running on empty

10 // Cookies.

Ethan snatched a bag of chips from the pantry, tearing it open on his way to Mark's living room. He slowed down briefly to shove a handful in his mouth, not even tasting them before he swallowed and carried on.

He was fucking starving - his "diet" could wait another day.

Mark glanced up at him as he entered, his eyes briefly flickering to the bag, before giving him a small smile. He moved over on the couch, and Ethan took that as his cue to sit.

"What're we doin' today?" he asked through a mouthful of chip-mush. It tasted like cardboard. He wolfed down another handful.

Averting his eyes, Mark shifted in his seat. "Uh, I figured we could do some halloween-themed recipes -" Ethan scrunched his nose in distaste, and Mark quickly backtracked, "we could substitute certain things, though, if you want."

Shrugging, Ethan popped another chip in his mouth. Honestly... What did it even matter at this point? He had already pretty much ruined the day by eating chips - continuing to binge couldn't hurt more than it already did. Plus, he was hungry. He'd just... eat less and workout more the next few days.

"I have Splenda," Mark continued, "You know, the zero-calorie thing? We could use that." Ethan decided not to say anything about the actual calorie count, and just nodded along.

"Yeah, sure. It'd get us in the spooky spirit, and all that." The older man glanced at him funny, but he just ate another chip. Why was he still eating these? It wasn't even enjoyable. "What were you thinking of?"

Pulling up a tab on his laptop, Mark shifted closer to him. The warmth of the other man felt nice against his cold arm, and he subtly leaned into his side. "I was thinking one of these? They don't take very long to make, and most of them are more decoration than baking, so it's easy content."

Nodding, Ethan skimmed through the list Mark had made. Cakepop, bananas, pumpkin cookies, cinnamon cookies, cinnamon cakepop... they all seemed fine. He passed the computer back with a small smile, still not moving away. "Yeah, these look good. I kinda want to do the pumpkin cookies."

Mark hummed, and Ethan could feel the vibrations in his chest from their proximity. It felt nice. "Those do look good," he agreed, "I think we have everything for that."

Ethan nodded again, though he didn't really know why. Neither of them moved from their spot, and he swore he felt Mark shift imperceptibly closer. A bright orange ad on the recipe site blinked up at them, almost as if it was reminding them that they needed to be doing something, and Ethan just leaned back into Mark's chest in response. Take that, ad.

After a minute, Mark finally moved back, sucking in a sharp breath. "Alright, we should, uh, probably get started."

"Yeah..." he cleared his throat, moving away as well. He missed the warmth already. "I'll go get the cameras out."

A few hours later and they were finally done filming. Flour and other baking ingredients were everywhere, and Ethan wasn't sure if he would be able salvage the shirt he was wearing.

He took another bite out of the cinnamon cookie he was holding, ignoring the pain in his stomach. The cookies didn't even taste good anymore - eating so many had made them repetitive, and the excess sugar just made his mouth burn. Honestly, he just kind of wanted to die.

And, woah, where did that come from? The thought shocked him a little, and he braced his arms against the counter to steady himself. Why was he being all... suicidal now? He hadn't genuinely meant it, but even something like that was out of character for him.

Mark must have noticed the change, and handed him a cold water bottle. "Are you doing okay? Feeling sick?"

Ethan shook his head, and opened the bottle to take a large gulp. If the older man didn't believe him, he didn't say anything, and instead chose to go back to cleaning up the kitchen. By himself.

God, Mark was doing all of this for him - the food, the water bottle, the comfort - and he couldn't even help the man clean his kitchen.

Letting out a long sigh, he walked over to the paper towels, kneeling down on shaky legs to wipe up the egg goop from the floor.

They cleaned up the kitchen together, over the next thirty minutes or so. Walking around each other seamlessly and working in tandem. It was almost peaceful.

And then Ethan leaned against the counter to keep from falling over as he stood up - which really wasn't that strange to him, considering how it was just part of life for him now - and Mark gave him a look that Ethan knew meant "we are going to have a long and sappy talk about this."

Already exhausted and a little cranky, he rolled his eyes and trudged over to the couch, watching as his friend plopped down beside him.

