Work Text:
It felt like fragments of glass dragging down his throat.
Bruce set the fork down slowly, chewing with the gentle reminder that eventually, he was going to need to swallow this next bite. The food was like nails, taking conscious effort to bring his jaw to a tight stop, then relaxing it, and closing it again. Chew. He had to chew.
The longer the food remained in his mouth, the sicker he felt. He gripped the table as a bead of sweat trickled down his forehead, forcing it down once again- and his throat clamped up like it was about to lurch it all back out.
He was full. He’d been full since the last plate. There was still about half of his second plate left, and it wasn’t a small portion by any means.
A heavy breath shakily spilled out of him as a shudder travelled down his spine, fighting not to grimace as he reached up to cover his mouth, like the barrier could ease the tension in his throat. It tickled like a taunt.
He was the only brother sitting at the table, the others had already gone to rest or do whatever else for the night, while Bruce was stuck here like a picky child that had to be good and finish his plate.
“Eat, Bruce.”
And Singe was the parent, papers either side of him that he read through with care and responded to accordingly. Data, always obsessed with data. Kept track of the world’s interests, adjusted their appearances now and then to suit the demand, because demand meant profit.
He looked slightly irritated, as if it was annoying for him to be stuck here with Bruce. Like he couldn’t trust Bruce to finish it without his watchful eye.
Bruce breathed out, the food ready to come back out and return to the plate; fighting to hold it in place before he dared himself to talk
“...I’m full.”
A silence passed them, Bruce’s sweaty palms resting over his trousers, and Singe pausing with his work. He looked like he was contemplating what Bruce had said, and Bruce could feel claws dragging up his chest and digging in. His actual hands merely squeezed down on his trousers.
“You’re full.” Singe repeated, eyes rolling up before he turned to sit properly on the chair, both legs to the ground, and bringing his intertwined fingers up to his lips. They both stared at each other like a challenge. Bruce wisely lowered his own eyes. “Why do you think I make you eat, Bruce?”
The question was rhetorical, but Bruce answered anyway.
“To stay big-”
“To stay bigger, yes! You got it,” he mocked, straightening up a little as his eyes remained firmly on Bruce. “And with how much you move all day, do you think a regular portion would keep you big?”
Maybe if he was a naturally chubbier person it could, but Bruce hadn’t started out this way and he knew that Singe knew that. This time, he didn’t answer the rhetorical question, though he couldn’t stop the frustration burning at his eyes as he glared at the plate in front of him.
Singe watched him for a moment longer, before slowly pushing himself up to stand. “I do this to you because you must remain the trend standard, Bruce,” he began, then moved around the table and lazily strolled towards Bruce. “A trend is only popular because it’s unachievable. The few that can attain it will ride its popularity, and those that do not will be crushed underneath its desire.”
Like a true lyricist, Bruce fought not to roll his eyes as Singe only got closer. His only saving grace was the length of the table, but Singe was always annoyingly good at timing.
“You become a beacon of everything that everyone else hates to lack, and oh, they lack…” he whispered, his burning gaze sizzling against Bruce’s quietly hunched form. “You are what makes them see themselves with disappointment, you are what makes them stuff more food down their throats, you are what makes them sick with jealousy.”
Every word only brought more weight to his shoulders, thinking about every fan that looked his way with an awe that hid away the green envy. Larger trolls weren’t so common, most were on the skinnier side, but one little opening in the market allowed an acceptance towards heavier figures. Nowadays, they were all the rage, but trolls weren’t typically supposed to be this size.
Bruce happened to form into it quite well, and Singe used it to his advantage.
“And so long as we can control that chase, you will remain beautiful, so...” Singe added on as he lifted his chin and, just in time of course, stopped right before Bruce’s side. His crystal blue eyes glanced down at the half eaten plate of food, before he reached down and picked up that cursed fork, plucked some potatoes off and held the fork towards Bruce’s mouth. “Eat, Bruce.”
Every part of him wanted to stand up and smack away the fork. It’d be easy. Singe was so much smaller than him, so much weaker, nothing was stopping him from knocking their manager back and taking control of the situation.
But it wasn’t that easy, was it? No, Singe knew that Bruce would be able to overpower him, but that part wouldn’t matter. Singe had all the power he needed.
The money from their shows all went to him after all, and he controlled each of their finances. One misstep, one threat, and he could whisk it all away with a snap of his fingers. Then they’d be right back to how it was, in the troll tree at Bergen Town. Barely able to save up enough scrap to make it through another day.
Slowly, Bruce reached for the fork and took it out of Singe’s hands, and Singe remained standing. Stared at him expectantly, refused to leave until the food was securely in Bruce’s mouth.
Bruce’s nose curled, and he opened his mouth to take a bite.
Singe didn’t react when Bruce suddenly sprang from the seat and rushed to the nearest bathroom, nor did he say anything as all the food he’d consumed for the night hurled out of his mouth - if anything, he came over and gently pulled his hair back.
At least he didn’t refill his plate to make up for it, but Bruce still had to finish the rest.