running on empty

16 // Omelet.

He'd gained weight.

It wasn't as big of a deal as he thought it would be, in all honesty. The long hours he spent in front of the mirror poking and prodding at his skin might attest to that, but as fucked as it was, the amount of time had still cut down from Before.

He liked to just pass it off as getting re-familiarized with his body. His actual body, with proportions he didn't exaggerate. Marking it down as a step on the way to eating healthier.

The scale still mocked him, though.

For as much as he'd have liked to say he liked the weight gain, liked how he looked, liked looking healthy, it wouldn't have been completely honest. There was still a small part of him - a small, obsessive part, hell-bent on ruining his life and getting him to open the dieting app he hadn't quite deleted on his phone - that kept reminding him of his shame. Kept reminding him how recovery was hard - from random mood swings to struggling with most of his meals on a bad day to wanting to isolate himself and relapse again and again - it was fucking awful.

Most nights it took all of his energy to stop thinking about the months of suffering it took to get him to the weight he had been, and how that had been reversed in mere weeks. Most times even all of his energy wasn't enough.

So, on a particularly good day, Ethan picked up his phone, contemplated deleting the app and all of his measurements and photos for good, and called Mark.

The dial tone rang for a split second before the other man picked up. "Suh, dude?"

Laughing at his shitty fuckboy accent, Ethan nodded back, throwing up a peace sign of his own. "Suh, dude. Wanted to ask you something."

Mark hummed, busying himself with something offscreen - probably absent-mindedly clearing some clutter off of his desk now that his hands were free. "Shoot."

"I was wondering if you, uh, wanted to get lunch with me? Today."

Almost immediately, Mark whipped towards his phone, eyebrows raised as he stared just below the camera. There was something about his expression Ethan couldn't place - surprise? Hope, maybe? Before he could ask, though, Mark spoke up. "Wait, like a -"

"Like an actual lunch, yeah." Still nervous over admitting he had normal bodily functions like hunger, he scratched at the back of his neck. "Where I... eat. Anyway, you busy today? I was thinkin' we could swing by that one café we found, with the old-ass jukebox."

Mark nodded enthusiastically, something that made a little bit of pride swell inside Ethan for choosing to eat that day, and grinned. "Yes, yeah, of course! I'd love to."

"Great, great! I'll, uh, meet you there at one?"

"Sounds great."

-

Mark looked nice.

And not nice like he normally does - like, holy shit, stop in your tracks and shoot off a quick incomprehensible text to your friend kind of nice.

He stared a little too long, when he first sat down at the booth. Mark had caught his eye, giving him a shy smile, and he kind of wanted to die a little in that moment.

There wasn't even a noticeable difference, really. His clothes might've been a little nicer than normal, and his hair looked like it had some effort put into it, rather than his usual style - finger combing and hoping for the best - but there wasn't one thing that Ethan could pin down as the culprit. So, he made a shitty joke and brushed it off, in a classic Ethan move.

Eventually they had gotten over that awkward little bump, and any others that had arisen in those first few minutes. There seemed to be a lot, for some reason. Half-smiles and skittering glances. It was a lot to deal with, coming from someone he could usually read like the back of his hand.