#I’ve been in the throes of my ed in the past couple of weeks - you skip breakfast once and suddenly it’s three days later and you’ve been-

[bethegaycowboy]

What are you guys’ plans for this spring? I’m planning to start swimming again and I’m thinking of going vegetarian!

[theghostofashton]

“i care about you.”

this has legitimately been the hardest thing i've ever written. i started it in january, of 2018. it's now december 31st. it took me way too long to figure out and i honestly have no idea why but i finally managed to do it.

it's over 13k and very triggering for anxiety/panic attacks and eating disorders

someone on here requested i write a oneshot where awsten is suffering from an eating disorder while they're on tour, in geoff's POV. there are a couple scenes of awsten thrown in, just to add more depth, but it is 90% geoff. anon, i hope you enjoy this. thank you for requesting it. (and for that matter, if y'all ever have requests, message me here and send them in! i love writing them!)

welcome to the ‘ed fic’.

Awsten’s always loved sweaters.

He has so many of them. Vintage sweaters, a variety of colors and patterns, baggy and hanging off his body. There’s an entire bunk full of them on the bus. It’s meant for all of them but it basically belongs to Awsten and his never-ending sweater collection. He goes to vintage shops and puts down hundreds of dollars on more pieces, experiments with new designs and vibrant colors. They’re all unique and they’re all beautiful.

He wears a different sweater on stage every night and sweat drips down his face and soaks into the heat-trapping cotton but it clearly doesn’t bother him. At least, not enough for him to wear something cooler. He used to alternate between sweaters and tank tops but he’s stopped in the past couple months.

Geoff doesn’t remember the last time he saw Awsten in anything but a sweater.

He used to love wearing t-shirts; I wanna show off my hot new bod, Geoff! This dude’s got guns! and muscle tanks I’m a sweaty shithead and I want everyone to fuckin’ know it! But lately he’s been living in those huge sweaters that he drapes across his body and hides behind.

Awsten likes being cozy and loves to cuddle. He’s fairy lights and warm nights in and hot chocolate just as much as he is loud music and cutting fingers on guitar strings and angry diss tracks. He’s confidence and hard work and the embodiment of dedication. He gives so much, destroys himself and puts the pieces back together only to shatter them once again, all for his art.

And Geoff wishes he wouldn’t, wishes he would allow there to be a victor of the battle in his mind rather than constant relentless fighting. Some days Awsten is a zombie, moving through his day like it’s made of molasses, listening but not registering, experiencing but not feeling, a witness to his day instead of a participant in it. Sometimes the depression takes a hold over him like a bird crawling its way up his back, sinking its talons into his skin and holding on tightly.

Some days the pain is too much.

And those are the days he is solitary, silent and subdued, the days he wriggles further into the sheets, sinks back into the creases of his mind and further tangles himself up into a knot he may never unwind.

Those are the days he is a lump under the covers and a prisoner among the sheets, trapped inside his head, living in a world of dread; he has always been broken but those are the days the cracks start to shine through, the jagged edges make their reappearance, the long talons sink their way into his back and tear him apart all over again.

Those are the days Geoff hates the most, the days when he crawls into bed beside Awsten and takes him into his arms, brings him as close as he can, knows that warm touches and whispered words won’t take away from the war inside is head, but maybe, just maybe…

Maybe they’ll be the driving force, the invisible pair of hands that fit just under his arms and drag him back from the edge. Maybe they’ll be nothing and he’ll just ignore them, but maybe…maybe they’ll be the voice on the nights he’s thinking of making that desperate choice.

Maybe.

…

“Getting off at the next rest stop!”

Geoff opens his mouth to say something, but cuts himself off with a smile as Awsten groans and wiggles upward a few inches, pillows his head just in the middle of his lap. He brushes his hand back against Awsten’s hair and tangles some of the strands around his fingers. “Go back to sleep, love. I’ll wake you when we get there.” He tilts his head and ducks down to press his lips against Awsten’s forehead.

Awsten hums and turns his head to the side. His eyes slide shut and he lets out a little snuffle as his breathing starts to even out.

“I love you.” He mouths the words so soft they’re barely audible. Awsten probably couldn’t even hear them.

He didn’t intend for him to. Sometimes he’s not even supposed to. Sometimes those three words have a mind of their own, pull from his lips and release into the world at the most inopportune time – you said you loved me for the first time in the fucking chip aisle at Trader Joe’s, are you kidding me?

He couldn’t help it. He never can. There’s just something about Awsten, something about the way he moves and laughs and exists in the world. There’s something new, something special about his smile and his laugh and the way he wears his second heart on his sleeve, protects the gold-plated first one in his chest and opens the other to light and warmth and sunshine. There’s something about his smile on the worst days, when he is muddling and drifting through the foggy haze.

There’s something about him that’s different.

This tour has been particularly rough on him. Geoff knows that. He knows how hard it’s been to get out on stage, cut himself open and bleed from wounds she left, every night. He knows how hard it is for Awsten; to send his own fist into his chest and serve the wreckage on a silver platter, scrape the remains of his shattered heart into a neat little pile that they feast on nightly.

She broke him.

It’s been a while, well over a year, in fact. And the tears and 3 am phone calls and blood-red songs with jagged, broken endings, are starting to fade into the background. It’s been a hard year, albeit impossible at times, I can’t do this. I don’t wanna do it anymore. It hurts and it never stops and I just- I need it to stop. I need everything to stop.

He remembers that night, remembers moving impossibly closer to Awsten and pulling him as far into his chest as he could, curling up and around his body to keep him against him, knowing he’d never be able to protect him from the sharp claws in his mind but hoping the touch would be enough.

It will, sunshine, I promise. A year from now, you won’t feel like this anymore. You’ll be better and you’ll be happy and everything will be okay.

“Alright, everybody off!”

He waits for a few moments, runs another hand through Awsten’s hair and strokes a finger down his cheek, waits for him to wake on his own. He doesn’t want to rush him – Awsten and sleep are like oil and water. The mixture never combines, two poles apart, each side refusing to wind with the other. Sleep is a rare bird he doesn’t experience often, and Geoff knows from past arguments, do you fucking know how long it’s been since I’ve slept for more than two hours? Fuck you, Geoff. I can’t fuckin’ fall back asleep now.

But Awsten is snuffling and his eyes are fluttering underneath his eyelids. He isn’t past the gates and into the deep throes of sleep just yet. Fortunately.

“Hey…sunshine…” He shakes Awsten’s shoulder and presses another kiss against his skin. “We’re here. Wanna go get somethin’ ta eat?”

“Mmmphhh,” Awsten hums. “M’good.” He keeps his eyes closed, but scoots off Geoff’s lap and rests his head properly on the couch cushion. “You go.”

“Sure?”

“Yeah.” Awsten’s voice is heavy, soft and sleep-ridden. “M’gonna take a nap.”

“That’s what you said this morning, Aws.” Jawn speaks up before Geoff has the chance to answer. He looks over to the bus door. Jawn is standing with one foot out and the other in, but he brings both inside and turns toward the lounge area, frowns at Awsten and takes a couple steps inside. “You didn’t get off then either.”

Awsten blinks at him. “So? I wasn’t hungry then, and I’m not hungry now. What’s the big deal?”

“You, not eating.” Jawn joins them in the lounge and reaches down to rub Awsten’s shoulder. “M’worried about you, dude. This isn’t good.”

“What isn’t?” Awsten sits up and aligns his back with the wall. He keeps his gaze locked on Jawn, glares at him as he brings his knees to his chest. “I’m just not hungry today. Why’re you being such a dick about it?”

Jawn holds both hands up in surrender. “Just…come eat with us, okay? We’ve missed you, the past coupla weeks.”

“You see me every day,” Awsten deadpans. He rolls his eyes and crosses both arms over his chest. “So I’m not hungry one day. Stop acting like I’m some kinda criminal, jesus christ.”

