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Ashton remembers the day that Luke called him from his mum’s house three weeks after they officially announced that the band had ‘ended’ for the time being. He remembers how garbled and teary his boyfriend sounded as he choked out sentences about how food wasn’t Just Food anymore and how he didn’t think that it would ever be Just Food ever, ever again.
He remembers how Luke tried to say something about Liz’s potato gratin and how she wasn’t fooled for even one second into thinking that he was okay and how he had screamed at her when she told him that he needed help. He remembers not being able to understand exactly what he was saying, but knowing what he meant.
He remembers Luke wailing about how he didn’t want help, he didn’t , not for this, except maybe he did. Maybe he’d been screaming for it for so long that he couldn’t hear himself anymore.
He remembers how he hadn’t seen it coming but he wasn’t surprised, not really . Luke had been crumbling in every way, and he’d noticed that his partner’s dip in weight had been lasting longer than his fluctuations usually did. He hadn’t really suspected that it was an eating disorder, but it did make sense. Luke’s weight had never been consistent and he couldn’t stand other people seeing him naked or even shirtless until he really, really trusted them and his eating habits sometimes got so strange and picky that it was an annoyance to the rest of them.
He remembers just listening as Luke had poured everything out over the international call, spitting about he was fine and didn’t want help right before his voice cracked as he asked, begged for Ashton to please, please help him and how he hated his life and he just wanted to feel okay and think about anything but what passed his lips again.
He was sitting at the kitchen table, remembering all of it as Luke sobbed into his folded arms across from him. He was infinitely grateful that Luke was certain that he wanted to be better now and that he was fighting it, but it was all in the same vein, really.
There was a bowl of cheerios between them, sitting in a small puddle of milk that had sloshed over the side of the bowl when Luke had shoved it away from himself in frustration. Luke’s hood was up, which he only really did when he was tired or upset. Ashton thought that the hoodie was actually his, but sweaters and shirts had blended together into Shared a long time ago.
He knew better than to touch his boyfriend when he was like this, so he was mumbling soothing and meaningless words, just loud enough that he knew that Luke could hear them over his own tears.
Luke just cried.
He would talk when he was ready.
The cereal milk had gone warm by the time he finally lifted his head, rubbing at the snot and tears running down his blotchy face. Ashton knew that he would be grossed out by the snot as soon as he felt a bit better. He didn’t say anything.
Luke’s voice was scratchy and bordering on a whine as he finally spoke.
“Why is it so big?” he said in a pained voice, hopelessly eyeing his breakfast. Ashton understood. Luke’s speech got tangled, sometimes bordering on childish, when he was struggling to process or communicate what he was talking about.
“I don’t know. I don’t know why it has to be so hard for you,” Ashton replied softly, careful to validate without implying that he was trying to end the conversation. If Luke wanted to wait to talk about it until he saw his therapist instead of right now, then that was that. But Ashton wouldn’t be the one to make that decision for him. There was a short pause before Luke spoke again.
“I’m trying. I promise that I’m trying, you know that I’m trying.” Ashton nodded as he looked up at him with slightly wild eyes, searching for reassurance that he really did know. Luke relaxed a bit. “It’s just so big. There’s just so much.
“I don’t understand why I still feel like this, I don’t. I know that I need to eat and that I want to eat and that I’m miserable when I don’t and that I could die if I let it get bad. And, and I know that my weight has nothing to do with my worth and that no one will ever care as much as I do and that this is what my body looks like when I’m healthy. And I know that I don’t look like what I think I look like, and even if I did, I obviously wouldn’t be unlovable because of it. And I’ve internalized it, mostly!
“I don’t want this anymore. I don’t . I hate feeling like this.” There was another pause.
“There’s, there was this thing that I read when I was bad. I don’t remember where I did, maybe it’s not even true, but I just told it to myself over and over again, every single time that the thoughts came back, since middle school.
