"So anyway, dudes, everybody has muscles. I mean, obviously. But, you know, the reason the majority of people don't have muscle definition is 'cause everyone has a layer of fat over their bodies. So if I just keep working out, and I get rid of that, then it'll all be good. All I need to do is keep working out and eat more protein, but I can't do any weight training here, so I guess I'll just not eat as much." America chatted rather happily, almost disconcertingly casually, as he unwrapped a Babybel cheese.
"But you already have muscle definition. Surely you don't have to worry so much about that layer of fat now."
"It's not enough," America's tone had become harsh, cold. "But if I keep going, it will be." With that, America brightened again, as though the image of a 'better' body was worth living for. Every time he spoke these days, it seemed his mood swung like this.
"So, what exactly are you aiming for?" England asked him.
"Oh, you know. Just... to be lean, I guess. I don't wanna have, like, significant muscle. But just a bit of definition would be nice."
"But you already have that."
"Just a bit more, then." America's smile didn't falter; it never did. It was always all or nothing with him. "Anyway, I don't really wanna eat this. You want it?" America turned to Canada, who had been sitting quietly, just watching. Neither England nor America really spoke to him, though they were staying at his house.
"Alfred, just eat the cheese. You already unwrapped it," England told him.
"Why don't you want to eat it?" Canada asked him.
America didn't hear it because he was already preoccupied with what England had said. "My dude, I really don't wanna eat this. I'm not hungry."
"You were just fine a moment ago."
"Well, I'm totally not hungry anymore. I ate a couple Dove chocolates before this. I'm fine."
"Just eat it," England reiterated.
America frowned and ate his cheese rather saucily. Canada hadn't known someone could cram so much annoyance into a dozen infinitesimal bites of what should have been three bites of cheese, but that was exactly what America did. England ignored it, refusing to give in to America's antics.
"How many calories are in the cheese?" America asked Canada.
"I don't know. I threw the packaging away."
America turned the wrapper in his fingers; the wrapper didn't have the nutritional information, of course, but America still seemed rather disappointed. He googled it instead, added 'Babybel Cheese- 70 cals' to a document on his phone. "Damn, seventy calories is a lot for a piece of cheese."
"It's not a lot. Seems about right," Canada reasoned.
"Huh. Maybe I just never paid attention before." America stood, fidgeting slightly for a moment. "Well anyway, dudes, I'm totally gonna go on a run. I'll be back in, like, half an hour."
...
America came back an hour later, dejected. "Dudes, I'm, like, totally fucked. I need to do more cardio. Way more cardio," he announced. "I only ran, like, half a mile. Even less than usual, somehow."
"Half a mile isn't much, is it?"
"Nope."
"So where were you for an hour, if you only ran half a mile?"
"I'm a slow runner." America shrugged. "Told ya I need to do more cardio. I'm hella tired. I'm gonna sleep."
America drifted off to the guest bedroom after that.
/\
Several hours later, America still had not emerged from the guest bedroom. Canada knocked on the door, holding the Fight Club DVD. "Alfred?"
"Come in!"
Canada opened the door to a darkened room. America shut off his phone and turned on the lamp, but still, he did not sit up.
"Do you want to watch Fight Club with me?" Canada asked him.
"Not tonight, dude." America sighed and rubbed his face. "Sorry if I was acting weird today. I've been feeling a little sick."
Canada wasn't sure what to say, so he sat down next to America and waited.
"I'm lowkey kinda scared, broski," America confessed, not sounding very scared at all. America watched Canada for a reaction. "Okay, maybe I'm hella scared."
"Scared? Of what?" It didn't seem like America to be afraid of anything, at least not to admit it confidentially.
"I just... I felt pretty sick earlier. After I went on the run. Before the run, even."
"Okay?"
"That's why I went on a run. I mean, I'm not sure if it's necessarily better, but I don't want to be sick." America's voice lowered as he said, "I would rather be dead than force myself to vomit, broski, 'cause I don't think I'm strong enough to not spiral, and I don't want to live like that. I don't want to go down that path, but every day I swear to fuck I get closer than before. 'Cause I don't want to throw up, but I... I just wanted it out earlier today. And I still want to, but it won't do anything now."
"Wow, Alfred, that's... wow." Canada cringed as the words fell from his mouth; now that he'd heard them, he regretted it. "I-I can't imagine. That sounds horrible."
"Yeah," America mumbled. "I mean, it's not that bad yet. Some days I feel fine, and then others... it's all just so fucking unbearable. But I don't want things to get even worse than they are now. I don't want to do anything I can't take back. I'm scared, Matthew. I don't want to live if that's what's in store for me, but I can't imagine anything other than this hell in the future. I want things to get better. I don't want to be just barely avoiding sickness forever." America laughed a bit and continued, "It's funny, you know, 'cause you can't lose weight and gain muscle. You've gotta pick one. I'm so fucked."
"Well, if you know that, and your goal is to gain muscle, then why do you do this to yourself? Why are you so scared? Why can't you just stop? Not eating isn't going to help you build muscle."
"I don't— can't— work out enough to warrant eating more than I do. Of course I know that I need to eat more protein, and that losing weight won't help anything. But is that what I want to hear? No, of course not. Man, you'd never fucking believe how hard it's getting to survive being so goddamn stupid." America smiled a bit at that, ran a hand through his hair. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial level and his smile fell from his face as he added, "And I can't just stop, Matthew. It's too late for that."
"That is scary," Canada told him, but he couldn't think of anything else to say. Canada followed America's gaze to the ceiling. "I'm sorry."
"Thanks."
Canada grabbed America's hand and squeezed it, still not looking. He wanted to say he saw nothing different about America, but that didn't feel true. America thought himself an unfolding tragedy, and for the moment Canada was struck by the same sense of hopelessness, though he didn't dare announce it. It was easier to stare at the ceiling and wait for the night to pass; the night, a brilliant time to be distraught, could only yield to the morning. Surely the right words would come then. But for now they laid there, cloaked in the premature defeat of silence.
A/N: Sorry if this is unrealistic or anything. A review would be hella lit, have an awesome day and stay safe.