Eyes. Each egg formed a beady eye, glaring back at him as if to say, "Go ahead, I dare you". But Angel wasn't about to be so easily persuaded. His fork poked and prodded at the little sausages as if he were some sort of mad scientist, careful exploring unknown and potentially hazardous terrain. He drank all his orange juice in one gulp, leaving the rest of his breakfast untouched. Angel had absolutely nothing against orange juice. One glass of orange juice was about half the calories of an egg, and the liquid seemed to slide right off his body anyways, no fat gained in the slightest. Most liquids worked that way, at least in Angel's experience. Soda was one of the few drinks he truly had to avoid.

"Angeline, aren't you going to eat?"

Angel looked up from his now-cold platter, eyes meeting those of the portly woman standing before him. Her dark brown eyes mirrored his, her broad hips exposing their genetic relation. The shape and form of her body told of how Angel's used to be, she was a walking reminder of everything physical about himself that Angel detested.

"Your father and I are very concerned you know, you don't seem to be putting on much of anything. We can't have our daughter wasting away to bone; especially not when she's the only girl God blessed us with. Four sons is more than enough, if you ask me." Angel's mother laughed, but her eyes did not follow. There was more she wanted to say, this could be detected by the frowns in the wrinkles across her forehead, in the way her hands fluttered mechanically like frazzled baby birds, just barely flapping enough to keep from plummeting into solid ground. There was more Angel's mother wanted to say, so, so much more. She didn't.

Angel rolled his eyes obnoxiously, but began to eat anyways. Oddly enough, eating was more unpleasant to him than the task he would have to perform afterwards. He always struggled to get even a single bite of food down his throat, and when he could manage enough bites of what to him tasted like cardboard and woodchips and nails to make his mother feel satisfied, the food weighed down heavily in his typically empty stomach, making him feel even more sickly than usual. Everything about eating reminded him of why he didn't like to eat; it was as if just after one meal he could feel a very dramatic difference in size and shape.

Delusional? Possibly. But it was what it was.

The lumps of food hesitantly meandered down the cavern of Angel's throat, stopping suddenly every once in a while to see if they could cause him to gag to the point that his eyes went red and his head felt like a spinning top trapped in eternal rotation. No such luck. Angel managed to clear his plate without any extreme injury, and was out the front door before the final swallow. Even after the grand finale, he could still taste the grease on the tip of his tongue and sliding among his intestines. His mother called after him as he marched towards the front door, saying something about returning home in time for dinner. If Angel had heard her, he might have even laughed. As if one meal a day wasn't hellish enough.

In front of Angel's house there lie two large bushes, one on either side of the front door and the front steps leading up to it. Angel placed his scrawny rear on the top step, gasping persistently in desperate attempt to catch his breath. In the midst of one of his outwards breaths, his stomach emptied itself over the right side of the cement set of stairs, over his soiled tennis shoes that hovered over the ledge; it hit the ground and splattered. Just looking at the mess made Angel want to puke once more.

"Shit!"

Usually, Angel could at the very least slightly control the vomiting process. He could stomach his food until he found a more dignified place to lose it, like a gas station restroom, or a fast food joint lavatory. This lack of any form of control indicated that something was very wrong, more so than usual. But the boy was hardly in the mood to stick around contemplating on exactly what it was.

Angel dug into his waistband in search of his spare key, one of the few things he never left home without. Once he had used it to enter the vast home, he slid it back into its previous spot, letting the cold metal sting his brown skin like prickly rainwater.

Flame was busy dusting the large coat hanger in the corner, and did not notice he had company until said company tapped him on the shoulder, making him jump sky-high.

"S-sorry, I didn't see you come in," the butler stuttered, readjusting his suit collar and tie so that they fell back into proper placement, "Are you here to see Bubba?"

"No, I came here to see you. I've been madly in love with you since the day we first met. And I just thought that you should hear of it from me personally."

The freckled face grew red. He continued dusting, only more vigorously this time. "I'm not really sure what to say to that…"

Angel raised his bushy eyebrows. "Well shit, " he exclaimed, "don't tell me you think I'm being serious."

"…You aren't?"

"With a brain like that, I'll never understand why you haven't been fired yet," Angel retorted, making his way towards the nearby flight of stairs.

The nerve-ridden servant laid his duster down at last, following the teen across the room. He then crossed his arms defiantly.

"With an attitude like that, I'll never understand why you haven't been punched in the throat yet."

Angel just laughed, whirling round to face the other boy with a creepily ecstatic look in his eyes.

"By all means kid, throw your best punch and you could be the first." His dark chocolate eyes taunted him, daring Flame to so much as take the first swing. But violence wasn't exactly Flame's cup of tea, not since his father.

Flame turned away, quickly allowing more space between their two faces.

