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“Ezreal, stop,” Kayn says from behind the door. He knocks three times repeatedly again and again using one hand, the other clutching at the doorknob trying to screw it open like it’s going to unlock somehow through sheer willpower. “Ez, open this fucking door or I’ll kick it open.”
“Can you—” Ezreal says, voice raspy and wet, before he stops and continues to gag. He’s puking. Kayn can hear it clearly; he’s puking his guts out like he actually had a proper dinner to purge out when Kayn knows Ezreal ate a little less than a whole plate of nothing but boiled broccolis and ice cubes during dinner just now. Fucking ice cubes. It would've been funny really, looking at Ezreal’s bear-shaped ice cubes colored green for some odd reason, watching him munch on them like the weirdo that he is, if you didn't know the context of the situation beforehand.
“Fuck,” Ezreal hisses and he can hear him dry-heaving, his stomach is no doubt empty.
“I’m kicking it open.” Kayn has had enough.
“Stop, stop, Kayn stop,” he says out of breath and clearly he feels faint and exhausted. “A minute, please, one minute.” The mental image of Ezreal hunched down in front of the toilet bowl with drool leaking out his mouth and sweat wetting his forehead suddenly looks haunting. He doesn't want to see it– his stomach twists and pulls inside the cavity of his abdomen, not knowing if he can handle what he will see behind this wooden door.
“I’m counting to sixty and I’ll force my way in, you hear me?” The clutch he had on the doorknob strengthens and the metal feels warm under his palm. How can Ezreal be so close yet so far at the same time? He’s literally just behind this goddamn door but the lock on the knob reminds him that everyone has their spaces and you dont come in unless invited. You don't walk inside someone’s life however you want because most of the time, people don't like intrusion and unwanted trespassers. And Ezreal feels like a city he’s only supposed to pass through, not stay.
The clock inside his head ticks one minute and he’s ready to kick it down when suddenly the knob twists and unclicks. It has been unlocked but it doesn't open but he hears something like a thud and he panics. He opens the door and he sees Ezreal leaning against the cabinet near the sink just beside the door, shirt all wet like his face is but he’s pale and his eyes are closed.
“What the fuck?” Kayn mutters before he hurries to the younger’s side. “What were you thinking? What happened?” A lot of things could've happened leading up to this minute. Ezreal purges Ezreal is sick Ezreal is exhausted Ezreal saw someone online saying he looks ugly and now he’s in the toilet trying to punish himself for something he couldn’t control because as strong as Ezreal may look, he’s a constant victim of his own perfectionism and– he replays the weeks before this moment in his head like pages in a book, trying to figure out if he had missed significant news about Hearsteel, or about Ezreal.
“Kayn, please,” Ezreal whispers, gesturing for Kayn to stop talking. “Please, my head is pounding and I'm about to pass out. Please, don't shout.” He breathes in rasps, like the oxygen is made of large particles that choke him as he inhales. His ribcage expands and contracts like a person in water, rapidly and harshly. Under the light of the bathroom, his lips appear blue and chapped in the middle.
His shirt is wet and his body trembles. He looks like a mess of laundry crumpled on the floor, hair all over the place as the ends curl softly in a state of chaotic disarray.
“You okay?” Kayn asks.
“Sorry,” he says. “Give me a moment. I’m okay.'' It's clear to Kayn that Ezreal couldn't speak another sentence without threatening to puke again. And his head luls side to side like he hasn't got a bone left in his spine to keep himself upright.
Kayn positions himself beside Ezreal and sits, mirroring each other. “You scared me so much, Jesus Christ.” Kayn murmurs under his breath, failing to hide the worry laced in his words but also sounding relieved. Their shoulders touch and Kayn can feel his own body heat permeating into Ezreal’s cold skin.
When Ezreal is under the weather, it doesn't just rain, it pours. He completely shatters when he’s having a breakdown and gluing him back together takes time and effort, ones that Kayn is willing to give. It doesn't happen too often for Kayn to feel burdened but it has happened enough to make Kayn worry. And each time it happened, Ezreal would manage to convince everyone that he could patch himself up alone, not because he wants to but because he’s used to it and he doesn't know how to ask for favors.
Ezreal's head lands gingerly on Kayn’s shoulder, a tiny little thing that emanates warmth. He smells of sourness from the puking and sweet from his perfume that sticks around from earlier this morning.
“Did you feel bad today?” Kayn starts a topic, anything would do, as long as Ezreal talks and he listens. Kayn is good at listening and translating his emotions into notes and lyrics onto a sheet of paper. And from a sheet of paper it turns into a song. Ezreal on the other hand isn't. He bottles and ferments and lets his emotions fester into something devilish inside his head. And he ruminates until he breaks like a dead twig being stepped on.
