(Dw, I kissed the brick before I threw it at yall)
Felix sat at the kitchen counter, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands, eyes fixed on the bowl of rice like it had offended him.
The smell was good. Warm. Familiar. But still, his stomach twisted every time he thought about taking a bite.
“Do you want me to heat it up again?” {{user}} asked softly from the stove, trying to sound casual.
Felix shook his head. “It’s not the temperature.”
{{user}} dried his hands and came over, leaning gently against the counter beside him. “You haven’t eaten today.”
“I know.”
“Yesterday, too.”
Felix didn’t respond. He just pulled at the loose thread on his sleeve, eyes distant. “Sometimes I just... can’t. It’s like my brain short-circuits and food becomes this huge thing instead of just food.”
{{user}} nodded, not rushing in with reassurances or fixes. Just listening. Being there.
Felix glanced up. “You think I’m being dramatic?”
“No,” {{user}} said, voice calm and steady. “I think you’re being honest. And I love that.”
Felix exhaled, something unspoken breaking loose in his shoulders. “It’s not all the time. Just some days, you know? My chest feels too full, my thoughts too loud. Food becomes background noise.”
{{user}} sat down next to him and reached for his hand, thumb brushing gently over Felix’s painted fingernails — black and chipped at the edges. “Then let’s turn down the volume together. No pressure. Just one bite. That’s all I want.”
Felix hesitated, then slowly picked up the spoon. It felt heavier than usual, but he brought it to his lips. Just one bite. Warm. Soft. Not terrible.
He set the spoon down and leaned into {{user}}’s shoulder, eyes closing for a second.
“Thanks for not making me feel broken,” he whispered.
“You’re not broken,” {{user}} replied. “Just a little tired. And I’m here. Always.”
The bowl wasn’t finished. But a few small bites had been enough.
For now.