Chapter Text
it wasn’t a conscious decision, really. iii didn’t just think one day, hey, you should starve yourself again. it just happened. it was a stressful few weeks, leading up to tours. rehearsals, meetings, finalizing plans for the next few months. it was easy to forget small things, like eating. it wasn’t until he noticed how weak he felt that he remembered how nice it was to feel empty. it started to pile up, after that. small habits from before, building and building to a full blown relapse.
he tried to fight it at first. tried all the little tricks he learned in recovery, tried to make an effort joining the others for meals. he tried to ignore the euphoria he felt when he realized the number on the scale was dropping, and fast.
the others didn’t know, not really. they had suspected, based on off handed comments iii had made about his past. they hadn’t noticed how little he was eating, all too busy with their own schedules. and they shouldn’t be worried, iii was fine, really. he could lose a few pounds and be okay.
when the tour started, he picked up smoking again. it was easier to ignore the painful ache of his stomach if all he could taste was the smoke. he had also taken to stealing a few of ii’s redbulls, before he remembered how much sugar was in them. if you asked him, he could rattle off nutrition facts just as easy as he talked about music. he traded the redbulls for black coffee and (sugar-free) energy drinks soon enough. he made sure to eat when the others were around, trying his best to be his normal, hyperactive self despite how exhausted he felt. he slept a ridiculous amount. anytime he wasn’t need, he could be found sleeping on a couch, or one of his partners shoulders. they were happy to have the closeness, especially when iii didn’t want sex anymore.
iii had years of experience with avoidance. he would avoid their questions, offers for dinner, concerned looks.
“iii, do you want to grab dinner with us?”
“no, thanks. i’m exhausted after that show.”
“iii, i’m making dinner if you want some.”
“no, thanks. sam and i got food earlier.”
“iii, aren’t you gonna eat more than that?”
“i’m not really hungry. i think i’m just going to go to sleep.”
what he doesn’t know is how to avoid the pain he sees on their faces when he leaves. it’s a foreign feeling, having someone to care about him that much. before, it was all about appearances.
(“you’re too skinny, it makes us look bad.” “we need to put some meat on those bones.” “you really think anyone actually finds the skeleton look hot?”)
the tour bus doesn’t have a scale, so he settles for measuring himself. he wraps his hand around his wrist, testing how small he’s gotten. he tries to ignore the thrill he feels when he can wrap his hands around his wrist, pinky to thumb. he makes a circle with his hands, running them up his leg. he’s satisfied when he can move almost all the way up his thigh without resistance.
it takes another two weeks (and three pounds) for anyone to intervene. the others had noticed how small he’d gotten, but had written it off as the stress of tour and a low appetite. it isn’t until iii passes out after a show they realized how bad he was.
the show had been outdoors, and it was too warm and humid. the thick layers they all wore only made it worse. vessel’s paint was running with sweat and flaking off onto everything. the others weren’t much better than him. even ii, who notoriously ran cold, was dripping sweat by the end. it really shouldn’t have surprised them to see iii crumple to the ground almost as soon as they left the stage. he hands his bass to his tech, swaying in place. he could hear voices, people asking him questions but his ears were ringing too much to make anything out. he doesn’t remember falling to the ground like a giant redwood. he doesn’t remember vessel scrambling to catch his head before it hit the ground. he doesn’t remember the chaos of vessel hefting him into his arms (too easily) and carrying him into the green room.
everything between the end of the show and waking up on the bus is a complete blur. he groans and tried to stand but a hand keeps him down. he tries to fight against the oppressive weight on his chest, but he’s too weak. he comes back slowly, realizing that he’s on the couch on the bus. vessel is the one who kept him from standing, kneeling beside him. ii is pacing the length of the bus, biting on his already too short nails. iv is sat by his feet, bouncing his leg anxiously.
“he’s awake.” vessel announces. the rest of their small group turns to him immediately.
“wha’ happened?” he asks them, slurring the words.
ii looks like he wants to answer but vessel jumps ahead. “you passed out, love. the paramedics thought you had heat exhaustion, but…” he trails off, looking at iv expectantly.