"Gumm has something for you, I-I'll go get that alright?"

Angel shrugged, his scrawny skeleton torso jumping up and down as he did so. What's his problem?

When Flame returned with a small purple gift bag, Angel knew what was in it without even looking. He snatched at it anyways, trifling through the layers of tissue paper until the item of interest became fully visible.

"If he thinks I'm going to put that shit on, he's got something else coming to him."

Flame sighed. "You know he's just trying to help you, right? Better a bra than broken lungs."

Well then. Dumb boy, smart mouth.

Angel just shook his head. "I'm getting to the point where I hardly need either anyways. I mean, does this bod say "bra" to you?" He gestured quickly to himself, but immediately regretted it as he felt the other set of eyes hover up and down his full form.

Flame finally settled his eyes back on the other boy's face, resting them there for the time being.

That "bod" says hospital.

The redhead merely shrugged, trying to ease into some sort of successful persuasion. "Personally, I don't think there's any shame in wearing a bra, even if you are a boy. And it's a sports bra, so it isn't as if anyone could tell…"

Angel flung the bag back violently in his direction, trotting up the stairs ever so loudly.

"Great! Then you wear it."

Flame hurried after him, toting the little bag once more. "He's really busy right now Angel, I don't think we should disturb-"

Too late. Angel had arrived in the bedroom hallway just in time to see exactly what he was not in the mood for. Flame's heart sunk faster then an anchor strapped to barbells. Angel didn't allow himself the time to feel heartbroken, or betrayed or anything of the sort. He simply kept his skinny little body moving fast past, only know he had changed direction.

But the two bodies lovingly embracing each other were to remain etched in this mind. It was one thing to hear about him kissing other boys, but another thing entirely to witness it for himself.

Out of the hall, down the stairs, right up to the front door. His stomach was still feeling insanely off from earlier that morning, but he was trying not to dread on that either.

This was his punishment for trying to apologize.

On the other hand, Flame was hardly keeping pace at all.

"Told you he was busy," he said at last, though he didn't exactly sound proud of his miniature victory.

Angel stopped at the door. Wasting time of course, but hopefully not enough that it would affect him in the long run. He had to attempt to catch his breath, which was getting harder and harder these days.

He slowly turned the handle; still somewhat trying to hold onto whatever ounce of capability that his lungs may have left.

After seeing for himself what the bandages were doing to him, Flame's mind instantly snapped out of "all hope is lost", and once more dove into "overly concerned mother". His own sadness could wait.

"Wait! Don't forget your bag!"

Every single day Angel came over he was offered The Bag. And every single day he declined. Never politely. Occasionally he provided an excuse, but his general response always boiled down to "fuck no". Still, the prince continued to let him know that The Bag was an option, as if he was certain that one day his friend would just break down and accept the gift, and all would be just as it used to be. As if taking the bag was a mandatory catalyst for all the health and happiness one single being could obtain. And maybe it was. But Angel was never going to say yes, not in a million years, not if Hell froze over and earthworms became the dominant race. And deep, deep down, Bubba probably knew that.

But his butler didn't.

"Oh that 'ol thing? I'd rather fuck a cactus."

"If Gumm thinks it's important, then I'm not letting you leave without it."

Angel narrowed his eyes, his itty-bitty fists remained at his sides but they were clenched so tight one might assume his veins were alive, that they were rebelling against his body and would soon pop out of his body and shatter the skin overlapping them.

"You're still loyal to him? Even after seeing the shit that goes on behind your back? He was literally making out with another guy, and a guy that he barely knows at all. He doesn't love you, he doesn't need you. So essentially you mean nothing to him. That sort of unconditional devotion…it's not worth it, trust me."

Flame scratched his head.

"Are you reassuring me, or yourself?"

Now Angel was the red-faced one.

"You don't know what you're talking about, servant boy. I don't like him like that, he's just my friend."

"Come on, even I'm not stupid enough to believe that. I have eyes."

Angel was done responding. He hadn't yet thought of an insulting enough retaliation.

"Look, I don't really care either way, but you're going to take this bag with you even if I have to escort you to your household myself and put it on for you."

Angel leaned forward, unintentionally breathing egg and vomit all over Flame, not that the scent was a surprise to either of them.

"Then that's exactly what you're going to have to do, servant boy."

Angel then grabbed the small bag from betwixt the other teen's grip and flung it far across the entry hallway, laughing as the young butler scrambled clumsily after it, tripping on his own shoelaces.

"That wasn't very nice!"

Angel just laughed some more, a rare occurrence for him. It hurt his stomach like fists pounding against his gut and literal cannon fire, but sometimes the pain worth it.

He finally opened the front door.

"Try and keep up."

Thanks so much for 10K! Sending you all hugs.