Cold Hands

Two

Patrick starts by skipping breakfast.

It’s simple, really. He's never hungry in the mornings and he only ever eats then out of habit, out of desire. His stomach doesn't rumble as he passes up on Andy's offer of poptarts and cereal, though he doesn't miss Andy's concerned look. I never miss breakfast and that's true enough. It's clear to anyone he is a food lover and a food addict; his bandmates would know that the best, and Patrick can't remember the last time he missed a meal and didn't make up for it later on in the day.

Pete bounds from the bunks; looking unfairly attractive in a vest and boxers, hand running through last night’s straightened hair. Patrick looks away from the noticeably flat stomach and stares instead into his coffee, not thinking how he looked in the long mirror this morning. Chubby, fat, obese, ugly , he couldn't see his feet for god sake.

"Already eaten, Patrick?" asks Pete, on his tip toes reaching for the cereal. Andy stops mid spoon raise and fixes Patrick with an odd, undefined look. Patrick looks away.

"Something like that."