“What about something small?” Geoff suggests. He reaches over to brush some hair away from Awsten’s forehead, but freezes midair when Awsten leans away.

“I’m fine,” Awsten repeats. “Seriously. Go eat.”

Geoff exchanges a glance with Jawn, and forces himself to swallow. His heart is pounding. Everything is happening so fast, like someone flicked a switch and sent his mind into overdrive, what’s going on what’s wrong with Awsten why is he being like this he’s never like this what’s going on what happened why is he like this why-

“Alright, love,” is all he can get out. He leans in and kisses Awsten’s cheek, before he stands and heads for the bus door. His heart is hammering in his chest and he can feel every beat, like someone ripped out the muscle and timed it in sync with his racing breaths. It’s going too fast. It’s all going too fast.

“Are you-”

“Fucking go, Jawn!” Awsten snaps. “Get the hell out and leave me the fuck alone.”

…

His hands are shaking.

His heart is racing and he can feel the blood rushing in his ears and his hands won’t stop fucking shaking.

He’s only seen Awsten like that a handful of times, the most recent being over six months ago, when the news broke that Equal Vision had fucked something up with their latest album. He doesn’t remember any time before then. There have definitely been some, but he’s tried to think about them less and less, let them float to the bottom of his mind and sink in, tunnel into the hollows of his chest and stay below the surface, never to be dragged up again.

He doesn’t want to think of Awsten like that. Awsten isn’t like that. He’s not a ticking time bomb, about to explode at any second. He’s collected and controlled and able, to handle thing most of the time. The things Geoff thinks will set him off, don’t.

He’s soft and warm and he smiles at the smallest things, sees a dog on his runs in the morning and comes back beaming, that made my fuckin’ day. No matter what shitty thing happens today, a dog was excited to see me. That’s all I care about. He turns his face to the world and grins and laughs and lets the mundane travesties roll off his back.

It’s okay, Geoff. Rumors are rumors. There’s a new angry person on Twitter every day, at this point. I can’t care about it too much or it’ll ruin me.

And he hasn’t been.

At least, from what Geoff’s seen.

There hasn’t been a change in fan interaction. He gets online and scrolls through Awsten’s twitter multiple times a week – doesn’t tweet from his own account because the amount of people and notifications and overall attention gets overwhelming very quickly – and there’s been no difference.

But the tour is different.

Warped Tour, is different.

He remembers when they were asked to play. It was before Europe, right after the album came out and they’d gotten back from Australia. Management called on a morning he’d slept over Awsten’s house – they weren’t together, not yet, but by February, the nights Awsten called him at 2am because he couldn’t sleep had increased and if he couldn’t do something about the reason why, he could go to his house and crawl into bed with him, at the very least – and asked them to consider it.

Awsten wasn’t on board at first. He wasn’t, either. 2016 was a shitstorm.

The roof leaked and the bus creaked and everything was so hot and cramped and cumbersome, all the time. They were tripping over each other and trying to avoid the strategically placed buckets, while still needing to get the adequate amount of sleep and perform every day, eat the shitty food and interact with bands he was sure talked shit about them behind their backs, spend the two and a half months in a state of overdrive that wouldn’t relax.

And then there was her and the shows she came to and the dates after, watching Awsten throw his arm around her shoulders and parade her around the venues. Laughter spilled out of his mouth and his eyes were constantly crinkled. His smile lines got so much more pronounced during that tour.

They’d get off stage and he’d barely towel off and change shirts before she was grabbing his hand and dragging him somewhere and some days it looked like he didn’t want to go but he did he did it for her he did everything for her he gave all of himself up for her he-

He destroyed himself for her and they’re still sifting through the carnage. Every piece is coming up tarnished and Geoff is still trying to figure out what parts of him she left whole, what parts of him she didn’t take and mark and toss out a ten story window after the news broke.

Awsten got tears in his eyes when he hung up the phone, turned and buried his face in Geoff’s chest and didn’t say anything for a very long while. Geoff remembers waiting for him to, giving him the chance to take some deep breaths and force himself out of the chaos, listening as his breathing started to slow down and his body stopped shaking.

I don’t wanna do it. But it’s the last tour and they really want us ta be on it and I just…I don’t know, Geoff. I want to but I don’t and it’s all happening too fast everything’s too much, I-

He pressed a finger to Awsten’s lips, here. Smiled and gripped tighter to his hand, breathe, Aws. It’s gonna be okay, I promise. Whatever you decide. Everything’s gonna be okay.

He remembers Awsten agreeing, talking it over with Otto and Jawn and eventually deciding that they should give the last ever Warped Tour its final hurrah. Awsten went quiet and refused to talk about it for a few weeks afterward, it’s done and booked and I just wanna forget about it for now, okay? I’ll think about it again when we havta arrange shit and start packing. I can’t do this right now.

He’d just signed on to a tour marking the two year anniversary of his failed relationship, a tour that went to all the same places and stopped in all the same cities, including the place they got together and the off days turned day dates, the memories turned miseries, replays turned dismays, she was everything until she wasn’t. He gave her all of him and she took every last limb. He had nothing left. He had nothing left. He had no-

“Geoff?”

“Huh?” He shakes his head to clear it, slows his pace and allows Otto to fall in line with him as they walk up to the rest area building. “Sorry, what’d you say?”

“Aws didn’t come?” Otto asks. “You couldn’t convince him?”

Geoff sighs. “He said he wasn’t hungry. Didn’t wanna push it. He wasn’t in a great mood.”

“He’s never in a great mood.” Jawn can be heard from behind. He slides in on Geoff’s other side and looks over at them. “Haven’t y’all noticed? He’s been so pissy lately.”

“Yeah, dude. He’s been snapping at me a ton.”

“I think he’s just tired,” Geoff says, in lieu of a proper explanation. Awsten hasn’t been an ass to him, but boyfriend and best friend aren’t synonymous and he could’ve been ignoring a lot of things in subconsciousness. “He hasn’t been sleeping well lately.”

“Hasn’t been eatin’ well either.”

“I don’t remember the last time he ate with us,” Otto mutters. He pulls open the door and holds it for Geoff and Jawn to walk through.

“I don’t remember the last time he ate at all.” Jawn says the next words, and Geoff stops.

He stops.

Everything stops.

…

I don’t remember the last time he ate at all.

I don’t remember the last time he ate at all.

I don’t remember the last time he-

Geoff’s been replaying the words in his head all week. It’s been about five days since Jawn said them, since he froze in his tracks in the middle of the rest stop, felt his heart break lose from its suspension in his chest and start to sink, slow at first, and then faster and faster and faster, until it was reduced to a pile of rubble at the pit of his stomach.

He’s been trying to go over the past few weeks too, rerun through all of it with a mental magnifying glass; did he come out to eat with us that day? Where’d we get breakfast? What’d he have? Wasn’t that the night he said he wasn’t gonna order anything and just steal off my plate because he wasn’t too hungry? Did he take anything off my plate at all?

There are too many possibilities and each sounds worse than the last. They all culminate the same, end in the exact same way with the exact same person disintegrating into a pile of rubble before his eyes, old Awsten be damned. There’s been a shift between old and new in the past few months and he can’t put his finger on when.

Awsten isn’t eating.

And it definitely isn’t the first time. This has happened before. It’s a side effect from tour, a manifestation of Awsten’s blatant discomfort with being on the road. He loves the shows but hates everything else, hates the cramped buses and the driving all night and waking up in a new place every morning, a new venue that’s surrounding food places culminate in a less tan desirable menu.

Eating healthy is one of Awsten’s top priorities, one of the parts of his routine he is so heavily attached to and stubborn about giving up. He’s the type of person who would rather not eat than eat something unhealthy. Geoff understands the sentiment. He does. He understands being hungry over feeling like shit for eating crap, but there’s a genuine issue if he’s just going to give up food entirely because none of it is healthy.

