20BlueRoses: Aw thank you! It's gotten to an awful point. A turning point is definitely what he needs, there's no easy path though as you said so it's a really tricky journey. Ah that's so sweet of you to say - thank you for your review!

casfics: Sorry to your heart! Definitely, he's not finding life easy in the slightest. Thank you for your review!

InfinityAndOne: I am actually so flattered you got goosebumps haha! You've got it perfectly, yeah, it broke through that emotional brick wall and hit him hard. Realism is hard to do so I'm glad you think it's good! Help really needs to come soon but it's all happening so slowly... thank you for your loveliness and review!

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They're going to kill me.

I'm going to be sent to hospital.

We're going to argue but I don't want to anymore.

When the vomit runs out and they rush in, he expects a fight. Shouting. Sobbing.

But there isn't anything.

They don't talk about it. Nobody even brings it up. It's not used as ammunition, it's not made into a venue of worried and unwanted conversation, they don't ask why; it's simply tied up into a knot and left. The aftermath is dealt with, and silently.

The only immediate consequence is that Ethan feels ill for a long time, right in his stomach. It doesn't go away. Mollie sits with him in the bathroom, letting him rest his head on her lap as their legs go cold on the floor. As his legs go numb, he does too. Her arm strokes him ceaselessly, shushing him like he's crying when he's not. They do that whilst Cal scrapes plates off and slams cupboard doors closed in the kitchen next door.

After, he goes to sleep. He hears them talk. One of them is upset. Ethan isn't, despite thinking he would be when he was alone. Instead he stays awake until early morning, his eyes burning, until his stomach squeezes.

His knees freeze on the bathroom tiles. He keeps throwing up, again and again, until his throat feels like it's lined with sandpaper.

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(2 days later) 24th of June 2017

Once, he ate yoghurt. So Mollie buys him lots of it.

Anything that even vaguely resembles the taste or look of yoghurt, she drops into the basket. They spend too much time in the dairy aisle. Greek style, vanilla, fruit, chocolate and rice, she chooses a vast range.

He fixes a look of disgust onto his face at the growing collection.

"Come on," she says, dropping a vanilla one into the basket. "It's just food."

Just. There is no just.

She seems to regret that, because she puts her arm around him and gives him a tight squeeze. They go back to shopping without incident. Ethan watches her, following around her as though he's a child. She could've left him home, but that'd mean he'd be with Cal. And Cal isn't too pleased with him right now. Ethan isn't too far gone to know that.

"Milk," Mollie says, her eyes lifting from the messily scrawled shopping list. "You mind grabbing a couple?"

Wordlessly - words aren't something he likes to dish out often anymore - he does as she says. It's only a couple steps away from her, next to the milkshakes and the custard, but she still watches his every move. She always keeps a close eye on him. Like a mother. Or, more fittingly, a sister. He's not sure if it makes him feel like less of an adult or more cared about. There's two perspectives there.

They pass the cheese aisle. Ugh, he thinks. Cheese used to be my favourite.

They pay soon after. It's a Saturday, so the queue is long, but Mollie fills the silence. She talks as she loads the belt up, seemingly unaware that he's letting each word fade into white noise. He's grateful she tries. Truly. But speaking seems tiring so he doesn't bother.

At some point, she leaves him by the tills - he expects her to ask the cashier to keep an eye on him, in case he bolts, but she doesn't - and comes back with far too many onion based snacks.

"I've got a craving," she says, seeming like she expects him to understand that. Ethan nods, as if giving into his cravings is something that he does.

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(1 day later) 25th of June 2017

There are no guidelines on how to behave. No how-to manual. Cal has no idea what to do because this hasn't been taught to him. Nobody ever offers you advice on what to do if your brother won't eat. He supposes it doesn't happen often - or perhaps it does and nobody sheds light. Regardless, there's no clear direction on where to go. It's like the roads ahead are shrouded in fog.

One yoghurt. That's what he'll have a day if it's a good day. A 'good day' is defined by him actually moving from the spot on the sofa he seems to have claimed as his own. He'll usually sit there, curled with his head low, reading one of the many books that Mollie gives him.

"You're an enabler," Cal had said to Mollie the other day, when Ethan was pretending to be too fixated on his book to even try breakfast. "You're making it easy for him to slip into another world when he needs to be focused on this one."

Mollie's answer was, "They're books, I'm hardly giving an addict needles," and then left it.

She doesn't get it. That's the problem. Cal has been here before, what with his mother and various patients. It's difficult when it's so close to home. With each day that passes, he sees Mollie treat Ethan like he's a younger sibling. He supposes that's good. But it does mean that he's losing Ethan in result; which is one of the worst possible outcomes.

Cal watches as Ethan reads, the room lit up with an orange hue from a tall lamp. The pages shadow his face, words reflected on his glasses.

