running on empty

14 // Sandwiches.

Mark sighed, and closed the article he was reading. The artificial light from the computer burned his eyes, and he rubbed at the space between them to alleviate some of the sting.

Ethan was supposed to be coming over later that day, and he had gotten approximately one hour of sleep; the man was going to notice, and he'd have to come up with some reasonable excuse for staying up so late.

It wasn't that he felt bad for what he was doing - he was just worried that Ethan would if he discovered the enormous amount of articles he had scoured on anorexia. The younger man hated feeling pitied, obviously, and Mark felt that this may toe the line of something he'd be okay with.

The coffee maker beeped in the other room, and he smiled gratefully when Amy handed him a steaming mug a few minutes later. "Whatcha workin' on?" she asked, leaning over his shoulder, hair falling onto his neck and making him squirm away.

"Just - looking up stuff for Eth." Opening up one of the other articles he had been bouncing between, he looked up at her to gauge her reaction. "Trying to... I don't know. Help?"

Amy just hummed in lieu of response and skimmed over the article herself. Her eyes darted over the screen, and Mark found himself caught up in the way her face would twitch - just a shadow of emotion splaying across her features - every time she read something apparently interesting. "Does he know?"

"What?"

"Does he know you're doing this," she repeated, gesturing to the computer. "I - he doesn't seem to like it, when we butt in." Her face twisted as though she had something else to say, but ultimately decided against it and smoothed over her features.

"I know. But - I just want to help, you know? I don't want to - trigger him."

That was something new he learned - the medical definition of trigger, not the stupid joke they'd sometimes make. He'd have to take note to cut those bits out.

A soft weight settled beside him, and he trailed Amy's hands as she carefully set her mug next to his. "Can you help?" she asked.

"Yes." Amy raised an eyebrow, and he quickly backtracked, "no. Maybe? I - It's not like he's going to go to therapy. 'Least I can do is help as much as I can."

"You're not responsible for him." Mark made a low noise in his throat, running a hand through his hair in frustration, and Amy sent him a sympathetic, if bittersweet, smile. "I know, I feel it as much as you do. I want to help. But - you're not a therapist, Mark."

Mark just grumbled again and looked back to his computer. He knew Amy was right, logically, but - he needed to fix it. It was painful, sitting there and eating lunch while Ethan looked like he was going to have an aneurysm if his plate had more than a toddler's portion size. If anything it made him feel like a bad friend, like he had let this happen because he didn't hound the man on his eating habits earlier.

And, aside from his own feelings, it was just plain fucking awful to think about even a fraction of what his friend was feeling. Being scared of food? Something that surrounded daily life and was impossible to ignore? Mark couldn't even imagine what it was like.

Sighing for the nth time, Mark closed the window, watching as his remaining research disappeared into the void.

Amy kissed his temple and stood up, ghosting her hand along his shoulder as she did so. "Want to join me in bed?"

Mark gave one last look at the computer before getting up and following her to their room.

Ethan greeted the two the next morning, smiling widely on their doorstep despite the cold temperature. "Morning gamers!"