This is a necessary evil, if they want to keep touring. The band’s longevity depends on touring. He needs to let go a little bit, be okay with relaxing the reins, eat whatever’s available despite how much it pains him. He needs to eat. This isn’t healthy. He needs to eat.

He needs to eat.

Bringing this up to him is going to result in a massive fight and he’ll probably end up sleeping by himself in his bunk for the first time this entire tour, but he can’t drop it. He can’t let it go. Not something like this.

Awsten needs to eat.

…

“Aws? Hey, you in here?”

He kicked Jawn, Otto, and Lucas out of the bus so he and Awsten would have the space to themselves. Awsten isn’t going to react well to any of this. He doesn’t need an audience. Jawn worries too much and Lucas wants to know everything that’s going on and Otto feels the need to insert himself into everything. He tries to “help”, but it never actually manifests in a beneficial way. It’s all more trouble than it’s worth. They’re more trouble than they’re worth.

“Yeah.” Awsten pokes his head out of his bunk. “What’s up?”

“I sent everyone else away,” he says. “You and I got the bus ta ourselves for a bit.” He sets his bag down on the couch and moves into the bunk area, crouches and kneels on the floor to meet Awsten’s lips in a kiss.

“Mmm,” Awsten hums. He brings one arm out and winds it around Geoff’s neck. “Haven’t seen you all day. ‘ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too, sunshine.” He straightens and pulls back the curtain with his free hand, scoots onto the edge of Awsten’s bunk and turns to continue kissing him properly. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Awsten whispers. They press their foreheads together and he exhales, stares into Awsten’s eyes and feels his chest start to loosen. If only they could stay here. If only the rest of the day could be spent like this. If only he didn’t have to shatter it. They’re building such a delicate foundation and feeling it swirl and envelop around them, and he’s about to send it all to flames with a single sentence.

He shouldn’t.

But he has to.

“Hey…I wanted to talk to you about something…” He trails off, moves his hand down to Awsten’s cheek and smoothes his fingers against Awsten’s face. He cups his chin and leans in to kiss him once more. “And I just want you ta know that I love you, okay? I’m doing this because I love you and I want you to be okay and-”

“Geoff…” Awsten says it slowly, takes a couple moments to get his name out and doesn’t move his gaze from Geoff’s eyes. “Are you breaking up with me?”

“What?” His heart seems to stop in his chest. He feels it, feels the beat skip and the breath pull, like someone reached in and grabbed every trace of oxygen. It was there and now it’s not, flip the switch, draw he curtain, gone, gone, gone. “Why would I- I don’t- that’s not even- Aws, I would never.” He reaches forward and grabs both of Awsten’s wrists, tugs him forward and moves his hands to his shoulders once he’s sure he’s got Awsten’s full attention. “I would never, okay? I love you too much.”

“What’s this about, then?” Awsten blazes over the sentiment. He doesn’t echo it. Geoff’s heart is beating faster. This is not how he imagined this going this is not how he imagined this going this is not fucking-

“I just-” He pauses and shakes his head, takes Awsten’s hands again and squeezes them tightly. “Remember what happened a couple weeks ago? At the rest area?”

Awsten is silent for a few seconds, thinking it over. He doesn’t pull his hands away. Geoff focuses on that, stares down at their intertwined fingers and tries to remember, breathe. Breathe. Breathe. “What are you- oh, Geoff…” Awsten rolls his eyes. “That, again? I told you. I just wasn’t hungry that day, okay? It’s not a big deal. You didn’t havta freak yourself out over it.”

“I know you, Awsten,” he says quietly. He strokes his thumb against Awsten’s palm and swallows against the lump in his throat. His mouth is so dry. The saliva feels like one ball of ache being launched at the barrier of his esophagus, tearing through, penetrating as painful as possible. “We go on tour and you don’t wanna eat fast food, so you just…don’t eat. And I get it, I know the shitty food sucks and it makes you feel all gross or whatever, but you just-” He drops his head. Tears are burning at the corners of his eyes. His voice keeps breaking. “You gotta eat, sunshine. You gotta eat. You can’t starve yourself like this.”

If Awsten says something immediately after, he doesn’t hear it. A tear rolls down his cheek. He squeezes his eyes shut, hard enough to see the colored blobs of ink spurting themselves across the dark colored page. This is bad this is so bad this is not what was supposed to happen fuckfuckfuck-

“Geoff? Hey, look at me.” A hand slips underneath his chin and Awsten pulls his head up. “Oh god, don’t cry…”

He blinks. Awsten reaches in and thumbs tears off his cheek, first strokes for that and then keeps rubbing his fingers against Geoff’s cheekbone. Geoff swallows, feels the salt on his lips as tears go down.

“You don’t have to worry about me, okay?” Awsten leans in and pecks the corner of his mouth. “I promise, I’m okay. I think it’s just stress, y’know? Killing my appetite or whatever. I’m not starving myself. Really, I’m not. That was a bad day. I snapped at Jawn ‘cause the world was pissing me off and I needed someone to yell at. The food sucks and I hate it but I know I don’t have a choice. Okay? Please don’t do this ta yourself anymore. You don’t havta worry about me.”

“I’ll always worry about you.” The words are thick and clumsy around his tongue, heavy as they leave his lips. He reaches forward and grabs Awsten into a hug, winds his arms around the younger boy’s waist and pulls him as close to his chest as he can get. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

…

His throat burns.

He doesn’t do this very often, but every time he has, it’s felt like a thousand hot knives pressing down and stabbing into his throat, forcing them through the muscle until all that’s left is a corpse. It stings and it burns and everything feels like it’s about to end at that moment, like his entire life has culminated to a halt right here and the next few seconds could (quite literally) kill him.

It feels like he’s dying and he doesn’t know why. Too many people do this on a daily basis for it to feel like death for someone who’s a mere novice. He’s dying he’s about to die it’s all over this is it this is how it ends he’s shaking on a bathroom floor and he’s going to die he’s shaking on a bathroom floor and he’s going to die he’s shaking on a bathroom floor-

He didn’t have a choice.

Geoff is onto him and he’s watching him like a hawk and starting to figure things out and that can’t happen he had no choice that can’t happen he had no choice that can’t happen he had no choice-

He had to eat tonight.

He had to sit with them and order something from Kentucky fucking Fried Chicken – because it was the only thing that was open – and force the greasy, fried, nasty chicken wings down his throat. He had to consume the calories and accumulate the fat and keep it where it was, sit and talk and force out laughs every so often, become a presence amongst his unwavering stream of existence.

Geoff was looking at him like he’s on trial. He couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t risk anything. He couldn’t risk staying quiet and blending into the background, only nodding when he’s prompted and pretending the meal hasn’t daunted him the entire time. He couldn’t risk the lies, winning the prize for best actor, adding up how many calories he’s eaten this week trying to factor in the possibility of adding dinner to that.

He shoves his fingers back down into his throat, forces them past their barrier, past where his eyes start to go teary and his body protests against him, you’re not supposed to do this. You’re not supposed to make yourself throw up. Stop doing it. Stop. Stop it. He goes farther, presses harder, digs deeper, until the wave of pain finally comes and the bile joins it, surging up his throat and piling against the toilet water with a loud plop.

Tears are running down his cheeks. His chest is heaving. His breath is coming in pants and he can’t slow it. Nothing will slow down. It’s moving way too fast. He inhales and holds it for barely a second before it’s gone, pulling another piece of his chest and bounding away with it.

He can’t do this.

He can’t.

It’s all too hard and it hurts too much and new pieces of him get taken away every day. He’s in pain all the time and when he isn’t it feels wrong because he should be because he deserves to be because people who look like this don’t get a break people who look like this don’t get to have cheat days people like this don’t get to feel pretty.

People like you don’t get to feel pretty.

He’s not pretty.

He’s not pretty and nothing is perfect and it’s all pulling at him. He’s pleading and praying and barely managing to push himself over the barrier as one day bleeds into the next. The hunger pangs at him, pulls at his stomach and twists it into a permanent knot, I don’t want to do this anymore but I can’t stop and I don’t know what to do-

It traps you.

