#ez's writing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

prodigal-explorer · 9 months

Text

how to write children's personalities

(this is part of my series, how to write children in fanfiction! feel free to check it out if you want more info like this!)

this is the main aspect of writing children that i see people mess up so often, especially in the fandoms i'm in (sanders sides and undertale). children are not adorable little noodles with no brains and no concept besides being cute and silly and crying. children are beings that are just as complex as adults, and they deserve personalities to match. this will make them way more interesting to read about! let's get started!

since there are so many aspects to personality to talk about and i don't want to sit here typing for ten years, we're going to do this guide a little differently. i'm going to divide these issues into archetypes, write a short description, and then make a list of do's and don't's for each one!

archetype one: the cute little baby

okay. babies are cute. we all know this, and i'm not saying it's a bad thing to make your babies cute. a lot of people love reading about moments with adorable little babies. but here are some ways to step this kind of thing up, and some things to avoid if you want to improve upon writing this archetype.

do's:

give the child character another archetype besides this one. though "cute" is the foundation for a lot of child characters, it's not a personality. and if a character is vital to your story, then it needs a personality. that's just a rule. you will read more about other archetypes further along in this post!

make the moments symbolic. though it doesn't seem like it from an outsider's perspective, basically everything a baby does is for a reason, and every action a baby makes can say something about their personality. if you want this baby's personality to be energetic and curious, have them crawl around and explore things, and laugh a lot, and babble. if you want this baby to be more sullen and shy, have them cry quietly instead of wailing, or have them squirm when being held by new people.

make the actions of the baby's guardians affect the mannerisms of the baby. babies act differently depending on how the people taking care of them act and react. for instance, if the baby's guardians are very busy people, then maybe have the baby cry very loudly whenever they want something, since they know that it's the only way to get the attention of their guardians. stuff like that can add depth to a character and to a general story.

don't's:

decide that the baby is cute and call it a day. sweet little babies are cool and all, but they get very boring to read about after a while. this can barely even be considered an archetype because of how bland it is when it's by itself.

keep this archetype around for too long. as babies turn into toddlers and then children, they don't act even remotely the same way. it's strange and off-putting to read about a seven year old acting like a two-year old, unless it's a very clear character choice that is a result of explicit actions and events.

make the baby know that it's cute. realistically, children don't understand the concept of cuteness until they're around toddler age. if then, you want to make the kid be like "i get what i want when i'm cute, so i'll act cute!", then sure, that's hilarious. but when they're two months old, they're not batting their eyelashes because that's their personality. they're batting their eyelashes because they got something in their eye. the main thing that makes a baby cute is that they don't know they're cute. they're just figuring out how to do ordinary things.

make everything a cute moment. while babies are awesome, raising them isn't always sunshine and rainbows. make the baby do something wildly chaotic, because babies do wildly chaotic things all the time. not only does this make things more realistic, but it makes things very interesting!

archetype two: the shy kid

as a former shy kid, i know good and well that these types of children exist, and they are very real and valid. however, there are certain ways i've seen them written that are just terrible because once again, this archetype cannot be considered a full personality on its own. let's get into the do's and don't's.

do's:

make their shyness a deliberate choice. kids aren't usually naturally shy. kids are usually more curious than cautious. is there a reason why the kid is shy? there doesn't have to be a reason why the kid is shy, but there could be a reason why the child is NOT outgoing/curious. try and give something like this some deliberate cause, instead of just making them shy so they can seem more precious and infantilized.

make their shyness manifest in diverse ways. not all shy kids cling to their guardian's leg and sit alone during recess. there are different ways to be shy. you can be aggressively shy, or fearfully shy, or shy due to general unwillingness to change.

make their shyness have realistic consequences. someone who's shy is probably not going to have many friends, if any. not all shy kids magically meet an extrovert who adopts them. someone who's shy probably has underdeveloped social skills, which can lead to them being less emotionally intelligent down the line. this makes the shy kid archetype a lot more three-dimensional than just a wet noodle of fear.

