I'm dead. 

I'm so, so dead. 

Alex killed me. Somewhere between the moment he walked in and now, he killed me. 

No ones sees the way he sends me winks from across the room, no one hears the sinful things he whispers to me as he passes by and no one notices me not being able to focus on anything at all. 

Or maybe they do, but just choose to spare me by not asking about it. 

"Food's ready!" Eliot calls through the room. Dante and Flynn stand up from where they were sitting on the couch, watching Tangled. Alex was engaging in a conversation with Eliot (who has had a ridiculously big smile on his face ever since William joined us), while I am . . . standing? With a glass in my hand?

I don't know what I was doing previously. Probably staring at Alex and wondering how I got so lucky. I most definitely need to stop.

"Now, be careful, it's still—" Flynn takes a bite of the pasta— "hot. It's still hot." Flynn gulps down his glass of water completely. 

Shaking my head, I make sure my bite isn't too hot anymore. I'm seated between William and, who else could it be, Alex. He's laughing along with my friends, joking. I keep my eyes on my plate. 

A nudge comes from my left side. William, seated there, gives me a concerned smile. He does some hand sign, but I can't make up what it is. Fortunately, Eliot helps me. "He's asking if you're alright."

Oh. I nod and smile at William. He seems nice. "Yeah. I'm just a little tired of the day, that's all. So you're Eliot's new friend?"

No, you actually can't see him blushing due to his skin color, but it's easy to make up when he's flustered, like right now. With a glance at Eliot, he nods. Our friend translates what he signs. "Are you trying to smile at me, or trying to intimidate me? Neither is working."

Beside me, Alex chokes on his food because of his laughter. I pointedly ignore him. "I'm trying to smile, but as I said, I'm pretty tired. And this asshole—" I nudge Alex between the ribs, making him let out a hmpf— "isn't helping either. But it's not because of you, I promise."

William grins and nods, turning back to Eliot. I understand I'm a bit difficult to talk to, with me not understanding anything he's telling me, so I don't take it personally. Instead, I listen to Alex' conversation, but it has died down too. 

"Is everyone finished?" Flynn asks the table. I look around and see that yes, everyone has. Immediately noticing the opportunity to avoid Alex, I stand up. "I'll do the dishes!"

Unfortunately for me, Alex stands up too and starts gathering the empty plates. We'll reuse the glasses later, for the movie, so he doesn't collect them. My shoulders slumps when he says, "I'll help you."

The rest of our visit moves to the couch, so now we're alone in the kitchen. Great. I save my flowers from the sink, placing them in a nice vase now. After, I start washing the dishes. Alex promises to dry them off, but I don't see much of that as he jumps and sits on the counter, right beside me. 

"Are you avoiding me?" he asks, bending down a little so he's on eye level with me. He has to do that when we're standing too, but I suppose I'm even shorter when he's sitting on a counter. Keeping my eyes on the dishes, I shake my head. My throat is too dry to speak properly. 

"It seems to me like you are. Why?" he demands, tilting my chin with two fingers. His other hand is still in his pocket, and that image is somehow hot to my dirty brain. 

"I'm not," I mumble, keeping my gaze on his sweater. He doesn't remove his fingers, but he also doesn't grab my jaw and forces me to look into his eyes. That's good, at least. 

"Yes, you are. The only time you talked to me in the past hour and a half is when I gave you the flowers. And that was when I arrived. So tell me, did I do something wrong? I would love to make it up to you." 

Panicked, I finally look up at him. His gaze is soft, a little worried, but mainly honest. "No, no. I'm just— it's not you, really. My mind is just messed up."

His fingers retreat, but I don't. I keep watching his face, hoping for some kind of reaction. He just nods, his eyes narrowed at my face in thought. "Okay. Will you talk to me about it, please?"

This makes me fold. I'm glad he doesn't force me to talk but just asks about it. The choice is up to me, but I know I'll talk. I owe him that. 

"I just— I'm a little upset, I think," I admit. He nods again, listening attentively. It makes my body heat up. When he sees I don't go into details, he cocks his head to the side. "Upset? Why?"

My eyes drop back to the sink. My hands are wet, so I can fumble with my shirt to pass some time, but I can fumble with a plate. I make sure my voice is so low, the others surely wont hear us when I finally say, "I don't know. We haven't had actual sex yet, and I guess I'm just a little worried you don't think I'm attractive enough for it. I'm also overthinking because I don't know if we're exclusive. My friends assume we are, but I thought it was better to ask you. Is this silly?"

I look back up in time to see his gentle smile. "No, that's not silly at all. Let me help you out. Yes, we're exclusive. I'm not interested in anyone else, I've got you. We didn't discuss it, but I just felt like that was right. You're absolutely gorgeous to me, and definitely the most attractive person in this world. Of course I want to fuck you, please don't doubt that fact. The first time we hooked up, you seemed a little overwhelmed, so I thought it was best I didn't push you further. Yesterday, you had a panic attack. This morning, we didn't have enough time for the things I want to do when I can have my way with you. The other times, we were either interrupted or too tired to do anything else."

Oh. My own lips begin to turn up into a smile too. A little one, but it still counts. "Thank you."

