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Troy knocked on Abed’s door, big chip bag in hand. “Hey Abed,” he greeted when the door opened.
Abed gave him a small smile. “Hey Troy.” He stepped aside to let Troy in, and Troy went straight to the couch.
“I’m so excited to play this game, dude!” he exclaimed. “I’ve been hearing people talk about it all over the place! How’d you even get it so soon?”
“I just got to the video game store early,” Abed shrugged, sitting down next to Troy.
“Awesome. Oh--I brought chips,” he said, opening them and placing the bag on the coffee table. “Help yourself. They’re salt and vinegar.”
“Cool,” said Abed, but he didn’t reach for one. Troy took a big handful and shoved them in his mouth.
“Seriously, they’re so good,” he said, although with his mouth full it was probably a little gross. He swallowed and gave Abed a smile.
“No thank you,” Abed said. Troy was going to say something else, but Abed stood up before he could. “Let’s start playing.”
Troy cheered, thoroughly distracted. Abed turned the tv and the console on and handed Troy a controller. This was going to be the epicest game ever!!
And then when Abed was walking back to the couch, he stumbled.
Troy moved swiftly to catch him, alarm growing as he saw the look on Abed’s face. His eyes were open, but they didn’t seem to be seeing anything, glazed over and hazy. “ABED??” Troy yelped.
Abed blinked, and he was back. He shook his head like he was trying to clear it, trying to straighten back up onto his unsteady feet. “Sorry.”
“Abed, are you okay??” Troy lead Abed back to the couch, still supporting him even though Abed was attempting to walk on his own. “You almost, like, fainted, dude!”
“I’m fine,” Abed said.
Troy made a face. That didn’t seem true. “Remember last week? We made a promise. Friends don’t lie.”
Abed chewed on his lip. He was quiet for so long, Troy thought he wasn’t going to say anything, but just as Troy opened his mouth to go on, Abed lowered his head and said, “I don’t have any of my safe foods at Greendale.”
“...What?”
“My dad sent me with a big tupperware of falafel but that didn’t last very long so I was surviving off of literally only buttered noodles and popcorn. But last week my buttered noodles tasted weird and I don’t know what was wrong but I think it was the butter and I put butter on my popcorn too and now that I can’t eat butter anymore I can’t eat anything, so…”
“Abed,” said Troy, terrible realization dawning on him, “when was the last time you ate?”
Abed was silent, and this time he really wasn’t going to say anything, so Troy asked again. “Abed, when did you last eat? Abed, please.”
He looked away. Abed wasn’t at all easy to read, but anyone with eyes could see that he was horribly uncomfortable. But finally, he answered: “Four days ago.”
Troy’s jaw dropped. “Abed!”
“It’s not because I don’t want to eat,” Abed said, and there was an edge to his voice like he was pleading with Troy to understand. “I just can’t. I can’t eat anything other than this one really specific set of things but I don’t have those right now so I can’t eat anything. I know it’s weird, I’m sorry.”
“No, Abed--” Troy sat down next to him, wishing he could put the twisting in his stomach into words. “It’s not weird.”
“It is weird,” Abed repeated. “Objectively. It’s not normal. Normal people don’t go four days without eating just because they’re afraid they won’t like the texture of something. Normal people eat more than falafel, buttered noodles, and popcorn. Normal people don’t do this.”
Troy stared at Abed. There was so much he wanted to say to him, but the words got all tripped up before they could leave his mouth. He finally settled on, “You have to eat something, Abed.”
“I know.”
“Can you eat salt and vinegar chips?” Troy offered.
Abed made a face. “I’ve never had them. So no.”
“Hm. We could go order some falafel.”
He shook his head. “No, it--It has to be my dad’s.”
“Why don’t you just go get something from your dad then?”
Abed looked away, fidgeting with his fingers. “I don’t want to.”
Troy blinked. “Abed, you’re starving. Why not?”
“I don’t want him to think I’m not mature enough to live on my own. It took so much weedling for him to let me live in the dorms. I can’t let him know I can’t even feed myself without him. It’s embarrassing.” He stood up, pacing nervously. “I should be able to do this.”
“What’s wrong with the buttered noodles? Just have that.”
Abed made a small whining sound. Troy could see his hands shaking. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to help him. He felt like he might cry. But fuck, he wasn’t the one who was supposed to be having a crisis right now. “They tasted funny,” Abed cried, words blending with the tiny yelps that slipped from his lips. “I don’t know, I don’t know--”
“What if we go to the store right now,” Troy started, “and get new butter and new pasta and make new buttered noodles?”
Abed chewed on his knuckles, but he stopped pacing. He wasn’t looking at Troy as he said, “Maybe. Maybe.”
“Yeah?” He drooped with relief.
“We can go,” Abed said. Troy stood up and walked over to it, hovering near him, unsure if physical contact would be appropriate, or if it would send Abed back into panic mode.
Abed flicked his eyes over to him, tilting his head in the tiniest of nods.
So Troy wrapped his arms around him, feeling Abed’s body relax into him just that little bit. They stayed like that for a few seconds, silence filling the room as the tension drained out.
“Let’s go,” said Troy quietly. And they went.