don't's:

infantilize shyness or treat it like it makes the kid some sweet, precious angel. not only is this very uncomfortable for shy people to read, but it's generally unrealistic. shyness doesn't affect how good or bad somebody is - it's a neutral trait.

use shyness as a tool to make characters seem younger. shyness does not indicate age. fear manifests in many different ways, and shyness is not the only way.

rely on cliches. not all shy people have the same journey, and the idea that a shy person becoming more outgoing is the "goal" is not only a bit offensive, but it's very cliche. shyness is not always an obstacle to be overcome.

archetype three: the happy-go-lucky kid

oftentimes, the reason why children characters are written into stories in the first place is to give a little bit of lightheartedness and innocence. to add a unique voice among all the cranky, stingy, burdened adults. but you have to be careful when writing this archetype. i personally really dislike this archetype as a whole, but i'm going to put personal feelings towards it aside because honestly, there's no valid reason to dislike it besides opinion.

do's:

give the kid a trademark. maybe this kid makes a lot of little jokes, or maybe they always see the best in a situation. give the kid one thing that makes them happy-go-lucky instead of just giving them everything because nobody is endlessly happy all the time in every way.

go deeper. while happiness is very often genuine, sometimes, it's a mask that hides something else. this can be an interesting way to sort of spice up your happy-go-lucky kid character. maybe the kid is hiding a big secret behind all those jokes.

don't's:

make the character always happy. while children tend to have simpler thoughts, they don't have simpler minds. this child needs to have thoughts, real, genuine thoughts that aren't just happy things.

see happy-go-lucky as a trait that is exclusive to children. comparing happiness to childhood and viewing them as the only places where the other can exist is just wrong, and it's kind of depressing. maybe give happy-go-lucky kid a happy-go-lucky adult to exchange jokes with!

---

those are the archetypes that i see a lot. but now, i'm going to suggest a few child character archetypes that i LOVE that i don't see enough in fics! feel free to use any of these that you like. alter them, combine them! these are, in my opinion, some of the most fun child character personalities!

the spoiled brat: "i want this, and that, and that, and- why aren't you giving it to me?? if you don't give me what i want, i'll tell on you!". spoiled brats are so fun to read and write about, especially when they have absolutely no reason to be spoiled given the current situation (think riches to rags). they've got everything, humor, angst, and best of all, lots of pockets for personality. think about why the child is spoiled. were they enabled by their guardians? did they grow up rich, with access to everything they wanted? think about whether you want the child to stay spoiled. does something change? do they learn how to improve their materialistic and selfish tendencies? there are so many opportunities to play with the personality of this child!

the know-it-all kid: while i do see a lot of know-it-all kids in media, oftentimes, they don't actually have personality besides bossiness and intelligence. i love know-it-all kids who have depth to them. kids who are constantly spouting information because of their sheer love to learn. kids who have one specific thing that they know everything about, so they never stop talking about it. kids who tell people what to do and act like they know best because they don't have a lot of control over anything at home, so they grasp at whatever control they can find elsewhere. i think this archetype could open up a lot of ideas for personality further down the line. it also has a lot of variety with humor and angst, and general depth.

the serious child: this is an archetype that i cannot get enough of. i love a child that doesn't think they're an adult, per se, and still enjoys kid things, but just has such a calm and regal air about them that isn't learned. it's just natural. think of the kid that doesn't really get excited about things conventionally, but you can tell they're happy by their faint smile. the kid that seems to live in slow motion, and doesn't mind this fact at all. the kid that sits alone at recess just because other kids scare the birds away, and they want to see how a bird acts when it doesn't think its being watched. i love kids who have poignant thoughts, because their thoughts are so creative and different from adult thoughts.

