Helpless » Fillie

| breakfast choices |

Earlier that morning

"Wakey-wakey, you big baby. It's time to get up." Finn cooed as he gently rubbed his thumb against the smooth skin of Gaten's fair cheeks.

"Fuck off." the curly-haired boy's voice muffled through his pillow, the galaxy-themed sack decorated with dozens of storm troopers, which he used to cover his face from the sunlight that entered the room. He let out a loud groan that he dragged out before turning towards the opposite end of the room, his back now facing the window.

"I'm telling Mom." Finn taunted, attempting to get him up and witless, to no avail. When Gaten didn't respond, he stood up and sighed. Seeing there was no other option, Finn leaped atop the sleepy boy, landing on his midsection and almost crushing him with his elbows. That, however, didn't seem to work either as the Gaten seemed unaffected by the sudden added weight of the lean boy.

"Go ahead, see if I care," Gaten scoffed.

"I'm gonna have today's breakfast trip without you."

At that, Gaten shot out of his bed, tossing his blankets and pillows in all directions. He stood up and clung onto Finn, who smirked in satisfaction. He pleadingly announced, "I'm up!" he tossed his arms in the air in surrender, "I'm up, okay?"

Realizing the mess he had unintentionally made, he turned to pick up the fallen objects off the floor. Behind him, the mop-headed boy could only snicker at his brother's dramatics.

"Gaten, ever realize how gullible sounds a lot like oranges?"

A heap of pillows in his arms, he paused for a minute to ponder, oblivious of the fact that his brother had already walked out of the room and was already halfway down the stairs, sniggering silently to himself.

Gaten replied with a matter-of-fact tone, "No, it doesn't. They don't even soun-"

He looked up, stopping himself when he realized he had been left talking to himself like an idiot. The flustered boy cursed to himself for falling for it before screaming, "Finnlard! You son of a-"

-

Finn entered the kitchen nonchalantly. Not bothering to bring any attention onto himself, he remained silent, hoping his mother wouldn't notice his presence. After all, her back was faced towards him- she was working the coffee machine to make herself a cup of her usual espresso.

Unfortunately for him, though, she did.

"It's Saturday, you're up unusually early." Suzanne remarked. He froze in his spot before approaching and opening the refrigerator, only to sigh and close it.

"Yeah, my alarm woke me up a bit earlier then I tried to fall back asleep but I couldn't, so I, uh, took a walk, I guess." he lied. Her motherly instincts convinced her he wasn't telling the truth, but decided against pushing the truth out of him.

"Finn, is there something you're not telling me?" she questioned, a trace of concern laced her voice.

With clenched eyes and gritted lips, his breath began to fasten. His anxiety was coming through, though he tried his best not to show it, but the topic of conversation had become inescapable at this point.

His daily nervous breakdowns had critically taken a toll on his mental and physiological health; he was losing weight at an unsettling rate, refusing to finish his meals and even worse, he's begun deliberately purging any food he consumes.

Initially, the family believed it may have been a bug or simply, an overturned stomach. But weeks have passed and the teen's bodily condition was only declining. Likewise, his once-lively eyes have become victims of aloofness and the dark circles from the area under his eyes have become more evident with time. And he knew, she knew.