"So..." he started, eloquently, "why're we on the 'spill your heart out' couch?"

"I think you know why, Eth." Mark said, with all of the stunning tact that a school counselor had when they heard you were being bullied. Ethan just huffed, raising an unimpressed eyebrow.

"What, I wobble a little standing up and now we have to call the coastguard?" Fuck, why did he sound so defensive?

...Maybe he was.

Mark ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up slightly from the leftover egg and flour. "No, I just mean that you haven't eaten enough if you can't even stand, and -"

"Dude, I'm serious. I ate those chips, and at least two of everything we made today - I'm good. Better than good, even, this is the most I've eaten since... well, you know." Since I puked in your toilet and got vomit and tears all over your shirt goes unsaid.

"That's not -" he cuts himself off, and looks up at the ceiling. "That's not what I'm worried about. You just... got really zoned out after filming, and I want to know if you're okay."

Ethan looked away, too, then, focusing on Chica sleeping in her dog bed. He didn't even know where to start with that.

Because - he should be okay, right? He ate a ton, but didn't feel as guilty about it as he should. That was. Progress. It had to be.

But then again, he wasn't eating like normal. Everything tasted like ash going down, and he only kept eating because it kept his mouth occupied and his head quiet. His stomach hurt from overeating, and he had certainly had far too many cookies to be healthy. There wasn't anything good about that.

Realizing he had been silent for a while, he quickly answered - jerkily shrugging his shoulders and shifting even further from his friend.

"I..." He closed his mouth, not knowing what to say. A loose string in his jeans caught his eye, and he started picking at it. "You said there weren't any calories in Splenda, earlier." Mark tilted his head to the side, and Ethan wanted to smile. He looked like a puppy. "There are. It's not as bad as sugar, but. Uh, there are three calories in a packet."

Leaning back against the couch, he suppressed the urge to curl into Mark's side. That would be weird. "And I hate that I know that, you know? I hate that I'm always thinking about this." The ceiling blurred, and he blinked rapidly. 

"I'm sorry," Mark murmured, resting a hand on his shoulder. And, really, what else was he supposed to say? Sniffing once, Ethan looked back at him, giving him a watery smile.

"Not like it's your fault."

The older man squeezed his shoulder and frowned. "I could've helped, though."

"No, you couldn't have. I know you care, but this is my shit. You can't - you can't change me." He took a deep breath, and leaned against his friend. "I don't like it when you do that. Try and pin my problem on you. I think you believe you have more power over me than you do." This was coming off more harsh than he wanted, and he turned his face towards Mark to give him a small smile. "I appreciate it - you caring. But I'm not a problem you can fix, Mark."

"I know," Mark sighed. He wrapped an arm around Ethan, and the younger couldn't help but appreciate it. He knew Mark wasn't the touchy-feely type. "I'm sorry. I'm just - worried. I want to help and I don't know how."

Ethan hummed, glancing over at Chica again. "I know," he mumbled. "Thank you."

They sat in silence for a moment, before Mark spoke again. "Those cookies were good. Even if we got shit everywhere."

He let out a small chuckle, throwing his head back against Mark's shoulder. He felt the older man's breath hitch, and instantly felt bad about (probably) hurting him. "Sorry. But yeah, they were nice. Even with Splenda."

Mark laughed with him, though it sounded stilted and off. Deciding to ignore that, Ethan leaned forward and reached for the remote. "C'mon, let's watch something."

Without waiting for an answer, he turned on the TV, clicking onto Netflix. "Wow, I didn't know this was a Netflix and Chill kinda night, Eth. At least buy me dinner first!" Mark chuckled next to his ear.

"Did those misshapen bat-nanas mean nothing to you, then?"

"Maybe if you actually spent time on them rather than mashing it to a pulp on my counter."

"Hey!" Ethan gently smacked Mark's chest, eyes crinkling in amusement. It was nice, hanging out with Mark. The man could make him go from being cranky and irritable to happy in a heartbeat.

Mark took the remote from him, selecting a random movie from his recommendations. A light, tinkling opening tune played, and Ethan settled in against Mark's side, resting his head on his shoulder.

He was glad they were friends.