the adult-ified child: now this is another archetype i can't get enough of, but it's for a different reason. this child, on the other hand, does think that they're an adult for one reason or another. maybe their guardians forced them to grow up too quickly. maybe they just wanted to grow up quickly by themselves. but this child has thoughts that are too big for their little bodies. they explore things that aren't meant to be explored when their brains are still so small. they do everything too quickly, they stumble through life as if a clock is ticking somewhere. to me, they're just haunting to read about. it feels wrong and dangerous to just watch them do things that hurt them because they don't know any better, but they're on a page. nobody can stop them. it's just so tragic, i'm obsessed.

the prodigal child: this archetype isn't really as deep or detailed as the others, but i do appreciate it. this archetype is for a child who knew who they wanted to be from an early age. a child who wanders into a ballet class and finds out they're better than the ten year olds by the time they're five. this archetype often pairs really well with the know-it-all kid or the adult-ified child because usually, children don't experience what it's like to be the best at something until they're a lot older. this is just a really cool archetype when you aren't quite sure what to do with that main character's little sister.

the chaotic child: this archetype is so much fun to read and write, to be honest. this is a child that just does as they please, whether it's out of curiosity or for pure enjoyment. think of the crazy stories that your guardians have about you or your siblings being absolutely insane. scribbling in a book and then demanding that the library publish their version. trying to ride the dog like a horse. cutting up clothes in an attempt to be a fashion designer. this one is just plain fun!

---

now, there are so many more archetypes out there, but those are just my spotlights and recommendations! i hope after reading this, you feel more equipt to write child characters that have real, engaging, interesting personalities!

958 notes · View notes

prodigal-explorer · 10 months

Text

anaroceit week - day two - liar liar

@anaroceitweek

prompt: theatre/mistake

relationship: romantic anaroceit

word count: 4.4k

(cw -> disordered eating, punishing oneself, hospitals, fainting, cursing, extreme self-hatred)

---

Roman had a bad habit of equating his worth to his successes.

And his failures.

Though his dear boyfriends tried to be supportive, they could never be louder than Roman’s mind, the voices that taunted his ears from the inside. No matter where Roman hid, they would always be there. The only way to get rid of them would be to saw off his own head.

Wow. That was a macabre thought for 6am.

But laying awake in the dewy, calm blue hours of the morning was a typical occurrence for Roman. He often found himself unable to sleep very well, though his boyfriends’ sleep habits weren’t much better than his. The only difference was that Janus and Virgil tended to stay awake by choice.

Melatonin didn’t work anymore. It did at first, but now, no matter how many Roman took, he still found himself unable to sleep. His brain just refused to stop.

“I get that,” Virgil said one day, when Roman told him about it. “It’s hard to turn your mind off when you just need to get some rest. Wake me up next time that happens, okay? I can help you.”

Yeah, there was no way Roman was doing that and disrupting the little sleep that Virgil did manage to get. But despite this, he grinned and nodded eagerly. Because he was a disgusting, filthy liar.

Janus thought that he could always tell when Roman was lying. He prided himself on it vocally, which was something that Janus rarely did. He usually had a more quiet, refined confidence about him. Everything about him was understated and completely in control. He could make people do and feel whatever he wanted, as if people were ripples in water, and Janus was just running his fingers to change the currents. Roman lost track of how many times that Janus flustered him to the point where he felt like a pile of putty in Janus’ expert, gloved hands. But every time he thought about being in Janus’ clutches, the idea of being rendered helpless in Janus’ all-knowing eyes, made Roman’s heart flutter with adoration.

Yes, Janus thought that he could tell whenever Roman told a lie. Since he could tell just about everything else. But he was wrong. Over the years, Roman had learned how to bypass Janus, as expertly as a snake weaving through a bed of tall grass. It wasn’t like Roman liked lying to his boyfriends. He felt like the scum of the earth when he did it. But there was no other choice. He couldn’t stand to worry them, and Roman knew that if they found out about how cruelly his brain spoke to him, there would be trouble.

