Sanders Sides One-shots

Eat (no ship) [1/2]

Ship: No ship (wow, I haven't done this in a while. It's kinda nice though, cause I don't need to worry about being too cliché, lol)

TW: Eating disorder, swearing

Yeah, I'm actually gonna write a chapter on this! I was actually thinking of avoiding it, cause it's a topic that kinda hits close to home for me, but I thought it might be more cathartic to write it out. So hopefully, this doesn't turn out to be completely shit. We'll see though.

I made mention of this in the 'Hoodie' chapter. It was only about a line though, so if you're bothered, see if you can find it!

Also! I'm gonna be really busy for the next few days, and I'll explain that below.

Note is at the bottom!

The universe was rarely ever so kind as to simply provide happiness. It was as if he, in particularly, had evoked a rage within it so mighty that it caused him a misery that he never asked for. Despite fervently pleading, apologising, yelling, crying, he was still stuck within a shell of himself, constantly making a point to check the scales each day, and in turn feeling more and more disgusted at himself when the numbers refused to change.

He grimaced to himself as he stared disappointedly at his reflection in the mirror. His anger and frustration dissolved in the air, thickening the atmospheric silence to the point that all that rung through his ears was his pounding heartbeat, his ragged breathing, and the wispy, demonic voices that scorned him through day and night.

A hand that was too fat for his own liking carded roughly through his hair in bitterness. If strands detached themselves from his scalp far too easily to be natural, he disregarded it.

His breath faltered when his stomach growled hungrily, the sound echoing through the bathroom and reminding him that, despite starving himself, he had made no progress. Scowling, he dismissed the sound before allowing his eyes to resume their critical analysis of the flaws his body posed.

"Too much fat in the arms. Thighs are too thick. Face is too chubby. And stomach," he glared as he poked at the offending flesh, "fucking fat."

Scowl still plastered upon his lips, he trudged over towards the scale. Closing his eyes, he stepped on, inhaling tensely as his bare feet made contact with the cold metal. He exhaled, trying his best to ignore how unstable and trembling it was.

Almost cautiously, he cracked open an eye. A glassy sheen built over his eyes as he faced the same numbers that he had yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that.

He blinked, both to clear away the fluid that had flooded his eyes and to clear his vision, like the numbers would change before his eyes somehow.

As if. This was a routine of his. It was a uniform occurrence that had become a part of his life since many years ago.

Again and again and again and again and again.

And once again, he wasn't satisfied.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Hey, kiddo?" Patton knocked tentatively on the bathroom door. He stepped back at the sound of what he knew was Virgil stepping off the scale. A quiet sniffle and a choked clearing of the throat reminded him of all the times he'd caught him doing the exact same routine, and Patton had to keep himself from letting the stinging of his eyes become noticeable.

The door opened, a hand that was practically only bone with a thin layer of skin covering it peaking out. Eventually, Virgil emerged entirely, his porcelain cheeks shimmering from glassy tear tracks.