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The sharp emptiness keeps him up at night. It gnaws at him, nagging little nibbles on his stomach lining. It's easier to ignore during the busy days, but the quiet nights are torturous. He curls up and clutches his stomach, worried his roommate will hear its growls and reprimand him.
"I've always been this thin!" he assures people. What he doesn't tell them is that he's always been like this, too. Once he outgrew his childhood metabolism, he had to, to keep up. Especially now that he's an active idol, he has an image to maintain and tiny little clothes to fit into.
He works, he eats, he starves.
It's hard to be nice, or rather, it's hard not to be mean. Through some perverted form of teasing, Hyun gets the brunt of it. Hyun, with whom he's in unspoken competition. Hyun gets to eat more than he does because he works out so much to burn off the extra calories, and then some. That fucking bitch.
Worse is Haru, who snacks all day and doesn't even seem to have to try to maintain his figure. It'll catch up to him.
Worst is Wumuti, who doesn't care about her weight at all. She'll house a whole chicken by herself, drink and have dessert, and skip the gym until she feels like going. She says she actually likes her soft tummy, and she really must since she admires the way her sides spill over her pants in the mirror as Rui would the shadows of his ribs. Good for her, or whatever.
Rui cooks, but Rui doesn't eat. Rui eats, but Rui starves.
Rui eats, but only enough so that people will say he must have a freakishly fast metabolism. Of course it's not true, but if you can load up on all #̵̢̡̞̘͙̭̤̦̈̀͘͢͜͢͟͢͝͠ ̷̵̫̬̝̥ͭ́́͟͢͢͜͞͝͝#̸̴̶̵̶̶̸̸̢͉͍̰̑͘͜͜͝ ̸̴̢̡̡̰̘ͭ͌́́́̀͜͢͟͢#̷̷̶̷̵̴̸̸̷̘̻͕̀͜͞͠ ̵̷̡̭̤̣̓͜͜͟͠#̸̵̵̢̜̫͎͇͙̀͘͟͟͢͝ calories for the week in one sitting, it helps to keep up appearances.
Wumuti encourages him to eat healthier so he can have bigger portions throughout the day, but the gluttony is the point. He doesn't deprive himself from dawn til dusk just to eat like a fucking rabbit; he craves meat, sodium, sugar. He craves peanut butter milkshakes and bone marrow. 30 rolls of sushi and a bucket of fried chicken slathered in sauce. A bowl of grapes is a slap in the face.
But Wumuti's only trying to help, so he indulges her from time to time. To her face. He'll eat the fruits, the nuts and granola, drink the vitamin drinks—if it doesn't stay down once he's out of her sight, well, what she doesn't know can't hurt her.
It's nice to feel worried about, cared for, but it's all the same exposing. Like a magician's tricks being revealed, it shatters his illusions of strength, effortlessness, superiority. He doesn't want people to think of him weak, struggling. Suffering in silence is chic, it garners praise. Concern gets him put in front of doctors, puts inches on his waist. Not chic.
"Wow, I can't believe you have room for thirds," Hyun comments, his tone echoes amazement and jealousy but Rui knows he's only trying to get under his skin. It's payback for oinking at him this morning. He was obviously kidding, but it must've struck a nerve.
Rui looks up at Hyun through his lashes and swallows a hefty bite. The salty, gingery sauce coats his throat like liquid gold. "I'm making up for yesterday," he says, eyes narrowed and smiling coyly.
Wumuti nudges Rui's foot under the table. Whatever. Always the villain.
It's not like he hates Hyun or anything, quite the opposite, but that's precisely why it's so fun to tear him down. Hyun is perfect. Tall, handsome, well-mannered, eloquent, smart, talented, disciplined, and unbearably fit. It's nauseating. From his strong, toned arms, to his itty fucking bitty waist, to his lean but sturdy thighs. He's a walking statue. And you don't get to be a walking statue and Korea's most perfectest filial son; something has to budge, he'll poke and prod until it does.
So far, this is all Rui gets. The occasional snide comment from Hyun that he'll catch the heat for anyway. He swears he's a good girl, but Wumuti doesn't seem to buy it.
He's downright princely when it comes to interacting with staff, colleagues, fans. God forbid he lets loose with his groupmates, apparently.
Bored, Rui slinks down their hallway. Target: Hyun. Just standing there, scrolling his phone. He'll make his day more interesting.
Boo! Rui hops up and pokes Hyun's back. He shouts and doubles over, catching his breath. Rui titters. He's so dramatic when he's spooked, it's almost cute.
"Hyung, please stop doing that, it's really not funny."
Rui scoffs, "Says you."
Hyun rights himself and looks Rui dead in the eye. "I'm serious."
"What's new?"
Hyun takes a sharp breath in through his teeth. Holds it, eyes shut. Breathes out, "Have you ever considered that you might not be fun to joke around with?"
Rui blinks, slowly, frozen. He cracks, "And who the fuck do you think you are, huh? You think you're better than me?" Rui closes the distance between them, unperturbed by the way Hyun towers over him.
"Jagi—"
"You think I'm such a fucking bitch, huh! Well did you ever consider that you—"
Wumuti's voice carries across the room as she makes her way down the hallway toward them, "Woah, woah, woah! What's going on?."
Rui whips around and stomps his foot. "Hyun's an asshole!"
"Hyung provoked me!" Hyun huffs in disbelief.
Wumuti pinches her furrowed brows. "Let's just separate, please. And talk to each other or me after you've calmed down."
In Chinese, Rui whines, "Why do you never take my side?"
"Give me a good reason to, my baby."
"Gege…" Rui's brain is swiss cheese. Full of holes, molding.
"Have you had dinner yet?" Wumuti asks, Rui shakes his head. "Please, go."
He finds himself in the kitchen, having already forgotten what it felt like to walk through the doorway by the time he gets to the fridge. He opens it, he stares; he's less hungry than when he started.
Tears well up. How dare she be right. Why can't Rui be skinny AND happy, like Hyun?
Wumuti and Hyun chat quietly, just around the corner. Rui can pick up a few words through the fog.
"…to be patient… suffering… gotten worse…"
"…trying… own issues… how much longer… him anymore…"
They talk about him like a dog they're considering putting down.
He sniffles, wipes his cheeks. Wumuti will be so upset with him if he leaves empty-handed but his stomach churns (grumbles,) nauseous.
He microwaves a cup of ramen. The smell turns his stomach more. He hides the noodles beneath something in the trash, and sets the cup on top. There, that'll be proof that he's fine.