“No, not really,” Ezreal seems to have gained a little bit of his composure. He breathes a little calmer and he sounds coherent. “I just had a bad dinner.” he quietly says, his shoulders going lax as he puts his entire weight against Kayn. Kayn finds comfort in the act, Ezreal’s existence feels grounding to him, even like this when they’re on the bathroom floor when the air feels thick to the throat.
They are both already too familiar with each other’s shapes and scents, too familiar with each other’s voices and the curves that make up everything that they love about each other’s bodies. He loves the noises Ezreal makes when he snorts and laughs, the winkle of his nose when he smiles, the freckles on his nape when Kayn kisses him silly and dumb, all blooming with love and tease and banter and passion. And he loves when ezreal is defenseless and raw in front of him, like eating a meal straight from the ocean. Ezreal would say the same thing about Kayn as well, the way he’s broken down in front of Ezreal time and time again. Ezreal putting Kayn’s head in the crook of his neck as he cries, lithe fingers slowly combing Kayn’s head like a mother to a child, the slow pats on his back as they sway side to side in a rhythm so serene.
Ezreal is the sky above his head and the ground beneath his feet and he’s had the younger boy imprinted in his heart like a tattoo. But the devil is in the details, people say, and the closer you get to Ezreal the more you can see his flaws.
“We all ate the same thing.” Kayn notes.
“My own bad dinner,” he says. Ezreal looks red in the cheeks. From where he is, Ezreal from this angle looks so vulnerable, like he could touch him now and cracks would bloom. His cheeks look plump and flushed and they glisten with perspiration. Beads of sweat slide down his neck like little mermaid tears, pearly and delicate like he is when he sings with his honey-like voice. Tears stuck to his eyelashes like dew in the morning, halted instead of falling down his cheeks.
“Your stupid ice cubes again?” It comes out harsher than he’d like but Ezreal won’t mind. He chuckles instead and it’s the most cherubic thing in the world.
“Nope,” he mutters. “I haven’t been purging. And I haven't been skipping meals.” he reassures Kayn, maybe failing, because Kayn isn't feeling convinced.
“Can I trust you?” Kayn rests his head on top of Ezreal’s so their hair tangles in between.
“Yes, I promise.” He replies.
“What did you eat then?” he asks. He isn't convinced but he asks anyway. He wants to listen, to know, to guess at Ezreal's psyche.
“Not eat. I thought I'd drink." He slowly searches for Kayn’s hands, wanting a sense of security from the touch, and Kayn reciprocates. This is Ezreal's habit, touching before he gets open with himself. He tangles their fingers together, clasping his big hand with Ezreal's smaller one. He’s tiny and the thought crushes him just a little. How can a person fit him so perfectly?
“Booze? All alone?”
“Yeah, booze, all alone.” Ezreal's hand is clammy.
“So, what’s your verdict?”
“No one told me how horrible it tastes. I chugged down the whole thing in one go thinking how wasteful it would be to throw it away.” Sleepiness begins to blanket the younger boy, he can tell by the way his fingers are relaxed in Kayn’s. “I regret it because suddenly I felt unwell. It was horrible. I thought I was going to pass out here.”
“You’re not eating enough. You can’t drink on an empty stomach, Ez.”
Ezreal laughs, a soft little whisper. “I had no idea,” he says. “Would be good if they wrote a little warning on the can.”
“Why didn't you call for me? We can drink together.” Kayn asks, his other hand snakes to push away Ezreal's bangs from his face. His hair has gotten too long, they’d need a change of style soon.
“I just wanted to try,” he says before he clasps his mouth. He pales a little and his eyebrows scrunch in pain like he’s holding back nausea. It takes him a little over a minute before he continues, “it’s awful, Kayn. My body aches so much I had to puke it all out.”
“Why did you want to try?” he asks, attentively and patiently. With Ezreal it’s always questions and small answers. Kayn would ask one thing and he'd answer just enough, never too much stuff to spill, never letting anyone know too much. Maybe out of habit? Ezreal has always lived alone so he’d understand if Ezreal has lost any kind of skill to keep a conversation going.
“Thought I could have less nightmares and sleep more if I drank a little.”
“You've been having nightmares? Why didn't you tell me?”
“I feel like,” Ezreal sighs, exhaustion seeping into his body, “they’re not too bad. I can handle them.”
I can handle them, he says. Truth is, it sounds a little more like “I didn't wanna bother anyone.” in Kayn’s ears.
Kayn would like to talk a little more but Ezreal’s breathing relaxes and he’s on the verge of falling asleep. He slowly maneuvers his hand underneath the smaller boy and lifts him up.
“I can do it myself, Kayn. I can walk." Ezreal says, eyes still closed and voice fatigued.
“I know you can, but let me.” Kayn replies.
“Okay.”
“Sleep, Ez. I got you.”
“Okay.”