"Joe."

The younger Hardy started and sat up; he hadn't heard his brother come through the bathroom.

"Need something?"

Frank nodded. "Can I come in?"

"Sure."

Joe scooted down near the headboard so Frank could sit beside him on the bed. Frank was still dressed, but Joe was in a t-shirt and sweatpants.

"Going to bed already?" the elder Hardy asked.

"It's ten."

"That still seems early."

"It's been a long day."

Frank nodded and looked down at the floor, avoiding his brother's gaze.

"Frank, what's wrong?"

The elder Hardy took a deep breath, then laid a gentle hand on his brother's arm.

"Joe," he began, "just listen, okay? I'm not trying to upset you, and I don't want to fight. I care about you, that's all, and I'm worried that you're not taking care of yourself. I'm not saying you're sick or crazy or anything, but it worries me that you're not eating enough. An apple is what, eighty calories? Sixty?"

"Ninety-five," Joe murmured, looking away.

Frank took a deep breath. "So an apple and lettuce, that's all you had today. That's what, 150 calories?"

"One hundred and ten," Joe snapped. "The medium apples are ninety-five and a cup of lettuce is fifteen."

Frank bit his lip, hard. "Do you hear yourself? Joe, do you know how many calories you burn in a day without exercise, yet alone all the activity you're doing—"

"Frank, please I'm fine, I swear. No—" he rushed on when Frank tried to interrupt, "I know you're worried. I appreciate you worrying. But I'm really okay. All I have to lose is a few more pounds—"

"That's what you've been saying for two months now! Joe, you're not only small for your old category, you're too small. You know what Chet told me today? That Coach Finley had to drop you down a category, because you're too small to compete in your old one. You've lost what, thirty pounds? And it's not weight, Joe. It's muscle. You're beginning to look kind of sick." He reached out and slowly put an arm around his younger brother, who stiffened at his brother's touch. "I'm not mad. I'm just worried."

Joe began at the threads on his bed spread, refusing to meet his brother's concerned gaze.

"Look…I appreciate it, Frank. I'll eat a little more, if it will make you feel better, okay?"

"Why did you lie about your category?"

"I didn't lie, Coach told me he wanted me in that other one, thought it was better suited for me. He thinks I can do better there, he told me so when I went on a diet. Honest."

"But I don't like this. It's not as if you were out of shape and needed to drop the weight. You were fine to begin with."

"I wasn't."

"You were."

"I wasn't okay," Joe snapped, throwing off Frank's arm, "I'm not okay, God, can't you all just stop. Look, it's my body, all right? I can take care of it. I don't need you all lying to me, telling me what I look like when I know all right?"

"So you know you're too thin?"

"I know I'm fine."

"But that's just it, kid, I don't think you are—"

"Don't call me kid. I hate when you call me that."

"Don't change the subject."

"Take a hint then! Let it go!"

"No. I'm not going to sit back and let you make yourself sick, Joe!"

"I'm not sick!"

"Let's see," he said sharply, "the male body needs around 2,500 calories a day to maintain a healthy weight. In order to lose one pound per week, doctors recommend eating roughly 1,500 calories per day plus exercising. Now, you consumed 110 calories today, which is enough to lose about ten pounds per week, plus exercised in gym, at wrestling, and when you walked home. You're sleeping much more than usual, tire easily, don't fit in any of your old clothes, and have dizzy spells. But you're fine. You don't want my advise or anyone else's, you just want to go about making all the wrong decisions and expect the people who care about you to sit back and respect them. This is bullshit, Joe, do you know that? It's all bullshit. I want to know what's really going on, because I know enough about eating disorders to know that it's not about the food or the weight. That's all a distraction. That's right," Frank snapped as Joe tried to interrupt, "eating disorders. You're showing signs, you know that? Not just with weight and calorie counting and obsessive exercising, but this isolating yourself, Joe. You won't come out, you wont' talk to anyone, including me. I just want to help you, bro, that's all. If something's bothering you, you can tell me, you know that, right? Joe? Do you know that?"

Joe felt heat rising to his face and stared at the carpet. Girls had eating disorders, not guys, not athletes, not him. Frank was being ridiculous, overprotective and worrisome as usual.

"Thank you," the younger Hardy said mechanically. "I'll think about it."

Frank felt his shoulders slump.

"Have it your way," he snapped, getting to his feet.  "I'm not done with this. But since you're so tired I guess I'd better go. Don't want to be a problem—"

Joe's eyes widened. "Frank, you're not—"

"No, you know best, right? I'll see you tomorrow. And we will talk tomorrow."

Frank was through the doorway crossing the bathroom before Joe had a chance to protest, pausing only to turn on the light in his room. He was shaken and trying hard not to show it, because he hadn't expected Joe to be so resistant to him; had expected him to argue a bit, maybe, but not resist. He'd figured his brother had just got his information wrong, was confused with calories, hadn't realized how little he'd been consuming.

It had not occurred to him that Joe might be doing this on purpose.

"Don't leave."

The plea startled the older Hardy, and he turned to see his younger brother in the doorway, gripping the edge as if for support.

"Are you dizzy again?" Frank asked.

Joe just nodded and let his brother help him back to his own bed, this time weakening rather than stiffening when Frank slipped an arm around his shoulders. The two sat in silence for a moment, Frank slowly rubbing his brother's arm as Joe swayed a bit.  

"Joe—" he began.

"Don't say it," the younger Hardy pleaded—was it Frank's imagination, or was his brother trembling?—"just don't go. Frank, please don't go."

"I'm right here," the older Hardy murmured, pulling his younger brother closer. Joe bit his lip as he leaned into the embrace, deciding not to explain to his brother that Frank had misunderstood, that it wasn't the present his brother was afraid of losing him in.