running on empty

11 // Pancakes.

One of the first things Ethan noticed at the start was how clear his head seemed. It made sense - plenty of people fasted for personal growth or health reasons, and at that point he was doing the same thing, if for different reasons.

But then he pretty much stopped eating altogether, and his head grew so thick and cloudy he couldn't tell if he was even alive most mornings.

Now that he was skipping meals again, the strange clarity came back, familiar and yet completely new at the same time. It was risky, bordering on being numb enough to ignore hunger pains yet not numb enough to slip up, but he knew what to look for now. The hunger was just a little addicting, but Ethan was determined to not let it get in the way of his life again.

Wobbling a little on his way to the kitchen, he unlocked his phone, absentmindedly tapping on the notification for a new message. The coffee maker hummed behind him, and he grabbed the hot cup. It felt nice against his cold fingers. About a cup, so that's... one calorie? he mused, looking back at his phone. He'd have to log that as soon as he checked the message.

Amy: hey eef! want to hang out today? | sent 9:01

He blinked, then checked the contact name again. Amy's name still hovered under the message, and at the top of the chat, and Ethan carefully set his phone down on the counter.

Was this about the last time she had helped them film? With the applesauce and the questions and the looks? The longer he stared at the message, the more he realized that it probably was.

Letting out a heavy sigh, he swapped the phone with his mug, and typed out a reply.

You: sure! | sent 9:23
You: what do you want to do? | sent 9:23

Three gray dots popped up, and Ethan pursed his lips. Even though he responded, he wasn't sure he was ready for her reply - what if she tried to get him to eat? He already accepted, it wasn't like he could back out without her giving him that awful pity-glance and "subtle" nudge towards food.

But after the last few weeks - at first eating for Mark's sake, and then just to feel something other than numb - he had gained. And that was - not good. He couldn't keep adding to that.

His phone chimed, and he snapped back to reality to look at the now-black screen. Taking a sip of his (bitter, gross) coffee, Ethan let himself stall for a minute longer. He really didn't want to deal with having to get out of eating today.

The phone chimed again and he cursed under his breath. He had to pick it up now. Unlocking it lazily, he opened the chat with Amy.

Amy: great! i've got some clay here that has your name on it | sent 9:26

Amy: this totally isn't because mark's out of the house and i want an assistant btw | sent 9:26

Oh. So it wasn't about food at all. Why did he think it was about food? His shoulders dropped and he sent out a quick reply. 

You: you can't use me as free labor forever, amy | sent 9:28
You: but sure! i'll drop by around 10:30? | sent 9:29

Amy sent back a quick thumbs-up, and Ethan dropped his phone on the counter again. He really hoped his initial suspicions were wrong and she wouldn't guilt him into eating.

Pushing away from the counter, he shuffled back towards his room, running a hand along the wall for support, and got ready.



"Ethan! Hi!" Amy's bright voice greeted him as he walked into the kitchen. It faltered a little when she finally saw him, but she quickly recovered. "Mark made pancakes." He smiled at her, humming a little bit when he saw the plate.

The soft, golden-yellow pancakes were piled high, looking almost good enough to be in some sort of commercial or something. Mark's monologue about cooking the perfect pancake came to mind, and he chuckled to himself. "They look good."

"I bet they are," Amy hummed. She grabbed three plates out of their cupboard, already starting to put pancakes on them. "Mark's... somewhere? right now. He should be back soon so we can eat together. How many do you want?"

Ethan paused at the question, then looked back over at the plates. Oh, yeah, there were three. One for Mark, Amy, and him. Shaking his head to clear the fog, he shrugged. "I'm not really hungry right now, sorry. Maybe later?"

She stopped dishing the pancakes then and looked over at him. "Are you sure? I thought you liked his pancakes?"

Fuck. He did really like Mark's pancakes, and they both knew it. "Uh, yeah. I'm just - not very hungry right now." Amy stared at him for a moment longer, and he rubbed his hand down his arm self-consciously. He tried not to focus on how squishy it was beneath his fingers. "Drank a lot of coffee this morning."

