Warning: This chapter contains explicit sexual scenes and eating disorder complications.

        Gray wears a black spandex singlet when they’re in the gym. This is what they’ve always worn, ever since beginning gymnastics at the age of seven. They used to be flexible, boundless, but it’s challenging now. They’re always tired and weak from not eating enough -nothing anyone can really blame them for, of course, but it doesn’t stop some people. As Gray prepares for their back handspring, Rome reclaims his seat outside the gymnasium, where he sits with Barrett, Casek, and Gunner. “Guys, I’m telling you, I really have to work on my project.”

        Gunner, a jowly boy of twenty, frowns. “Lame.”

        “Yeah.” Casek eats a hot dog, condiments spilling out the sides. There are lots of people here, but Rome’s only here for Gray. “You gotta come to the party, dude! Get some pussy like the rest of us.” Casek is a typical frat guy: shallow and sex-obsessed. Compared to him, Rome is an angel. “You’re missing out.”

        Gray springs and leaps off of the beams, a speck in the sky. They’ve been struggling lately, Rome knows, which their eating disorder. It’s something they don’t talk about. Outside of him and their parents, no one even knows about it. “Trust me, I know. But -” Rome snatches a fry from Barrett’s tray, “-unlike the rest of you assholes, I actually want to do something with my life.” Rome dreams of being a sports medicine physician, which isn’t easy. But he gives off an air of indifference, even displeasure, when it comes to education. Rome isn’t the type to become stressed out or flustered easily. But he has ambition, just like anybody else.

        “Hey, Rome,” said a random classmate earlier that day, thrusting a piece of paper under his chin, “can you translate this for me?”

        He might look it, but Rome’s not bilingual. He knew Chinese years ago, but forgot most of it after being brought to America. Anyway, he was five years old. It’s almost impossible to remember things from that long ago. “Why would you assume I speak Japanese?” he’d asked his classmate, who subsequently looked sheepish. “I’m American.”

        “I don’t know.” The girl stood her ground, clutching the wrinkled paper in her hand. “You’re Asian, so I just thought –”

        “You think all Asians speak the same language?” Unsurprisingly, this sort of thing happens a lot. “You must speak Gaelic, right? You’re white, so I just assumed you’d know Gaelic.”

        “Ugh.” She’d sighed, spun on her heel. “Never-mind. I’ll ask someone else.” Rome isn’t usually grumpy. He’s a humorous guy, who tries to be friendly, but he has low tolerance for racism. This is something people often learn the hard way.

        Yule is three days away. Without a doubt, the best part of Yule is the burning of the log.

        “Suit yourself.” Casek belches, tossing his hot dog remains on the table. “Have fun studying while we’re all out getting laid.” He’s delusional. Not a single self-respecting woman would fuck Casek.

        Gray stands near a balance beam, shaking out their arms and legs. Gray’s malnourished; it’s easy to tell when they’re dressed in such tight clothes. They glance at Rome through the gymnasium window; he waves, watching Gray’s arms raise into the air. It happens quickly. Gray leaps off the beam, attempts to do an aerial flip, and lands on the floor in a heap.

        When Rome and Gray were about eleven and eight years old, their parents sat them down to explain about how some people thought their relationship was wrong. This had shocked Rome: how could something so normal and everyday be seen as wrong? They might get picked on at school, said Rome’s father, for having two dads. They might be treated differently. But it doesn’t matter who you love, as long as you’re a good person and you treat others well. Now that Rome’s older, he understands what his fathers have needed to surpass to be together. One day, he’d like to buy them a new house, or send them on an all-expenses-paid vacation. For now, all he can really do is visit once in a while, or buy little gifts to show his appreciation.

        “I can’t breathe!” Gray sits upright in their hospital bed, clutching their chest. “My stomach hurts so bad. Am I going to die?”

        They’re pale, clammy, fixated on the cause of their fainting spell. Rome knows exactly what the problem is, and everyone else does too. They’re getting their vitals taken, feet hanging over the side of the bed, gasping loudly and arbitrarily. “You’re going to be fine,” says the nurse, a bearded man with knobby fingers, who checks the vitals machine. “Your blood pressure is dangerously low, and you’re severely dehydrated. Do you have any health concerns I should be aware of?”

        Gray looks nervous. Rome remembers, when he still lived at home, hearing them get up in the middle of the night to be sick, or forgetting to eat regularly after a long day of activity. He’s tried to help, but it isn’t easy to know what to do. Gray scuffles their feet on the floor. “Yeah, I have ARFID. I know that’s why I’m here…”

        Not much is known about the disorder. Even self-proclaimed professionals in the medical field have been left confused by it. If this weren’t bad enough, Gray also has anxiety: they have since childhood. Sometimes Rome feels bad about leaving them, but they have their parents, and everybody helps as best they can. “I’m going to put you on an IV to get you some fluids. But once we get you stable and comfortable, I’d highly recommend meeting with an eating disorder specialist and getting yourself into treatment. Is that something you’d be willing to do?”

        Their fathers stand by the bed, stoic and grasping one another’s hand. It’s taken years for them to grow comfortable enough to do this. Neither speak, although Rome knows they hope Gray will agree with the nurse. You can’t force a person to get help, after all, no matter how much you try and push them for it. Gray lies down, wincing slightly as the needle is attached to them. Tonight was the first time they’ve collapsed, but it certainly wasn’t the first time they found themselves weak and wobbly.