“when’s the last time you ate?” iv asks, perpetually blunt. the question stuns him briefly, and he’s too tired to lie. he’s so, so tired of lying to the people he loves.
“i don’t… i don’t remember.”
ii seems to have enough at this point. he throws his arms up and turns to face iii. “what the fuck, iii!”
“ii, don’t yell at him.” vessel says, trying to placate the seething rage that seems to roll off ii in waves.
ii takes a deep breathe before he continues to speak. “the paramedics checked you out. you know what they said? they said your blood sugar was so low, it put you at risk of a coma! do you understand that, iii? do you?” he kept his voice at a lower volume, but it was just as hostile as before.
he tries to push away the tears he feels beginning to form in his eyes. “‘m sorry.” he says, not looking at any of them.
“love, what’s going on?” vessel’s soothing voice asks. iii wants to hide, so, so badly. but he knows he can’t. he knows that this is it, the end of the road. no matter how much they loved him, this part would be too much. he tries to sit up, but vessel stops him again. “please, i can not have this conversation lying down.” he’s practically begging at this point, despite how weak his voice is. he wants to rip the band aid off, let them see him for what he is, hurry up and leave. vessel allows him to sit up, slowly, and supports his back like he’s a baby.
they wait as iii gathers his bearings. ii continues to pace, but slower now. vessel is rubbing soothing circles on his back, and iv grips his hand comfortingly.
“anorexia nervosa. that’s the official diagnosis.” he blurts out. ii stops his pacing, abruptly turning to stare at iii. the look on his face is unreadable. “it started when i was around 14 or so, i think. i didn’t… i thought i wasn’t getting bad again.”
he expects the anger, frustration, annoyance. he doesn’t expect vessel to suddenly wrap him into a crushing hug. iii moves with him, taken aback. he can feel hot tears seeping into the thick fabric of his stage clothes. iv hands squeezes his hard. iii makes a point not to look at ii, knowing he would find the anger there.
“did you ever get treatment?” iv asks from beside him.
iii nods, pulling away from vessel’s shoulder slightly to answer properly. “twice. parents sent me when i was 16, and my ex convinced me to go back when i was 23.”
iii finally braves a look at ii and is shocked to find tears in his eyes. he was sure, this was it. they would break up with him, kick him out of the band. but here they are, holding him like he’s something special, crying over him being in pain. his head was reeling, and he’s sure he’s going to pass out again.
vessel pulls away, trying to hide the tears silently streaming down his face. “why didn’t you say something? we could help, get you more treatment or whatever you need. we love you, iii, and we want to help you.” when iii doesn’t say anything back, he tries again. “please, let us help you. it hurts to see you like this. when you collapsed earlier, i—,” vessel hiccups, choking back a sob. “i was so scared. i didn’t… we can’t lose you. please, iii.”
a pregnant pause. “you want me to stay?” his voice is timid, not his own. he feels like a child again, too tall and awkward.
“yes, of course. iii, why wouldn’t we?” iv asks, brushing unruly hair away from his face to get iii to look up. it’s brittle and dry under his fingertips.
“most people leave, after. it’s… i’m…,” he trails off. the gentle look in iv eyes makes him feel honest. “it’s a burden.” he spits out the word like acid.
“you could never be a burden to us, love.” ii finally speaks again, crouched in front of iii. iii laughs but it’s bitter and wet with forming tears.
“you say that, but you haven’t seen me bad, like really bad. this isn’t even the worst i’ve been. tell me i’m not a burden when i have a feeding tube down my throat. tell me i’m not a burden when you have to stop me from puking after every meal. tell me i’m not a burden when i can’t eat anything without having a panic attack. tell me then, and i might believe you.” his hands are shaking by the end of his rant, and the tears have started to fall. ii takes his shaking hands, grip hard enough to bruise, and holds them to his lips. he kisses over his scarred knuckles, rough callouses, smooth palms. the remaining paint on his hands flakes off onto ii’s pink lips.
“you are never a burden, and we will show you.”