“Sweetheart, come here.” Anaire tried to mask the concern in her voice as her son approached. When Fingon stopped in front of her, she took hold of his wrist. Her fingers wrapped around the slender joint. “You need to have lunch, Fin.”
“I would just have to practice longer to lose the weight,” he argued.
“Lift up your shirt,” his mother insisted.
“Aiya! Nana...” but he did as asked, rolling his eyes when she gasped.
“Get into that kitchen now! I can see your ribs,” she said, her hands shaking as she touched one of the bones that jutted out.
“I am in shape,” he answered tersely. “This is normal.”
“You are starving yourself!”
“I am fine!” Fingon tugged down his shirt and stomped off.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Fingon, Anaire