#You need therapy for your eating disorder and you read a summary of the bell jar once while listening to lana del rey get a grip

[movietonight]

There are few things I find more annoying than the coquette girlblogger crowd

[babyboy-cody]

‘ ‘ chapter | 01 ’ ’

complex desires. ( prologue ) ( masterlist )

SUMMARY: It’s the first week of classes after winter break, but you’re not exactly used to seeing new faces - teachers and students in between.

WARNINGS: explicit language, mentions of mental disorders, anxious thoughts, anxiety attack

WORD COUNT: 2.8k

NOTES: i’m currently writing this chapter while drinking a big ass mug of hot cocoa. also, hunter’s pronouns are they/them! this series is one i’m most excited for. hope you kiddies enjoy <3

It was still early when the clouds gave off their rain to the grass and trees, when the road became alive with more splashes than your eyes could appreciate. Yet together they brought such a soothing sound, a natural melody every bit as beautiful as a mother's soulful hum. You felt each splash that touched your skin, watching as your cardigan become a deeper, more rocky hue. It was as if earlier the street had been a matte photograph, only to be washed as glossy as any magazine page.

Each raindrop is a kaleidoscope, if people could only see more closely. You wonder as you walk how it would be to stop time, to suspend this watery gift and peek through each one. Perhaps it would be fun to sit inside those raindrops and take that gravity propelled ride to the earth, as you imagine it you feel your inner self laughing – a little at the crazy daydream and a little at your own silliness. You see the rain beads upon the cars, upon each leaf and washing your outstretched fingers. Soon they will pull together, forming the puddles, opening up a whole new avenue of rain-related fun. Perhaps it isn't normal to love a rainy day so much, but who cares about normal anyway? You’re pretty sure "normal" is a made up thing.

Upon the umbrella come the playful sounds of dancing drops, and from it's rim comes the sight of their more relaxed cousins, dripping as if their soul purpose was to bring a sense of ease and calm to the day. And as the rain became more intense, it began to soak the bottom of each dark blue jean leg, deepening the denim to a stronger hue, bringing your brown boots to a glossy water-shine, becoming a kind of natural cocoon.

Each raindrop is a doorway into nature's heart, an invitation of sorts, a request for your soul to rejoin creation. In the rain there is a serenity, a sense of peace that offers to resonate with the peaceful elements of the soul. Walking among those drops is your meditation, a way to fully become present in the moment, a way to feel free.

There was a vibration coming to life in the back pocket of your jeans, cutting you out of your peaceful daydream in the rain. You stepped to the side to allow a cyclist to pass by and gave him a brief smile when he nodded his head in thanks. When you pulled out your phone to read the contact, you instantly smiled when seeing Mickey’s name on the screen.

“Okay, first off, hello. Second off, where the hell are you? Me and Hunter – okaayy – Hunter and I have been in the cafeteria since 7:15 in the goddamn morning,” she immediately went off as soon as you put the phone to your ear. “Also, did you take your meds today? My alarm went off as a reminder.”

“First off, hi back, Mick. Second off, it’s been 15 minutes and I’m five minutes away from the school. It’s fine if we don’t have breakfast today just once,” you laughed as you heard her scoff. “And thirdly, yes mom, I did take my meds. I actually have to get another refill for my BPD meds. Thank you for asking.”

“Yeah, yeah. Well, you better hurry. We have the last of your favorite yogurt and Hunter’s close to eating the damn thing,” you heard Mickey laugh as she shushes her significant other. “Also, be careful coming around the usual entrance. The school is doing some bogus construction to add a statue of the principal.”

“You’re shitting me!” You exclaimed, earning a dirty glare from a tiny senior citizen as she slowly walks passed you with her small cane. “What the hell did this prick do to earn that? Also, can you grab me a fruit cup too? I’ve been craving kiwi’s for some odd reason.”

“Well, he’s wicked rich and can basically do anything in this school and get away with it, literally. And there’s no fruit cups today, but there’s a bag of sliced apples and tangerine slices,” Mickey told you as she huffed, which you assume is her getting out of her seat to go back to the assortment of breakfast foods. “Ooh, there’s bagels too. I think they just added these.”

“Jesus Christ, this statue is stupid as hell,” you groaned and stood in front of the half built statue, your principal’s name on a gold plated plaque attached to the marble. “This guy really needs an ego boost, huh? And just tangerine slices then. I’m heading inside.”

“Alright, see you soon, baby doll.” She annoyingly kisses into the phone as you snorted and rolled your eyes at her antics.

Sliding your phone back into your pocket, you stood outside the entrance doors and shook the leftover raindrops from your yellow umbrella before closing it. You inhaled the fresh rain water for one last time before grasping onto the freezing cold and disgustingly wet doorknob and pulling it open to head inside. There was a small litter of students here and there; some reading new announcements on the bulletin board in the main hall; some sitting in the lounging chairs with laptops or textbooks open on their laps; some sitting on the ground with a half empty bottle of water beside their laps and phones in their hands, headphones in their ears. You terribly, annoyingly, and oddly missed this. You missed the bustle of students laughing and running down the halls. You missed it all, even if it has been two weeks.

You hear loud chatter coming from just ahead, so you know you’re about to enter the cafeteria area. Just as you’re about to do so, you stop in your tracks in front of a bulletin board. There were a few posters for new clubs, as well as study groups, upcoming announcements, room changes, and more. But one that really struck out to you was a new story writing group, specifically for writers or English majors. You felt a burst of excitement spread throughout your chest and settle into the pit of your stomach. You made sure to take a quick photo of the sheet beforr moving on into the cafeteria.

