Note: Rated T mainly for swearing. Also, warning for disordered eating habits.
It hadn't been on purpose. He'd gotten back from the mission so sore and furious at himself for not having his head in the game, for being the weak link, that the only thing he could do was collapse across his bed and bury his face in his arms. His gut growled loudly, reminding him hey, fuckup, all you've eaten today is a couple energy bars. Yeah, so what, he thought fiercely. He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, at the dark water stain on the yellowed plaster that was shaped like a Scottish Terrier if he tilted his head to the left, and like Libya if he tilted it to the right. He fell asleep, one hand tucked behind his head, the other pressed against the slick red leather over his stomach.
The afternoon sunlight slanting in through the window woke him up. He got up to piss, head pounding with a dull ache, and checked his answering machine. There weren't any new messages. He'd told Kori he'd been feeling tired. They just … didn't want to call and risk waking him, that was all. They probably haven't even missed you. Shut up. Probably glad you're not around to talk their ears off. Shut up . God, look at you; you're so desperate for attention it's pathetic.
Roy went back to bed.
He woke sometime during the night and couldn't get back to sleep, no matter how many times he punched his pillow into a more comfortable shape, or rolled onto his right side, his left, his back, or face-down with his nose pressed into the mattress. His stomach was finally silent; now it just felt like a belt cinched too tightly around his waist. He curled onto his side and the cramps weren't so bad. Eventually, he dropped off to sleep again.
Most of the next day passed in a haze. He dozed on and off. Tried to ignore the hollow feeling in his stomach, and when that proved impossible, focused on it and found himself strangely reluctant to get up and get anything to eat.
He heard the front door open and, before he could even think about getting up to see who it was, the bedroom door swung wide, the doorknob hitting the drywall with an unpleasant crunch, and Jason stalked in, guns drawn.
"Harper, what the hell," Jason growled, and jammed the guns back into their twin holsters. "Why the fuck are you still in bed?"
"I told you guys," Roy said. See, they don't even pay attention to you. "I was going home to rest, I—"
"Hold up; that was Friday morning," Jason said, and paused, like he expected a reaction. Roy just blinked at him. "It's 2:30 in the afternoon, Saturday," he finished, biting down hard on the end of each word. "You trying to tell me you've spent the past two days in bed?"
Roy tried to comb his hair back from his eyes, but abandoned the attempt when his fingers caught in the tangles. "Um. Apparently?"
"Have you been drinking?" Jason asked, blunt.
"No, Jay. I was just really tired."
Jason shook his head. "You're a fuckin train-wreck, Harper. If I don't hear that shower running in five minutes, I'm coming back here to strip your ass and hold you under the showerhead myself."
"Ooh, kinky," Roy groaned, and threw an arm over his face. He heard leather creaking as Jason moved closer, and sat up, scowling. "Fine." He hurled the pillow at Jason, who caught it. "I'll take the damn shower. You happy now?"
The pillow thwumped into his face. "Peachy. Get going." Jason left the bedroom and let the door slam behind him.
Roy fell back against the covers with a moan, pushing the heels of his palms against his eyes. For a moment, he thought about curling up with the pillow over his head. Except Jason didn't like being ignored, and Roy had no illusions that Jason would fail to carry through on his threat.
And he had a point. Roy's Arsenal costume, which he hadn't bothered to change out of, was starting to stink of stale sweat. His sheets were never going to be the same color again. They were a mess, he was a mess, everything was a huge mess, and he really, really wished he could bring himself to care about any of it.
For now, Jason's 'shower or else' statement could serve as the motivation he lacked. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood. Took exactly one step towards the bathroom before the floor tilted out from under his feet. He managed to avoid falling by catching the edge of the bed, but the room spun and an intense feeling of nausea surged up his throat, making him gag. He stumbled into the bathroom and all but fell to his knees beside the toilet, hands braced on the cool porcelain rim. It took half a minute or so, but eventually the nausea subsided, and left him slumped on the floor, weak and shaky.
"Shower, Harper!" Jason yelled from the other room.
"Heard you the first time, Jaybird," Roy called, with as much energy as he could muster. It took way more effort than it should have to undress, adjust the water, and get into the shower. He lowered himself to the shower stall floor and let the hot water pound against his neck and back.
After ten minutes, he wrapped a towel around his waist, left his costume in a rumpled heap on the bathroom floor, and changed into a sort of clean sweatshirt and pair of jeans.
He walked into the kitchen just in time to see Jason finish spreading peanut butter and jam on two slices of bread. Roy's mouth flooded with saliva at the rich, oily smell of peanut butter. Then he thought he was going to be sick.
"Here." Jason held out the food, offering it to him.
"Not hungry," Roy replied mechanically.
Jason narrowed his eyes at Roy. "Bullshit. Your eyes got two sizes wider when you saw the sandwich. This isn't a thing for you, is it?"
"Dude, no! It's … no."
"Good. Then eat the damn sandwich," Jason said, shoving the plate towards him, "since I went through the trouble of making it. You think you're not hungry, it's your stomach fucking with you."
Jason watched as Roy took the sandwich, and waited until he'd taken a bite before asking, "Bad week?"
The full mouth gave Roy a perfect excuse to just reply with, "Mhm," rather than having to go into detail.
"That why you kept screwing things up yesterday?" It was said without much venom, so Roy nodded.
Jason pursed his lips and folded his arms across his chest, the leather jacket squeaking as it creased. "How's the sandwich?"
"It's just PB&J," Roy said. Jason raised an eyebrow. "Best PB&J I ever had," he amended.
"Fuckin right it is. I called Kori while you were in the shower; she's coming over."
"What? Why?"
"I think there's still a few cult classics you haven't forced us to sit through yet. I'll order pizza and we can see what's on TV."
"Thanks, man," Roy said, looking down and crumbling a piece of crust between his fingertips.
"Yeah, well. If you're gonna keep doing dumb shit like this to yourself, what else am I supposed to do?" Jason's tone was annoyed, but … affectionate at the same time. Of course, maybe he was reading too much into it, but still. Wow.
He's just doing it because he feels sorry for your pathetic ass.
Roy took another bite of the sandwich. Brain, shut the fuck up.