you'll grow older (and then maybe you'll recognize yourself)

It’s a normal end to one of their practice sessions, and everyone is scattered around the studio in various states of exhaustion, the groans filling the room as his teammates drag themselves to the door. 

Though, Lyn wasn’t exactly much better, sprawled across the floor as he tried to catch his breath. The tiles feel cold under his skin, and Lyn lets himself zone out for a few minutes.

“Lyn? Lyn? Hello...are you even listening? Lyn!” 

Lyn snaps back into reality when someone shakes him. The pounding in his head evolves into a skull shattering scream of agony. “What?” he asks, voice bleary, vision coming in and out of focus. 

“Are you coming to lunch with us today?” Jay asks. He’s smiling that shy, restrained smile again, for when he wants to say something but can’t quite find the courage. 

Lyn wonders if he’s the reason why Jay can’t speak his mind anymore. Or if he’ll become the reason instead. 

He smiles apologetically. It comes out more like a grimace. “Not today, unfortunately. I feel...nauseous.” 

“Did you overwork yourself again?” Worry lines crease his forehead, and Lyn resists the urge to smooth it out. It wasn’t as if he had the strength to move anyways. “You know you’re allowed to take a break, right?” 

“No, I just...” Lyn waves his hand lazily, before dropping it to the floor. 

Jay grabs him gently by the arms and pulls him up. “Do you need to go home?” Lyn flinched. 

“No!” He pushes Jay ​away, eyes wide. “I-I’m sorry, I​ just-” 

Jay bites his lip, thinking. Lyn feels sick. 

“You didn’t eat breakfast today.” 

 It’s not a question. He's not wrong either, but how much does Jay really know? 

This time, Lyn stays quiet. 

“Did you eat dinner last night?” 

His skin itches. He wonders if Jay feels it too? If he wants to rip his skin from his bones, reveal the sticky, rotten fat underneath. If he feels the urge to shove two fingers so far down Lyn’s throat that he chokes, far enough that all the squirming flesh and decay clogging his blood and bones would be purged from his body. 

Lyn doesn’t ask. 

“Of course I did,” he answers instead, smile glued onto his face. 

“You know you can lean on us too, right?” 

“Of course.” The words feel sticky, as if they’re gathered in clumps. He can barely get them out. 

“We ​won’t leave.”​ 

​​“I know you won’t​", and- it’s true. The truest thing Lyn has ever said. 

Jay looks at him a moment longer, as if trying to fix whatever’s wrong with him with sheer willpower, before going out to meet the rest. Lyn yearns to follow, but something holds him back. There’s something inside him, something other, and Lyn sits back and lets it control him most days. He’s too drained to do otherwise lately. 

It’s all about control, really. 

Lyn is twenty-five years old, and an idol. Lyn is an idol, and being an idol comes with responsibilities. Now, those responsibilities are picking up and every moment of his life is controlled by someone else. And all he wants is something that he could control. 

Deep inside him, a seed starts to grow. 

So, he starts skipping breakfast. It’s a conscious decision made by himself, and Lyn feels ecstatic.  

Then, he wonders. How long could he go without food? How long can he stop eating before they force him to? How far can he go? 

Then, it was still about control, will always be about control, but now there was a challenge added to it, and Lyn is a winner, and he is going to win. 

The abyss looms, and he leaps in. The plant grows into a monster that burns. 

The sun sets over the horizon. Lyn watches it from afar, perched on his usual spot on the window, bundled up in a blanket and layers of clothing. 

The fruit bowl beside him has three apples in it. 

Lyn has counted them a thousand times to make sure they haven’t disappeared, that he hasn’t eaten any of them. He doesn’t trust himself anymore. Humans are the most dangerous when desperate, after all, and he is nothing if not desperate. 

“You’re not eating.” 

Lyn startles, zeroing in on the figure reflected in the window. Liam stands with his arms crossed, and though Lyn can’t quite see his face, can’t see much of anything, he can still imagine the expectant look in his eyes, the furrows sitting between his brow.

“What?” he asks, a little out of breath, even though he heard him clearly the first time. 

“You’re not eating” Liam repeats. Fingers tapping once, twice. An old habit. One learnt from Lyn himself. 

Lyn’s hands shake as he grabs one of the apples from the bowl. “Of course I am,” he takes a bite out of the apple to prove his point. It crumbles in his mouth like ash. 

Liam takes a step towards him, wary, as if approaching an injured beast. Thorns wrap around his throat. “When was the last time,” another step. “you ate an actual meal?” 

Lyn looks at the apple in his hand. Raises an eyebrow. Looks back at Liam. 

“Eating an apple doesn’t count,” he moves another step towards Lyn. Lyn idly wishes he would hurry up. It wasn’t as if Lyn was going to bite him. “You know what I mean, you’ve had plenty of meals in your life.” 

Lyn does know. Or maybe he doesn’t, not anymore. His mind may remember what it was like to be satisfied, but his body doesn’t remember how to digest a full meal without throwing it all up again. 