Especially from Virgil. The man was strong, wonderfully strong (though not as strong as himself, Roman liked to think), and he was very protective over his boyfriends. Roman and Janus both knew that Virgil had a tendency to spiral, his anxious thoughts getting the best of him. And that anxiety usually manifested into an overprotective nature similar to an overbearing mother. But Janus and Roman were the perfect boyfriends for Virgil in that regard, both of them being quite desperate for attention, fawning, and doting at any given moment.

Though all three of them weren’t perfectly functional in every way, they complimented each other beautifully. Roman didn’t know what he would do without Janus and Virgil on either side of him, holding him upright and being there for him when even his own mind wasn’t.

Which lead him to tonight.

“Oh, Roman, your performance tonight was spectacular,” Janus gushed, hugging his boyfriend close the moment Roman stepped out through the stage door.

Roman accepted the hug numbly, trying to hold back stubborn tears. How could Janus say that when everybody saw what he had done up there? Sure, perhaps it wasn’t an obvious mistake. Forgetting the words to a song for a second is an easy enough mistake to recover from. But Roman wouldn’t let himself forget. Not for the rest of the show, and not even after the curtains closed.

Whenever he closed his eyes, he just saw the moment replay as if it had only just happened. He had been standing before an audience of 500 people, all eyes on him as he stood under the spotlight, hyper-aware of how it practically baked his skin. The words he had been memorizing every spare second for the past month whizzed through his brain like a hummingbird flitting haphazardly from left to right to left again. Roman knew exactly what he was doing, and there were no excuses.

But when he’d opened his mouth, the words were moving just a little too fast in his brain. The lights were just a little too bright. Roman felt weak and faint, and as he looked around for Virgil and Janus in the audience, he made eye contact with both of them, frozen where he stood, desperate to just summon the words. He needed them. If he didn’t succeed, then what was all that rehearsal for? If he wasn’t perfect, then why did he even grace the beloved stage with his wretched presence?

He’d found the words eventually, of course. But the orchestra had to vamp for three measures. That was unheard of. And through his peripheral vision, Roman could sense the stares of his fellow castmates in the wings. Every single one of them knew that he had messed up, and Roman had needed to work so hard just to prove to them that he was worth being in the same room as them.

Now, all that work was for naught.

Deep down, Roman knew that it was unlikely that every single member of the cast saw Roman as a parasite who was beneath them. But every harsh joke they made, every narrowed stare and eye roll, made Roman believe that it was true, no matter what the actual situation was. The bad spoke a lot more than the good, in Roman’s opinion.

Roman could see that Janus was rubbing his back, and he could see Virgil’s lips moving, which insinuated that he was saying something. But his body felt fuzzy, like a blanket was covering it and keeping him from feeling outside movement with precision or accuracy. And his ears felt like they had been stuffed with cotton or pushed underwater, as Virgil’s words came out as messy, globbed up syllables.

But Roman nodded, hoping it was the right thing to do in response to whatever Virgil said. From the way Virgil beamed, Roman could tell that he had somehow, despite the odds, made a good choice, and Janus gently started to guide him out of the theater.

The cold air blowing outside honestly made Roman feel a little more human again. He could feel Janus’ hand on his back with a more solid sureness, and his brain was finally moving on from the endless flashback he had been enduring for what he assumed to be at least the last few minutes. But unfortunately, with this newfound freedom, his mind decided to move on to another loop.

You aren’t eating.

At first, Roman was a little confused. Why wouldn’t he eat? It was the end of a long show, and he was hungry. Besides, he was certain that Virgil and Janus had made him something at the house. They both loved cooking together and sharing their creations with Roman. Why would Roman deprive them of seeing his reaction to what they worked so hard to make for him?

But even with this reasoning, the demanding voice in his head stayed firm.

You’re not eating. You were awful out there. You need to make things right before you can have another bite of anything.