Almost immediately, you spotted Hunters straight platinum blonde hair and fiery streaks on one side while the other was icy blue. Sitting in front of them was Mickey, her hair curly and unruly, making you wonder if she rolled out of bed, threw some clothes on, and called it a day. You felt your cheek mucles twitch as your lips pulled up into a bright smile. Hunter was the first to notice you. They looked up at you passed Mickey’s shoulder and smiled so brightly that it made you reciprocate. They adorned bright orange eyeshadow with white eyeliner, making their eyes pop out even more. You loved how they didn’t cake on makeup, they kept it simple, yet so drop dead gorgeous.

“There she is, the man of the hour,” they announced and got up from their seat to pull you in for a warm, tight hug. “I missed you so much. I’m so sorry for not messaging you the entire break. We didn’t have any service whatsoever.” There was a crestfallen look on Hunter’s face and you held their cheeks so they wouldn’t look away.

“Look at me, don’t stress about it, okay? Did you at least have fun?” They nodded with a pout. You grinned and gave their forehead a kiss before pulling them in for another hug.

“Okay, first you’re late. And now you’re stealing my person. I see how it is,” Mickey smirked as you gave her the bird behind Hunter’s back as you both pulled away from the hug. “Hi Y/N.”

“Hi Michelle,” you responded in the same tone as you sat in an empty chair around the table. “Give me my tangerine, please.” She passed you the small cup of tangerine slices with a grin when you began eating them.

“You been eating three times a day?” She asked you, looking at you through her mane of curls rather than pushing her hair away. You shrugged and kept your eyes on the half empty cup in your hands. “Y/N..”

“I’m doing it little by little, Mick. And I’m starting to drink water too,” you blushed and laughed softly when her and Hunter began praising you. Praise was something you weren’t used to, but hearing it every now and then really gave you butterflies. “It’s nothing..”

“Are you kidding me?” Hunter laughed and reached over to lay a hand over yours. “This is amazing. This is progress and we’re both so very proud of you.”

“You’ve come a long way,” Mickey lightly bumped your shoulder with her knuckles as Hunter pulled away. “You should do a meal plan like I did when I had to get my weight back up, so that way you don’t forget to eat three times a day.”

“I don’t know.. I don’t exactly have the funds to buy a lot of groceries. I had to use over $100 of my food stamps cause almost everything in my kitchen was old,” you huffed and popped another tangerine slice into your mouth. “Plus, I’ve been busy with finding a job and paying for my therapy appointments and doing school work, and it’s all so fucking overwhelming.”

The first bell rang, signaling students to begin their walk to class with only a few more minutes to spare. You grabbed your shoulder bag and stood beside Mickey while she held onto Hunter’s hand. The three of you passed by a swarm of students; freshman’s and sophomores running by to get to the lecture halls early; juniors having their books and laptops already out and pressed to their chests; seniors loitering in the halls with their friends. Thankfully, you, Hunter, and Mickey had your first English class together.

“How about this?” Mickey began. “Hunter and I will help pay for your groceries.” She hushed you as you began to lightly protest. “Listen, you already got a lot on your plate. I’d be a really shitty best friend if I allowed you to deal with all that. So every week, we’re gonna swing by your place to drop off some stuff, okay? I’ll create a meal plan for you with your favorites, so that way we’re taking that worry for money off your back.”

“Mick, you don’t have to do that for me. Like I said, I’ll find a way,” you mumbled and shrugged as you walked up the long staircase to head up to the lecture halls. “I couldn’t do that to you guys.”

“Y/N,” Hunter stopped you three in the middle of the hallway. “We care about you and we don’t want you going down that negative route alone. We both have jobs and enough money to cover Mickey and I, and it’ll seriously make me the happiest if you let us do this, please.”

“Two more minutes until class begins,” the voiceover on the speaker spoke.

“Fine,” you sighed, feeling a smile pull your lips as you all continued walking to the English room. “I love you both. And I’m very grateful for you to do this for me.”

“We know,” Mickey told you as she kissed your cheek obnoxiously, causing you to groan and Hunter to laugh. “But in all seriousness, don’t be a stranger to asking, okay?”

You nodded and gave her a reassuring smile as you made your up the steps to your seats in the bottom middle row. Mickey sat in between you and Hunter as more students filled the class. There was light chatter and soft clatter as seats were pulled down and the folding desks were pulled up. You set your bag between your feet, being cautious of not getting it dirty from your boots. Pulling out your spiral notebook that had four sections, you neatly wrote the course name, your name, and the date. Nervously clicking your pen, you tried to block out the noise that had started to get a little too loud. Nibbling on your bottom lip to distract yourself, your feet began tapping on its own while you tapped your pen on your book. Mickey and Hunter were having a conversation of their own, so they didn’t notice the early signs of a small anxiety attack.

An invisible hand clasps over your mouth; an equally ghostly hypodermic of adrenaline pierces your heart, unloading in an instant. You feel your ribs heaving as if bound by ropes, straining to inflate your lungs. Your head is a carousel of fears spinning out of control, each one pushing your mind into blackness. You want to run; you need to freeze. Sounds that were near feel far away, like you’re no longer in the body that sits paralyzed in the cold seat. Your breath comes out in rapid, shallow breaths as you shake your head at yourself.

“No, no, no,” you harshly whisper as your bobbing knee gets almost frantic.

You felt the panic begin like a cluster of spark plugs in your abdomen. Tension grew your her face and limbs, your mind replaying the last attack. You held onto the sides of your head, your elbows digging into the hardness of your desk. Your only movement was the trembling of your limbs and salty tears darkening your sleeves. There you stayed, unaware of the numerous eyes watching you until Mickey turned and noticed your frantic state.

