Chapter Text
Cole had never hated mirrors. They were just… there. Reflections, nothing more. But lately, every time he caught a glimpse of himself in the glass—whether it be in the bathroom or simply walking past a window—it felt like a spotlight burning into the parts of himself he couldn’t hide. The curve of his stomach. The softness on his jawline. The way his gi fit a little tighter than it used to.
It didn’t used to matter. He was the strongest, the most powerful. He was the rock. The foundation of the team. But somewhere along the way, that strength had been rebranded.
He wasn’t sure when it started, exactly. Just that one day, he’d looked down and noticed the way his stomach pressed against the band of his pants. Or how the way his chest filled out his gi didn’t feel solid anymore. It felt like too much. Too visible. Like every eye could see the bulk he once carried with pride and interpret it as something else now—lazy, indulgent, wrong.
And maybe it had always been there. The jokes. The teasing. The way cake had practically become a punchline to his name. He used to laugh along, used to let it roll off his back like everything else. Because it didn’t matter, right? They were harmless jokes. A jab at his “obsession.” Just Cole being Cole. Big guy, strong guy, cake guy.
But now, the word sat heavier than frosting in his gut.
꩜
Dinner had always been a comforting ritual after missions—something that made everything feel a little less chaotic. Zane had outdone himself this time: warm rice, grilled vegetables drizzled with sesame oil, perfectly seasoned dumplings, and a roasted tofu dish that Kai was already stealing off other plates. There was laughter, banter, and the low hum of exhaustion that only came after a job done just well enough to leave everyone in one piece.
All of the ninja were freshly bathed and dressed in what was likely the most comfortable clothing they owned.
Jay had gone for his usual: a soft blue t-shirt and plaid pajama pants that probably hadn’t seen the inside of a laundry basket in a while.
Nya wore a black-and-white striped shirt and the specific gray sweatpants she only pulled out for what she called “special post-mission occasions.”
Kai lounged in a red zip-up with a faded white tee underneath, his pants almost identical to Nya’s—though his were far more worn at the knees and cuffs.
Lloyd had stuffed himself into his beloved skeleton hoodie, now a little snug on his aged-up frame, paired with simple black pants Cole was pretty sure he’d stolen from Kai.
Zane, still in the kitchen, had changed into a light blue knit sweater layered over a collared shirt, paired with spotless white pants that somehow stayed clean, even mid-cooking.
And then there was Cole. Slightly hunched in his favorite dark hoodie—oversized, heavy, and worn at the sleeves. It used to feel comforting. Now it just felt necessary. His sweatpants sagged a bit at the waist, but he didn’t care. The hoodie was the barrier, the shield between him and everyone else’s eyes.
He sat at the far end of the table, picking at the edges of his food with his chopsticks. His muscles ached. His back still stung from a particularly hard fall earlier that day. But it wasn’t the bruises bothering him.
It was the heaviness in his chest. The tightness in his hoodie. The way everyone else was already halfway through their plates while his was still nearly full.
Jay and Nya bickered as usual, Jay trying to steal food from her plate. Kai threw food at Lloyd, who retaliated by launching it back with a grin. Sensei Wu chuckled quietly from the head of the table, hands folded in amusement.
Zane finally returned from the kitchen, setting more dishes on the table.
Nya spoke up, mouth half-full. “Zane, this is amazing. Seriously, best post-mission meal yet.”
Cole would usually jump in with something like “never had a better meal” or “Zane always cooks the best food after a long week.” But tonight, he couldn’t seem to find the words. His throat felt dry. The usual warmth around the table was gone.
Instead, he pushed a dumpling across his plate, eyes fixed on the fading steam.
He should say something. He wanted to. But his mouth wouldn’t move.
Not without someone looking. Not without someone noticing.
And no one seemed to.
“I’m glad it is to your liking,” Zane said. “Though they’re still in the kitchen, I’ve prepared dessert—”
“Let me guess,” Jay cut in with a grin. “Cake for Cole?”
Cole froze. The word hit his spine like a slap.
Across the table, Kai chuckled and elbowed Jay. “Better save yourself a slice before he inhales the whole thing.”
The laughter wasn’t cruel. Just casual. The kind of teasing that came with familiarity.
But Cole didn’t laugh. Couldn’t.
He forced a smile. Numb. Hollow. The others didn’t notice.
They kept talking, arguing about who almost died more dramatically, debating battle moves. Lloyd was still trying to convince Nya that his backflip saved her life. Zane had slipped back into the kitchen.