You think it won’t. You think you’ll be able to handle it, read the stories of people who couldn’t and reassure yourself, I’ll never get that bad. It’ll never happen to me. I just wanna lose a few pounds. I know what I’m doing. I have it under control. Just a few pounds, and it’ll all be over. It’ll all be over. I know what I’m doing.

I know what I’m doing.

And he did, in the beginning.

He had it under control. Portioning one meal a day. Skipping lunch and not thinking too much of it. Giving up white mochas entirely and making the permanent switch to those Americanos he still fucking hates.

He was tracking his calories in a journal and he had no idea it would become eternal, had no idea that book would become his life source and missing a day of writing everything down would feel like brute force, like someone was stabbing into his flesh and ripping pieces out and taking large chunks of him when they left.

You’re too fat not to be doing this did you really think you could get away with taking a break for one day you don’t get breaks people like you don’t get breaks you look like shit why don’t you care fat ass stupid fucking pig can’t even go a day without stuffing his face people like you don’t get to take breaks people like you don’t get to take breaks people like you don’t get to take breaks-

He swallows, feels the saliva drip thickly into his throat and slide down, sit in the pit of his stomach and stretch its roots all the way over to flip the switch of nausea. His head is spinning. The ache behind his eyes is stretching. Everything hurts and it won’t stop everything hurts and it won’t stop everything hurts and it won’t fucking stop-

He shoves his fingers down his throat again.

People like you don’t get to take breaks-

…

“C-Can I sleep with you tonight?”

Awsten is shivering in front of him. The large sweatshirt he’s wearing stretches halfway down his thighs and the sleeves go way past his hands. He’s brought one hand to his mouth and he’s still shaking, almost vibrating in his spot from the force of how genuinely cold he is.

“Of course, love, hey, you’re freezing…” He closes his book and opens his arms, collects Awsten against his chest and feels him start to burrow, press cheek to chest and wrap his arms tight around his waist. “Whoa, why are you so cold?”

“D-Don’t k-know,” Awsten stutters. His teeth are chattering loudly. “Just c-cold…”

“Alright, alright, shh…” He shifts Awsten against his chin and tucks his chin above Awsten’s head. “You’re okay, you’re okay, I’m here.”

It’s barely 9, but they’ve had quite a few early mornings in the past couple of weeks. Tons of driving and traffic on the freeway that manifested itself in honking all the way past midnight, who’s that fucking pissy at 12:44 am? I just wanna sleep, for fuck’s sakes.

Awsten doesn’t sleep. He’s never been good at it. It’s like he lives in a world where sleep is a rare bird he can’t quite find. He goes out every day, book open and binoculars out, spends hours searching, grasps at every straw he can find, and still comes back with nothing. He always comes back with nothing. The sightings are few and far between; his precious sleep is determined to be hidden, unseen for days, leaving him drowning in a blurry haze and envelops and surrounds and makes everything foggy.

So when he does find it, when he grabs the carrot and eats it before it can be pulled away, takes hold of the cloud before it delves back into the forays beyond, grabs it and wrestles it into submission, lets himself pillow down and drift out until his vision finally calms for the night.

And that’s why, when Awsten’s breathing deepens and his head falls, Geoff doesn’t move. He doesn’t breathe. He doesn’t shift to change position, no matter how much it hurts to stretch his arm up and around Awsten, coming in contact with the top of the bunk and resting in such a manner that it’ll definitely fall asleep and give him hell soon.

Awsten’s sleeping.

Finally.

All Geoff can do is tighten his grip and press his lips to the boy’s hair, curl as close as he can without disturbing him. This is warm and it is safe and it feels like forever, like the Sun could explode and life could end at this very moment and he’d die happy. Awsten’s existence is warm and the small smile on his face is bright and he feels infinite. Certain.

Everything else exists in a series of unknowns, and drapes itself in uncertainty, but his love for this boy will never waver.

Awsten snuffles and coughs in his sleep. His body shakes in Geoff’s arms, shifts so Geoff’s hand falls into the junction between his neck and shoulder. His fingers graze across Awsten’s collarbone, and he stops.

Everything stops.

It feels like someone hit a pause button on the world, like time has just decided to halt for the time being. Nothing is moving. The world is happening but nothing is moving.

He can feel Awsten’s entire collarbone.

And that’s not necessarily the scary thing; he’s always been able to feel at least part of that bone…but never as much as he can right now. He’s never been able to trace the junction so easily, feel exactly where the bone is and how it presses sharply against his chest like the rest of Awsten’s body.

There’s no fat underneath, purely muscle and the damn bone. He’s lost everything else.

Geoff’s heart is racing as he moves his hands down the rest of Awsten’s body. He snakes his fingers inside Awsten’s sweatshirt and traces down, feels the pit in his stomach drop lower and lower as he goes over bone. More bone. There’s no fucking fat on him. It’s all bone. He’s lost everything. It’s all bone.

It’s all bone.

He has to stop when he gets to his hips. He has to stop at Awsten’s hip bone, let his hand go limp and bite his lip, squeeze his eyes shut and force the pinprick of tears back in because he can feel the entire thing more prominently than any other. It sticks out so sharply that it can’t be missed, that wearing a tight pair of skinny jeans or just keeping his boxers on would display it. He doesn’t even need to be completely nude.

Fuck.

He swallows and pulls Awsten impossibly closer, wraps his arms even tighter around his fragile body.

“I love you so much, sunshine. We’ll fix this, I promise.”

…

“Are you serious?”

“I’ve seen him naked,” Geoff mutters. “Well, not naked, naked. He was wearing this huge sweatshirt, but I could feel every single fucking bone through it.”

Jawn nods and blows out a heavy breath, drops his head down between his knees and stays like that for a few moments. “I just- I figured something was wrong, but I never…I never even thought about it being…this.” He’s biting his lip and trying to keep his voice steady. It keeps breaking. His words are wavering.

“He’s been off all tour,” Geoff continues. He rests his head against the wall and closes his eyes. “I knew something was going on, I just- we’ve only been together like, three months. I didn’t wanna jump ta anything and piss him off, but maybe I should’ve, fuck, I just…”

“Don’t do that.” Jawn lifts his head to meet his eyes. “Blaming yourself isn’t gonna help him.”

“He isn’t eating and I don’t know why.” Geoff hears the words, hears himself say them, but they still don’t feel real. Everything’s detached, disengaged, distant. He’s existing in a separate reality and trying too hard to cling to the fantasy, grab for scraps of the universe that don’t end in tragedy, where Awsten is okay and he isn’t doing this and the world doesn’t feel tipped on its side, where every puzzle piece is where it belongs and his deep and dark and depressing only bleed out in songs, where he’s not wearing his damage on his body and everything is okay.

Where everything is okay-

“-hates himself for it. We never get good shit on tour and it fucks with him,” Jawn is saying. “I guess- I didn’t know it was this bad.”

“I asked him about it.” Geoff rubs a hand over his face and moves to rake it through his hair. “I asked if he was doing that, if he was fuckin’ eating, and he said he was. He lied.”

“He doesn’t talk about anything.” Jawn flops his head back against the wall and closes his eyes. “It’s not personal. He doesn’t talk ta me either. It makes him panic. He likes his shit ta stay boxed up for him ta deal with on his own, but he sucks at that too, so it’s just- fuckin’, it’s a lose-lose for everyone.”

Jawn is so used to defending Awsten that it isn’t even a conscious effort anymore. Geoff has to smile at that, at genuinely how overprotective Awsten’s best friend is of him. He won’t let anyone say something even the slightest bit negative, not without challenging them on it and starting a fire where every flame has already been put out. He’ll pour the gasoline and not give a shit.

Awsten needs it.