“Shit,” she hissed and slung her arm across your desk as the other wrapped around your shoulders. “I’m here, Y/N. It’s okay.. sshhh.. I’m right here.” She noticed a few students staring, to which she narrowed her eyes and snarled, “What the fuck are you looking at, dipshits?!” They immediately looked away after being caught. She turned her attention back on you. “What’s going on, huh?” Her voice was soft and soothing as she smoothed her hand down your hair.

“It-It’s so.. loud,” you hiccuped and covered your face even more when a sob escaped your lips, spit flying onto your hands as you felt your neck, cheeks, and ears heat up out of embarrassment and shame. “I can’t stop it, Mick. I-I can’t!”

Hunter sat on the other side of you, reaching down to get your back, shuffling their hand inside to pull out your earplugs and inhaler. They handed the earplugs fo Mickey while pressing the opening of the inhaler to your lips. “Come on, babe,” they quietly told you and tucked a few strands of hair behind your ears, lightly blowing on your flushed skin to cool it down. “There we go,” they gently said when you took two deep puffs of your inhaler while Mickey made sure your earplugs were snug inside your ears. You felt your lungs open up as the cold, bitter medicine settled on your tongue.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper and shook your head, wiping away the last of your tears. You sniffled and looked at Mickey and Hunter. “I-I don’t know what happened.. it just... happened.”

“It’s always unexplained, but don’t be sorry for something you can’t control, okay?” Mickey told you firmly while making sure you were looking into her eyes. “This doesn’t make you any less of a person.”

Hunter smiled and sat your bag back between your feet before moving to their seat next to Mickey. All the students had settled down, their conversations now a quiet murmur. You felt relieved as you pulled your earplugs out and slid them inside your protective case, making sure the lid was closed tight before shoving it into your bag. Mickey kept an eye on you the entire time, making sure no one triggered you. She sat with an elbow resting on the back her chair with her legs lightly spread.

“You’re man-spreading,” you quietly told her, laughing quietly when she flipped you off.

Suddenly, the metal doors opened and a man hurriedly walks in with an expensive looking leather messenger back over his shoulder. Your lips parted and you sat up straight in your seat when he gave the class a guilty smile. You’ve never seen him in the school. Not even before break. He must’ve been in a different department and just got transferred to the English center. He deeply intrigued you. You noticed the other girls in the class twirling their hair in a cliché way with the tips of their pens between their teeth. He wore all black, and it was so very different compared to what other professors wore. There was no sweater vest or button up shirt. He just wore a comfortable and soft looking black sweater with black jeans and black boots. His dirty blonde - almost brunette - hair was perfectly styled. He looked devastatingly handsome.

“Hello, my name is Professor Shepherd and I’m going to be your English teacher for the rest of the semester. Professor Winifred recently had her baby during winter break and shall be back for the next semester,” he gave another knee-weakening grin as he clapped his hands together. “Shall we get started?”

[timeoutforthee]

Like it or Not-Chapter 21

Taglist: @itsausernamenotafobsong, @sea-blue-child, @iaminmultiplefandoms, @princeanxious, @uwillbeefoundtonight, @zaidiashipper, @arandompasserby, @levyredfox3, @falsett0, @error-i-dunno-what-went-wrong, @scrapbookofsketches, @podcastsandcoffee, @helloisthisusernametaken, @amuthefunperson, @michealawithana, @yamihatarou, @heck-im-lost, @unlikelynightmareconnoisseur, @idkaurl, @bubblycricket, @fnp-alizay, @neonbluetiefling, @comicsimpson, @a-little-bit-of-ace

Summary: Logan, Patton, Roman, and Virgil are all struggling in their recovery. Their doctors, Thomas Sanders and Emile Picani think they can help each other out.

Aka Group Therapy AU

Trigger Warnings:  Remus, disturbing imagery, reference to suicide

Read it on AO3!

“Today, we start a new chapter,” Mr. Hurley announces at the front of the room.

Roman lifts his head up from where it was resting on his desk. He was definitely not thinking about yesterday, about what it could mean, where it meant he was going, nope, he was not thinking about any of that. Especially not now. Now, it was time to focus on theater.

“Playwriting,” his teacher continues, “is one of the most necessary parts of a theater production.”

Roman perks up even more at that. A form of storytelling? Meaning he could be a part of the theater and not be seen at the same time?

“I know you guys have been brainstorming for a few weeks,” Mr. Hurley says, “Today I want you to get with a partner and discuss your ideas. You will be working with this partner to write a play, which then will be performed in December. To really push your creativity, I’m going to be assigning the partners.”

Mr. Hurley starts calling out some names, and the desks around him start shifting.

“Roman and Remus,” Mr. Hurley says.

Roman must have heard him wrong, from all the chairs squeaking. There was no way his partner was-

But then he heard a laugh from next to him, and he turned to see Remus Duke sitting next to him.

“Oh, isn’t this exciting?” Remus asks.

“So what were you brainstorming?” Roman says, immediately cutting to the point.

“I was thinking we could do an offbeat story. Something that will really leave an impression on the audience.”

“A good impression, right?”

“Sure,” Remus says, in a voice that says he couldn’t care less what kind of impression it was, as long as it was an impression. “So I was thinking we could play with more mature themes.”

“Like what?” Roman is dreading the answer.

“I want to start off with an affair. A man catches his wife cheating with his best friend. So he goes to his other friends searching for support, but they all side with his friend-”

“Why...why would they do that?”

“I don’t know, you could figure that part out,” Remus says, “So he’s alone and unwanted so he pours gasoline over his head-”

“Whoa, whoa, what?”

“Yeah, and then he takes a match-”

“Does he survive?”

“Survive? Of course not, he set himself on fire!”

“Why?” Roman brings his hand to his forehead, “Why would you-what made you-you know what? Forget it. No.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ve been brainstorming for a while. I’ve got plenty of ideas.”