Nodding slowly, she turned back to the pancakes and put the third plate back in the cupboard. "Okay, that's cool. I'll save you some for later." Her tone brooked no argument, and Ethan shrugged shamefully. He could just throw them out later, even though the thought of wasting the pancakes made his stomach turn.

Mark walked in as Amy set the plates on the table, and he gave Ethan a small smile as he walked past. "Morning!"

"Morning." Ethan fell into the chair across from the couple, watching as they dug into their pancakes. Not wanting to sit in awkward silence, he leaned forward and began to make small talk. "So where are you going today, Mark?"

The older man's head jerked up toward him, and he glanced not-so-subtly at Amy. "I'm replacing you as Amy's assistant today," Ethan clarified, "I didn't just walk into your house uninvited to watch you eat breakfast."

"Oh, yeah, that - that makes sense." Mark swallowed, and pushed his fork around his plate. "I'm... going to check out something. Maybe an Unus Annus idea if it goes well." There was something off about his tone, but Ethan was too tired to push. The fog in his mind was starting to thicken, and he was using a lot of his energy just to stay present in the conversation.

"Cool beans."

Amy's fork clattered against her plate, and she coughed violently to dislodge the pancake she had inhaled. "Cool beans? What are you, forty?" A little snort escaped her as she giggled, and Ethan couldn't help but smile as well.

"Hey! I'll have you know 'cool beans' is a perfectly acceptable phrase!"

She shook her head, jabbing the fork at him accusingly. "Yeah, if you're, like, going through a midlife crisis or something!" He smacked his chest in mock-offense, and her laughing only increased.

"Honestly, I don't see a problem with 'cool beans.'" Mark piped up. He swiveled to face Amy, sneering at her playfully. "I think you're just jealous you couldn't pull it off."

"Okay, Craig. Call me when you regret buying that motorcycle and the tattoo on your upper arm."

Laughing, Ethan rested his head on his hand. He was very grateful the whole commotion had distracted from his lack of a plate. And... having fun with his friends wasn't half-bad, either.

After a few minutes, they all settled down and Mark took the dirty plates to the sink. "I think I'm going to leave here, soon. Are you sure you two can handle being home alone?"

"If anything we're the most level-headed of the three of us," Ethan shot back, "I'm sure we'll be fine."

Chuckling, the older man nodded. "Alright, that's fair. See you... sometime? I'm not sure if I'll be back by the time you leave."

"Yeah, see you whenever." He smiled, watching as Mark trudged up the stairs. "So, how can I help?"

Amy stood up from the table, walking towards her workshop. The room seemed different, now that the one person who actually knew what she was doing was in it. Everything seemed to have a purpose - unlike the indiscernible mess it seemed to be when they first tried to make something. "We need to wedge the clay first, then I was thinking we could make little pumpkins."

"Wait, we?" Ethan stopped twirling the small knife he had picked up. Amy was supposed to be the one making things - not him. He couldn't tell one type of knife from another - how was he supposed to make something with her? And aside from that, why would he? She was the expert, he would just mess it up. "I thought I was going to be your assistant."

"Well, yeah, but it's really not that hard! Plus, I find it can be... Almost meditative, in a way. Lets you work out anything you're keeping bottled up inside." She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, and Ethan felt like there was supposed to be some hidden message there. "And it's fun."

"You had me at 'fun!'" he joked. Amy set two large globs of clay on the table, and his finger darted out to poke them. "Ew. They're slimy."

She scoffed softly, smiling at him. "Yeah, they're wet. Go on, grab one." He picked up the smaller lump, passing it back and forth in his hands. The clay-slime stuck to his fingers, but he didn't mind all that much. He'd had worse on his hands.

Noticing the lost look on his face, Amy set her clay down on the table and guided him to do the same. "Here," she murmured, folding her hands over Ethan's and moving them with hers. "You have to press down on it, and then roll it like this - " she said, twisting her arms inwards and rotating it at the elbow instead of the wrist, and he jerked away to avoid getting hit in the gut. He huffed out a laugh at the playful glare she gave him, and moved back into place apologetically. "I'm not gonna hit you, promise."