Well. This was dedicated to my friend Amanda, who suffered an eating disorder. I love her so much, and I hope she feels relief when reading it. I decided to post this up because I wanted to help others with the same issues, so enjoy, ne?

Also, dedicated to her boyfriend Jeremy, who suffers from a fatal disease. Will he find the strength to carry on? Yes, he is made of stronger stuff than that!

Please, no flames because it will upset both the reader and her friends and because I love all of you too much as fellow POT fanatics. Dedicated to Amanda and Jeremy, but also to you guys. Enjoy!

And so he left, claiming with him the beautiful fragments of his heart, mocking him with every footstep, every breath, every word. A harsh snap of the door brought him from his reveries of what had been and of what would never be again, as he sat on an iron-wrought chair, a single, silvery tear falling from his lashes onto the sallow cheeks.

Icy cold; my heart will turn black, frozen, devoid. Please. Let me feel no more emotions, no more pain. Love; they all scorn me, they are conspiring. Such emptiness I have not felt since he came, since he wiped my tears away.

He smiled, yet it was not a happy one. He had left him, just as when he had found him, purging away his intense fears and insecurities, like light filling a melancholy room, but just as the candle had been lit, it had been blown away by a flighty wind of fancy. The room barely remained; poignant, abandoned, unattended. He had been inebriated by his immense charm, his sweeping good looks and when he had saved him, he had become infatuated. Every waking moment revolved around him, every thought obsessive and yearning. He had truly become, his slave.

So well he could remember it: the brush of his cool skin, the musky scent of his breath, the achingly good feeling of being in his arms, so safe, so steady.

Even more clearly could he remember those years of agony, when his whole life had been dictated by a set of scales, menacing in the corner of his marbled bathroom. Such fear he remembered; such brutal feelings of self-disgust. He closed his eyes, deeply in reverie.

Flashback:

He was on the floor, gasping and crying. He felt so empty, so unfulfilled, so bitterly hungry; he crouched in a ball, rocking himself shakily, crying himself to sleep. He was cold; he shivered, goose bumps etched on his porcelain skin. He breathed; such an unsteady exhale, such a desperate greed for air. He whispered to himself," This is my path to perfection; flawless, pure, perfect. I can overcome this; a sign of human weakness. I will become pure, empty, light as an angel".

It was his solace, his comfort, the only purpose that had kept him sane. With the death of his mother a year ago, he had begun to develop an eating disorder. Perhaps it was proof that he could become perfect even without a mother to guide him, perhaps it was his reaction to grief, or perhaps with all the pressure on his life, he had felt as if food was the only thing he could control. Whatever the reason was, he had forgotten it, spiraling into disaster.

He showered in cold water; moaning with pleasure as he fingered the bones of his body, clutching his protruding collarbone, massaging his jutting ribs with great delirium. He was closer to his goals now, closer…

With a start, he woke, beads of sweat covering his forehead, uncontrollably shaking. He had sworn that he would not revert, he had promised him. He would not break that promise-could not-, but somehow perfection had looked so inviting again. He smiled, a true smile, as he recalled the euphoric feeling of stepping on the scales, of reaching his goal weight of 80 pounds. He knew he had yet to reach perfection, but in the dark room of his heart, he had not succumbed to human errors, and he knew, he was one of the first to reach this zenith. This was a lone firefly in a dark forest, one that sparked the renewal of hope, of enlightenment, and of a future unmarred.

And he sat, in the cold, embellished chair, thinking of when he had arrived, and of his beauty and courage, and how he had reversed his life, flipped his perspective of life.

He was beautiful in a fairy-esque, graceful way; long black lashes framed wide eyes, a straight nose and soft, delectable lips parted to reveal white, gleaming teeth and he had a lithe, slender frame, yet there was much definition of bulky muscles on his pale, white exterior. He had whispered to him, 'Stop' with such force, yet gentleness and concern in his tone: quite a gentle and relaxing voice. He had slapped him hard on the face, and he had realized.

Realized he was destroying himself. Realized that he was destroying all who cared for him. And realized that he was destroying him.

He had begged him, kneeling, to cease his crazy disordered thinking, to cease his outrageous intentions, to cease him from self-harm. He had cried passionate tears, diamonds dropping from his lashes to his soft, porcelain cheeks, down his neck, and finally, into his hair, dull and lank, from an embrace that marked the beginning of their love, a beginning of their forever.

He was beautiful, he decided, and he was dying; dying from a disease that plagued his everyday, which limited him in so many ways. He had vowed to begin eating properly because it seemed that he was selfishly asking for death, or a fatal mistake, yet he, so innocent and brave, was fighting for survival with every courageous breath that he took.

'Fuji Shuusuke. I will promise to love you until my last breath is stolen, no. Longer than that. I know I shall love you for all of my eternity, and beyond'. This, he had written on a card that marked his 17th birthday. A rather beautiful golden card, rich and intricate. Dainty, pearly metal roses were assembled to create a border, and the elaborate writing was etched in a magnificent purple ink pen.

Tears came to his eyes, as he sat on that cold, elaborate chair, thinking of what he had done, of what he had sacrificed, and how he was unbearably lucky, so fortunate, to be here alive and well, today.

And so he had left, and claimed with him the beautiful fragments of his heart, mocked her with every footstep, every breath, every word. A harsh snap of the door had brought him from his reveries of what had been and of what would never be again, as he had sat on an iron-wrought chair, a single, silvery tear fallen from his lashes onto the sallow cheeks.

Sorry about that! I just wanted to make sure that everybody knew who the fanfic was dedicated to. Thankyou for reading, and I respect any comments, anonymous or not. !