Fading
The white of his skin had turned into the colour of dirty chalk. It was the colour of fingers stained with nicotine, rubbed yellow through years of bad habit. Gai's brow creased at the sight, his jaw turning tight.
"You need to eat."
A pale hand waved him off with a dismissive flick of the wrist, the once deft fingers looking frail. Eyes creased into a smile, as he shuffled notes back into his bedside drawers.
"I am eating. I have cut down in some cases, but I am eating."
Gai's frustration was hidden by a smile and a tight jaw, "This has gone beyond healthy, do you not think?" Gai gripped the duvet in his fist, standing at the bedside of a comrade, watching him fade, helplessly unable to pull him back to safety as he had so many times on the battle field.
When the silence stretched too long to be a mere thoughtful pause, Gai looked down, only to find his comrade asleep. His hair was a tangled mess against the pillows, his breathing, soft and raspy, the only sound.
Gai sighed and rubbed at his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, the curve of his shoulders slumping.
Each moment, he could see the spirit fading, even as the grim determination grew, see the flesh unwilling to continue.
Gai wondered how long it would be until the man before him faded completely.
AN: A thought on the damage of eating disorders. Where does the line begin to blur? When does a friend become cause for concern? Or do we not know until it is too late?
