Chapter Nine
Salis's nerves buzzed under the surface. He shifted slightly on the couch, not quite sure what to do with himself. He kept his eyes on the glass of water, focusing on it as though it could somehow distract him from the tension inside.
Lael had moved toward the kitchen after handing Salis the water, but now, he was back, sitting across from him on the coffee table with a quiet but welcoming expression.
He wasn't rushing Salis or demanding anything. There was no expectation for him to talk or even be comfortable right away.
"I made some food," Lael said, his voice light, almost casual. "Nothing too heavy. Just some pasta. Tortellini. You can try a little if you want, or… well, I could always pack it up for you to take home."
Salis paused, his fingers tightening around his glass. His first instinct was to turn it down, to say he wasn't hungry, to get out of this situation before it got too personal. But then he remembered how empty he was feeling and how him stomach had been growling relentlessly, only getting louder as the evening had worn on.
"I… uh…" Salis hesitated, his voice barely audible.
The idea of food was making him nervous again. It wasn't that he didn't want to eat—it was more the idea of someone watching him. Watching him eat. He didn't want to disgust Lael. He didn't want to disappoint him.
But Lael looked at him, patiently waiting. There was no rush, no judgment in the way he sat there, relaxed, with his hands folded neatly in his lap.
"You don't have to if you're not ready," Lael said quietly, picking up on the hesitation in Salis's expression. "I know it's not always easy. But… if you want to try, I won't bite."
The joke was small, but it made Salis let out a small, surprised laugh and he felt some of the tension in his body loosen.
"I… I guess I could try," Salis said, still feeling awkward about it, but the thought of food after so long was starting to feel like something he could manage. Slowly, he set the glass of water down and stood up, his legs wobbly as if he'd been sitting for too long.
Lael smiled and got up as well, leading him toward the small kitchen area. The space was compact, but warm, and there was a comforting hum of a quiet stove in the background, the scent of garlic and herbs hanging in the air. It made Salis's stomach giving an embarrassing gurgle again, and he bit his lip, wishing he could hide it.
"Sorry," Salis muttered, looking away quickly.
Lael glanced over his shoulder, catching the way Salis seemed to shrink into himself. "It's alright. I mean, that's what food is for, right? To fill up the empty spaces."
Salis nodded but didn't speak, his gaze on the floor, unsure of what to do with himself. The truth was, he wasn't sure if he had ever let anyone take care of him like this. He hadn't realized just how much he needed it until he was here, sitting in Lael's apartment, feeling more vulnerable than he had in a long, long time. His mind kept drifting back to his mother's words—
You're nothing without me. You can't do anything on your own.
He was used to doing things alone, to avoiding situations where people might see him as weak. He had never really let himself need anything before. It felt like admitting failure. But here, with Lael, it was different.
Lael placed a bowl of pasta in front of him, still warm, and slid it gently across the table. "You don't have to eat it all at once," Lael said, giving him a soft smile. "Just take your time. If you're not hungry now, we can always save it for later."
Salis nodded again, but his hands shook slightly as he reached for the fork. He looked down at the pasta for a long moment, unsure of whether to dive in or push it away. His stomach was practically screaming at him to eat, but his thoughts felt scattered and unsure.
"Thanks," Salis muttered, his voice low and uncertain. He could feel the moment playing out in slow motion, the softness of Lael's kind words pulling at him in ways he wasn't sure how to handle.
"Of course," Lael said, and for a brief moment, he seemed to study Salis with a thoughtful expression.
There was an understanding there, but it wasn't something that felt invasive. Lael wasn't asking for anything more than what Salis was ready to give.
Salis took a tentative bite, his stomach protesting a little at the sudden shift. It felt strange, eating with someone around, especially after so long without a real meal. The pasta was nice, light—everything Salis needed right now. But the nervousness still gnawed at him, and he couldn't help but glance up at Lael every now and then, wondering if he was being too slow, too weird.
Lael didn't seem to mind. He was focused on his own bowl now, but his eyes flicked back to Salis with a gentle expression.
"I know it's hard," Lael said softly after a while, his voice low, almost as if he was speaking to himself. "But sometimes, you just have to give yourself permission to take care of you. You deserve that, Salis."
Salis's fork stopped midway to his mouth, his chest tightening at Lael's words.
Deserve that?
The idea that he could actually deserve something good, that he could be worthy of care, felt like something unreachable. He stared down, feeling his throat close again.
"I don't… I don't know if I do," Salis whispered, his voice small and hesitant.
The quiet that followed seemed to stretch on forever, making Salis clench his hands on the table. After a bit, Lael broke the silence, his voice light.
"You do. You deserve all the good things, even if you don't believe it right now. But I'm here for when you start to."
Salis's eyes stung a little at the unexpected tone in Lael's voice. He didn't think he'd hear anything like that. He didn't think someone would treat him like he mattered.
He wasn't sure how to respond, his fork still hovering midair over the food. His stomach, which had been growling just moments ago, now felt too heavy, almost full. He took a small bite, chewing slowly, counting eat one.
Something to ground him. Keep his head level.
