Chapter Text
iii tries.
he really, really does. but the sick voice in his head is just too loud. he manages to make it through the rest of the tour in one piece. the others keep a careful eye out, forcing snacks into his hands and insisting they eat meals together.
it’s suffocating.
he loves them all, knows they care about him. he knows they don’t like seeing him hurting, but the sick voice tells him to get worse.
it tells him to stop eating. it tells him to get smaller. it tells him to control himself. it tells him he doesn’t need help.
he doesn’t realize how far he has pushed the others away.
when they return from tour, it’s awkward. they dance around it, around him. but it’s hard to ignore that he’s gotten worse despite their efforts. they cook for him, make snacks, get take out. they make his favorite foods. he eats. he spends time with them. acts normal.
he wants to get better. he hates how they look at him, sad eyes like kicked puppies. the sick voice says he doesn’t need their love, their pity.
it doesn’t take long for the tense atmosphere to snap.
the day itself was already shit. it was creeping into winter and the manor couldn’t keep out the chill. iii’s frame was racked with shivers as he tried to make it through practice. his fingers were too frozen to work through the fast riffs in the chorus of alkaline. he fumbled through despite his partners worried glances. the cold made his nerves raw, and every glance his way made him want to scream.
iv made him breakfast that morning, a kind gesture, but it was off. the eggs too raw, the toast almost burnt, tea too watery. he ate what he could and said his thanks. it tasted just as terrible coming back up.
after practice, he retreated to the solace of his room. his bed was stacked with blankets, and a space heater kept the small room almost warm. it was better than the rest of the house, at least. he was ready to curl into a tiny ball and sleep the rest of the day away when there was a knock on the door.
he called out permission and a shy looking ii stepped into the room. he was practically drowning in one of vessel’s old hoodies in an attempt to stave off the cold. iii opened up the blankets to allow ii to climb in. ii ran cold, and he was faring almost as bad as iii with the sudden change in weather. he slipped under the sheets gratefully, immediately curling into iii’s side. they were both silent for a long moment.
“vessel is ordering food. him and iv are working on some new riffs.” if he feels iii tense at the mention of eating, he doesn’t mention it.
he tries to distract from it. “did they kick you out of the studio?” he jokes.
ii smiles, small and shy. “no, i just… wanted to spend time with you.” he leans forward to press a soft kiss against iii’s lips. “missed you.” he says between kisses.
it gets heated, unsurprisingly. iii hasn’t slept with any of them since before the tour. not for lack of wanting, but because he couldn’t stand the thought of any of them seeing his skeletonized form. bones poking through skin, small bruises dotting across too pale skin. brittle nails, hair falling out.
when ii’s teasing touches reach for his waistband, he can’t bring himself to pull him away. he wants , so badly. ii’s deft fingers inch down and iii kisses him fervently. he pushes his hips into ii’s hand and lets out a small whine when his hand wraps around his arousal. and doesn’t move. he rocks his hips, encouraging ii’s touch.
ii breaks the kiss to speak. “iii,” he says, voice stern. “look at me.”
he complies eagerly. “ii, what…”
“do you want this?” he looks concerned.
“yes, please. i do, i want it, please,” he knows that ii likes it when he begs, so he does. adds in some puppy dog eyes for good measure. but all ii does is take away his hand. iii stifles a whine.
“iii, you’re not even hard.”
it takes him a moment to process what ii said. he reaches down, and sure enough, his cock lays limp between his legs. not even a twitch.
ii seems to sense his confusion and embarrassment. “hey, it’s okay, baby. we don’t have to do anything. c’mere.” he pulls iii into a tight embrace, ignoring his own arousal.
“but i…” he doesn’t even know what to say. “at least let me—” he reaches for ii’s pants but is carefully guided away.
“just let me hold you.”
they lay like that for a long while. iii can faintly hear soft guitar notes coming from the practice room. ii manages to fall asleep, but iii is restless. he can’t stop thinking about what just happened.
he wanted it, he wanted ii. why wouldn’t his body cooperate? he knew it was normal, happens to everyone on occasion. but he couldn’t shake the feeling of shame that gripped him. it makes the pit in his stomach even heavier.
another hour passes before anyone disturbs them. iv gently cracks open his door and iii pretends to be asleep, curling more around ii. the light from the hallway casts an eerie shadow in his doorway. he steps into the room quietly, avoiding the mess that is iii’s floor. when he reaches the bed, he can’t help but coo at how adorable his lovers are. he rouses them gently, promising food if they leave their warm nest of blankets.
iii hesitates but knows they won’t allow him to refuse. as soon as he stepped out of his pile of blankets he began shivering again. the three of them make their way downstairs, ii leanding iii by the hand. vessel is waiting for them downstairs, plating the take out in the kitchen. it’s chinese, and iii can feel hot saliva beginning to well up in his mouth. the thought of the carbs and sugar and oil and calories makes him want to scream.