So that was that.

Roman wasn’t one to argue with himself for long. His gut was forceful, and it did whatever it pleased, no matter what all of Roman had to say about it. So when the three boyfriends got home and Janus offered Roman a steaming hot plate of fried rice, Roman played the tired card, rushing off and gulping down a large bottle of water before either of his boyfriends could hear his stomach growling.

—

Sleep was impossible in this state.

Even after popping four melatonin (technically, he was only supposed to take two), Roman found himself lying awake, his body wired and wracked with a strange sort of fear. As if he didn’t know who he really was. As if the person controlling his body’s movements wasn’t really him. It was scary, and this was Roman’s first time skipping a meal in a long time. What if something bad happened?

His stomach gurgled, over and over, as if taunting him. Telling him he couldn’t do this. He was going to get up and eat and be absolutely pathetic.

It was that thought, and that thought alone that kept Roman tethered to his bed, tossing and turning, and rendered unable to get a wink of sleep. By the time the next morning rolled around, Roman started to feel lightheaded from hunger and exhaustion, but in a way, it sort of felt good. When Roman realized this, he felt sick, despising himself for thinking such a wicked thing. How was destroying his body and his habits good in any capacity?

It wasn’t good, but Roman walked past the kitchen, not even stopping for a drink of water. It wasn’t good, but Roman walked out of the door to go for his run without looking back. He’d never run hungry before, but that didn’t stop Roman from pushing himself to the limits, pushing through the air with such speed that it started to sting his skin.

And for a moment, Roman felt like he was flying. Maybe he was. The area around him was hazy, and that was when Roman realized that he’d forgotten to put his contacts on. Oh, well. He didn’t deserve pretty scenery anyway.

Roman’s stomach twisted as he ran and ran, his muscles trembling with fatigue by the time he made it back to the house. By now, he knew that Janus and Virgil were usually awake, so he had to go about this carefully.

“Hey, Ro, you sleep well?” Virgil asked, approaching Roman as he came in through the door, pressing an ever-gentle kiss to his collarbone.

“Yep, I slept great!”

Roman fucking hated himself when his voice cracked. But miraculously, Virgil didn’t seem suspicious.

“Jan’s making protein waffles. You’re gonna need a lot of strength for today.”

Roman nodded. Not only did he have a show tonight, but he also was planning on helping his brother move into his new apartment.

But when Roman thought of bringing a waffle to his lips, of ingesting it and having it sit in his stomach, he felt disgusting. That would remove all the progress of the previous night. It would make it all for nothing. He had to keep this going and see how long he could hold out. If he couldn’t even last one full day, then was he really worth anything?

“Sorry, I’d better get going early,” he said, ruffling Virgil’s hair and going into the kitchen to hug Janus. “Remus will want me there bright and early so we can finish unloading before call time. I’ll eat with him.”

Clearly, miracles were possible, because Janus believed Roman’s bold-faced lie. Remus was probably still asleep right now, and would be for the next two hours. So when Roman pulled his hair up into a bun and slid on his sneakers, guilt clawed at his chest as he thought about his two oblivious boyfriends, not knowing that Roman was only leaving to avoid the food that was being made at the house.

Roman didn’t even take the car. He ran. His lungs burned, and the flying feeling wasn’t as exciting this time. Now, it felt more scary. It felt like Roman didn’t have any control over his limbs, and being unable to feel the ground beneath him, Roman worried that he might hurt himself. But he pressed on. He had to be strong enough. It was just running. It was nothing bad or impossible. He did this every single morning.

Remus’ apartment was on the other side of town, so it took half an hour for Roman to run all the way there, even when he refused to rest or take any breaks. By the time Roman made it to the complex, his heart felt like it would explode out of its chest, and his legs felt like they were still running, even when they weren’t moving anymore. Shakily, Roman stumbled over to the nearest bench, sitting down and finally letting himself relax.