He took another bite. And another. He hadn't eve finished half of what was in the bowl, but something inside of him was telling him to stop. He could feel the tightness in his chest and the mild discomfort that hung low in his gut, even thought he hadn't eaten much. His body was on the verge of telling him he'd had enough, but he was still so aware of Lael. Still so afraid of disappointing him.
The quiet in the apartment had been soothing, but now it made the tension in his body even more noticeable. Why was he so weak when it came to food? Why did it feel like he couldn't just eat like everyone else?
"I—" Salis started, his voice small. His fork dropped back in the bowl, making him jump at the clatter, and he ran a hand through his hair. His eyes shifted nervously towards Lael, who was giving him that familiar calm look. Salis hated how much he was aware of his own awkwardness. How self-conscious he felt with every small moment, every bite.
"Are you okay?" Lael asked, his voice soft and careful, as if sensing that sensing that something wasn't right. He looked at Salis with concern, his brows slightly furrowed. "Is it too much?"
Salis's heart spiked at the question. He didn't want to admit it. He didn't want to say that his stomach was already full, that he couldn't take another bite, even though the food was so good. Even though he knew he needed to eat more.
He could feel the heat rising in his face again, the old feeling of shame creeping in. If he stopped now, it would be like he was wasting Lael's food. He didn't want to disappoint him. He couldn't bear to be seen as weak by him, as someone who someone who couldn't even handle a meal.
"I'm fine," Salis said quickly, his voice a little too sharp, a little defensive. He pushed his bowl away slightly, trying to make the discomfort invisible, even though the weight of it was making want to curl in on himself. "I just… I guess I'm that hungry. Thank you for making it, though."
Lael didn't respond immediately, but the way he kept watching Salis made him feel exposed. Salis could almost feel the weight of Lael's eyes, just waiting, still observing him. The silence stretched, and Salis's stomach growled again, making him flinch, wishing he could just disappear.
'Can you make up your mind?! Are you hungry or aren't you?' he thought to his body, the words ringing out in his mind.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Lael asked again, leaning forward slightly, his voice still gentle. "You don't have to force yourself. It's okay to leave it."
Salis closed his eyes for a moment, trying to ignore the feeling in his chest, the sudden sharp sting that came admitting that he couldn't do something so simple. He hates the way his body betrayed, hated how it always felt like he was failing somehow.
"I'm not forcing myself," Salis replied, but his voice lacked conviction. "I just… I'm fine."
But Lael wasn't buying it. He leaned back a little, his eyes soft but searching. "Salis…" he started, and the way he said his name, quiet and careful, made Salis's chest tighten further.
"I'm sorry," Salis blurted out before Lael could finish. "I didn't mean to waste it. I just… can't finish it. I don't know what's wrong with me." He lowered his gaze, focusing on his hands, his heart pounding in his chest. "I… I don't know why I can't just eat like a normal person."
There was a long pause, and for a second, Salis was sure that Lael would say something that would make him feel worse, that would point out just how messed up he was. He was waiting for the judgment.
But when Lael spoke, it was soft, patient—like he always was with Salis. "You don't have to apologize," he said quietly. "And nothing is wrong with you. We all have out hardships. Everyone is struggling."
Salis's eyes flicked up to meet Lael's, and, for a moment, he wasn't sure what to do with that kindness in his gaze. 'Struggling'. It didn't feel like an excuse, but it also didn't feel like an accusation. It was just a simple fact.
"Hey," Lael added, his tone gentle but firm. "You're here, right? You came and you're trying. That's enough for me."
Salis swallowed, the tightness in his throat not quite going away. He wanted to believe Lael. He wanted to let himself believe that trying was enough. But it felt like so much more than that, like the distance between who he was and who he wanted to be was too wide to cross. And yet, somehow, Lael made the distance feel a little smaller. A little less impossible.
"You really don't mind?" Salis asked, his voice small. "I didn't mean to… make things uncomfortable."
Lael's smiled reassuringly. "Of course not. I'm not here to judge you, Salis. I'm just here to be your cheerleader. If that means you eat a little less today, that's fine. We can try again tomorrow."
The words were simple, but they settled somewhere warm and safe inside Salis. For the first time, the guilt he usually felt for not being able to do thing perfectly didn't seem to crushing It was still there, but Lael had somehow made it seem less significant. Maybe he could forgive himself for not being perfect all the time…?
Salis hesitated for a moment before pushing the bowl further away, his stomach still feeling too full, but his mind a little lighter. He couldn't remember the last time he had been so careful with his feelings, so gentle with himself.
"You're… not going to make me finish it?" Salis asked, a small, embarrassed laugh escaping him as he looked up at Lael.
Lael gave a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "I don't want you to force yourself. You're doing just fine, Salis."
Salis nodded slowly, trying to convince himself of that, even if his mind still clung to idea that he should have eaten more. Should have done better.
But for the sure time tonight, he wasn't fighting the optimistic thoughts as hard as he usually did. He wasn't wrestling with them, he was just… sitting with them. Letting them be.
"Okay," Salis said quietly. "Then… I think I'll take a break for tonight."
"Good call," Lael said, his voice warm and steady, as if this was the most normal thing in the world. "You don't have to force anything."
Salis gave him a small, tentative smile, feeling the weight in his chest start to lift just a bit. Maybe tomorrow would be easier? Or maybe it wouldn't. But for tonight, this was more than enough.