Ingo’s questions. “U-uh… A couple…”
Oh.
Shame came in.
Ingo wasn’t going to like Emmet’s answer. Ingo was going to worry more and get worked up more and it’d be Emmet’s fault. The answer to the second question had reared its ugly little head.
“I-it is not that bad!” Emmet tried to deny it, resting his bony hands on Ingo’s chest to push him back. Unfortunately, Ingo was immovable, hands gripping him tighter. “It is okay, Ingo! I…” He fished about his brain for his old excuses. “I just had a bad day today! It is okay!”
Really, Emmet should’ve suspected that Ingo would not relent. If anything, his denial seemed to spur him on further.
With furrowed brows, Ingo squeezed Emmet’s shoulders harder, before moving his hands to grip his forearms.
Even with the sweater in the way, his hands fully circled them.
The sight seemed to startle Ingo, his whole body flinching back like he was hurt.
Emmet could only stare at his twin’s hands. They seemed to so easily dwarf his arm.
Though, after the second of shock that Ingo seemed to be stuck in, his firm frown came back in with full force. Not even bothering to say anything, he jerkily stood and stormed into the kitchen with all the rage of an annihilape. Pots and pans clanged, jars and cans clinked, and bags rustled as Ingo did… whatever he was doing.
Emmet didn’t dare to move off the couch. He’d much rather watch from a comfortable distance as Ingo tore apart the kitchen. Guilt pooled in his lungs, halting any attempt he might’ve made to ask what his brother was doing. Deep down, Emmet suspected that Ingo didn’t want to hear anything from his brother. What could he say? He elected to curl up on the couch and wait for whatever was going to happen to come and go.
After a solid couple of minutes in the kitchen, Ingo marched straight back over to Emmet, a bowl and plate in hand. He placed them down on the coffee table rather gently, if for the only reason that he couldn’t slam them down without causing a mess.
With the dishes set out in front of Emmet’s shrunken form, Ingo plopped harshly down onto the couch and crossed his arms. His glare was harsh and purposeful as it bore into Emmet. His brows were so tightly knit together that Emmet could almost mistake them for one and his frown was nearly a snarl.
A few moments passed, and then Ingo jerked his head to the bowl and plate. “Eat,” he ground out the command.
Taking a hesitant gulp, Emmet finally turned to look at the food that Ingo had laid out for him. He didn’t feel like fighting an angry Ingo.
As perfect as it could be in a rush, sat a steaming bowl of beef and vegetable soup and a sandwich on the plate, piled high with meat, lettuce, onion, and tomato.
It looked like a lot of food.
Emmet felt full just looking at it.
He could feel the way his abdomen tightened at the sight. A strike of fear hit him rather unexpectedly. Ingo was waiting for him to dig in. He was watching, already mad at Emmet, and Emmet knew he was going to make him angrier when he inevitably left food on his plate.
He took a shuddering breath. He hated to disappoint Ingo, but his shrunken stomach wouldn’t allow for all of this to fit.
But for his brother, Emmet would try.
Timidly, he reached for the bowl of soup first. It was the one he was likely able to eat the most of. Fiddling with the spoon for a second, mouth twisting in discomfort, he started to eat the soup slowly, sipping at the broth.
All the while, Ingo kept Emmet pinned in place with his intense, scrutinizing glare.
Emmet didn’t need to see Ingo to know he was still frowning like he wanted to kill someone. He could feel the way his brother’s burning gaze nearly set him on fire. Emmet wanted to cry and apologize as the weight of Ingo’s disappointment crushed him, but he also knew that it would do nothing more than call for Ingo to snap at him to eat again. Atonement wasn’t to be found in apologies.
And yet, the guilt that Emmet carried was almost enough for him to chuck up what he had already managed to eat. It churned and brewed, filling him up to the brim already, not caring to budge for the soup he nearly mechanically ate.
Still, he ate.
While it certainly took a while for Emmet to eat the food set before him, what with his gentle sips of soup and tiny nibbles on the sandwich, we was at the very least eating it. And when the time finally came for Emmet to call it quits, his stomach well-packed with the soup and sandwich, he couldn’t help but grimace at what he left behind. Half of the sandwich and a quarter of the soup.
Shamefully, Emmet glanced back over to Ingo, curling back up as if to protect his newly full stomach.
Though, to Emmet’s surprise, Ingo didn’t look so furious anymore. His frown had evened out to a much more relaxed state and his eyebrows eased up, resting comfortably again. If Emmet hadn’t known otherwise, he might’ve thought that Ingo looked satisfied.
With a sigh of… relief?.. Ingo’s arms dropped out of the cross over his chest, falling into his lap. “Thank you,” he offered, quiet and sincere.