Liam stares down at him, with that expectant expression that seems to be glued on his face like Lyn’s smile is glued on his. Lyn keeps eating his apple, feeling like he’s on the edge of a cliff, barely holding on. Or maybe he’s already falling, and that’s why he feels so out of control. He just wants to fling the apple as far away as possible, but Liam is still staring him down, cutting him with his gaze. 

“Did Jay talk to you?” 

Lyn nods. “You mean in the studio?” he asks mid-chew.

Liam finally sits down on the couch. “Yeah. Do you remember what he said?” he asks, taking an apple from the bowl as well. Lyn wonders if they’ve been rinsed. He stops chewing. 

That must have been a good enough answer for Liam, because he doesn’t say anything else. He really did lower his standards. 

They’re whispering about him again.

He feels the silence in the air when he comes near, and he feels the weight of it, feels the emptiness that follows. The thorns around his neck tighten once more, and he feels the last of his hope drain away as he releases a strained breath. 

His bedroom is dark and cold, and while he knows that there must have been times it was better, he can’t remember any of them. He shivers underneath the blankets, the curtains are drawn, and thin rays of light can be seen from when the curtains fail to cover the windows. 

It is only seven pm, but Lyn lies and pretends to sleep. They don’t bother to ask him out. Maybe they finally realized it too. 

So. Lyn is eighteen, and Lyn is legendary. 

The legendary trainee, the best in all the categories, a monster. No one can take his place from the throne, it’s said to be impossible, and Lyn rides that high for as long as he could. 

Then, as he walks through the hallways of the company building, he passes a group of trainees, whispering. As he walks by them, he catches a sentence, spoken a bit louder than the rest: don’t you think Lyn’s getting a little...chubbier, lately? Snickering. 

Lyn almost, almost stops dead in his tracks, but he continues walking, acting as if he didn’t hear it, and he almost wished he was dead in his tracks. 

The throne is so high, and the fall is so long. They’re probably just jealous. 

He thinks about that moment for a day, week, month, until the next evaluation comes, and there wasn’t even a mention of the word “weight” said near him, and he allows himself to forget. 

A seed inside him sprouts 

It's already midnight when Lyn stumbles through the front door.

He kicks off his shoes and lays down his bag, before making his way to the bathroom on shaky feet. As he makes his way, he can hear voices from the living room. Belatedly, he notices that it’s crying coming from the living room, and that it’s Bart that’s crying. The low hum of Jay’s comforting words is barely audible over the whirring of the air conditioner, and Lyn can’t help the way his heart hurts.

“I’m just- I'm so worried about him,” Bart sobs as Lyn catches a glimpse of the living room. He stops, frozen solid, and not even the guilt and shame and fear can thaw him this time. 

“I’ll talk to him tomorrow,” Jay has his arms wrapped around Bart, one delicate hand stroking his back. The curtains are open, the moon is nowhere in sight, and the world seems to hold still in as Lyn tries to get enough control over his body to move. “We- he’ll be okay.” A shuddering breath. “He will.” 

Bile pushes its way up Lyn’s throat, and he barely makes it to the bathroom in time to retch and heave into the toilet. Knocks sound the door, and he stands up again, vision momentarily blacking out.

“Lyn? Are you in there?” whoever it is says something else, but Lyn’s hearing cuts out, and he falls to his knees, head nearly slamming into the wall. Blood pumps to his ears, and for a few moments, all he can hear is his heartbeat. 

A sigh, then the footsteps fade. 

A sob escapes his cracked lips. His hair sticks uncomfortably to his forehead as he lays down on his back, and he knows he will have bruises tomorrow, he knows he will wake up, and Jay will try to get him to eat breakfast, knows Kai will run out of the room again when he snaps at Jay , and he knows that Bart will cry in Jay’s arms tomorrow yet again. He knows this will happen again the day after and again the day after, looping for eternity until they finally have enough and leave him to rot in this cage of a body. 

Honestly, Lyn doesn’t know what to do, because it was never meant to reach this point. never meant to affect others. He just wanted to feel in control again, not tear his family apart. His selfish actions have led him to this point, breaking down in the bathroom at twelve am over the smell of bile.  

The facade around him cracks, and he drags everyone with him in the fall.  

When the world goes quiet, and Lyn lies in bed, curled up and emanating regret and fear, his stomach screaming for something he wouldn't have, Lyn wonders when this will end. 

Honestly, he knows that it can only end when the monster in him is satisfied. 

Honestly, he knows that the monster will only continue to grow, and grow, and grow, and Lyn doesn’t know when it will be satisfied. If it will ever be satisfied. 

Honestly, he knows the monster has a form, and he knows it’s the form of his own reflection. 

He doesn’t know when he and the monster became one and the same. He doesn’t know if the monster has always been a part of him, buried deep within his flaky skin. 

Honestly, he knows he’s too far gone. The monster will continue to grow and grow and it will never be satisfied. It will always want more while his body crumbles underneath its claws and turns to dust.  

Lyn curls tighter into himself and hopes for sleep

And then, Lyn is ten. 

Lyn is ten, and he is full, just having finished his plate. Lyn is ten, and he is full, and he is satisfied. 

