AN: I hope you enjoy this! I didn't put in everything I wanted to put in, but I don't want to rush the story either uwu There will be more timeskips from now on, and a lot more drama. There may be more than 10 chapters, depending on how things map out. There are a couple more things I really want to put in, so we'll have to see~ Anyway, I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think?


Two weeks.

It had only been two weeks since the doctor's appointment, but the difference was obvious. Arthur was currently at work, Wednesday being Francis' day off. The Frenchman slept in, always seeming much more tired. His nightmares and insomnia hardly affected him any more, and he was always too tired for anything more passionate than kissing. He regularly slept for more than eight hours, sometimes skipping dinner to sleep. Of course, Arthur knew he did that on purpose.

Since Arthur left for work early, Francis awoke alone. He showered, leaving the water running for ten minutes so he didn't have to see his reflection. He had taken to showering with his eyes shut, ignoring his body the best he could. As he stepped out, he bundled a towel round him, hiding from his own form for as long as he could, only to scrutinise it later.

He brushed through his long hair, sighing as yet more handfuls fell out. He dropped them into the bin, frowning at his hair brush. He had emptied it yesterday... How was it coated in fine hair so quickly?! He glanced up, noticing the small baby hairs dusting his hairline, his parting seeming slightly... Wider. He dropped the hairbrush in shock, a hand covering his mouth. His eyes drank in his reflection, and he realised. He was hideous. His skin was dull and almost grey, fingernails tinted purple. His jumper swamped him, making him seem tiny. His skin was covered in goosebumps, baby hairs sprouting and coating his skin. His eyes filled with tears. Both at how awful and ill he looked, and how he still wasn't thin enough. His legs were still thick, the muscle standing out against his skin. He had lost around four more pounds, making that ten in total.

Not enough, not yet. It needed to be less... But not eating and exercising wasn't working fast enough. He sat on the edge of the bed, turning away from the mirror and biting his lip. He felt sick - he really, honestly felt sick. He could feel the few bites of bread he had eaten sticking in his throat, settling in his stomach. At the thought, his stomach lurched, and he ran to their en-suite bathroom. He hunched over the toilet, the contents of his stomach pouring out of his mouth.

He shuddered, feeling the sting in his throat and mouth. He sat down, flushing the toilet and wiping his mouth as he trembled. Slumping against the bath, Francis thought. He felt awful, more than usual, but now... He felt empty, light and airy. A slight, slow smile spread over his face. He hated being sick, but maybe this was it...? He could have the food he craved oh so much, and then just get rid of it. Of course, he would only have a little of the bad food, just in case. But if he got rid of it fast enough, then it wouldn't hurt him. It wouldn't make him hideous.

Standing up, he chuckled to himself. That was the answer. He rinsed out his mouth, before heading downstairs to take care of the household chores that had built up. It was 12pm, and he wasn't allowed to eat until 6pm that night. He had a lot of distracting himself to do.


The doctor called that night, just after Arthur had his dinner. Of course, Francis had four crackers. After all, they were barely more than air, especially when he had them plain with some water. He kept his eyes on the table, ignoring the scathing glare that his boyfriend was giving him. It was his body, after all. Surely, as an adult, he could do what he wanted?

When the doctor called, Francis was curled up under a thick blanket, legs draped over Arthur's lap as he read. The Englishman answered the phone, face falling as he heard the news. He ended the conversation quickly, before turning to his lover.

"Francis."

"Oui?" The blond looked up at him, meeting the other's concerned gaze.

"The doctor wants to see us tomorrow. At 4pm. I'll have to leave work early, and so will you. He said its serious."

"... Okay. I'll meet you there." Francis replied quietly, feeling his heart sink. He turned his face away, trying not to show the simultaneous fear and disappointment that must be etched on his face. No. The doctor had been an idiot and made an unnecessary diagnosis, and was going to try to stop Francis from doing what he needed to do. He needed to be thin; it was the only way he could be beautiful enough for his boyfriend. Once he got thin, he'd eat properly and take care of himself; his hair would grow back, his skin would look better and everyone - everyone - would love him.

That's how it worked, right?