Trigger warnings: Eating disorder, anxiety, child abuse, mentions of vomiting

He's always concerned about him. Always. He doesn't understand how no one else notices, not even Suoh.

Still, he supposes he's closer to the raven-haired boy that the rest. They know each other intimately, after all; both in hurried, desperate touches lit by candle light, and whispered conversations that another soul will never hear. He knows the sacrifices he makes for his ideal, for his perfection.

He's so perfect, he's flawed.

He knows about how, despite having a taste for salted caramels and spiced toffees, he resisted because he'd always been told how fat, imperfect and disgusting they'd make him; poisonous thoughts fed into a mind all too willing to listen. He knows that he can feel ribs as he runs his fingers along the boy's sides, how his weight swings between the smaller side of healthy and underweight.

He remembers one glorious time, a little while after they first started their relationship, when the other was at his healthiest weight. He remembers the sweet, tender flesh of his sides and waist, thighs soft, and his ass frankly fantastic; not chubby at all, but supple and insulated, no longer shivering at every subtle dip in temperature. It was enthralling, arousing, and yet the beautiful boy hated himself for "slipping", for "tainting himself"; his weight plummeted yet again after that.

Even though the feeling of too-prominent ribs scared him, he treasured every touch he gave his sweet porcelain boy; so fragile and yet so beautiful, the side that only he is allowed to see.

The thought both enticed him and sickened him.

He knew the one that fed the desire, too; the one who poured the poison into the boy's ear. He knows of the bruises, the cuts, the scathing words and the pressure. It took every ounce of self-control not to tear into the man's throat at the Ouran Fair; seeing his beloved's head snap unnaturally to the side, cheek red and bruising, falling to the floor after his glasses.

He heard that gasp - the uneven breathing - but he couldn't do anything. He could only let the boy curl up with him in the Dark Magic Club's back room, door locked, kisses and whispered words of empty comfort; trying to fix such a broken situation, with disgustingly hollow words.

Because he knows that his love, his boyfriend, isn't ok. He just wants him to be.

He knows of the fear of imperfection, the thing that drives the boy so unhealthily, so strongly. He knows that, if even a single mark is missed on that "easy" test, he'll find his sweet, dark angel in the bathroom as soon as he is excused, throwing up bile and what little he permitted passed his lips.

He wants him to be ok, because he's his Kyou; like he's Kyouya's Umie. But, for now, empty words of comfort and soft kisses will have to do.