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C'mon, it's not that big of a deal. Just have half the plate. Half the plate, and you can say you're full. Half the plate is less suspicious than saying you're dying to have a snack for the past half an hour and not touching the plate.
It's just a little, please.
Why can't I then?
Stupid, stupid.
Stupid. Shouldn't have ordered so much. Shouldn't have even mentioned being hungry.
Better yet, shouldn't have come.
"Dude, are you alright?"
Great, now he noticed. Great job, Agreste.
What did we say about talking to ourselves like that? There, there, don't worry. It's not your fault. What did we learn? Some days are better than others, and that's fine.
Adrien felt himself get teary eyed at those words.
"Adrien? Are you okay?"
Maybe switching from a ghost-pale, blank expression to almost crying wasn't such a good idea.
It had been months since the last time it had happened. Months since any of those thoughts had crossed his mind in the slightest, months since the last time he wanted to run away the moment he saw a waiter approaching with whatever mindless order he had come up.
Months. So why did it have to happen exactly that day? It could have been at home, when Nathalie had him approach the long empty table, made for dozens yet seemed to be lifeless, apart from himself.
Could have been at lunch, only with Nino, when he could simply excuse himself and run to the bathroom, hiding until he felt the fear in his mind go away or the bell rang, whatever happened first.
It had to be with the four of them, in a crowded room. Where nosy paparazzi would surely be waiting outside if anyone recognized him, and he would make the headlines. It wasn't something he wanted, or needed to see.
No. No. No. It can't be happening now.
What had he learned his exercises for? What had all those months of therapy been for? It couldn't all go to waste. Think.
I don't have to earn my food. I am good enough for it. No one should make me feel bad for wanting to eat.
Why did it feel so hard to believe? It was so simple, yet it felt like it would never end. Why was he so afraid of a simple plate of pasta? He fel his own voice speaking from within the back of his mind. How many calories does that thing have? You shouldn't be having it. You already have a "normal" diet. If you want to keep on ruining your image, there you go. By the time of the next photoshoot, they'regoing to have to re measure you. All of that work for nothing. You will ruin your father's brand. All of his hard work, ruined, thrown away because you were too weak to keep yourself in shape.
No. Simply no.
The dame obnoxiously loud voice kept talking.
Well, if you want to be like that, go ahead. Go ahead, but make up for it. You decide how. Whatever you do, make sure to have all that gross thing out of your system. Go ahead."
Why did it keep on getting worse?
From what felt far, far away, he felt his friends' voices getting louder.
"Adrien?"
His name.
"Adrien?"
There was it, again.
"Hey, look at me." Marinette's soft voice seemed to be directed at him.
"I am going to grab your hands, alright?"
She did as she said. Her touch on his skin felt cold.
"Do you remember the grounding techniques?"
Of course he did. The thing was, his mind was far too crowded for anything else to fit in there. The voice... It was overwhelming. Took too much space. Made him try to count. He had promised to himself, no more counting.
No more counting. No more counting. No more...
Tomatoes. How many?
No. No counting. Marinette. Focus.
Marinette was in front of her. She was better than counting.
No more counting.
"I... I can't."
"Alright, alright. Let's try something else."
He couldn't really think of something else.
Behind Marinette, Alya and Nino looked concerned.
It wasn't the first time he saw that look on his friend's face. All the times he had told Nino he couldn't share am ice cream with him, a cookie, that he couldn't have lunch at his place because he wasn't allowed to, it was the same look.
He didn't want to see it anymore. He hadn't sen it in months.
But here he was. Here they were.
"Do you think you can remember what made you feel like this?"
Oh, he could. The seats. The waiter. The order. That simple plate of pasta.
The time he had been instructed not to. Not to have it.
It had been long since he had had pasta.
The last time had been... He couldn't remember. It had been before that, that was sure.
He loved pasta. He loved spaghetti. What had happened? Better question, as he knew the entire story. Why? Why had he been not only not called out for it, but praised for all the damage he did on himself? At photoshoots, his photographers, his tailors, everyone complimented the way his cheekbones became more prominent with every passing day. At home, his father did nothing but compliment his new figure. Told him to try and keep it up. Why?
"The pasta... I really wanted to have it."
He broke into silent tears.
It was so silly, how that simple tiny dish made him go back to everything he had avoided for months.
"I'm sorry, I keep on worrying you all for nothing..."
Nino stopped him. "Dude, it wasn't nothing. It was anything but nothing. We're here to help you anytime, you know."
Alya nodded. "Remember what they told you, it wasn't going to be a straight line. Push backs are completely fine, and if you relapse, we're here to get you back on track again."
Marinette let go of his hands, only when he let go of hers. "Do you want to try it again?"