There are times when his defenses fail, when they’re too exhausted to stand up once more, when the world has taken too much and all the meat has been picked from his carcass, nothing I ever do is right and I’m so tired. I could find the cure for fucking cancer and someone would find some reason to call me out on it. It’s too much and I can’t do it anymore.

And that’s where Jawn comes in, slides between Awsten and the world with his sword raised, insult my best friend again. Do it. I fucking dare you. Jawn is sometimes even too overprotective – Geoff remembers when he first joined the band, unsure of why this guy wouldn’t stop fucking staring at him, why he acted like Awsten had hung the fucking moon and getting to be friends with him was a privilege he’d been awarded far too soon – but the world deserves it.

Awsten deserves it.

“I just…” He glances over at the bunk area. Awsten is still sleeping. He slipped out a while ago, bunched cushions against his body and transferred his head onto the pillow, I have to get out of here I have to go I can’t do this I can’t sit here and hold his fucking skeleton like this isn’t happening I- “I don’t know what to do. I love him so much, Jawn, I don’t- I fucking-”

“Geoff. Geoff, breathe.” Jawn leans forward and places his hands on his shoulders. “Dude, hey, calm down. Everything’s gonna be okay, I promise.”

“You can’t promise that.” He drops his head to his lap and bites his lip. “He’s fucking starving himself, Jawn! Anorexia is fucking fatal!”

“Deep breaths,” Jawn repeats. “You are not helping him by panicking.”

“I’m not helping him at all,” Geoff chokes out. “I’ve been sitting on my ass and watching him get worse and not fucking doing anything because I didn’t wanna overstep and piss him off. I didn’t want him to break up with me but now he might actually fucking die on me and I-”

“He’s not gonna die. Look at me, hey.” Jawn says the words slower, grips his shoulders and forces his head back up. “Listen. We got him, okay? We know what he’s doing and we know how bad it is; we’re gonna help him. Or get him help. Whatever he needs ta get better. We’re gonna do it. And he’s gonna be okay, alright?”

He doesn’t say anything, focuses his attention on the heart that’s starting to slow; the hunk of flesh in his chest that feels like it’s been broken in two. It feels like someone’s taken a hammer to it, like every piece that was once whole and could at some point stand on its own is now shattered into a thousand smithereens that press their jagged edges into his chest cavity and bleed.

It’s bleeding.

Everything’s bleeding.

…

He doesn’t know how to do this.

He’s been tiptoeing around the subject for days, starting to talk about it and then reigning himself because what if Awsten isn’t ready what if he gets mad at me what if I push him away even further I don’t know how to do this I don’t want to make it worse what this makes it worse I don’t want to make it worse I-

They agreed that he’d be the one to do this, over Jawn. Aws’ already blown up at me once over this; if I go ta him with it again he might actually murder me. You’re saying shit ‘cause you love him; I’m just the best friend who thinks his new “diet” is fucked up. Obviously not the case, but I know that’s what he’s gonna think.

Jawn knows much better how to approach this, probably wouldn’t feel like his entire chest was folding over at the thought, has been through this with Awsten before and definitely wouldn’t have this visceral of a reaction to the new territory he was about to explore.

Jawn made up an excuse about sightseeing and herded Otto and Lucas off the bus, texted Geoff almost an hour later that the place he’d taken them was almost three miles away and even if they did start walking back at that moment, it’d be at least forty five minutes before they got back.

He needs to do this now.

Awsten is in the lounge; he can hear him noodling around on his guitar, pausing every so often to write something in a notebook splayed across his thighs.

He’s probably working on a new song now isn’t the best time what if-

No.

This has to happen now.

He climbs out of his own bunk and makes his way over to the lounge area. His heart is pounding too fast, pumping doses of panic into his veins that make everything go sort of fuzzy at the edges. The world is a cotton ball that’s been fluffed out too far and everything is moving.

“Aws? H-hey, you working on a new song?” He forces his voice to stay steady, bites his lip when it wavers and closes his eyes briefly. Breathe. You cannot panic. This needs to happen now. Breathe.

“Nah, just messing around.” Awsten smiles at him and holds one arm out. He bends and tilts his head for the kiss, breathes out against Awsten’s lips and lets him wrap an arm around his neck. “Why? What’s up?”

“Just wanted ta talk ta you ‘bout something,” he stammers.

Last time went so well because Awsten was lying to him. He knows that. He knows this is going to be different. He knows this could potentially ruin them. He knows he could be ending their relationship today, and maybe this is the worst idea he’s ever had there’s probably nothing going on it’s all in your head he’s fine don’t do this don’t fuck up the best relationship you’ve ever had- but something feels off.

The world feels off kilter, now. Every time he looks at Awsten, he feels it. He sees bones he didn’t see before and a skeleton that may not make it out the door. Every morning, when Awsten pushes against his chest and slides out of the bunk, stretches and makes his way to the bathroom to shower, Geoff stops.

because what if he falls what if he faints what if his body decides that this is the day and it can’t take anymore and finally fucking gives out on him what if he leaves the bus and falls down somewhere and no one’s around to catch him what if no one catches him what if this kills him what if today’s the day what if-

what if this kills him-

“What’s goin’ on?” Awsten asks. He reaches for his notebook and plucks another string on the guitar. “Shit, should be a C chord.”

While he’s rushing to grab his pencil and fix it, Geoff speaks.

“I know what you’ve been doing.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Awsten’s voice is steely calm. It’s low, soft almost, and he still won’t look up. He draws his shoulders into his body and keeps his gaze trained on his lap.

Geoff’s hands are shaking. His heart is racing too fast too fast too fucking fast everything’s going too fast can’t move can’t speak can’t breathe fuckfuckfuck-

Calm down.

You need to calm down.

Calm the fuck down.

He forces in an inhale that feels as ragged as it sounds, cuts through his throat messily and severs the ties on some of the strings holding his heart up in his chest. They’re about to snap. It’s about to fall. Everything’s about to fall. His world is disintegrating underneath him and he may just be speeding up the process.

“It’s okay, Aws,” he tries. He reaches out to put a hand on Awsten’s shoulder and feels the dose of panic, feels the injection of insecurity wash over his body, knock it over with the sheer force of the wave. “We’ll help you. All of us, we love you so much, and we’re gonna help. You’ll be okay.”

Awsten pulls away, twists his torso and turns his face to the side, wrinkles his forehead even more at the words. “What the hell are you even talking about, Geoff? I’m fine. Everything’s fine. Just been stressed, y’know, like I always get on tour.”

Geoff shakes his head and sits down on the couch, pats the area next to him and opens his arms. “It’s more than that, sunshine. It’s serious, and I know you don’t think it’s a problem, but it is.”

“What is?” Awsten snaps. “What the hell are you so fucking “concerned”-” he pauses to make the air quotes. His cheeks are starting to pink up and his eyes are wild. “About? I’m fucking fine, okay? This tour’s been hard. I’ll be glad when it’s over. I’m in a shit place but that’s nothing new and nothing you gotta worry about. What the hell else is there?”

His fists are clenched and he’s glaring at Geoff, hair mussed and face fully red. His chest is heaving and he’s starting to breathe even worse.

Awsten’s always been stubborn. Geoff knows that. He knows his boy, knows that he would rather die than crack himself open in conversation. He bleeds so much into lyrics, rips open every healing would before it’s even had a chance to scar over, forces his way into scar tissue and deepens those cuts too; it hurts but that can’t just be it. That can’t be all. The pain has to have a purpose.

The pain has to have a purpose.

He didn’t understand it, at first. He remembers when Awsten told him about it in the beginning, when they’d just gotten home from a recording session and Awsten could barely breathe beneath the weight of it all, when he had the panic attack and felt the world shift on his shoulders, it’s hard and everything hurts and I hate it. I hate it so much.

So why the hell do you do this? It’s bad enough that you’ve had to live it, why are you writing about it and singing about it and putting yourself through it all over again?

