Warning for anorexia and a mention of self harm.
He smiles. His head hurts. His heart hurts. His stomach hurts. Taiwan and China continue berating him on his more casual wear, Hong Kong and Vietnam laugh from the sidelines, Macau looks on without any obvious emotion, and Japan ignores them all, turning to Italy and Germany like the whole family doesn't exist.
All he wants is for them to enjoy his company, but all they ever do is laugh at him.
l
He stares longingly at the food trolley, trying not to think of how long it's been since he last had anything two weeks, a traitorous voice echoes from somewhere, while he pretends his stomach isn't attempting to eat itself from the inside.
He watches China take a biscuit politely, muttering under his breath about western food, and the rest of them giggle because they agree.
He shakes his head and waves the trolley on when it gets to him.
l
He decides that he needs more restraint, and then maybe he will fit in and they might want him in their group. He holds back from groping China, instead waving and then folding his hands neatly in his lap as he sits down. They tell him he's acting weird.
Quietly, it makes him want to cry, but he scratches the skin on his hand almost raw so the pain distracts him.
It's not like they ever see his hands to know what wounds lie there anyway.
l
He's lost weight, he notices as Vietnam's slap throws him back much further than it used to. He tells himself that's a good thing, he was pudgy anyway and he knows that because China has told him so, poking him in the ribs and telling him he needs to lose weight, as he won't be able to catch up with them.
He pushes back a soothing voice telling him that it was a friendly jibe.
l
After a shower, he traces his backbone, a newly formed mountain range on his back, one that no one can see since it's hidden under baggy clothes and cheerful, yet empty, smiles. He runs a finger up and down the waves of his ribs, smiling weakly as he promises never to hide them under fat again.
l
Four weeks, and he isn't hungry anymore. No, hunger has morphed into an enveloping ache, becoming his skeleton. He assumes his stomach has demolished itself, so perhaps he can't ever feel hungry again, a bodily function he can do without. He no longer looks adoringly at the food trolley, he just ignores it and it continues its rounds, past China and the others, who watch confused as it passes the one who usually had to be stopped from eating the whole thing.
They frown when they realise that they can't actually remember the last time they saw South Korea eat.
l
It has gotten harder to do everything, he realises as he tries his best to focus on a swaying world while leaving the meeting, thinking of how he's visiting Taiwan's house with Hong Kong, Vietnam, Macau and China at the weekend.
He can barely write, let alone stand, and he passes out in the taxi to the airport.
He blames it on the tiredness, that he knows is because he didn't sleep last night, terrified that his dreams of his favourite sweets might lead him back to bad habits.
l
His brother laughs when he realises. North Korea laughs and points and is in hysterics and finds it extremely funny until the point where South Korea passes out. Then, although he would vehemently deny it, his face turns a white to match his brother's and he worries himself sick taking South Korea to hospital.
l
He actually quivers with terror as he finds himself in hospital, North Korea stretched over a chair in the room fast asleep. Pulling out the IV, he checks himself out despite the concerns of the doctors and hails a taxi to go to his least favourite apartment where there is only a damp bed and no food, or street vendors or temptations, and prays that his brother doesn't hate him too much.
l
He has forgotten that family get-togethers always involve food.
He also feels like he no longer knows why he doesn't can't eat, as China hovers next to him holding out a bowl of dumplings, and they all know that old South Korea would try to gleefully take them all, and that he's changed. He feels physically sick, the smell of food and the concerned glances and the fleeting touches, he can't stop himself from wailing so he runs, as far as his pin thin legs hidden by fabric will take him.
He ends up sobbing in the rain to the audience of rice plants.
l
He feels so broken. After the meeting, he locks himself away as much as possible, avoids everyone and spends his days staring at apples on the table, trying to remember what the feel of food was like. He wishes he could have been like the rest of them, then he'd be accepted and this never would have happened. But it did, and suddenly hiding himself feels like the only thing to do, because he can't bear the thought of what they all think: where they are thin without even trying, and beautiful, as opposed to his pallid and weak composure.
He wails and cries and sobs and wails, pure sorrow echoing in the empty walls of his heart, and that he imagines being enveloped in a gentle hug like he used to, with soothing songs and a soft chest to be held to, just makes him so sad his mind closes up in front of him.
l
He remembers what energy he used to have, until he started to reach for impossibles and became this mess and now he has a quota, but he's pushed it and he faints at the meeting, after his shaky speech where North Korea crosses his fingers to hope his brother stays standing for the duration of it. They all cry out when he doesn't return to his seat, collapsing behind Hong Kong. He just doesn't have to energy to fight, not the fever nor China heaving his paper body onto his back to take him home. He can't see the petrified expressions of the whole family, even his brother, or the way they all hurry to take him to Vietnam's house which is closest. He barely hears their calls to try and keep him in their world.
It's been four months.
l
The arms holding him are real, he sleepily recognizes. The voices asking him if he's awake are too, and when he finally regains enough consciousness, he finds that the whole family is in his hospital room, anxious to see if he is vaguely alright.
He wants to remove the IV, because he feels sick, but China gently lays a hand over his and holds it. He realises that they've rolled up his sleeve too and they can see the state of his hands, but they keep holding him even through his embarrassment and fear.
l
Recovery is slow. He can barely keep down anything, Taiwan carefully cutting food up into tiny chunks that he might be able to cope with. China and Hong Kong stay with him to ensure that he does actually eat, even though he tries to let them know he's fine and they can leave to do work - they say that since he sleeps quite a lot, they can do most of the work they need to do. He suspects they are lying, but he appreciates the effort, despite the underlying guilt he feels at having forced them into this. Macau, Vietnam and Taiwan drop around at weekends, and slowly, he does start to build up an appetite.
Eventually, he admits why he did it, and finding that his support network is still strong, South Korea realises that it never faded.
Total starvation is an extreme form of anorexia nervosa, but any form can have a devastating effect of the body, including organ failure.
Also, please forgive me for any inaccuracies. The formatting, as well, as fanfiction has this really annoying thing where if you don't put something in a space, it magically disappears the space. I'd rather not have line breaks all the time, thank you.