"I've made dinner," Cal says helplessly. But he may as well be invisible because Ethan just keeps reading on.

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(4 days later) 29th of June 2017

Mollie is good at UNO. Very good, in fact. So good that she hasn't lost yet, not even once.

They're sitting, cross legged on the floor as the sun sets outside, playing another round. Ethan is glad he suggested this now (it felt weird, talking, when he'd been silent for a while). She's been distracted all day. He'd expecting her to say no, but wanting to ask because she'd been pointlessly walking about. Immediately, she'd said yes. It had cheered her right up.

Mollie notices the yawn he tries to hide. "Tired?"

Stubbornly, he shakes his head. He takes the cards and shuffles them. They play again - best of five - and she wins again.

They're starting again when someone sticks a key into the door. It opens roughly. The atmosphere seems to desaturate. The door swings closed again, wind whistling. Cal limps in and drops shopping bags onto the counter. He pants with the weight of it.

"Want a hand?" Mollie calls.

"I've got it," Cal says, groaning again as he lifts them.

Mollie turns back to Ethan. "Right. Best of three, because I'm tired."

Ethan hopes this game will last forever. He's not in the mood for sleeping. The nightmares are increasing. Nodding, he shuffles the cards and counts them out in his head, sliding them across the floor to her. They start again.

Mollie had all the reds. That's what Ethan needed. He was stuck with the blues.

Cal slumps against the sofa, on the floor with them. He peers over at Mollie's cards and tuts. "You're in trouble, Ethan."

He was right - isn't that a change - because Mollie wins. Then again. And the last round, too. She grins, pleased with herself, and Ethan grins too, despite not being happy. Everything considered, it's a good night.

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(1 day later) 30th of June 2017

His alarm clock reads seven. Usually, this is the time that Ethan would be dragging Cal out of bed. It hasn't been that way for months. Cal knows he'll be the one attempting to wake his brother, but it'll be pointless because Ethan will be staring at the ceiling til it's no longer the morning.

Cal flattens it with his hand when it starts to beep. Not today, you royal pain in the ass. Too late. The beeping has already drilled into his brain.

Mollie is already awake. She's on her laptop, legs bare and being used as a counter to rest it on. Her hair is unbrushed, her eyes fixed on the screen.

"What're you doing?"

She's hesitant, and Cal realises why after she says it. "Looking at meal plans."

Cal feels the weight of the world crashing down on him. There's always a couple minutes of peace before he remembers, and before it crushes him. "Anything?"

"I need to know his weight before-"

"Yeah. I know. But he won't…"

Mollie closes her laptop lid slowly. "That is a problem."

If Ethan heard that, he'd interpret as her saying that he was a problem. Ethan could be stupid like that.

"Don't worry." He closes his eyes, wrapping the sheet around him. "I'll sort it."

"Yeah." Her voice is so weak that he looks up at her properly. She's pale, lips white. Cal drags himself up, concerned.

"You look unwell…"

"Just a bit ill. I think I'm sickening with a cold."

Cal thinks it's an odd time to get a cold, but he nods, watching her face a bit more. "Have you been sick?"

Mollie bobs her head. Cal sighs. He opens his mouth to speak again, but he hears the buzzer go off instead.

"What the-"

"It's way too early," Cal slides under the duvet. It keeps buzzing.

"I'm not answering the door dressed like this," it pops back up in his memory that she's barely clothed, and then he realizes he's not sure he wants her to either. Not if she's ill too.

He pulls himself up, passing through the flat, trudging to the buzzer. Ethan's door hasn't even opened a crack. Maybe he slept through it.

"What?"

There's a crackly voice. "It's me." Charlie.

"Charlie," it feels like boiling hot water is falling from the ceiling, drenching him. Damnit. This wasn't meant to happen. "Sorry, uh-"

"Just checking in. Look, I don't have any keys. They won't let me in."

Cal's neighbours can be paranoid. Sometimes they refuse to let him into the complex until he reminds them that he actually lives there. "Maybe it's best you come later."

"It's raining! You wouldn't leave an old man out in the rain, will you?"

Cal supposes that is rude. "Alright. Come up. Just tell them you know me."

As soon as the sound of rain pattering from outside - it's June, but England can't be bothered with doing summer - and the buzzer crackling disappears, Cal realizes what he's just done.

But it's fine, right? Charlie is just coming for a chat. Cal hasn't had any shifts since Connie took him off of them. He's likely concerned.

Except he doesn't know about Ethan. And I was meant to tell Connie.

Cal accepts the fact that he's going to be slaughtered - and likely drown in his own guilt too - and awaits Charlie to come in. Nobody else comes from their rooms in the meantime. The flat is still, until there's a short knock and Cal realizes he probably should've unlocked the door prior.

