Stop Calling me That (mcyt + ftm reader) -Book 1/2-

-30-

((Just realized I've never given a timeline to this book, so uh... it starts out April/May or early summer (2020) and at this point it's probably like January 2021? Online school but since I haven't mentioned it during the trip let's pretend rn is during winter break))

((Warnings: ed, references to purging and over exercise, calorie counting, fear foods, anxiety attack, body checking, seriously a lot of calorie stuff, disordered thoughts, food, eating, heavy teasing, deadnaming, vomit, nausea))

((As per usual these days, there is a recap at the end. If you gotta skip it's ok))

Phil POV

That fucking moron. Phil sighed, although it was almost a laugh. Wilbur could be a bit stupid sometimes, but a part of him had always found it endearing. Of course, he was concerned. He knew that both of Wil's... less than healthy activities were highly dehydrating, but forgetting to drink water under the pressure was just so like him.

He opened the cupboard, a resounding creak echoing through the kitchen and startling Tubbo, who hadn't yet noticed he was there.

"Oh! Hi, Phil!" he shouted, trying to play it off as if he hadn't jumped. Phil snickered but didn't call him out on it, just waving back before turning to the cupboard, pausing at the sight before him.

"Why the fuck," he muttered in true Phil-fashion.

Tubbo hummed as he spun around, trying to see what Phil did.

"He's got all his cups on the top shelf," he spoke as he looked back at Tubbo. And damn, was it a high shelf. He could've reached some cups near the front, but they were all closer to the back. Wilbur probably could've managed it.

"I got it!" Tubbo marched over with a look of intense determination in his eyes. He pressed both palms against the counter and was up on the edge before Phil knew what was happening. He stood on his knees, reaching up and grabbing a tall glass which he passed behind his back to Phil. Just as quickly as he got up there, he was back down, landing hard on his feet with a resounding thump.

"Huh, thanks mate," Phil stared at the cup, still processing. He filled it and cracked open the freezer to drop a few ice chunks in, hoping that would numb the sore throat a bit. He gathered the rest of what he had come to get and went back to where Wil was.

He saw y/n shifting uncomfortably but ignored it for the time being, electing to focus on Wilbur. His son needed him. His stress was clear from his posture, hunched over and tensed as he was, picking at the lint on his pants. Phil knew why immediately: he never ate lunch. (Not when he relapsed, anyway.)

He sat down and pulled Wil into him gently, rubbing his shoulder. Wil sighed, leaning over onto him as he gratefully took the water, taking a sip before thanking Phil.

"After this we'll stick to the water rule better, right now this is more important. And Wil... No matter what happens, I'm proud of you. It's going to be ok," he whispered.

Kind of Wilbur POV

Wilbur took the pills quickly and tugged the wrapper off of the cough drop. He'd recognized the wrapper immediately as the brand Phil had bought him earlier on into his recovery; Only five calories and surprisingly effective.

He fought the urge to chew it into tiny little pieces, wanting to make it last as long as possible. Whether that was a lasting habit from restriction or a result of his sore throat was anyone's guess.