The night before the last UN meeting, America and Britain were eating at a diner. It had become a common ritual at this point to try somewhere new in New York before each meeting, and most of the time America didn't regret it. This time was different.

The portions at this restaurant were small, which he was glad for because he didn't have to hear Britain complaining about how big American portions were. However, the food was also rather bland— it was easily the least interesting meal he'd had in a few years, and that evening he walked out thirty-five dollars less rich and a bit more disgruntled than usual. He had felt forced to eat during the meal, mostly because he had to pay for it and it was already too small to bother to take with him, so he was more full than usual. On the way home, he thought about forcing himself to throw it up, but traffic was bad that night and by the time he got home he had decided it was already too late to really matter.

When he was preparing to take a shower that night, he happened to check himself in the mirror. Usually he tried not to, but he was already feeling rather down, and naturally what he saw reflected that. Normally his stomach might have been flat against him, but after the meal it was… considerably less flat. America knew it was just because he'd had a full meal, and the bloating really wasn't that bad, but it was disturbing to look at. It caught him off guard, that was all— but in the midst of his daring, adventurous "recovery", he couldn't help thinking of it as a bad sign.

…

The very next day, it became abundantly clear that he was falling back into his eating disorder (or rather, an eating disorder).

The day actually started off alright, but the UN conference troubled him. While he had accomplished more than almost everyone else in the room, he had been unfortunate enough to come of age in an era of globalization (something he was only made more aware of by the UN). The bygone powers of western Europe— his most similar peers, aside from Canada— always felt that America should not be allowed to relax, that he was not meeting his full potential and was relatively useless as a result. Simply put, the other nations thought of him as lazy, and they had no qualms with telling him exactly that. This meeting was no different.

Usually America might not have cared about what the other nations thought, but lately his boss had been calling him lazy. Even his landlord, an old woman who he sometimes did lawn work for, had criticized him for being less productive than usual. They were right, anyway; recently he'd been feeling idle, unmotivated and overworked. Sitting at the meeting, America couldn't remember the last time he was able to just stay home and relax, but it seemed abundantly clear just then that the world had no appreciation for his endless tinkering or his ceaseless running of errands— perhaps it was just that he was not doing enough, then.

Combined with the meal from the night before, only one conclusion was rational at to America at the time: he relapse. At the time, he had reasoned it would help him prove to himself that he was not lazy; if everyone else was right about him, then surely a diet was the solution. A diet would prove he was disciplined, disciplined enough to stick to particular numbers and habits and avoid slacking— or it would help him increase the control he so needed. The only thing was, his diets were always so extreme…

It really, really did seem sensible at the time. He had been long enough into "recovery" that he had forgotten just how bad things could get, and anyway, recovery obviously hadn't been working. Maybe he just wanted an excuse.

That night, as he was driving home, he brainstormed ways to avoid eating for the rest of the night— he could read, or actually start his research on international issues at a decent time for once, or if all else failed he could just sleep. Didn't sleep sound better than eating anyway? He'd had breakfast that morning, but when had he last gotten eight hours?

In the end, he was too busy to nap when he got back from the meeting, and he couldn't resist temptations for very long; instead of beating himself up for it, because this absolutely was not going to be like last time, he told himself he'd fast the next day and then went to sleep.

…

"You're not going to eat?" Britain asked him. A week had passed since the UN conferences, and America was in London over business. They always ate together when they got the chance.

"Nope. I'm not feeling that well," America lied, but right now he didn't feel as clever as he used to.

"Well, you should probably eat something. Our meeting is going to rather long."

"I'll just eat something during if I get hungry, Britain. It's really not a big deal."

That night, too, he ate when he got home— but of course, he would fast the next day…

…

The next day, the second and final day America was staying for that trip, Britain questioned him about not eating. Again, America told him he was not feeling well; this time, Britain just stared at him in response.

Why are you staring at me like that? America wanted to ask, but he figured that would sound too defensive. Instead he said, "Fuck yourself, man. I've— I've, uh, gotta go see my boss about something," and left. He was sure, then, that Britain knew.

"And after that?" Britain asks him.

"Yeah. It was, uh, whatever. N-Nothing to really say after that," America tells him, tapping his foot against the floor.

"You said you'd tell the truth, America. I don't mean to pry, but I think it would do you some good to lay it all out. Don't you agree?"

"I don't."

Britain huffs and changes the subject. They talk about international affairs and John Steinbeck and Adele and whoever else they can think of, just like they used to, for another ten minutes before Britain excuses himself.

A/N: I'm going to be honest famsquads— I don't know when the next chapter is going to be out (hopefully soon). I just really feel the need to get as much writing as possible off my computer, so I'll probably be wrapping up and publishing a few stories/chapters in the next couple days. I've been meaning to write more multi-chapter pieces, as I find them much easier than one-shots, so that's probably what the majority of my pieces will look like for the next couple weeks/months.

A review would be much appreciated. Have a great day and stay safe.