"Morning."

"Morning," Cal says lightly, as if he's not mentally thinking over every way he can get Charlie out. He's standing in the way of the door. It's only prolonging the inevitable.

Awkwardly, Charlie peers through. "Could I come in?"

Cal holds the door firmly in his hand to avoid it being pushed. "Mollie's asleep," he says, but he hears the lack of conviction in his own voice and it deepens the suspicion on Charlie's brow.

"I'll be quiet." Charlie eyes Cal up and down, as if hoping to see the lies written on his clothes.

Eventually, Cal has no choice. He stands aside, letting him in, and lets the sinking hot guilt of his previous lies burn into his stomach.

It turns out, of course, Charlie came round for a small chat. It's kind enough. Cal says yes at all the right times, nods, and is careful to make small comments in reference to the conversation, just so Charlie knows he's listening. All the while, he's giving small glances to Ethan's door, and for the first time in a while, he's willing him not to come in.

Mollie does eventually. She's dressed now with her hair down. It's grown longer in recent months to become waist length. Somehow, she resists the urge to fiddle with the ends - if Cal had long hair, that's what he'd do to try and battle this anxiety - and joins in.

"You haven't been working," Charlie says to them both. "I heard Connie gave you time off."

Cal nods too enthusiastically. "Yeah, she did. Thought it'd be… best."

"How long is that going to go on for?"

"Not long."

"I know that it's important to let yourself hurt, Cal," Charlie says in one of those voices, "but you can't put your life on hold just because-"

"I'm not," he says it far rougher than necessary. He notices Mollie glare at him from the corner of his eye.

Charlie isn't put-out by it. "I understand that it's difficult. Did Connie ever mention filing a missing person report?"

She did. Numerous times. Just like it did each time Connie brought it up, hot panic seizes him, sweat accumulating between his shoulder blades. "I think it's too soon." No point in trying to locate a person who's already been found.

"It's been a month. Almost a month and a week."

"Not that long."

"Cal."

"I've left in the past for much longer than that!"

"You've been doing that from childhood. Running away is something that isn't new. This is Ethan. He doesn't do this. It's out of character."

"Yeah, well. Everything Ethan does is out of character now."

Charlie doesn't say anything to that. They sit in a stony cold silence. Eventually, Cal feels stupid for being so standoffish.

"I know you're just trying to help..."

"It's fine, Cal," Charlie says. He gets the apology before it's even spoken. "You're frustrated and tired. If I was in your position, I'd be the same."

Cal is sure Charlie wouldn't be - a lifetime of misfortune and somehow he bounces back every time - but he feels grateful for the sentiment. "Do you want a drink?" A drink isn't a lot, but Charlie seems to take it as a welcome, which is what it was intended to be. A welcome out of guilt.

"Bit early for a pint, isn't it?"

"Yeah, I was thinking more a coffee," Cal stands, "but now you mention it…"

Mollie butts in, tutting, walking to the kettle. "I don't think so."

They continue a morning routine as if Charlie fits right into it. Mollie sits with breakfast and her phone, Cal pushes himself onto the unit and Charlie washes up, like it's his place. Somehow, it feels more normal than it has recently.

When he's here, Cal feels lighter. Better. And when Charlie leaves, he feels the same.

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Mollie is looking at him. She's been giving him that same look all morning since Charlie left, her hand resting on her stomach.

She's looking guilty; as guilty as he felt earlier. As he dries the dishes that Charlie had washed, he waits for her to start the conversation. There's no point in asking her what's wrong. She'll say when she's ready.

"Cal."

Like now. His heart leaps into his throat. "Yep?"

"I, uh. I've got to tell you something."

Cal feels his pulse quickening, nodding. Mollie's lips part, but they clamp together again. He's wondering why the sudden change happened until he hears soft footsteps.

"Morning," Cal says to Ethan, who looks at him through smudged glasses.

Ethan doesn't reply - unless nodding, barely, counts - and pours himself a drink.

Cal wants him to go. Mollie isn't going to spill until they're alone.

"You look tired, how about you go back to bed?"

Ethan looks at Cal for a couple seconds, then turns back to his water.

"Or you could have breakfast."

It was cruel. Undeniably cruel. Cal notices the panic in Ethan's eyes - and feels awful because he knows he caused it - which sticks out amongst the resounding emotionlessness on his face, but is relieved when Ethan begins walking off.

He turns back to Mollie, lips parted, but she gets the first word in.

"That wasn't nice."

"It was a valid-"

"No, it was a way of getting him out, Caleb."

"It's not my fault he's… scared of food. It was a perfectly normal thing to say at breakfast time."

Mollie's arms cross over her chest. "I know. But he is scared of it, so don't make comments like that with the pure intent on frightening him."

