Arthur Kirkland sat rigidly on a hard wooden chair, hands gripping the edge of the seat so hard that his knuckles were white. His forest green eyes were filled with trepidation, yet still he glared at the other person in the room. Alfred F. Jones only glared back, so harshly that Arthur was taken aback.
"Eat, Arthur. At least half of it." The American ordered sternly.
The Englishman dragged his gaze back to the plate in front of him. It was a simple plate of pasta, covered with a light amount of sauce and cheese. There was a small salad on the side. Just the smell of the food caused Arthur's stomach to twist violently, and he wanted to sick up, only there was nothing left to come out.
"I don't want to." He answered coldly, looking down at the table, avoiding both the gaze of the food as well as the person who had put it there.
"You aren't getting up until you eat Arthur," Alfred told him matter of factly. "It's been too long. This isn't healthy, not even for a nation."
"Stop telling me what to do!" Arthur snapped. "I'm not eating this disgusting meal."
All food disgusted him now. It was all so sickening, and the feeling of it inside him was just awful. He was already too lazy and unfit to begin with. No longer an empire, he was weak. Eating food would only make him fat, which would lead to more weakness. All the nations already made fun of him for his ex-empire state, so he didn't need them to joke about his weight too.
That's why he stopped eating. At first it was hard, going to bed every night and listening to his stomach whine and beg for food. He'd had the willpower to avoid food though, and he hadn't had a meal for almost two months. For a human they would probably be close to death. Lucky for him, he was a nation. He wasn't dead, but he was terribly tiny and skinny.
Arthur didn't notice that though. The more he stopped eating and started running and exercising, the more he felt good. In no time at all he would be strong again, maybe as fit as America. He didn't understand how Alfred could eat so much McDonald's and still be so fit. It was apparently a gift that had never been bestowed upon Arthur.
"Dammit Arthur, you eat right now or I'll take you straight to the hospital. They'll force you to eat, so you better make a choice right now!" Alfred threatened him, banging his hands on the table.
At the world meeting in New York just a few days ago, it had been the first time Arthur had seen any nation in a long time. Apparently they all noticed something was wrong, even Alfred, who was famous for not seeing or sensing the mood.
The stupid American had cornered him and started interrogating him. After he discovered that Arthur wasn't eating, he'd forced him to stay in America with him, not letting him go home until he was at a normal weight. He'd even had the nerve to call Arthur's boss!
"I hate you!" Arthur spat, scooting back from the table. "I hate you, and I hate your stupid spaghetti! Fuck you!"
With that, he angrily shoved the plate off the table. It hit the floor with a smash, spilling the contents all over the floor. For a moment there was silence. Neither nation knew what to do next. Finally Alfred pinched the bridge of his nose, something that he usually never did.
"Arthur..." He said slowly. "This is your last chance. If you can eat one banana then I won't bother you for the rest of the night. Can you do that for me?"
"W-why are you doing this to me?" Arthur sniffled. "I don't want to eat, Alfred. Just leave me alone!"
"I'm doing this because you're starving yourself Artie! I can see your fucking ribs! Hell, you were already too skinny even before you stopped eating! I hate that you're doing this to yourself, so you've left me no choice but to help you get better! But if you won't let me then I'll take you to a hospital. They'll force you to eat Arthur. Do you want to be strapped down and have a tube shoved down your throat? I don't want to see that happen, but I'll do it if it'll get you food." Alfred said. It was probably the longest and most serious thing Arthur had ever heard him say.
Arthur certainly didn't want to be forced into eating at a hospital. But he also didn't want to eat here. Why did Alfred always have to get into everybody's business? It wasn't fair. It was his body, so he should treat it however he wanted. He was finally getting skinny and fit! Sure, he got dizzy spells on occasion, but he was finally feeling good about himself. Feeling trapped, his lip trembled and his green eyes watered.
"I'll eat the banana," He muttered brokenly.
"Good," Alfred said, a smile. "Alright...let me get it for you."
Alfred crossed the kitchen and went to the fruit bowl on the counter. He took out the best banana he could find and returned to Arthur's side. He even took the liberty to peel it for him. He held it out expectantly for the Brit to take. After a moment of hesitation, Arthur took the banana from him. Alfred grinned and ruffled his hair.
"Good job Arthur. I'll even have a banana with you, okay? Then we can watch a movie and go to sleep." Alfred told him cheerfully as he got a banana for himself and sat next to Arthur, watching him intently.
For a few moments Arthur stared at the banana. His eyes leaked hot tears, staining his pale cheeks. Finally he took a tiny bite off the top of the banana. The taste seemed to burn his tongue, and he felt nauseous.
"You're okay Arthur," Alfred soothed, rubbing his back encouragingly.