Emmet blinked, not quite expecting to be thanked. Still, he thought it would be best to not push it by saying anything. So, he just stared at Ingo, waiting for whatever was to come next, because this certainly wasn’t over.
“This…” Ingo stopped, tensing up again, though it seemed to stem from nerves as opposed to frustration. “How long? How long have you been ignoring your eating regimen?”
Even though the allure of lying was oh-so-tempting, Emmet knew better. It would only cause Ingo more distress. “About… three months? Maybe.” He didn’t quite remember when he had first slipped; the first “bad day” seemed so distant now.
Ingo let out a shaky sigh, a hand coming up to shield his eyes. “Three months…” he distantly whispered.
Guilt chewed at Emmet’s heart again, forcing him to look away from his brother. “I am sorry,” he mumbled, not even sure Ingo could hear him.
“No, no. It’s… I just…” Ingo slumped against the couch, still hiding his face with his hand. “How did I not notice? All this time, I just started to notice that something wasn’t right. Three months… three months. ” Grief laced his words, crackling them, and making him sound like he was on the verge of tears.
The sound caused Emmet to jolt, straightening as his gaze zeroed in on Ingo again. “I-it is not your fault!” he argued with a surprising amount of fervour, even to himself. “I am at fault! Me alone!”
That got Ingo to look over to Emmet, showing off the tears that trembled at the corners of his eyes. “Then why did you stop? Wh… what happened?”
Emmet cringed at his twin’s pleading words. He hated to see Ingo look so destroyed, and hearing it was even worse. Ingo was supposed to be loud and confident, rambling on and on passionately. He hated to be the one to bring his brother to his knees.
“It was… I…” Emmet took a breath. “It started. It was just… a bad day. I did not eat as much as I should have. I was behind schedule.” He swallowed, staring woefully at the sandwich he should’ve been able to finish. “A bad day turned into two. To three. And… I just… I was so tired.”
Silence hung over the twins as Emmet tried to work up more courage to talk. It was stifling, making the air so much thicker, like molasses pouring down his throat. Emmet wished that it would just choke him out already. He just wanted this to be over.
And yet, Ingo sat, patient as ever, giving Emmet all the time in the world to continue.
“I hated… all of it. I hated worrying. I hated thinking. I hated that I had to do any of it. I didn’t want to think about what I ate. I didn’t want to count the calories anymore. I didn’t want to keep fighting it. It just… felt like it would be so much better if I just… stopped.” Emmet curled in tighter, glaring at the sandwich now. “I do not want this to be my life. Constantly thinking. Constantly fighting to eat. To eat enough. To be healthy again. It feels like, if my life does not revolve around managing this disorder, it will slip away from me again. Like it did already. I thought I could just… let it go. I thought, ‘I was fine before. I will be fine now.’ That giving up and letting it happen was better than fighting it.”
Emmet hefted a sigh, his confession out there finally. His turmoil of thoughts finally lay straight before his twin. The full extent of the futility stretched out for the two to fully see. This would be the part where Ingo—
—… hugged him.
He hugged him, warm and tight, though not tight enough to jostle his stomach too much. Ingo was so significantly bigger than him now. With all the muscle and fat still on his brother’s body and his no more than some tendons to keep himself together, Ingo was able to surround him, nearly encasing him with his form.
It felt like home. Like a fireplace in the dead of winter. Like a stomach full of warm soup and love.
Like he was normal again.
Emmet clung to that feeling like it was the only thing keeping him alive.
Ingo’s hand began to move steadily in a circle on Emmet’s back as he started to shudder with sobs, his chest rumbling with a soothing hush. “I apologize, Emmet,” he started gently.
It was a strange apology and completely uncalled for, prompting a confused hiccup from Emmet.
Ingo let out a weak, but amused huff before he continued, “The way you talked. You must have felt so alone in this. I didn’t mean for you to think that this was something that you had to face by yourself.”
Oh…
“I can’t begin to know how hard it is for you to work against this.”
Emmet didn’t know what to say.
“But I do know that we can do this.”
Emmet didn’t know what to think.
“You don’t have to fight every day by yourself.”
But it felt so nice.
“I didn’t come back for you to deal with everything by yourself.”
He didn’t think he could ever feel like this again.
“While your disorder might never go away, we can make it easier to manage together.”
The unconditional love and support that sheltered him.
“Just please, let me help.”
Emmet could never deny Ingo.
Throat too choked up on tears, Emmet could only nod into Ingo’s shoulder as he cried, clutching furiously at the back of his twin’s shirt.
That seemed to satisfy Ingo if the way he melted into their embrace was any indicator.
Maybe he could do this. Maybe life wasn’t a constant uphill battle because of his mistakes in the past. Maybe, with Ingo by his side, he could truly get better.
Yes, he could let Ingo help.
Maybe then, the bad days could really just be bad days.