"I could give him a glass of squash and he'd be terrified," Cal says carelessly. "He's not right-" he taps his head, "-up here at the moment."

She rolls her eyes back. Then she's looking beside him, her face whitening, and she's talking. "No, no, he didn't mean it like that, honey."

Cal spins. "Eth." Shit. They never heard the door close. Ethan was around that whole time - he'd heard the whole conversation. Shit, shit. "I didn't…"

And then Ethan actually talks, words hissed through gritted teeth. "You asshole." It's the most un-Ethan-ish thing he could've said.

"Alright. I'm an asshole." Cal says. "I'm a sorry asshole, though. Does that count for anything?"

The furious head shake clearly means no, that it's a drop in the ocean.

"C'mon. I just meant that you're not doing good, and…" he's making it worse. Ten points for Caleb.

"I'm doing fine," he says.

Every inch of frustration that Cal has felt in this last month is coming out now. "Sure you are," Cal says, tone bitter before he can even try and sweeten it just to keep the peace.

"I am!"

"That's why you starve yourself, then, because you're fine?" The words weren't spoken; more spat.

He regrets it immediately.

"Shit, I…"

"Yeah." Ethan turns his back on his brother. "Shit."

"I'm sorry for being frustrated." When Ethan doesn't reply, more annoyance bubbles up inside of him. "Hey. Don't you start that Martyr complex, you're not the innocent one here."

Ethan spins round. "What's that meant to mean?"

"You've messed up just as much as I have!" Arguments. Losing Lily as a friend. More arguments. Running to the hotel. Cal knows it's something else pulling the strings - that Ethan is struggling with something and it's taking him over - but he's angry. So frustrated, so tired… "I'm not the only one who's done wrong but at least I apologise."

"Yeah, well," Ethan says, jabbing his head with a finger roughly. "Guess I've got the excuse of not being right up there, haven't I?"

"I said, I didn't mean it like that!"

Mollie is stood on the sidelines, burying her head in her hands.

Ethan is speaking like he can't stop; like he's pouring everything out because it's his last chance of speaking with ears listening. "You mean it like I'm fragile. Pathetic, struggling… like I'm a burden who can't stand on their own two feet."

Cal throws his hands up in the air. "No, you can't stand on your own two feet - you keep passing out!"

There's a few beats of silence. Ethan breathes raggedly; and then he goes for Cal.

Mollie shouts at them to stop it, her voice raising to the brink of hysterically, but neither listens. Cal has been here before. He knows that Ethan can only last so long; and with his weakened body, he'll last even less time than before. He holds him by the shoulders, blocking each punch, feeling the dull ache of slaps, his ears ringing.

He doesn't want to hurt him. "Ethan, stop it." It's a warning and it goes unheard.

The punches don't cease. They punctuate every sentence. "I hate you. I hate you!"

There's angry tears. They're dribbling down Ethan's cheeks, his breath coming out in short gasps. It's this which has gotten him feeling something, clearly, when he hasn't really reacted to anything in a while. Cal is the punchbag for Ethan's anger. He feels the sting of scratches and kicks in the shins, knowing it'll bruise, but doesn't care.

He keeps pushing Ethan back, warning him repeatedly. Each shove he does harder. Ethan is weakening. The aggression is disappearing as each second passes. He's shouting at Cal, saying he hates him, so much, that he's okay, really, and even if he isn't then what is Cal gonna do about it. Nothing.

He hits and punches until Cal grasps his sleeved wrists, holding him, and they sink down the back of the sofa.

Ethan is sobbing, like he's lost all control. "You annoy me so much. I hate you. I hate you, I hate you…" he hiccups.

"You can hate me now. You don't have to like me. Just…" he lifts Ethan's chin, meeting his eyes. "Breathe. Calm down, okay?"

"I h-hate you."

"I know you do. Hate me all you want."

Ethan lets out a rough sob, wrenching his wrists out of his grasp and giving Cal another token hit, but it's lacking of any force. It doesn't hurt at all.

Cal holds Ethan's shoulders, their sides resting against the sofa back as they're sat on that cold floor. Cal watches the tears, how the anger dissolves, and sees them disappear. Ethan eventually gives in altogether with his weak wriggling. The 'I hate you's stop. Everything stops.

"It's gonna be alright," Cal tells him. Ethan takes in sharp sips of air. "It's going to be okay."

He's lost now. Ethan doesn't look like he's heard. Cal keeps his hands on him. They're breathing raggedly, exhausted and weak, developing bruises on their bodies starting to ache.

When he remembers Mollie is there, he turns to look whilst Ethan sits trembling. She looks emotionless. She looks like she's done.

"This," Mollie says, her voice unsteady, "has got to stop."