“Ro! Hello?? Roman? Can you hear me?? C’mon, don’t pretend to be asleep just to ignore me, that’s my thing!”

Roman blinked awake, not even realizing he had fallen asleep until he noticed how he was lying down on the bench, his face and stomach facing upwards. Remus’ gray-green eyes, glinting with mischief, were staring down at him.

“What’re you up to, Sleeping Beauty?” Remus teased. “Why are you here so early?”

“I just felt like surprising you?” Roman lied weakly.

Remus quirked his eyebrow, clearly doubtful, but he didn’t say anything more about it, hauling Roman to his feet and opening the trunk of his rusty old pickup truck.

“It’s not a lot of boxes, but it’s enough to be a pain in the ass,” Remus reported. “I’m glad you’re here. If I had to move all these all by myself, I’d go insane.”

Roman could still feel his muscles quivering, but he forced a smile and nodded. It was just a bunch of boxes. How hard could it be?

The sun was blazing hot, and the sweat dripping down Roman’s body started to cling and stink. Annoyed with himself, Roman realized that he had forgotten to wear deodorant. At least he was in his brother’s company. As sweaty as Roman smelled, it was highly likely that Remus stunk even worse. Every so often, Roman had to pause, put down the box he was holding, and wipe his palms and forehead with his shirt, just to keep himself from losing his grip on any of Remus’ possessions.

And as Roman took each trip to the apartment lobby, going up the elevator to the ninth floor and then going back down and towards the pickup truck again, each box started to feel heavier and heavier. Roman knew he was decently strong. He could lift both of his boyfriends, and usually, he was the one in charge of moving heavy things around in the house.

But today, everything was taking more and more effort. Regardless of the horror pooling in Roman’s chest, he kept going. He had to convince Remus that everything was okay, and he had to convince himself that everything was okay. He could survive without food. Lots of people did it. Once Roman couldn’t hold out anymore, he would tap out. But he couldn’t stop playing this twisted game with himself. A test of survival. Only the strongest could win, and Roman intended on winning.

Finally, the twins were nearing the end of the unloading process. Roman picked up the third-to-last box, and started to walk, sighing with relief as the cold, air-conditioned air hit him. He started to feel strange and fuzzy as he got off the elevator, walking down the plush, carpeted hallway to get to Remus’ apartment. His hands were numb, and he found that he couldn’t control how they held onto the box. And then, the box started sinking.

Even though the apartment was cool, Roman started to feel very, very hot. He wiped the sweat off his forehead with his shirt again, and set down the box, leaning against it and struggling to catch his breath. But as he tried to get up, Roman realized that he couldn’t. Every limb felt like it was being pushed down by a metal blanket, too heavy for him to effectively resist against. And his mind soon grew as numb as his hands as his vision blurred, and it was harder to hear.

The last noise Roman recalled was the beeping of the elevator climbing up and down floors. And then, he closed his eyes. Just to rest them.

Just to rest them.

—

The first noise Roman recalled upon waking up was a sound that made Roman want to curl up under the covers and hide once again.

It was the unmistakable sound of Virgil sobbing into his hands.

Blinking, Roman tried to get a feel for where he was. Everything was bright and cold and strange. And white. Strikingly white.

“Am I dead?” Roman asked himself, and he heard laughter beside him.

Snapping his head as quickly as he could, Roman found himself face to face with a laughing Janus and a teary-eyed Virgil. Remus was talking to a tall woman wearing a white coat. Roman wondered what they were talking about.

“You’re not dead, you silly goose,” Janus said affectionately, “But you almost were. Do you know what’s going on right now, Ro?”

“How should I?” Roman asked dumbly. “I just woke up.

Virgil took a deep, shuddering breath, and then, he started to explain.

“You passed out. Right in the middle of the hallway. Remus freaked out and tried to wake you up, but nothing was working. So he called 911, and, well, I guess we’re all here now. The doctors aren’t sure what happened. One thinks it’s heatstroke, while the other thinks it’s something to do with malnutrition, but-”

Fear struck through Roman’s heart, making him shudder from top to bottom.