“Do you have any ideas that are less-”

“Demented?”

“...well, you said it, not me.”

“No,” Remus huffs, “People need to be challenged, Roman.”

“Challenging people and telling people’s stories honestly is one thing,” Roman counters, “Telling a story because you think it’ll get a reaction is another.”

“Oh, what’s the difference?” Remus says, “It’s the same story in the end.”

“No, it’s not,” Roman thinks back to all the times he’s read a story that claims to represent him and finds out it’s just mocking him, “Just-trust me.”

“Wow, a very compelling argument,” Remus deadpans, “You can’t write off any idea that isn’t your own, Roman.”

“That’s not what I’m trying to do!”

“Really? Because it sure seems like it to me.”

“Okay, fine, what are some other ideas you have?”

“I want to write a Thanksgiving story-”

“Okay, that sounds nice-”

“About a girl with bulimia who has to suffer through the holiday.”

Suddenly, Roman can’t breathe. He’s hit with flashes of what happened, what he did to himself yesterday. How much Thanksgiving affects him. The idea of having to immerse himself in the holiday for four months while they write this story seems unbearable.

“No.”

Remus scoffs, “I knew you would shoot down every idea I had. You’re not the only creative one in this class.”

“Mr. Hurley would never let us do it,” Roman knows it may be a stretch, but it’s worth a shot.

“I am the one who stepped up and took over the role of the beast. Mr. Hurley will let me do whatever I want. Besides, it’s a small play. We don’t have to worry about pleasing suburban moms.”

“Look, we can do any idea you have, just as long as it’s not that one,” Roman says. He immediately knows he’s made a mistake by the way Remus’s face lights up.

“Any idea?” Remus twirls the ends of his fake mustache.

“Well, we can discuss-”

“I don’t think so,” Remus says, “You said any, and if you want to take it back now, I bet we could see just what Mr. Hurley thinks about the eating disorder idea. But if I had to guess, since I am his new star, he’d probably love it.”

Roman opens his mouth to respond, to figure something out, to get himself out of this somehow. But just as he does, the bell rings. Remus smirks.

“Great. I’ll pick an idea for us and bring it in tomorrow.”

^

“I hate Remus,” Roman says, sitting down at their makeshift table in Mrs. Spencer’s room.

“Hate is a strong word,” Patton says.

“Don’t care. Hate him.”

“I would support you in this but I have no idea who you’re talking about,” Virgil says.

“You might have seen him around,” Roman says, “He wears a fake mustache.”

There’s a pause before Virgil says, “What?”

Roman shrugs, “He’s worn it since freshman year. Trust me, that is the least weird thing about him.”

“He’s worn a fake…?” Virgil shakes his head, “Okay, whatever. What’s the weirdest thing about him then?”

“His obsession with sickness, his obsession with buttholes-”

“Buttholes?” Patton asks.

“His obsession with death, his obsession with everything dark and evil in the world.”

“Sometimes a story needs a little darkness,” Virgil says, shrugging.

“Not like this!” Roman says, frustrated.

“Okay, yeesh, sorry, Princey.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just…,” Roman sighs, “I have all these ideas and people don’t take them seriously because they’re...butterflies and rainbows...meanwhile they’ll take him seriously even though he’s writing everything for the shock factor. Like sorry I think stories should be a fair representation or that they shouldn’t bother at all.”

“I think that’s fair,” Logan says, “Especially dealing with sensitive subjects like death and illness. Surely you can reason with him.”

Roman barks a laugh. “Reason? With Remus? Hysterical. Hilarious. Can’t be done.”

“Sounds like you guys have had a history,” Virgil says.

“You could say that,” Roman says, “If by that you mean we’ve hated each other for years and constantly have to battle it out for the lead.”

“Plus, you guys kinda look alike-”

“No, we don’t!” Roman interrupts Patton. “Sorry, I’ve gotten that a lot.”

“So, it’s true?” Virgil asks.

Roman groans, finally grabbing his lunch and setting it on his desk. “There is a slight, small possibility that we have a tiny similarity, sort of, kind of.”

“There’s a yearbook over there, Virgil,” Mrs. Spencer speaks up, pointing to the back book shelf.

“That’s not necessary,” Roman says.

Virgil gets up and walks to the back of the room.

“What’s this guy’s last name?”

Roman sighs “Duke.”

“Duke...and Prince…?”

“Oh, shut up,” Roman says, half-heartedly.

“So, I have unfortunate news,” Virgil says, finally finding the page, “This guy looks very much like you.”

“I know!” Roman says, throwing his hands in the air. “We look alike, we talk alike, but when it comes to ideas and creativity, we couldn’t be any farther apart! He is everything I don’t want to be.”

“That’s an interesting insult,” Virgil says, shutting the book and heading back to the table.

“Less insult, more truth,” Roman says, “I just...don’t want to be so careless in my art. I want to make something people enjoy, that they want to come back to, time after time. Something classic. And he just wants...I don’t know.”

“Aw, that’s beautiful, Roman,” Patton says, “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to write happy things.”

“Yeah, it doesn’t make your art any lesser,” Logan says.

“And your ideas aren’t set in stone yet, you could use one of your’s.”

“Yeah, about that,” Roman says, taking a bite of his food. “Remus wanted to write a story about a girl who-and I quote-had to suffer through Thanksgiving.” He sees Patton’s face fall out of his peripheral vision, but he continues anyway, “I told him we could do anything as long as we didn’t do that one, and, of course, he took me seriously.”

“Is there any chance your teacher would stop it?” Logan asks.

“My teacher currently hates me and handed the role of the beast to Remus on a silver platter, I doubt it,” Roman says.

“Teachers don’t hate their students,” Mrs. Spencer speaks up again.