        The nurse is kind, but stern. “Grayson? Is that something you’d be willing to do?”

        They hesitate, and look around the room. A glance to their parents, a glance to the nurse, a glance to Rome. He doesn’t look away. “Gray?”

        Gray sighs. “Yeah, okay.”

        Something Rome doesn’t understand is people’s resistance to his sexuality. It’s like they all think he can only be straight or gay, and nothing in the middle makes sense. He dates men, and he dates women, and he dates people who aren’t either – but all anyone can focus on is gay and straight. There comes a time when a person gets tired of explaining it to everyone: it’s not a black or white subject. Even Rome’s own father didn’t understand it at first: which disappointed Rome, but it was nothing a little educating couldn’t fix. He hasn’t had time to study, although he really did plan to. “Gray,” he says, his school backpack still sitting by the door of the hospital room, “I’m going to go get something to eat. I’ll be back later. That okay?” He doesn’t feel guilty about leaving, now that he knows Gray will be alright.

        They nod. A little ways from the hospital, there’s a seafood restaurant: something Rome doesn’t love, but will eat if he’s hungry and wants something quick. It’s absurdly easy to get seafood around here. Rome doesn’t see the point in going to a restaurant when you could just go fishing. Rome can certainly afford to go out more, and he does eat a lot of takeout, but enjoys going out for food only once in a while.

        When he was adopted, Rome’s name was Ji. It wasn’t until he was brought to America and taken it by his dads that it was changed. 

        Before taking his seat, he visits the bathroom to wash his hands. Gold Creek Salmon Bake is near enough the hospital he can go on foot, and he never passes up an opportunity for a foot race. The bathroom is plain, empty except for one man, combing through his untamable white hair in the mirror. Rome shouts across the room to him. “Hey, Tree-boy! You dress like a grandpa.” Rome supposes it’d be easy enough to just ignore Birch and move on, but this is way more fun. There’s just such a sick sense of satisfaction in pestering him, and it’s so easy to do. He’s hot, in the strangest way, but he’s uptight and ill-tempered. Gray once asked why Rome enjoys annoying him so much, and although Rome insisted it was out of hatred, Gray had suspected there to be a different reason.

        For some fucking reason, they’ve been seeing each other everywhere. Birch stiffens, rolling his eyes at the mirror. “You dress like a douche. Now fuck off.” He works here, judging by the uniform and nametag. Rome wonders how someone so grumpy possibly manages to be friendly with customers. 

        Rome doesn’t hate Birch. Sure, the guy gets on his nerves, but he really doesn’t have the energy to hate him for it. He pouts, wiping a fake tear from his cheek. “Sounds like somebody’s having a bad day. Should I tell you a joke?”

        He wouldn’t pass up a chance to fuck Birch. The kid’s such a twink, Rome bets he could have a lot of fun with him. “No.” His arms are at his sides, closed into fists. “I hate you and your stupid jokes, and your dumb face-”

        “Yeah?” Rome doesn’t believe this. “Then why are you looking at me like you want to fuck me?”

        For once, he’s got nothing smart to say. Rome’s horny, and Birch is hot, and sex has nothing to do with love. “That’s what I thought.”  Rome smirks, grabbing Birch by the arm. Although he grumbles, he doesn’t pull away. Into the last, largest stall, Rome yanks the skinny boy inside. 

        When Rome was sixteen, he realized he was polyamorous after developing a crush on his boyfriend’s sister. Many people don’t understand the concept, and it’s something he’s gotten tired of explaining. He isn’t one of those people who believe in soulmates and exclusivity. To him, there are just far too many people in the world for that. In a new relationship, it’s always a heavy topic. Rome mentions he dates multiple people at once, and almost everyone freaks out. Of course, he tells Juni about the people he dates and the people he fucks, and she doesn’t get angry, because Juni is polyamorous, too.

        “Shut up,” Rome grumbles, his fist full of Birch’s curly hair. Before beginning, he gave Birch an out – but he didn’t take it. And so here they are, hate fucking in the bathroom of a public restaurant. “People are going to hear you.”

        “Fuck you.” Birch has his hands against the wall of the stall, letting Rome have his way. “I can’t believe I’m letting you do this.” It hurts, a little, and Rome pulls his hair quite hard. Most people don’t know it, but Birch is honestly kind of into that. He hasn’t had sex in a while. He hates to admit it, but Rome is good at it.

        The taller man growls, not gentle or caring. That would imply he gives a shit if he’s hurting Birch. “You love it, asshole.” He’s not exactly right, but he’s not exactly wrong either. “Maybe you need a good fuck to loosen up a little.” He can tell it’s working; Birch no longer speaks, but squirms and twitches under Rome’s unrelenting grip. His fingers grab the ends of Birch’s hair, pulling hard enough the boy’s head is tipped backward. He grunts, one hand moving feverishly on his dick – but Rome’s really into edging. “Hey!” He yanks the other boy’s hand away, and throws it down. “Did I say you could cum?”

        Rome is getting sweaty, tired, but oh, so satisfied. Birch snorts. “I’ll do whatever the fuck I want. Now let go of my hair; you’re hurting me.”

        "Sucks for you.” Rome feels fulfilled when he finishes, but he’s out of breath and thirsty. He can’t tell whether Birch feels satisfied or used: and he doesn’t really care. They don’t say goodbye to each other afterward, just dress, and go their separate ways.