And he remembers Awsten panting, one hand on his chest, trying to get his breath back; it can’t be for nothing, Geoff. It’s gotta have a purpose. All the hurt and pain and whatever else. It’s gotta have a purpose. It can’t be for nothing.

He knows Awsten likes to deal with things on his own, stitches himself back together and does so in the quiet of his blue tomb, piles his weaknesses together and shoves them back into the depths of his chest for next time; if I don’t talk about it they can’t hurt me and I can’t be hurt again. I can’t do it anymore.

But this is far too big and far too heavy and far too much, for Awsten to handle on his own. It’s far too much.

He doesn’t deal in the best ways – he never has – and it always comes back to bite him the ass and chip off another tiny piece of him and the pile of pieces is getting bigger and bigger he’s falling apart further and further and Geoff knows it’ll be bad he knows where this is going he knows what Awsten is going to do to himself he fucking knows that if he doesn’t nip this in the bud right now, it’s all going to snowball and cyclone and turn into potentially the biggest mess they’ve ever had to deal with.

Awsten is a ticking time bomb and he’s sure it’ll explode before too long.

“You know what I’m talking about, love.” His voice wavers. He’s trying to keep it steady, but he’s so close to crying; it might not work. “Don’t make me say it. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“I don’t, actually,” Awsten mutters. He puts a hand on his hip and rolls his eyes. “What the hell are you talking about? Why’re you acting like you’re some sorta fuckin’ savior and I fuckin’ need you, or whatever? It’s bullshit. This whole fuckin’ thing is bullshit.”

“I just wanna help, okay?” Geoff snaps. “I don’t want my fucking boyfriend to die on me!”

Awsten stops.

Geoff watches him freeze in his tracks, halfway toward the table, still reaching for his pencil. He isn’t moving. He isn’t looking up. Geoff swallows, feels the saliva travel stickily down his esophagus and sit at the base of his stomach, stretching toward the switch of nausea with long, thin talons. Pleasepleasepleasefuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-

“Fuck,” Geoff swears. He shakes his head and stretches his arm toward Awsten. “Look, I didn’t mean to yell at you like that, I’m sorry, I just- I’m so worried about you, sunshine. You’re not okay and I hate seeing you like this. I wanna help. Please, would you just let me?”

Awsten wrenches his arm away. “You’re not fucking helping! All you’re doing is making up shit! Nothing is fucking wrong!”

“Me?” Geoff shoots back. “I’m making up shit? I’m not the one fucking starving myself!”

He just misses a glimpse of Awsten’s face, as he turns and runs for the door.

“Trouble in paradise?”

The world shifts.

And he feels that, feels everything start to change and move ninety degrees; the world is turning but he hasn’t quite caught up. He can’t. It’s going too fast and happening all at once and he can’t ride the wave.

Jawn intercepts Awsten, puts both hands on his shoulders and moves them down to his biceps, holds him in place while Awsten swears and screams at him. “Fuck you so fucking hard, Jawn. Let me fucking go!”

“What the fuck is going on here?” Lucas demands. “Are y’all really fighting right now?”

He exchanges a glance with Jawn and moves his gaze to Awsten, pulls his lip in with his teeth and tries to take some deep breaths, slow your fucking heart down, you idiot. You’re fine. Breathe.

“It’s fine,” he forces out. “Everything’s fine.”

…

Everything is not fine.

The bus door slams shut and they can see Awsten run through the window, watch him disappear behind the bus and off into the woods stretching the rest of the way.

“You had one fucking job.” He bites the words and lifts his head up to glare at Jawn. “Keep him here. All you had ta do. Not let him run. Was that really so fucking hard?”

“Who made him wanna bolt in the fuckin’ first place?” Jawn shoots back. “If I wanted him ta run I would’ve talked ta him myself.”

“You know how fucking stubborn he is. Don’t tell me you didn’t see this coming.” He’s getting hot again, waves of sweat breaking out all along the length of his back. He swallows against the lump in his throat and plows out, forces his tears to stay in. “This is not my fault.”

“Well it sure as hell isn’t mine.”

“Both of you, shut the fuck up.” Lucas’ voice is hard. He fixes them with a glare that sweeps across the entire space. “This isn’t helping anyone. We gotta find him and get him back.”

“He’s fine.” Otto’s voice is quiet. “He just texted me. He found a park. He needs some time to breathe. If you go after him he’ll freak even more and you’ll make this worse.”

Geoff exhales.

His heart feels like it’s been smashed, like it’s a barrier that’s now bleeding, gushing from the cracks and filling his chest cavity. It hurts. All of it hurts. Awsten hurts and he hurts and everything might’ve just been ruined in one foul swoop. Everything might’ve just gone to shit he might’ve just lost the best thing that’s ever happened he might’ve just lost everything for good it’s a mess it’s all a mess he just-

“Would either of you like to tell me what the hell this was all about?”

Lucas takes a seat at the tiny table they have and rests his elbows on the surface, turns his gaze to Geoff. Geoff sighs, exhales heavily as his heart starts to slow back to normal and everything settles back into calm.

He exchanges a glance with Jawn and takes another heavy breath. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I…I’m so worried about him. I just- he doesn’t see it, at all. He doesn’t think there’s a problem. He kept saying he’s fine but I know he isn’t and I’ve been watching him fucking waste away right in front of me and it’s just…”

“I know.” Jawn steps over to him and presses a hand against his back. “I know. I get it. I’m sorry too. It’s not your fault he ran. He woulda done that no matter who confronted him.”

“He’s…not eating.” He looks up and addresses Lucas, feels Jawn slide their fingers together and squeeze his hand as he talks. “We don’t know why. He never comes out with us and doesn’t eat after shows, and I- I’ve heard him throwing up before. Like, after we’ve all gone out. I don’t know what’s going on with him or why he’s doing this but something’s wrong and I just- I’m scared. I’m so scared.”

“Geoff-”

“He’s starving himself and he could die and I don’t know what to do or how to help I just-” He pauses to take in another breath that barely quenches his thirst. Everything hurts too much. “I’m so fucking scared.”

…

He doesn’t know what to do.

He doesn’t know where to go from here.

It’s a reality he never thought he’d be a witness to; he’d do a better job of hiding until his untimely demise, keep it a secret until he could no longer, until he was no longer, until everything that was once him faded away and the remnants were nothing but a distant memory.

They were never supposed to find out.

This is his secret and it was supposed to stay his secret but it isn’t his secret anymore they know they know everything and now they’re gonna be all over him and he won’t be able to breathe he isn’t ever able to breathe he won’t be able to breathe they won’t let him breathe he can’t-

And he wants it.

He wants to shove his fingers down his throat and dredge deep, hit his gag reflex and go further, until he’s tearing his stomach lining and spitting blood into the toilet, deeper than he ever has and hurting way more than the last. He wants to hurt and he wants to cry and he wants to fling his useless body off a cliff and hope he dies, because living is a lie he can’t seem to “try” any longer.

Geoff doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

It’s not an eating disorder.

Those are for skinny people, the people whose knees knock together from how knobby they are, who have legs that look like they’re about to snap, who go about their days as if they aren’t seconds away from a heart attack. They’re the people you can’t look at, have to turn away and avert your eyes, because seeing the extent of the damage they’ve done to themselves is worse than the thought of confronting them about it. They’re dead inside and trying to match it with their body, pinching and forcing and restricting, until it all culminates, unsure of which morning will bring their untimely death date.

That’s not him.

That’s never been him.

You’re too big for that too fat for that too fucking huge to even be considered that he’s just trying to get rid of you-

Geoff doesn’t want to be with you anymore. He’s using this as a reason to break up with you. You’re finally too big for him and it shows. Too big for him and too big for the fans and too big for the fucking world you useless piece of shit. They’ve had enough they’re done with it they’re done with you and all the caveats you come with it’s too much it’s all too much it’s too fucking much and they’re done with it it’s too fucking much and they’re done it’s too fucking much-

He gasps out the breath and presses a hand to his chest, squeezes his eyes shut against the burn of tears and tries to will his heart back to calm. It’s determined to run, determined to sprint the rest of the marathon while he huffs and puffs and tries to carry on, tries to shift underneath the weight on his back, resist against its numerous attempts to drag him down.