Roman and Virgil look skeptical but keep their mouths shut.

“Maybe you could bring something up to him if Remus’s idea is too bad,” Patton offers.

“I guess,” Roman says, “I mean, it’s not like I have anything to lose.”

[timeoutforthee]

Like it or Not-Chapter 23

Taglist: @itsausernamenotafobsong, @sea-blue-child, @iaminmultiplefandoms, @princeanxious, @uwillbeefoundtonight, @zaidiashipper, @arandompasserby, @levyredfox3, @falsett0, @error-i-dunno-what-went-wrong, @scrapbookofsketches, @podcastsandcoffee, @helloisthisusernametaken, @amuthefunperson, @michealawithana, @yamihatarou, @heck-im-lost, @unlikelynightmareconnoisseur, @idkaurl, @bubblycricket, @fnp-alizay, @neonbluetiefling, @comicsimpson, @a-little-bit-of-ace

Summary: Logan, Patton, Roman, and Virgil are all struggling in their recovery. Their doctors, Thomas Sanders and Emile Picani think they can help each other out.

Aka Group Therapy AU

Trigger Warnings:  Remus, referenced fictional murder, referenced bingeing/purging, therapy session

Read it on AO3!

Roman had marched into class earlier, fully prepared to demand a new partner as soon as Remus started speaking. Now, he was staring at his rival with an open mouth. This is not how he was planning for this to go, at all.

“Run that by me,” Roman finally says, “One more time.”

“I want to write a play,” Remus says, drawing out his words obnoxiously slow, “About a man interviewing several monsters to find out which one killed him. Each monster will be a representation of a mental illness.”

“That…” Roman stares at him, still shocked, “....that’s okay?”

“Oh my God, has it happened?” Remus asks a fake audience, “Has Roman Prince gotten the stick out of his ass?”

“We’ll have to be careful,” Roman hurries to amend, “I mean, we’re dealing with representation and we don’t want to offend anyone, but it’s doable.”

“Nope!” Remus says, “It is still jammed up there.”

“Do you want us to do your idea or not?” Roman counters.

Remus laughs. “If I recall correctly, we don’t have a choice about that.”

“Anyway,” Roman says, glossing over that particular detail, “What are your ideas? Who is this man? Who are the monsters?”

“Oh!” Remus says, immediately lighting up, and pulling a sketchbook from his backpack, “I have sketches! Monsters with two faces for bipolar disorder, a monster covered in cuts-”

“See, that’s an example of what we’re not going to do,” Roman interrupts.

“Roman,” Remus says, huffing, “Don’t you want to explore something deeper than your usual fairytales?”

“Don’t you want to come up with something a bit more original?”

That catches Remus off guard, and his face falls, He looks down at his sketchbook.

“You’re the best costume designer the Theater department has,” Roman says. It kills him to admit, but even he knows it’s true, “I’m sure you can come up with something.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Remus says, sighing. “Now, this guy…” ^

“How’d your meeting go today, Roman?” Patton says, trying to sound like his normal, bubbly self. But there’s a rock in his stomach as the end of the school day is approaching, and group is quickly coming up.

“...well?” Roman says, unsure.

“It either went well or it didn’t, Roman, it isn’t a hard question,” Logan says.

“I know, I’m just...surprised,” Roman continues, “Remus actually had a good idea? And I’m...excited to elaborate on it?”

“What was it?” Virgil asks.

“A man is interviewing a group of monsters, all representative of mental illnesses, to see which one killed him.”

“That’s dark, I like it,” Virgil responds.

“Not surprised by that,” Roman says. “We’ll need to tread carefully, to make sure we don’t misrepresent anything or offend anyone, but it’s doable, right?”

“Right!” Patton says, even though he’s not exactly thrilled with the idea of monsters. Darkness wasn’t really his thing.

“Virgil and I need to start making some creative decisions as well,” Logan says, “We’ve started the creative writing chapter of the class.”

“Aren’t you guys excited?” Mrs. Spencer asks, “I always love hearing all the stories coming from my students every year!”

Virgil looks like he would have a lot to say if the teacher of the class wasn’t in the same room.

“Maybe Virgil will let us read some of his writing!” Patton says, still trying to keep his head up, “Since you want to be a novelist and everything?”

“Oh, Virgil, I didn’t know you were interested in writing!” Mrs. Spencer says.

“It’s not a big deal, really,” Virgil says, brushing it off, “I’m not very good.”

“I’m sure that’s not true, but if it is, we can always work on it,” she says before shifting focus on to her lunch.

“How’d you guys’ goals go?” Roman asks.

“Satisfactory,” Logan says, “Dr. Sanders said he wants me to start tackling the emotional side of disorder soon, but for now I accomplished my goal of eating different foods.”

“I’ve talked to my aunt more,” Virgil says, “I told her what Picani and I’ve been talking about, but not much else. I guess it’s something.” He takes a bite of his lunch. “What about-”

“Patton!” Roman says, a bit louder than necessary, “How’d yours go, Patton?”

“Oh-uh-well,” Patton thinks back to last session. With everything going on, he has completely forgotten about his original goal, “Dr. Sanders and I kinda...forgot about that part?”

“How?” Roman says.

“We were discussing...other...things,” Patton says. Oh God, everyone is starting to look at him. “I-I’ll-” he sighs. “I have something to tell you guys. Later. In group.”

They stare a little longer before Logan finally says, quietly, “Okay.”

Just then, the bell rings.

As everyone starts packing up, Patton feels a rock in his stomach. He looks around at everyone and gives them a smile. He’s going to miss them when they go.

^

“Welcome back, guys!” Dr. Sanders greets them, walking in. “How is everyone? I think Dr. Picani said something about you guys setting some goals last week, how’d those go?”