He kisses my nose. "No need. I'm always here if you need reassurance, okay?"

I nod and get back to work when I catch a plate that's still almost full. Alex is, coincidentally, looking at the other side. Hm. "Is this yours?"

"What? No," he denies. I cock an eyebrow, and he gives in. "Fine. Yes. I'm just not hungry. I ate at home."

"You ate at home before coming over to a dinner date," I repeat. His body slumps. "Yes?"

I dry my hands and head to stand in between his legs, which he wraps around my waist. He wraps his arms around my neck, sighing. It's now my time to reassure him. "What's going on, Alex? You never eat much, even if your body needs it."

He shakes his head against my shoulder, not allowing me to see his face. "My body doesn't need more. It actually needs less; I've already gained too much fat."

Fat? Has he looked at his body recently?

"What do you mean, sweetheart?" I gently ask. I don't want to pry too much, but this seems like a serious problem. If I can help, I want to do exactly that. 

"Didn't you see it in the mirror this morning?" he sighs. It's now my turn to shake my head. "I didn't see anything, baby. Tell me, please."

With another sigh, he hops off the counter, takes my hand in his and makes his way out of the kitchen. I notice he's on his way to my room, to the mirror, and wonder what he's going to show. 

When we're inside, he locks the door. He turns to me, dread obvious in his whole body language. "Promise you won't judge. I'm working on it."

I promise him. I want to promise him more; I'll never judge, I'll help, I'll work with you. But I don't. I just watch as he lifts his shirt, glaring at the mirror. 

He points at his stomach. "See?"

No, I don't see. All I can see is his stomach, with the outlines of abs and no fat. I look up at his face and shake my head. "I'm sorry, but I don't see what—"

"There's no six pack," he whispers. "Everyone has a six pack in the locker room, but I don't. I train harder than them, I barely eat just so I won't gain any weight, but I still don't see any result. And have you seen these?"

He's frustrated now, angry tears dripping from his eyes, but he furiously wipes them away. Within seconds, he's removed his pants and is pointing at his thighs. Fuck, those thighs. So muscular, so strong, so fucking perfect. 

"These are too thick!" he cries out, though he's not actually crying. Not when he doesn't allow his tears to fall, or doesn't acknowledge his voice breaking. "They're too thick, and the gym doesn't even help! I didn't eat for a week, Jake, and they didn't even budge!"

Holy fuck. This is way worse than I thought.

I hug him, stopping the angry trashing of arms. He now does allow himself to cry and breaks in my arms, but I've got him. I'll always have him. 

"I just don't get it," he cries, keeping me tightly hugged to him. "I'm doing everything I can and it doesn't work! I know it isn't healthy, but I can't stop thinking about all the calories and all the weight I could gain from the door I eat. I just want a body like everyone else's, why can't I have that?"

He's sobbing so hard, his body is slumping in my arms. I lower him onto the bed and sit down next to him, lifting my own shirt. "Look, Alex. Look. I don't have a six pack either, not when my stomach's relaxed. But, come on, stand up with me. Look in the mirror."

"I can't, Jake." He shakes his head, refusing to glance once more at himself. I turn him to me. "Okay, then look at me. When I tense my stomach, then the abs come out. Now you try!"

Reluctantly, he does. And, as I had expected, his six pack is less visible than me, and that makes him tremble again. I catch him in a hug again. "Do you know why that is?"

"B-because I eat too much," he sobs. I can tell he's trying to stop crying; he muffles his sobs, attempts to keep his shoulders from shaking and wipes every tear that falls again.  

"No," I shake my head. "Because you don't eat enough. If I wouldn't eat, my body wouldn't be able to handle making a six pack either.  And as long as I don't eat enough, it won't give me the results I want."

He presses his hands against his eyes. "I'm trying to, Jake. I am. Dante tries to help, and so do Elias and Arabella. Don't you think I know what Flynn was doing that time at the café? Everyone tries to help and I want them to, don't get me wrong, but I'm just mentally not able to eat and not think about the consequences."

I rub his back, wanting him to feel comforted. "I'm sorry to hear that. Do you know that I'm very proud of you for talking about this? It takes a lot of strength to explain this to someone else. I want you to know that."

He cries harder again, hiding his leaking eyes in my hoodie. I hug him tightly. "What do you think about getting a therapist? I don't want to force you, but it seems like something that could help you."

A hiccup sounds muffled against me. "I don't want to be a burden to my parents, costing them even more. College was already so expensive."

I brush his hair. His eyes are red from crying. "I understand that. Why don't you give your mom a call and talk to her about it? You don't even have to tell her about any of this, just mention you're having trouble and ask her if she's okay with you going to a therapist. Financially, then, because you do not need her approval to go talk about your problems, alright?"

A shaky breath. "Now?"

I shrug. "It's up to you. I can't force you to call her or to go see a therapist. If you don't want to call her now, you don't have to. If you don't want me to hear, I can leave for a while."

The mention of that has him shaking his head and clinging to me even more. "No, no. I-I'm gonna call her later this week. I need to think about how I should tell her."

I kiss his cheek. "And that's perfectly fine."