Cold Hands
Five
Patrick doesn’t look in the mirror when he wakes up anymore because he knows what’s he’ll see. Fat. It’s not even like, like there’s something wrong with him in the head; he is just fat. He’s had comments and he’s had experiences (can’t fit through that gap between sofa and the table) and he knows it’s not imaginary. Knows this bulk is real.
Still, he hides his dieting from his bandmates. It’s embarrassing, god damn it, that he even let himself get like this. It’s embarrassing that his bandmates had never tried to stop him eating that extra slice and it’s embarrassing he’s been going on stage for years with an inflated stomach.
He’s embarrassed.
It’s one of these times, right before a show, when Patrick is crouched in on himself staring into a bathroom mirror, that it happens. He hears the very distinctive sound of someone throwing up and he hesitates, hands under the tap before turning to see if it’s anyone he knows.
He’s barely started to approach the offending cubicle when there’s a flush and the door swings open. Patrick feels his throat close up and he can feel his skin prickle. It’s Ryan, shaky and pale, rubbing circles into his stomach with a reddened hand. He stops when he sees Patrick and looks him coolly in the eyes, as if he wasn't just bent over a toilet.
Patrick can’t move. Ryan is his... his obsession. That rib cage and those hips and fuck those hands. He wants them all so much he feels a spinning behind his eyes. It’s not even that he’s attracted to Ryan, though Ryan isn’t unattractive, it’s just he’s Patrick ideal body. Ideal everything.
Ryan walks on towards the sinks, splashing water onto his face with skeletal shaking hands. Patrick tries not to stare at his prominent spine.
“Are you ill?” He unconsciously echoes Andy’s words, instantly shifting his eyes to the dirty venue bathroom floor. He can almost feel Ryan’s pause, smell the hesitation.
“I guess you could say that.”
Ryan’s been gone ten minutes when Patrick sticks the finger down his throat.
Still, he hides his dieting from his bandmates. It’s embarrassing, god damn it, that he even let himself get like this. It’s embarrassing that his bandmates had never tried to stop him eating that extra slice and it’s embarrassing he’s been going on stage for years with an inflated stomach.
He’s embarrassed.
It’s one of these times, right before a show, when Patrick is crouched in on himself staring into a bathroom mirror, that it happens. He hears the very distinctive sound of someone throwing up and he hesitates, hands under the tap before turning to see if it’s anyone he knows.
He’s barely started to approach the offending cubicle when there’s a flush and the door swings open. Patrick feels his throat close up and he can feel his skin prickle. It’s Ryan, shaky and pale, rubbing circles into his stomach with a reddened hand. He stops when he sees Patrick and looks him coolly in the eyes, as if he wasn't just bent over a toilet.
Patrick can’t move. Ryan is his... his obsession. That rib cage and those hips and fuck those hands. He wants them all so much he feels a spinning behind his eyes. It’s not even that he’s attracted to Ryan, though Ryan isn’t unattractive, it’s just he’s Patrick ideal body. Ideal everything.
Ryan walks on towards the sinks, splashing water onto his face with skeletal shaking hands. Patrick tries not to stare at his prominent spine.
“Are you ill?” He unconsciously echoes Andy’s words, instantly shifting his eyes to the dirty venue bathroom floor. He can almost feel Ryan’s pause, smell the hesitation.
“I guess you could say that.”
Ryan’s been gone ten minutes when Patrick sticks the finger down his throat.
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not updating this for about a week to collect more of a fan base, thank you x