His friend eyes his plate from where he sits across him in the cafeteria, before looking up at him again. 

The conversation had stopped as soon as Lyn took his last bite of food in his mouth, and now he kind of wished he hadn’t. 

“Already done?” his friend asks, and Lyn looks down from the ceiling, looks at his friend’s plate, then his, and then back again. 

He swallows his last bite of food. “Yeah.” 

“That was quick,” his friend muses, and then goes back to eating. The conversation doesn’t start up again. The cafeteria feels too quiet, the silence ringing above the chattering in the room. Lyn wishes that he could switch plates, switch seats, switch roles, switch lives. 

Lyn sits, and a seed is planted within him. 

He’s running out of time, he knows. 

He turns the tap off and exits the bathroom, avoiding looking at the mirror completely. The dorm is completely silent.  

His vision is grainy, and he walks around shakily, checking every room to see if someone, anyone, is there. Each room turns out to be dark and empty, devoid of life. He goes to the kitchen again and gets himself a cup of water.  

A note sits on the kitchen counter, messy handwriting which he recognizes as Jay’s, hey Lyn, we’re out at a restaurant. There’s food for you in the fridge.  

He hates them for leaving him stranded, for taking the last boat away from the deserted island and sailing away when he wasn’t looking, but he hates himself more for letting this happen. 

The food isn’t even heated up before it’s gone.  

“Lyn,” something taps his cheek. “Lyn.” 

He groans and opens his eyes. A blurry figure stands above him, their mouth moving. Whatever sound there is muffled by the ringing in his ears, and he looks to the side, his vision swimming. He becomes aware of his shaking hands, but the rest of his body feels disconnected, far away.

Something is shoved in his mouth, and he realizes it’s a straw as he sucks on it. He would normally think about the calories, the sugar, the weight, but thinking feels hard, like wading through quicksand.  

The fog that traps him settles slightly, and he hears Jay’s concerned voice, “I don’t think he’s well enough to perform. Just look at him!” 

“We can’t cancel now, the performance is too soon–” shuffling, and the voices fade out.  

He sits up, his head pulsating, and he drops his head into his arms. He would grip his hair, pull, but he’s afraid of the chunks that fall, and he closes his eyes instead.  

(Honestly, he would do so many things, but the monster has dunked him so far underwater that he can only lay back and watch as it takes him and bends him to its will.) 

“Lyn?” 

Lyn jumps and looks up. Liam sits on a chair opposite him. 

“Are you okay?” 

“I'm fi–” 

“When was the last time you ate?” Liam interrupts, and silence falls upon them. Lyn blinks.  

(Honestly, Lyn doesn’t remember. The days are all blurred together into a jumbled mess, and he doesn’t know what he did yesterday, let alone what day it is.) 

“Lyn…” Liam’s voice breaks, “eat something, please.”  

Lyn looks down at the floor, and he wants to say that there isn’t any food around for him to eat, but he knows that there is. He knows where it is, but he stays put, limbs glued to the couch

“I'll get you something,” Liam stands and disappears before Lyn even registers what he said.  

Lyn eats whatever Liam brought back, he doesn’t remember what it was, and he doesn't know what it tasted like. It was gone before he even realized what he was doing.  

A knock sounds at his door. Lyn’s stomach growls as he curls further into himself.  

“Lyn, I know you’re awake, open the door,” he hears Kai say from the other side of the door. Lyn doesn’t stir. “Lyn, please.” 

Footsteps approach, “Do we need to break the door down?”  

At that, Lyn jolts up, and stumbles to open the door. It clicks as he turns the lock and meets eye to eye with Jay.  

“Lyn,” Jay pulls him into a hug. “Come eat with us. it’s been a long day.”  

Jay pulls away and looks him in the eyes. searching. Lyn's bones burn where Jay touched him. “Okay,” he croaks.  

His head spins when Jay drags him to the dining table. A bowl of soup and a cup of liquid sit quietly on it.  

Lyn awakens at the sight.  

The fear is the fear of prey, of being hunted in the dark, of eyes tracking your every move, of being suffocated by their gaze. 

The fear is the fear of innocents, screaming as everything they have known is destroyed by magma. 

The fear is the fear of a fish, frantically swimming away from a shark, trying its best to survive, knowing they won’t succeed. 

The fear-

is a bowl of soup.  

It’s a tomato soup, now mixed with Lyn’s salty tears as he shakily lifts the spoon to his mouth. It’s terrible, it’s scary, it’s so frightening.  

Jay soothingly strokes his back, “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,” he says, like it’s his fault, but Lyn knows better. Another sob escapes his lips.  

As he slowly gets through it, the motion of bringing the spoon to his mouth becomes mechanical, robotic, and the only trace of his fear is the blood under his nails and the burns from the magma.  

Lyn’s hands shake, and Jay holds them, “I'm so sorry, Lyn, we should’ve said something earlier.”  

Lyn wants to yell, scream, that it’s not their fault, he shouldn’t apologize, he shouldn’t say anything at all, but it all flies away from him, like the fish running away from the shark. 

One day, it will be able to outrun it.