“Uh, great!” Roman says, “But Patton said he had something to tell us before we get started.”

“Oh, uh, I don’t want to derail the session,” Patton says, desperately clinging to the hope that he can get out of it.

“Don’t be silly!” Dr. Sanders said, “This is your session, you guys control what we talk about.”

“Oh...goooood…,” Patton says.

“So what is it, Pat?” Virgil asks after they’ve been sitting in silence for a while.

“You know, maybe this was silly, I didn’t mean to make a big deal out of this, it’s not really that important-”

“If it was unimportant, it’d be much easier to say,” Logan says.

“Heh, you got me there,” Patton says. He tries to bring it up in his brain, to bring the words to his mouth, but it’s getting stuck and the room is falling silent again and everyone is looking at him and thinking about how disgusting he looks and-

“Patton,” Thomas says. Patton tears his eyes away from the floor and looks up at his therapist. “Take a deep breath.” Patton does, although it’s shaky. “One more.” This one is much more steady. “Now, opposite action. Exposing the action in front of others who won’t reject you. This is a safe space.”

“Yeah, Patton, whatever it is, we won’t be, like, mad at you,” Virgil says.

“So you say,” Patton snorts, even though there’s no humor in it. He immediately regrets it when Virgil pulls back a bit, surprised and hurt. “I didn’t mean that,” he automatically says. “I just…” he takes a deep breath. “Guys, I haven’t been honest. I’ve been lying about getting better. I never stopped purging.”

The room falls silent, and a few tears escape from Patton’s eyes.

“What do you mean?” Virgil asks, quietly.

“I mean every night, I sneak down to my kitchen, I binge, then I purge. I can’t stop. I didn’t try to stop.”

“Did you think we would be mad at you for that?” Virgil asks.

“You should be mad at me for that, I’m a liar,” Patton says, “You’ve all worked so hard and come so far, and I was just...sitting here.”

“Yes,” Logan speaks up, “Sitting here in group therapy. Sitting there in individual therapy. You’re trying just as hard as we are, Patton.”

“But I can’t stop purging, that is the one thing I have to do!”

“That’s like saying the one thing I have to do is eat,” Virgil says.

“Or stop exercising,” Roman adds on.

“And we haven’t been able to do that, not quickly, not easily,” Logan says, “Of course we don’t expect you to stop just like that.”

“Generally speaking, you guys haven’t been working on this that long, and you’ve covered a lot of ground already,” Thomas says, “And your purging or bingeing is a maladaptive coping mechanism you use to deal with your emotions. You can’t just stop these behaviors, you must learn to better cope with the emotions, or else you’ll just replace them with other maladaptive coping mechanisms, such as self harm.”

Virgil’s face pales at that, but no one notices.

“You also have to stop looking at it like absolutes. ‘I haven’t stopped purging yet, so I never will.’ That’s not fair to you or the therapeutic process. You don’t have all the skills required to get to the point where you can cope.”

“I shouldn’t even need these skills,” Patton says, “I don’t…”

They all wait patiently for him to continue, and Dr. Sanders prompts him. “Patton?”

“I don’t have anything to be upset about,” Patton says. “So I don’t know why I have all these negative coping skills.”

“People don’t need a reason to be upset, necessarily,” Logan says.

“Well, yeah, if you have depression or something, but I don’t,” Patton doesn’t notice Thomas write something down in his notebook, “I just have a loving family and a good life and no reason to complain and I’m just being ungrateful.”

“What do you think qualifies a “good life,” Patton?”

“I don’t know, friends, family, love, something!”

“So you have a lot of friends?”

Patton’s stomach drops at the reminder of what school was like last year. “Well, I have friends now.”

“And didn’t you say one of your moms died?”

Patton feels like ice water has been poured over him. “I-I don’t want to talk about that.”

“That’s fine, we don’t have to,” Thomas rushes to say, “I’m just saying, if you look at things objectively, you have a few things to be upset about. That’s fair, and you don’t need to deny those feelings.”

“O-okay.”

“Plus, you seem to talk to yourself in a very negative way, but that’s something we need to explore next time,” Dr. Sanders says, looking at his watch. “Until next time, guys.”

The four boys stand up and make their way out of the room.

“Patton, I am...proud of you,” Logan tells him. Patton has been keeping his eyes on the ground, but now he looks up and over at his friend.

“What? Why?”

“For the same reason you were proud of me for eating a grape. Because you made a step in your recovery, and you should be proud.”

“Yeah, Patton, you should be proud,” Roman adds. Virgil nods.

They reach the front of the building and Roman and Logan break off, waving goodbye. Patton and Virgil wave back.

“Oh! I see my mom!” Patton says, spotting her car.

“Wait, Pat.”

“Yeah?”

Virgil hesitates only a second, before he grabs Patton and wraps his arms around him. Patton is caught off guard but quickly hugs him back. They stand there for a moment, before they both pull away.

“Thanks, Virge.”

“Anytime,” Virgil says, watching him walk away. When he sees all his friends get into their cars, he sighs and makes his way to his aunt’s car.

He sighs, thinking about how his friends are starting to open up to each other. How much it seems to help. Maybe...maybe it’s time he considered telling them why he moved to town.

[timeoutforthee]

Like it or Not-Chapter 13

Taglist: @itsausernamenotafobsong, @sea-blue-child, @iaminmultiplefandoms, @princeanxious, @uwillbeefoundtonight, @zaidiashipper, @arandompasserby, @levyredfox3, @falsett0, @error-i-dunno-what-went-wrong, @scrapbookofsketches, @podcastsandcoffee, @helloisthisusernametaken, @amuthefunperson, @michealawithana, @yamihatarou, @heck-im-lost, @unlikelynightmareconnoisseur, @idkaurl

Summary: Logan, Patton, Roman, and Virgil are all struggling in their recovery. Their doctors, Thomas Sanders and Emile Picani think they can help each other out.