Arthur refused to answer him, taking another bite that was a bit larger. He wanted to get this over with. Once he finished he could just run to the bathroom and throw it back up. Alfred would never know, and then things would be okay.
When he got halfway through, he felt much too full and sick.
"Please can I be done? I can't do it..." He whimpered.
"Sorry Arthur, but we agreed that you would finish the banana." Alfred answered apologetically.
"I d-don't want it, and I h-hate you!" Arthur whispered harshly, but took another bite.
Hours seemed to pass. Alfred had long since finished his banana, having eaten it in practically two bites. With every mouthful, Arthur felt himself dying inside. The feeling of having food inside him...it was awful. He felt disgusting. That's all he was..a pathetic disgusting little island nation.
When he was done, he tossed the peal on the table and glared downwards.
"Good job Artie!" Alfred praised him, as if he were some small child.
"I need to go to the bathroom," Was all Arthur replied with. He was about to get up but a hand clamped down on his wrist.
"No." Alfred ordered firmly.
"N-no?" Arthur was taken aback.
"That's right, no." Alfred told him. "Because then you'll throw it back up. I know how eating disorders work. If you really need to pee then I'll go in with you."
How does he know? How could Alfred read him so well? Feeling frustrated and out of control, he trembled and cried.
"Please Alfred!" He begged. "I need it out!"
"I'm sorry Arthur," Alfred said emotionlessly. "I can't let you. This is for your own good."
For a moment Arthur could only sit there, before suddenly he began to panic. "No!" He lept from the chair, causing it to fall over and hit the floor. He made a mad dash towards the bathroom. He had an advantage since he was closer to the door. However, he only made it halfway there before two strong arms wrapped around his waist, preventing him from moving.
"Why are you doing this to me?" Arthur cried out as he was pulled into a gentle yet firm hug, his face being pressed into the American nation's shoulder.
"I'm not doing this to you Arthur. You're doing this to yourself." Alfred responded sadly, closing his eyes and burying his nose into Arthur's hair.
For a moment nothing else was said. All that could be heard was Arthur's panting. Just running into another room had exhausted him, which proved Alfred's point. However, he wasn't going to give up yet. With his free arm, the Brit attempted to stick his fingers down his throat right that very moment.
"Arthur, stop it!" Alfred yelled, grabbing his wrist and forcing it to his side. "That's enough!"
Eventually he realized that struggling was futile. America had won. There was no way that he could get it out of him. When his failure dawned on him, Arthur cried harder than he had all day. He was weak, tired, and full. To him, it was the worst combination ever.
"Come on, let's get you to bed," Alfred said after a few minutes of holding the shorter man. The Brit allowed himself to be more or less carried up the long row of stairs, and then settled into bed.
Once he was positive that Arthur was sleeping, Alfred stepped out of the room, leaving the door open a crack so he could hear if the other awoke. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed the number of someone who he knew would be of help.
"Hi Al," Matthew Williams, also known as Canada, answered on the second ring. "How are things? Is Arthur doing any better?"
Matthew was one of the few to know about Arthur's recently developed problem. The only other nation to know was Francis. He'd wanted to come along with Alfred to help, but Alfred had figured that it would be best if only he stayed with Arthur at first. Too many people would only stress him, which wouldn't help the situation at all.
"Not so good," Alfred admitted. "I had to fight tooth and nail just to get him to eat a banana. I stopped him from going to the bathroom to vomit it...but he even tried sticking his fingers down his throat right in my arms! It's a real problem Mattie..."
"Have you considered taking him to a hospital?" The Canadian asked.
"I've used that as a threat a few times, but that's really something I'd rather avoid. I can't bear to think of him institutionalized because of this..." Alfred replied.
"I know Al, but if it's that serious..."
"It's be for his own good, yeah, yeah." Alfred finished the sentence. "But I'll give him a few more chances to prove to me that he can get better. If not then I'll actually consider it."
"When do you want me and Francis to come down?" Matthew asked.
"If things get better then in a week or two. If not, then I dunno." Alfred told him. "Hey, I'd better go clean up. He threw his spaghetti all over the floor."
"Okay. Um...Al? I think it's good that you're helping him." Matthew said with hesitation. "You know, since you're the one person who would understand."
"Let's not talk about that." Alfred said quickly. "So yeah, gotta go clean up! Talk to ya' later bro!"
With that, he quickly hung up the phone and sighed, quietly going back to the guest room where Arthur slept. The English nation was so skinny and pale, with dark circles under his eyes. His body was practically invisible underneath the thick mass of sheets and blankets. If not for the straw colored mop of hair sticking out of the covers then Alfred wouldn't have noticed him.
"I'm going to help you Artie," He whispered determinedly. "We'll fix this together..."
a/n: Let me know if you liked it and would want another chapter please! By the way, schools out so I'll have more time to update and write now!