they won’t let him dish out his own food anymore. he feels like a petulant child when he sits at the table and curls around himself. he tries to ignore the knot of anxiety in his stomach, gnawing at him. the nausea strips away his already meager appetite. his hands shake but not from the cold.
when iv puts his plate in front of him, he tries not to betray his nerves. he thanks him, kisses his cheek. the others try not to stare at him as he eats. he can feel their glances at him, and it makes his skin crawl. ‘eats’ is a bit strong of a word for what he’s doing. mainly, he’s picking out the vegetables and pushing everything else around. occasionally, if one of them starts to look too long, he’ll shove some noodles in his mouth.
the table grows quiet eventually. iii can feel their eyes on him but he stares resolutely at his plate. he’s failed enough already. he can’t fail them, too.
iv places a gentle hand on his knee and it takes all his effort not to retch. the bits and pieces he had picked at for dinner roll around in his stomach. he can feel bile crawling up his throat, choking him. he swallows it down painfully. iv’s hand is an oppressive reminder that he fucked up again. they’re mad at him, he can feel it roiling just beneath the surface. it stirs the panic in his gut again.
“iii,” vessels voice is gentle, a deep resonating note that rattles him. “do you think you could eat a bit more for us, love?”
the dam breaks.
iii practically launches himself away from the table, throwing iv’s hand off his thigh. his chair clatters behind him but he hardly pays it any mind as he runs. he throws open the door to the bathroom down the hall from the kitchen, barely making it to the toilet in time to heave his meager stomach contents. he gags repeatedly and the action makes his head hurt. in between bouts, he pants for breath and will his abs to stop clenching.
there’s a hand on his back. small, steady. ii. once he feels like his stomach is no longer caving in, he reaches up with a weak hand to flush away the evidence. ii wipes his face with a cool cloth, brushing away the tears he hadn’t noticed falling.
“did you…” he knows the question without it being said out loud.
he shakes his head, opens his mouth to answer but all that escapes is a small sob. ii pulls him in to a crushing hug, like he could squeeze out all of iii’s sins with his hands. ii lets him cry like that, until both their knees ache from the unforgiving tile.
when iii finally gets his cries under control, ii expects him to talk. he wants to know what went wrong, how to fix it. how to fix him.
“do you think you could drink some water, love?”
iii nods and ii helps him stand. he wobbles a bit but stays upright. ii keeps a strong grasp on his forearms to steady him. iii stumbles over to the sink to drink greedily from the tap. the water is cold. a balm on his raw throat.
when he looks at ii, his expression is grim. they make eye contact in the mirror and iii knows he isn’t getting out of this. they haven’t talked about it since he collapsed on tour, and now his borrowed time is running out. he feels another sharp jolt of panic when ii leads him out of the bathroom. his entire body is trembling as they enter the living room.
vessel and iv are waiting for them on the couch. vessel’s expression betrays his feelings. his eyes are filled with tears, brows creased together. iv doesn’t look much better.
ii leads him to sit next to iv and takes his own seat in the armchair near vessel.
it’s tense for a long moment. tears are pricking his eyes again and he’s grateful there is nothing else to throw up. ii finally breaks the silence just when iii can’t take it anymore.
“how can we help you?” to anyone else, he is as calm and controlled as ever, but his lovers can hear the desperation in his voice. the slight waver behind the façade of confidence.
the question gives iii pause. truthfully, he really doesn’t know. the last two attempts at recovery had consisted of a feeding tube and sedatives to stop him from ripping it out of his nose. it got him to a healthy-ish weight, still small enough that the sick voice would be sated.
he never really got better , he just got better at ignoring the urges. he got better at hiding.
the words spill out unbidden. “don’t leave. please.” he gasps them out, like telling a horrible secret.
the others look horrified. iv takes iii’s clammy hands into his own, gripping firmly. iii looks up to see the fierceness in his eyes. “never. we will never leave you struggling.”
“iii,” vessel says, turning the other’s attention away from iv’s intense gaze. “we want you to be happy. healthy. seeing you like this… it hurts us.”
“‘m sorry,” iii mumbles, guilty. “i don’t want to hurt you. any of you, ever.”
“if you don’t want to hurt us, then let us help you. please.” ii’s voice is fragile, near breaking.
the conversation that ensued reduced all of them to tears. iii spilled every sick thought that had ever wrapped itself around his brainstem. it took root there, years and years ago. it had never left. it would never leave. he had long since accepted the possibility of never getting better. of dying from this disease. but now, there is a fragile hope inside him. his lovers will foster it, let it grow until someday the hope is louder than the horrible thoughts that still swim in the back of his brain.