“It was probably heatstroke,” he interjected abruptly, his words falling on top of each other in their haste. “It was hot outside, and I was dumb. I didn’t bring enough water.”

“Couldn’t you have gotten some while you were eating with Remus?” Virgil whispered. “Why didn’t you?”

Because he didn’t eat with Remus.

Unfortunately, Remus heard this piece of the conversation and wandered over towards the bed Roman was propped up in, the woman in the coat trailing behind.

“What’s he talking about?” Remus asked with a slight scoff. “We haven’t eaten together since we graduated. You’re always whining about how messy I am.”

“What?”

Janus’ eyes widened, and he turned to face Roman with intense ferocity.

“You didn’t eat with Remus today? Then- why did you say you would?”

Roman scrambled to come up with an acceptable response.

“It just slipped my mind! I fell asleep and-”

“You fell asleep?” Virgil whispered. “But you told me you slept really well last night.”

“Sometimes- a…a prince needs-...more beauty rest…?”

The desperation in Roman’s voice was giving him away. Virgil let out a tearful scoff and took a few steps away from the bed.

“I can’t even look at you right now,” Virgil muttered, his teeth grit.

“I just don’t understand!” Janus outburst, “Why did you lie to us, Roman? What the hell is this whole story about? You leave at seven in the morning, and you don’t even eat with Remus?”

“You left at seven?” Remus asked, his eyes widening. “I didn’t get there until noon! I told you I would be there at noon at the earliest. Why did you-”

Roman hadn’t even realized that he had been asleep on the bench for that long.

“Another lie!” Janus exclaimed with a bitter laugh. “Another. Lie. Roman, you’d better come clean and do it now. Unless you just want me to assume the worst, which is getting easier and easier to do with each passing second.”

Something broke inside Roman’s mind like a dam. Janus had set him off.

“Oh, you want the truth?” Roman asked with a loaded laugh that made Janus shudder. “I’ll tell you the truth.”

Immediately, Janus intertwined his fingers with Virgil’s, squeezing his lover’s hand gently. Roman’s heart ached for both of them, but he also felt a strange sort of reverie. He didn’t regret a single thing he’d done, except pass out in front of Remus. If he’d only waited until he was out of sight to let his body give out, then maybe he would have been able to hold on for a little longer. Maybe he would have been able to get closer to winning the game, and finally making up for how much of a failure he was.

“I didn’t want your waffles,” Roman said, his words clipped and almost hostile. “I didn’t want to eat anything. I needed…I needed to prove myself. Last night can never happen again. I need more discipline. I need to be more successful.”

“But Roman, you fell asleep before you could even have dinner last night,” Janus said. “Why would you go for even longer without eating?”

“Because I have to!” Roman shouted, starting to laugh. Suddenly, all of this felt very funny. “I have to beat this game! If I do, then I’ll get forgiven! I won’t have to think about what happened last night anymore because I’ll know I’m strong! Come on. You can’t tell me you’ve never thought about it. Pushing yourself to the limit to see how far you can go. Don’t treat me like I’m some sick freak just because I’m stronger than all of you combined!”

“Roman, you sound insane,” Virgil whispered, his voice wavering. “Did you even have lunch yesterday?”

“A light brunch,” Roman mumbled. “It was all we had time for before rehearsal.”

“Great,” Janus said, cutting through the awkward silence that had been created as a result of Roman’s gut-wrenching answer. “You’ve been starving yourself for almost an entire day because- you’re playing a game with yourself? How can you say all this and then expect me not to think you’re going crazy?”

“All because you messed up a little line in your little play?” Virgil added, his voice still quiet. “Why are you killing yourself because of one mistake?”

