★osc oneshots★

hfjone ★ liam ★ starve it till you make it

⚠️eating disorder, slight body horror⚠️

Summary:
Liam has anorexia, but his body's reaction isn't the one he wants.

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Chubby.

Fattie.

His fabric body should be flexible. Fabric isn't rigid.

Fabric isn't metal, wood, plastic or glass, it should bend and shrink. Or, in other words, simply respond to him. So why doesn't it?

Why does it have to keep its shape? Why can't it shrivel up?

Liam looks at himself in the mirror, leaning over the sink.

Were it possible, he would throw his body in the trash and put on another one.

No food throughout the whole month: he thought that'd be enough to see some - even minor - effects. He's measured himself, he would know when his dimensions decreased. And yet, nothing changed about his shape, he's still as wide and long as before. His pathetic front pouch only adds to the image. 

He's seen slim backpacks before, and he's convinced he should be able to achieve that as well - but the mirror reflection clearly tells him no. 

It doesn't help that not only his body doesn't listen to him, it gets affected in a different way, making him even more ugly.

His fabric is losing its colour. 

Patches of forest green are becoming less and less vibrant, layers of dye are coming off. Now he knows that underneath the green is faint gray and beige.

Liam doesn't like these colours. They look dirty, like he stained himself.

And they feel horribly dry, harsh and thin, and not at all in the way he intended them to be. His fabric in these places hurts when he touches it, and it could probably rip off if he pulled it. Maybe soon enough it'll fall apart on itself. 

It's not even symetrical. It's messy and it's ugly, ugly, ugly.

Liam brings a hand to one of the patches and wipes against it, feeling stings piercing through his skin. He grimaces. 

Though maybe that serves the body right. 

It deserves to feel pain for how imperfect it is. Liam wipes again.

He touches it too hard, which makes him hiss and grip the side of the sink stronger. Liam squeezes his eyelids and waits for the pain to ease. Opening eyes again, the same figure in the mirror greets him, confirming that no, it doesn't want to change, not even if he hurts it.

He wonders: what will happen after he loses all his colour? Will the body have no other options but to lose diameter?

Whatever happens, it can't be worse than what he is now. Liam is determined to get his way.

Even if it means another month of denying himself meals.

He knows he can't go outside like this though.

The backpack kneels down. Under the sink lie six cans of green paint he's bought. Taking one, Liam gets up, huffing when this simple action takes a great deal of energy. Setting the can on the sink, he cracks it open. 

The paint has a chemical smell he doesn't like, but he has to come to terms with it.

Liam grabs a paintbrush and immerses it; taking it out, he puts it to his discoloured patches. The paint is cold and it fights with the burning sensation striking through his weakened cloth. Liam feels like he's silencing his body's cries for mercy with every swipe. It's a good feeling.

Soon enough, the can is half empty and Liam has covered all the hurting spots. The difference between the bought paint and his natural dye is still visible, but not enough to be distinguishable from a distance. Not like anybody will care that much.

And with that, Liam is ready for the day, so he leaves the bathroom.

Grateful he can turn away from a reflection he hates.

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A/N

#theauthorregretsnothing (the author regrets everything)
I wanted to play around with how Liam's body works, so there it is!