Aka Group Therapy AU

Trigger Warnings: self-deprecating thoughts, denial

Read it on AO3!

“Where were you during lunch?” Roman asks Logan as soon as he’s within ear shot, “Virgil said you didn’t talk to him at all during class and you left before any of us could ask what was up.”

Logan doesn’t say anything, just walks up to the bleacher behind him. Roman sighs.

“Logan, you can’t just decide you don’t have an eating disorder, and even if you didn’t, you can’t just leave us like that,” Roman pauses, “Or, at least, we’d really appreciate it if you didn’t. Patton was worried.”

…

“Virgil was, too.”

…

“And maybe I was a little bit, too. You know. Just like, if you don’t want to eat with us anymore, tell us?”

…

“Wait a second, are you giving me the silent treatment?” Roman asks, “That is...really childish. And I thought you were mature.” Roman’s eyes go wide, “How am I supposed to pass time now? At least look at me! Logan!”

But Logan ignores him, instead he gets out a book to start his homework. Roman leans over and taps on the top of it.

“Logan. Logan. Logan. Logan,” he says, “Pay attention to me. We have to talk.”

Logan slams the book shut, and Roman yanks his fingers back before they’re crushed with a yelp. But once they’re out of the way, Logan just opens his book again.

“Fine. I can do the not talking thing too.”

…

“Really? Nothing? No skeptical look? No glare? No frowning at my bad grammar?” No response. “Dammit.”

^

Logan slips into his desk next to Virgil the following day.

“You know,” he says, eyes on the board, “You can’t keep this up forever.”

Both of them keep their eyes on the board. Logan isn’t going to crack that easy.

“Eventually, you’ll have to talk to me or Roman.”

Except Virgil isn’t so sure he’s right anymore. His anxiety makes it hard for him to convince himself that Logan has to talk to them, much less convince Logan. It doesn’t sound likely, Logan being able to avoid them all for the next year, but he supposes there are kids he’s never talked to, what if Logan just fades into one of them, wait-was he even going to come into therapy? Had it gotten that serious? How? What if-

“Virgil, are you okay?” Mrs. Spencer is suddenly at his side, “Do you need to be excused?”

Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see Logan look over at him, and he looks worried. Virgil takes a deep breath but shakes his head. He’s not trying to guilt him into talking to them again. Logan keeps his eyes on him for a second longer, then looks to the front of the classroom. Mrs. Spencer’s eyes flick over to him, but the bell rings and she has to get class started.

One thing is clear to Logan: Roman was right. This whole thing is childish. But he doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t have an eating disorder, and it’s wrong for him to use resources others need, like therapy, like Mrs. Spencer’s room, like this support system-

You don’t deserve it.

But if he told any of his friends-not his friends, you don’t deserve them-if he told his peers that, they clearly wouldn’t believe him. Roman had proven that. Or worse. They would see the truth. That he never deserved any of this. He wasn’t sick enough. He wasn’t sick at all.

These are the thoughts that make it hard to focus in English. That, and the fact that he and Virgil are looking at each other while also pretending not to look at each other. They haven’t made eye contact once, thankfully, because Logan doesn’t know what he would say if they did. Well, that’s not completely true. He’d probably start with “I’m sorry.”

The bell rings, and for a second Logan actually considers staying. He could explain himself, right? They would probably understand. But when he sees Roman and Patton in the doorway, he can’t do it. He jumps from his seat and leaves.

^

Patton drops his bag into a random seat and turns to Roman and Virgil.

“I’ll be back,” he says, and he follows Logan outside. “Did he talk to you at all?” Roman asks Virgil, pulling up a desk to sit across from him.

“Nope,” Virgil says, “I think he was close at one point, but that was just because I was scaring him.”

“Scaring him?”

“I was panicking, a little,” he says, and he doesn’t know what’s worse, focusing on Roman when he says that, or focusing on his food.

“Ah...is that...better now?”

“Well, I’m not going to cry into your food or pass out because I can’t breathe, if that’s what your thinking.”

“...are those actual things that can happen?”

Virgil glares at Roman, but he’s caught off guard, because Roman seems...sincere. He just seems curious, not malicious.

“I mean, I guess they can. Especially the crying thing. But I’ve never actually passed out, even though sometimes it’s hard to breathe.”

“Okay,” Roman says, slowly, “So you have anxiety, too?”

“I mean, I guess? You know Picani’s method-”

“You are not your disorder,” they both quote their therapist.

“So I’ve never actually asked what I have, but it’s pretty obvious from the panic attacks,” Virgil says, and he finally takes a bite of his lunch, “What about you?”

“I don’t think I have any other problems besides the eating disorder.”

Virgil takes a sip from his water so he doesn’t say anything snarky. They already have one issue right now. They eat in silence for a bit before Roman cracks.

“I think I made it worse.”

“Made what worse?”

Roman gestures towards the door, “The Logan situation. The last time I talked to him...he said he doesn’t think he has an eating disorder.”

“Yeah, he mentioned that during lunch. Did he say more during gym?”

“Nothing new. Just that he thought he ate too much-” Roman pauses when he sees Virgil’s face, “Yeah, I know. And I tried to help? But I think I made it worse.”

“What did you do?”

“You know how he’s like, super smart and factual? I tried to show him the facts. So I googled anorexia and showed him that he was having the same complications as other sufferers. To try and prove it to him,” Roman babbles a bit, then pauses. Virgil doesn’t say anything for a second, so he blurts out, “Do you think I made it worse?”

Virgil looks at him and for a second Roman’s afraid of what he’ll say.