It’s a diet.

It’s a diet and it’s a workout plan and it’s because he can’t keep being this way. It’s because the flabs of extra skin are too much, because he can’t stand in front of the mirror for one more day and pinch a his stomach, pull the skin between his fingers and jiggle his fat around until he can’t see through the tears, because the thought of losing Otto and Jawn and Geoff and everyone else who loves him is outweighed by the fear of being like this for the rest of his life.

You’re too fucking big.

He’s gonna break up with you you’re too fucking big he’s gonna break up with you you’re too fucking big he’s gonna break up with you you’re too fucking big he’s gonna break up with you-

Too fucking big.

…

“We’ll talk this out tonight, alright?”

Lucas rests a hand on his back and uses the other to hand him his guitar. “Nothing’s gonna be figured out in a day. Let’s just get this show over with, and we’ll talk everything out tomorrow. Y’all have a day off, anyway. We’ll sit Awsten down and get to the bottom of this and it’ll all be okay, Geoff, I promise.”

He swallows.

Lucas can’t promise that. No one can promise that. No one can promise he hasn’t rocked the boat and shattered the glass and broken the delicate ice their relationship was teetering on.

No matter what happens next, Awsten is going to break up with him. And yeah, it was for his own good and he’ll be so much better off single and pissed off than he would be smitten and dead, but the ache in Geoff’s chest has yet to be put to rest. His heart was shattered before and now it feels like everything is being raked over hot coals, like someone saw the pieces and decided that wasn’t enough and is now torching them, just for good measure.

You did the right thing.

You did the right thing.

You did the right fucking thing.

And he wants to believe it. He wants to believe that he was right and good and Awsten will finally get help for the body that no longer fills out any of his shirts. He wants to believe that good will come of this, that Awsten will accept the assistance he so desperately needs, stop faking and priding and just agree…he wants to believe this was for the best, that he didn’t just ruin the best thing that’s ever happened to him over an uninformed assumption.

It isn’t uninformed. The rational part of him knows that. He knows that Awsten has a problem, knows that the looser shirts and skinnier arms and bony ribs are indicatory of more than just a fad diet to stay healthy on tour, he’s not eating. He’s starving himself and going for runs all the time he works out too much he doesn’t come out with us to eat anymore this is a problem it’s a problem he has a problem-

The rational part of him knows this is a problem, but irrationality is a silent ghost that sneaks up on him when he fears it the most. Its long tendrils wrap around his arms and sink into his skin, breathe out and whisper from within, what if it’s all in your head what if you’re seeing things that aren’t there what if he’s fine and you just ambushed him with all this shit that isn’t even true liar you’re such a liar you just fucked up your relationship you fucked up the best thing you’ve ever had you fucked up you fucked up you fucked up-

You fucked up.

…

Something’s different.

Of course it is; he wasn’t naïve enough to have witnessed the last three hours and still expect everything to go on as normal. He wasn’t naïve enough to expect Awsten to come back, tears still drying on his cheeks, ready to re-absorb himself into a reality that reeked of repression. He wasn’t naïve to expect that anything would be the same after what happened, that it would be a fight they could shove under a rug, move a painting over the hole it put in the wall, try to ignore the elephant that has just stomped into their room.

He isn’t naïve enough to believe that everything is going to go back to the way it was, anytime soon. He knows better than that.

But something is still so fucking different. And he can’t put his finger on what.

The chords come easy. They always have. He remembers when he and Awsten first got together, lying on Awsten’s bed with their legs tangled, laughing about absolutely nothing. He remembers the idea he had, sitting up and reaching for one of Awsten’s old guitars; bet I can play our entire set with my eyes closed.

And the fucking shine in Awsten’s eyes as soon as he said it. He lit up. The smile that stretch across his face never left. Bet what?

I’ll buy you the most expensive drink you want at Starbucks, if you win.

But if I win, and he remembers Awsten rolling his eyes at that part, you come here, and let me kiss you for as long as I want.

That’s all you want?

That’s all I want.

He won.

And he still has to smile at the memory, smile at the thought of that night, how his lips didn’t leave Awsten’s body and his arms never moved from his waist. It stayed soft like that, messy, almost, lip locked and warm and cuddled up like two pieces of a puzzle that were meant to be.

Meant to be.

He forces himself to swallow, shakes his head and turns his attention back to the stage. At least he wasn’t fucking any of the chords up.

Awsten looks different tonight.

He’s quieter, slower, not animating the stage like he usually does. It’s obvious that something’s wrong and he knows the fans are gonna be talking about it on Twitter for the next few days, posting clips and trying to analyze what in Awsten’s recent tweets could possibly give away the reason for his change in demeanor.

He’s missing some of the chords and his voice is weaker. He still sounds good, but there’s not as much power behind everything, not nearly enough force to drive across the emotion-packed words he spent hours pouring over. They don’t feel the same without that, don’t have the same effect that they usually do – Geoff always looks forward to Awsten showing them new music, always anticipates the icy punch in the stomach that leaves him disoriented for hours afterward; Awsten just has that power.

Tonight, something’s missing.

Awsten’s staying right behind the microphone stand – he hates that, I wish I could just fuckin’ sing and crowdsurf, ‘cause dude, that’s all I really wanna do – and he keeps skipping over words. He’s barely playing his guitar at this point. Geoff can’t hear any of the right chords. It’s like he’s 15 again, just picked up the instrument for the first time, trying to get all the strings and make it sound like a semblance of something.

What was semi decent then is awful, now.

Something is wrong.

It just keeps replaying in his head. Something is wrong something is wrong something is wrong something is wrong something is wrong something is wrong something is wrong something is wrong something is wrong something is wrong something is wrong something is wrong-

Awsten stops. He grips the microphone stand in both hands and sways a little, on his feet.

The next moments happen too fast. He barely registers them. One moment, Awsten is standing a few feet away from him, and then he isn’t.

He watches his body crumple to the floor in a tangled pile of limbs.

Everything stops.

Something is so fucking wrong-

…

“He’s okay.”

The doctor sighs, pulls a hand through his hair and exhales. “We checked him out for a concussion and it’s most likely that he doesn’t have one; the CT came back negative, so he may have a mild headache for a couple days, but it’s nothing serious. We put him on an IV to give him back some fluids, but…that leads into the most pressing issue here.”

Geoff stops mid-swallow. The saliva catches in his throat and clings to the back, stretches itself too thing and snaps in the middle, creates a hole that descends lower, down into the pit of his stomach. “W-What…?”

“He’s extremely underweight, and severely malnourished,” the man continues. “He’s showing a lot of signs of anorexia nervosa, with possible bulimic tendencies. That’s why he passed out. His body wasn’t getting enough nutrients to function properly.”

It isn’t news.

He’s had the feeling for a while, seen Awsten’s shirts getting looser and his jeans sliding off his waist more and more, held him at night and wondered, why the fuck can I hold both his wrists in one hand why the fuck can I feel every single one of his ribs why the fuck is he so thin-

But it still feels like destruction, like it’s swung and connected and slammed into the fragile structure he was rebuilding from the debris of his chest, swung and connected and knocked it to pieces once again, shattered the rest of the fragments as they fall and embed himself deep into his chest cavity.

The realization is a wrecking ball and nothing will stop bleeding.

“What- I…” Jawn stutters and trails off, shaking his head. Otto reaches over to put a hand on his back, and he bites his lip. “What do we do? How do we- how do we help him?”