“Because I had no excuse!” Roman cried out. “I worked for weeks on that show. I made sure everything was perfect right down to the letter, and on the one day where it mattered more than anything, I messed up. It was pathetic.”

“It was not pathetic,” Janus insisted. “It was human. If you’re starving yourself over making such a small mistake onstage, how do you handle it when you fuck up big time?? How long have you been hiding this game from us??”

“This is my first time with the eating thing,” Roman mumbled, his face burning with indignation. He hated being talked down to like he was a child. “Usually, I take away other things. I go on my run barefoot. I don’t let myself drink water during rehearsal. You don’t get it because you’re perfect, but I need these games. I need to win to feel like I’m worth…something.”

“If I may interject…”

The woman in the coat showed Roman her nametag. It read Dr. Andy. Roman wondered if Andy was her first name or her last name, but he thought it best not to ask at this moment.

“It sounds like you have some obsessive compulsions,” Dr. Andy said softly, her voice carrying not a hint of judgment. “You seem to feel a need to punish yourself whenever you make a mistake. Is that correct?”

“That’s what I just said,” Roman muttered, rolling his eyes with what he knew was the utmost immaturity. He was too tired to care.

“Well, yes,” Dr. Andy continued, “And these games, as you describe them, all risk your physical wellbeing. When did you start doing this?”

“I don’t remember a time when I didn’t,” Roman said, keeping his gaze fixed on one of the metal rods below the hospital bed. “My earliest memory was tearing up all my shirts when I get yelled at by my mom for…I don’t even know what for.”

“She thought you were just throwing a temper tantrum,” Remus whispered. “So did I.”

“But it wasn’t,” Dr. Andy said. “It was a ritual. You put yourself through these things because of some subconscious superstition buried in your complicated, obscure mind. A lot of people have this problem, more than you know. Not all eating disorders come from body image issues.”

“Hold on, this isn’t an eating disorder,” Roman interrupted, sitting up in the bed. “I skipped two meals. That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Well, the way you snuck around and lied about all of this suggests that you’ve done this sort of thing before, even if you say you haven’t,” Dr. Andy explained. “Perhaps you blocked it out of your memory in childhood. Or you did it during college without realizing it. These things can build up into something dangerous if you don’t put a stop to it while it’s still growing.”

“Whatever,” Roman scoffed, “It wasn’t dangerous. I just fell asleep for a few minutes because it was hot out.”

“Roman…” Remus spoke gravely, which was very atypical of him. “You were asleep for two days.”

Two days. Two days??

“You mean I missed yesterday’s show??” Roman demanded, “Why didn’t you wake me up?? Why didn’t anybody-”

“You think we didn’t try that?” Janus asked. “This is a medical emergency, Ro. Even if we did manage to wake you up, I would not feel comfortable sending you onstage in this state. Your blood sugar’s low, you’re weak. You know you can’t do this sort of thing in your condition.”

Roman stopped speaking. He stopped fighting. It was four versus one, and frankly, Roman was too tired to keep retaliating and battling. He just let the words wash over him.

Worried.

Terrified.

Therapist.

Treatment.

Supplements.

Monitor.

Watch.

Meal Plan.

Roman wanted to die. Why did Remus have to call 911? Why didn’t he just leave Roman in the hallway??

“Roman, baby, please don’t cry,” Virgil whispered.

“What are you talking about?” Roman asked, bringing a hand to his face. “I’m not-”

A fat teardrop splashed onto Roman’s fingernail, proving him wrong.

“Darling…” Janus’ previously stern voice gave way for something much more nurturing as he held Roman in his arms, cradling the man back and forth awkwardly. “We’re going to work on this. All three of us are going to help you, Roman. We don’t want to see you in pain. We don’t want to see you being punished, even if you think you deserve it. We want to help. We all…just want to help. All you have to do is let us.”

“Okay…” Roman whispered, and as Virgil hugged him from his other side, he finally let himself sob. “Okay.”

31 notes · View notes