Cole stared at his untouched food. He knew he should eat. His body needed it. The calories, energy, something. But all he could think about was the rice mound in front of him, how heavy the sauce looked, how tight his hoodie suddenly felt around his arms.
He used to love food. It used to bring him joy. But now every bite felt like a spotlight. Every chew felt counted.
Zane came back, placing a large cake at the center of the table. Chocolate with tart raspberry filling—Cole’s favorite. Of course Zane had remembered.
His stomach twisted.
The cake sat there like a spotlight dressed in frosting. Swirls of buttercream, the bright red raspberry showing between the layers. Too much. Too visible. Too him.
And he waited.
Waited for someone to say something.
There was a pause in conversation. A beat too long. The kind of pause that let tension seep through the cracks.
Usually, he’d be reaching across the table by now, calling dibs. But Cole didn’t move. Just rested his chin in his hand, pushing a single grain of rice around like it might somehow personally wronged him.
Jay broke the silence. “Whoa… is this a record? No immediate cake grab?”
Nya laughed. “Is Cole sick? Someone check his pulse.”
Kai smirked. “Careful, Zane. You might’ve actually made a dessert he won’t devour.”
It was teasing. Harmless on the surface.
But it landed differently.
Cole forced a laugh—thin, breathy. “Just… letting everyone else get a shot at it first,” he muttered.
Lloyd blinked. “More for us, I guess.”
Zane tilted his head, but didn’t press. He knew Cole well enough to leave space when it was needed.
The conversation moved on. Cole didn’t.
The cake sat there. Sweet. Perfect.
And it made him feel sick.
꩜
The halls of the monastery were quiet. Peaceful, almost.
Dinner had ended with the usual mess of dishes and the fading hum of tired voices. Everyone had drifted off in different directions: Jay and Kai still bickering, Nya calling reminders about morning training, Lloyd disappearing with one last slice in hand.
Cole had said goodnight. Had smiled. Had pretended like everything was fine.
Now, his room felt too big. Too still.
He shut the door behind him with more care than necessary, locking it even though he didn’t need to. The soft click echoed louder than it should have. It felt wrong, like he was doing something he shouldn’t be. He stood there for a long moment, back against the door, hoodie still on despite the warm summer breeze whisking through the monastery’s open windows.
The silence settled around him like a blanket. Heavy. Suffocating.
He finally moved, dragging himself toward the bed, not to lie down, he decided, but just to sit. Not even sit. Perch. On the edge, elbows on his knees, hands dangling uselessly between them.
His stomach twisted. Not with hunger. Not really. More like… pressure. Guilt. That kind of creeping fullness that had nothing to do with how much he’d eaten and everything to do with what it meant.
He hadn’t even touched dessert.
That should’ve made him feel better. Like he’d proven something. Maybe to himself, to everyone else. That he didn’t always have to be the guy went for seconds. That he had control.
But instead, it felt hollow. Wrong.
He’d picked at his plate like a stranger. He was a stranger, even to himself. The version of him that used to laugh freely, who used to talk about food like it was a love language, felt miles away. Like someone else entirely.
Cole pulled off his hoodie and tossed it onto the floor with a little more force than necessary. His t-shirt clung to his back, damp with sweat from dinner and something else. Nerves, anxiety, shame…maybe all of it. He didn’t know.
He stood, crossed the room, flicked on the light switch, and stepped in front of the mirror.
The overhead light buzzed faintly as it cast pale yellow over his reflection.
He tried not to flinch.
Tried to see himself like he used to: broad-shouldered, strong, solid. But the reflection met him with soft edges. A too-full stomach. A jaw that looked less defined. Sweat clung to his shirt. He lifted his top just enough to reveal the lower half of his torso.
He pinched the side of his stomach.
Still there.
He turned sideways. Sucked in. Let it go.
Still there.
Cole swallowed hard and backed away from the mirror like it might bite him.
He sat back on the edge of the bed, head in his hands, and let the weight of everything finally settle.
He didn’t cry. That wasn’t something he did. But the tightness in his chest felt dangerously close.
He felt disgusting.
He felt weak.
And worse, he felt alone in it.
He lay awake for a long time that night, listening to nothing but the soft blowing of wind and his own breathing.
꩜
Cole’s eyes snapped open long before his alarm had the chance.
He didn’t feel rested. His legs ached, his back still throbbing from yesterday’s fight, and his chest felt heavy—like a dumbbell was placed right on top of it.