“If you can get him to agree to spending some time in a treatment facilit-”

“No.” He doesn’t register the words until he hears himself say them, and even then, they don’t feel like his. “We’re not sticking him in a mental hospital. We’re not committing him. He’s not a problem we’re gonna shove in there and hope gets fixed.” He looks up, to address the doctor. “Thanks, but…we- I want to try helping him on my own, before I send him to some fuckin’ facility.”

The doctor nods, “either way, he has to agree. He’s not a minor, and he hasn’t been declared incompetent or unable to make his own medical decisions; he needs to consent to it. From what you’re saying…I doubt he will.”

“He doesn’t need a treatment facility. We’ve got him.”

…

“He should be waking up soon.”

The nurse flips his chart closed and sends Geoff a small smile. “Press that button.” She motions to cord resting across Awsten’s thighs. “If you need anything. We’re gonna keep him tonight for observation, so someone’s probably gonna come in and check on him in a few hours, but aside from that, you guys should be good.”

“Thank you.” He scoots one of the chairs all the way up to the side of the bed and reaches for Awsten’s free hand, brings it to his lips and then leans over to kiss his forehead. “Oh, sunshine…what the fuck did you do?”

Awsten’s legs are so bony. Every single one of his ribs is visible. Geoff can feel them through his shirt when he reaches in to hug him, feel his hipbones jutting out sharply and the edges of his collarbones poking through as well. His face is thinner, too. Every part of him has gotten so much smaller.

They didn’t see it.

Through the baggy sweaters and belted jeans and constant flurry of long sleeves, they didn’t fucking see it. They didn’t notice when he stopped coming out with them to eat or disappeared after the meals he did partake in. They didn’t notice the shakiness, didn’t see how he was always tired and constantly cold – that’s the part that stings the most. Geoff remembers numerous nights that Awsten crawled into bed with him, countless days of him pressing against his side, trying to leech as much body heat as he could.

They should’ve seen this sooner.

He knows that’s not the place he needs to be in right now. It’s not productive and it won’t help Awsten at all, but he can’t help it. He can’t help but resign himself to the fact that this could’ve been prevented. He could’ve seen it sooner. He could’ve actually looked, instead of passing it off as touring and stress and not wanting to encroach on the bubble their relationship had slipped into.

He could’ve done more.

But he didn’t, none of them did, and now they’re here, and he needs to fix this. He needs to help. He needs to do something, because he’s done too much of nothing in the past few months. He’s done too much of ignoring, pretending, convincing himself that everything was alright so it wouldn’t turn big. It was already big.

“I love you.” He strokes a thumb across the back of Awsten’s palm and brings his hand up to his lips again. “We’re gonna fix this, Aws. I promise. We’re gonna get you better.”

“What if I don’t want to get better?”

He freezes.

Awsten blinks rapidly as his eyes adjust to the light, shifts up to lean on his forearms, and pulls his hand out of Geoff’s. He lets his head flop back onto the pillows, but doesn’t move his gaze. “There’s nothing to fix. M’not broken.”

“I know that.” Geoff forces his voice to stay steady. His heart is racing. He feels like it’s sprinting at the start of a marathon, going too fast to have any energy later on, using all that’s in the fuel tank for the first few miles, ensuring a long and hard journey ahead. “You’re not broken. There’s nothing to fix. But there is something wrong. You and I both know that, Aws.”

“It’s a diet.” Awsten’s voice is starting to get thicker. He’s avoiding eye contact now, turning to stare down at the sheets while he picks at a loose thread from the blanket. “It’s a diet and a workout plan. Y’all are making a big deal out of fucking nothing.” His voice breaks on the last word and Geoff wants nothing more than to hug him, but he knows that won’t solve anything. He knows that’s not enough. Not anymore.

“Starving yourself isn’t a diet, love.” He holds his hand out, palm up. Please, come on, just take it. Take this. Let me help you I love you please let me be there for you please- “And working out ‘till you pass out isn’t a plan. It’s not healthy. None of this is.”

“It’s not fucking about being healthy!” Awsten cries. “Don’t you fucking get it? It’s not about doing it the “healthy”-” He pauses to make the air quotes, “way. I’m too fucking big, why don’t you understand that?”

He’s crying, now. Geoff can hear it in his voice. He bites his lip and straightens, pushes the chair back with one of his calves and takes a step forward to sit on the edge of Awsten’s bed. He reaches, again, for his hand, and this time, Awsten gives it to him.

“You passed out on stage, Awsten,” he says. “Don’t you get what that means? You’ve been depriving your body of the nutrients it needs, to work properly. It couldn’t handle it anymore, so you collapsed. That shouldn’t happen because of a diet.”

“So I went a little too hard this week, whatever.” His voice is shaking, now. He’s trying so hard. He’s trying so fucking hard to convince even himself that this isn’t a problem. His hands are trembling and the heart monitor he’s attached to is starting to speed up. “Not a big deal. I won’t do it again.”

“Diets don’t work like this, love.” He doesn’t want to get angry. He doesn’t want to yell. He knows that’ll only work Awsten up even more. He knows that his knee-jerk reaction is far from attraction. He knows how easy it would be to make this worse and he knows he has to actively resist but it is so hard it is so fucking hard he wants to yell he wants to scream fuck it fuck this fuck- “This an eating disorder.”

“I don’t have a fucking eating disorder.”

“Awst-”

“You can go.”

“What?” He stops, tightens his grip on Awsten’s hand, and stares at him. What is this what does this mean what did you say what the fuck is happening right now-

“You said it yourself.” Awsten’s voice is low, thick with tears. He won’t look up. “It’s not a diet, right? It’s an eating disorder. It’s a problem. And I- I know you don’t wanna deal with that. With- with me. And I get it, ‘cause I wouldn’t, either. It’s okay. I won’t hold it against you. No hard feelings. No strings attached. You can-” He pauses to choke out a dry sob. “You can go.”

The tears are rolling down his cheeks rapidly. His eyes are closed and he still won’t look up. Geoff swallows and shakes his head, scoots up the mattress and leans forward, rolls onto his other side in one motion.

He slides in next to Awsten and takes him into his arms, pulls him against his chest and presses a long kiss against his cheek. He waits until Awsten turns to look at him before speaking, “you are not a problem. You’re not a burden or a basket case that anyone has to babysit, and you’re not- hey, listen.” He pauses, as Awsten starts to squirm. “You’re not an obligation, sunshine. Okay? You’re not. People aren’t here because they have to be. Me, Otto, Jawn, Lucas, everyone else that loves you? We’re here because we want to be, because we love you and want you to be okay. We care about- I care about you. You’re the love of my life and I want you to be okay. I’ll do anything I can to make sure you get there. So no, you’re not a burden and neither is this. I need you to know that.”

Awsten stills in his arms, breathing softly. He doesn’t say anything, instead turns into Geoff’s chest and presses his face into his shirt. Geoff feels the tears start to dampen the fabric a few seconds later. “I j-just…” Awsten chokes out. “It’s so hard. Everything. It’s all so fucking hard and I’m so tired and everything hurts, all the time, and I just- I don’t want to be like this anymore but no one’s gonna want me ‘cause no one ever wants me and I just-”

“Whoa, breathe, love.” Geoff rubs his back as he sobs again, starts to breathe heavily against his chest. “You’re okay. And everything’s gonna be okay, I promise. We’re gonna get you some help and it’s gonna get better. We’ve got a lot to talk about, you and me. You’ve kept a lot inside and tried to deal with it on your own and that’s not healthy, okay? You gotta talk to me. I need you to talk to me about these things. ‘Cause you’re not on your own. You’re never on your own. You’ve got me, and I’m not going anywhere. Okay?”

“O-okay…”

They have a lot to talk about. There’s a long way to go from here. And he knows it’ll be hard. He knows Awsten will hate him some of the days. He knows he’ll want to scream and cry and throw things at a wall, on others. But love is cost, and sacrifice, and things not always going the way they were meant to. The road is windy and it is long and this is just one of the (likely many) bumps. He knows it. And he knows there’ll be more.

He’s ready.