“It was, like, it only takes twenty-one days to form a habit. And I just. I always wanted to hit twenty-one days before my brain decided that it wasn’t interested in restriction anymore so badly. I wanted to starve all the time. I wanted to be skinny so, so bad, and I knew that my mind felt so calm and so much less confusing when I was just focused on restricting and numbers and exercise and finding ways to hide it from everyone.
“I only actually hit twenty-one days three times. And I read somewhere that the twenty-one days thing isn’t true, but fuck, it worked for me. After I hit three weeks I had to actively rip myself out of it if I wanted to stop. It didn’t just happen naturally anymore. The first time was the summer between year eight and year nine. Mum made me stop that time. And then it happened again in eleventh year. I made myself stop that time, because it lasted so long that my grades were dropping so bad and I was so worried about disappointing my family and getting into university and all that. And then the last time.. you know.” Luke was quiet and his eyes had dropped. Ashton was listening intently. Not that he hadn’t been before, but this was the first time that Luke was telling him about this. Most of the things that he said about this were rehashing things that they’d already gone over.
“But I hate myself for trying so hard to make it a habit,” he spat, tone suddenly venomous. “I thought that I wanted to be able to do this shit automatically without even thinking about it. I wanted it to be my default. And now it is and I fucking hate it. I hate that the feeling of being full still makes me panic and I hate that the first thing I think about in a new place is always where I can make myself throw up if I need to. I hate that getting dizzy when I stand up and constant nausea and the feeling of water hitting my stomach and headaches and rib cramps and being so cold and tired all the time all feel so good. I hate that I have to be in ketosis to feel comfortable.
“I, I don’t want to feel like that and think like that. It’s fucking uncomfortable , Ash. Your body isn’t supposed to like the feeling of starvation, and it doesn’t like it, but this stupid fucking disorder does and I don’t know how to make it just shut the fuck up and let me do what I need to do to stay alive without wishing that I could just die.”
Another sob forced its way out of his throat dryly. “It’s so big . There’s so much of it. And I need to be doing it all at once, or I’m not doing any of it. The CBT skills don’t fucking matter if I can’t rewire all of this shit, and rewiring is useless if I don’t have the skills to keep me from wanting to bring it all back, and I can’t do any of it if I’m too malnourished to fight it.
“I’m just so fucking tired. I just want to be better.”
The last part came out muffled after he dropped his head back onto his arms, crackling over syllables as he finally exhausted his thoughts.
Ashton just sat there, trying to process everything he’d just taken in. Luke had never really shared about how it all started for him before. He knew that it had been a problem for him since he was thirteen, and that it was on-and-off, and that it tricked Luke into thinking that he was happy when he was disordered. But that was really the extent.
“Luke…” he said, not knowing what he could even say next. He flinched at how broken his own voice sounded; he needed to be the strong one in this situation right now. He could talk about all of this with his own therapist in a few days, but right now he needed to be an anchoring presence for his partner.
He tried again, clearing his throat. “Luke, baby, I… I’m so sorry.” Luke’s shoulders heaved shakily again. “Thank you for telling me all that. I, um, can’t really say that I understand. But I really, really do understand how hard you’re trying, and how bad you’re hurting. If I could make it all better for you, I would do it in a heartbeat.
“It’s okay to have hard days. You don’t have to eat breakfast today if it’s going to be too difficult. You’re trying.” Ashton thought privately about how he would have to make sure that he ate dinner at LEAST, but didn’t say it out loud, knowing that it would only further distress his partner. “Just.. please tell Dan about this, and try to be gentle with yourself? I really am so proud of you.” He resisted the urge to reach across the table and run his fingers through Luke’s hair beneath his hood. Luke would initiate contact when he was ready for it.
Luke nodded in agreement with only a brief second of hesitation.
“I love you,” he mumbled into his sleeves. “So much.”
“I love you, too,” Ashton said softly, standing up to bring the bowl into the kitchen and grab a rag to wipe up the milk.
Nothing about this was easy for either of them. But Ashton knew that even days like this were progress, and that eventually they’d be okay.
Happiness is never as far off as it looks.