But lying still was worse.
The silence of his room clawed at him, thick and itchy like a blanket soaked in sweat. He sat up quickly, as if movement alone could shake the thoughts loose.
He didn’t bother changing into proper training gear. Just threw on an old tank top and slipped silently out of his room, careful not to wake anyone. The monastery was dead quiet at this hour, the halls washed in soft gray-blue from the faint early light leaking through the windows.
When he checked the clock, it was around 4:40 AM.
Training didn’t start until 6.
He had time.
꩜
The air was cold. Sharp.
He welcomed it.
Cole had been swinging the weighted staff for what felt like forever. His top clung to his skin, soaked through at the back. His breath came fast and ragged, his form slipping into something less clean, more desperate. But he didn’t stop.
He couldn’t stop.
Every time he felt the burn in his muscles, the ache in his lungs, he pushed harder. Faster. More reps. No rest. No water. Just movement. Just work. Just pain, pure and simple.
Pain felt like progress.
Pain felt like control.
Footsteps echoed in the hallway.
“Dude. What the hell.”
Jay.
Cole didn’t stop swinging. Not at first. Just adjusted his grip and moved faster.
“You’ve already been training?” Jay said, stepping into the courtyard, eyebrows lifting. “It’s not even six.”
Cole shrugged, still panting, slowing down to a more understandable pace. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“Again?” Kai’s voice now, from behind Jay. He walked out with a towel slung over his shoulder, expression shifting into something tighter when he caught sight of Cole’s drenched shirt. “You look like you’ve been at this for hours.”
“Hour and a half,” Cole muttered, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “Not that long.”
“Bro, that’s long,” Jay said, squinting at him. “What are you doing, prepping for a marathon?”
Cole huffed a short laugh. “Just warming up.”
Zane appeared behind them, arms crossed. “Overexertion can lead to muscular damage and decreased combat efficiency, Cole. You should rest before team training.”
“I am resting,” Cole lied, dropping the staff and leaning on it like a walking stick. “Just pacing myself.”
Kai raised an eyebrow, glancing at the puddle of sweat under him. “Uh-huh.”
There was a pause.
None of them said anything outright. But the looks passed between them were enough. Jay looked confused, Kai looked skeptical, and Zane looked concerned to say the least, in his own quiet way.
Lloyd and Nya hadn’t arrived yet. Which was probably for the best.
Cole turned away before any of them could say something more direct. “I’m fine.”
The others didn’t push. Not then. They exchanged glances, shrugged it off, and moved into the room to begin warm-ups before Master Wu arrived.
But Cole could feel their eyes on him the entire time.
꩜
After training, the kitchen buzzed with soft clinks and the low hum of conversation. Zane had prepared something light after training—fruit, yogurt, toast, eggs. Nothing too heavy. The kind of meal meant to refuel, not overdo.
Cole lingered near the entrance to the dining area, his hair still damp from a fast, lukewarm shower. His clothes felt looser, but not in a way that gave him comfort. His hoodie stayed on.
He didn’t sit.
The others were already gathered at the table, plates half-filled. Kai was reaching across Nya to grab more toast. Lloyd had three slices of apple in his mouth. Jay had made a face about the yogurt being “too plain.”
Zane looked up when he noticed Cole standing at the edge of the room.
“You should eat something,” he said gently.
“I’m good,” Cole replied.
Jay looked up, blinking. “Wait, you’re not eating? You?”
Cole’s jaw tensed.
“Maybe I’m not hungry all the time,” he said, sharper than he meant to.
It got quiet for a second.
Zane turned back to the stove like he hadn’t heard the edge in Cole’s tone. Kai gave a half-shrug and went back to eating. But Nya watched him for a moment longer, like she could tell something was off, even if she didn’t know what it was yet.
Cole slowly walked toward the counter and picked up a banana, just to look like he had something. He didn’t eat it.
He sat at the far end of the table and stayed quiet, pretending to peel the banana but never actually taking a bite. He nodded when spoken to, laughed when someone made a joke, but the food in front of him remained untouched.
And this—this would become normal.
Skipping meals. Say he was tired. Say he had a headache. Say he just wasn’t hungry today.
Until the hunger forced its way through—late at night, or after too much training, or when he finally cracked. Then, he’d eat too much. Shovel food down in a haze of guilt and desperation. Bread. Leftovers. Sugar. Whatever he could find.
And afterward, the shame would settle in his stomach like concrete.
Heavy. Rotten.
And he’d try to get rid of it.