I am not a man who will ever break you

Once the gasps and demands of "what happened, Jimmy?" stopped, Jimmy spent the rest of the meal staring at the seat Thomas had vacated as he chewed absent-mindedly - joining Thomas in his refusal to eat was not helping anything, and it seemed foolish to continue. It tasted like the best meal he had ever had.

He didn't know how to make it right, he just wanted Thomas to be well, and happy. Wasn't Jimmy enough? He may not be attracted to Thomas in the same way that Thomas was attracted to him, but they were friends, they loved each other, they looked out for each other. Why couldn't that be enough?

"James," said Mrs Hughes, startling him out of his contemplation. "Could I have a word with you?"

Jimmy nodded, rose from the table and followed Mrs Hughes into her room, where she bade him sit at the small table and put a box of biscuits between them. Despite most of his brain being occupied with worrying about Thomas, Jimmy could appreciate how strange this situation was.

"Now, Jimmy," she began kindly. "It seems yourself and Mr Barrow have had something of a falling-out, am I right?"

"Something like that," Jimmy admitted. It felt good to be able to confess even this small amount.

"It's not like the two of you to be at odds. I thought you were friends now?"

"We are, Mrs Hughes. The best of friends, usually. Only…" Jimmy frowned down at the table, wondering how much he should tell.

"Only what?" Mrs Hughes prompted.

"Only, I was trying to help him and he didn't much like it."

"Help him?" she asked, looking concerned. "Is there something wrong?"

Jimmy hesitated again. "I don't think he'd quite like me to tell you, Mrs Hughes, if you don't mind."

"He is a very private person." Mrs Hughes smiled fondly. "But I hope you know you don't have to do this on your own, whatever it is. If you need any help or you want to talk to somebody, Mr Carson and I would both be very willing to hear your concerns."

"I think you might be overestimating Mr Carson's good will," Jimmy said wryly.

Instead of scolding him, Mrs Hughes dipped her head in acknowledgement. "I think you could be right," she said conspiratorially. "But he'll listen, and I definitely will, if you need to speak."

"Thank you, Mrs Hughes. Now, I think I'll go and see how Thomas is. May I take him a biscuit?"

Mrs Hughes agreed, so Jimmy took two digestive biscuits from the box and left the room, before making his way upstairs to Thomas' room. There was no response to his knock, so Jimmy slowly pushed open the door. Thomas was lying curled on his side in bed, his back to the door. Jimmy watched him breathing for a few seconds, unsure if he was sleeping, and realised that he could see the line of his spine beneath the undershirt he was wearing. Jimmy padded softly across the room and laid his hand on one thin shoulder, feeling the bones under his palm. "Are you awake?" he murmured.

Jimmy's hand fell from his shoulder as Thomas rolled onto his back. His eyes were open but he did not look at Jimmy as he perched on the edge of the bed. He could see the start of Thomas' collar bones poking out. Jimmy was reminded painfully of sitting at a hospital bed.

Thomas laboriously pushed himself up the bed a foot or two, until he was half-sitting with his bony shoulders against the pillows.

"I've got biscuits," Jimmy said, in lieu of anything else. "Look." Two heavily shadowed eyes flickered over to watch as Jimmy ate one, before holding out the other. Thomas took it reluctantly from his fingers, and ate it. For a split second Jimmy imagined that it was all as simple as that, breaking the impasse between them and getting Thomas to eat; but the bigger part of him knew that it was not. Thomas had been like this for weeks, months; Thomas' appearance made Jimmy realise that it had been going on for far longer than he had thought. It was not something that could be fixed with a biscuit (no matter how much Jimmy felt that everything could be fixed with a biscuit).

"Are you alright?"

"Leave me alone, Jimmy. I'm tired." Thomas' voice creaked like a rusted door. His head was tilted slightly away, his eyes fixed on the slip of orange sky he could see through the window.

Jimmy watched him, his thoughts in turmoil, wanting to help, to hold him, to smack him right in the face for being such an arse. "Why are you doing this?" he implored softly.

"I'm nothing," Thomas said hollowly, without looking at him, "and I'm ugly. This… makes it better."

Jimmy chewed his lip, his eyes beginning to brim with tears. "If I was in love with you, would it help?" he asked shakily.

Thomas was silent for a few seconds. "No," he murmured, and it sounded as though he was telling the truth. "It's not really about that."

The tears spilled over and Jimmy looked away, trying to hide them, trying to control the spasms in his abdomen; but he couldn't, and soon he was weeping openly in pain and in fear. "Please start eating properly, Thomas," he begged through his sobs. He clutched Thomas' arm tightly with both hands, feeling nothing but skin and bone under his fingers. "Please, I love you, you're scaring me. Please eat."

Thomas only shook his head. "I can't."

I need you to know
I'm not through the night
Some days I'm still fighting to walk towards the light
I need you to know
That we'll be OK
Together we can make it through another day