“Do I think it’s your fault that someone with an eating disorder is in denial? No. I don’t,”

Roman lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, but something is still bothering him. Virgil can tell.

“Spit it out, Princey.”

“Did I hurt his feelings, though? He was talking to us, and we were fine, and then I talked to him, and now he hates us?” Does he hate me?

“Yep, must be your fault,” And the sarcasm must not even register, because Roman immediately pales, “Wait, wait, wait! I was being an ass, I’m sorry,” Virgil says quickly. Then he sighs, “We were not okay. He could barely eat during lunch, and he wasn’t talking to us at all, remember? And I don’t think it’s because you talked to him, I think it’s because you showed him we wouldn’t believe his lies about being okay. Of course he’s defensive.”

“...so he doesn’t hate me?”

Virgil bites his tongue. That set up was just too good, but he can’t hurt Roman’s feelings twice in one heart-to-heart moment.

“No, I don’t think he hates you.”

Roman takes a deep breath. Good. He doesn’t know if he could handle more people hating him.

^

Logan is trying to find the most complicated walking pattern he possibly can, to try and lose Patton.

It’s not working. And now people are thinning out, so it’s easier for him to follow.

“I will follow you around this entire school, Logan,” Patton threatens. Well. As much as Patton can threaten.

But it makes Logan sigh and face his fri-peer.

“I don’t need the room anymore, therefore I’m not using it. That’s all.”

“Really? So you can suddenly eat exactly how you want to? Your last session must have been miraculous,” Something almost imperceptible crosses Logan’s face, but Patton catches it and raises an eyebrow.

“I…,” this is only going to make it worse, Logan knows that, but he might as well get everyone off his case, “I had an appointment with Dr. Sanders yesterday, but I didn’t go.”

Patton frowns. “You know, to get the full benefits of recovery, you have to commit to it, one hundred percent.”

Logan groans, “Now you sound like him. But, it’s just,” Logan sighs, “I don’t have an eating disorder. And it’s wrong for me to keep using the resources that are available, so I need to cease immediately.” Logan turns quickly and starts walking down the hallway.

Logan expects footsteps, either to stop him or to leave him. What he doesn’t expect is possibly the world’s quietest voice asking, “You don’t mean that, do you?”

It would be easy to ignore, but something makes him turn around, “Of course I do. I wouldn’t have said it if it was untrue.”

“Logan…,” Patton walks up to him. He searches for something to say, biting his lip. But he can’t find the words. So instead he leans over and wraps his arms around Logan. He holds his breath to see how he reacts, ready to pull back at a second’s notice.

Logan freezes. He can’t remember the last time someone has hugged him. Slowly, he brings his hands up to wrap around Patton.

“You must be hurting so much.”

“I-I’m not,” Logan says, but his voice his failing him and suddenly he feels tears in his eyes. He holds on to Patton a little tighter. Then slowly he says, “I don’t want to.”

“Don’t want to what?”

“Do this. I don’t want to starve myself, but I-I don’t want to eat either. It’s been years, Patton.”

“I know,” Patton says, and suddenly Logan is overwhelmed with guilt, he almost wants to pull away. Patton thinks back, back to last night, and every night before, “Sometimes I don’t either.”

“But if we don’t…”

The second half of the sentence hangs in the air. Neither one of them has to say it. That’s not an option.

Logan leans his head on Patton’s shoulder, hiding for just a second. “I’m not strong enough to do this. I thought if I could convince myself...if I could convince everyone...why can’t it just be over?”

“I don’t know,” Patton says, “I don’t know why it just won’t stop, but...it will, eventually. If we keep trying, dedicating ourselves, just like Dr. Sanders said. Just try, Logan, please?”

Logan finally drops his hands, wiping at his eyes as fast as he can. He takes a deep breath.

“Okay.”

[timeoutforthee]

Like It or Not-Chapter 12

Summary: Logan, Patton, Roman, and Virgil are all struggling in their recovery. Their doctors, Thomas Sanders and Emile Picani think they can help each other out.

Aka Group Therapy AU

Trigger Warnings: Denial. Like one big old chapter of denial. Shaming self for eating habits, skipping therapy appointments

Read on AO3!

Taglist: @itsausernamenotafobsong, @sea-blue-child, @iaminmultiplefandoms, @princeanxious, @uwillbeefoundtonight, @zaidiashipper, @arandompasserby, @levyredfox3, @falsett0, @error-i-dunno-what-went-wrong, @scrapbookofsketches, @podcastsandcoffee, @helloisthisusernametaken, @amuthefunperson, @michealawithana, @yamihatarou, @heck-im-lost, @unlikelynightmareconnoisseur, @idkaurl

“Logan?”

“Hm?” Logan says, not looking up from the psychology book.

“The bell rang,” his teacher says, “You need to go to lunch.”

Something in him wants to laugh at that, but he catches himself and tries to correct his response. We do need to go to lunch. Food is fuel. You do need it.

“Just let me finish this sentence,” Logan mumbles. His teacher was trying his best, he assumed, and she had a passion for teaching the material. But the class was simply an elective at a high school, he couldn’t expect to learn everything. Right now, he’s skipping ahead to try and learn more about eating disorders.

There’s a whole paragraph on anorexia nervosa, and it ends with the mortality rate. Logan stares at it, trying to burn it into his brain, trying to flip a switch somewhere in there. This is stupid, he needs to function, he needs to eat, he needs to fuel himself, he needs to eat, he’s ruining his brain, he needs to eat-

Logan slams the book shut. His teacher jumps slightly. “Logan?”

He ignores her, just like he ignores the tears in his eyes. He walks out of the classroom without a word. His dad was right, he never should have taken this class. Maybe he could still switch to Computer Science.

^

Patton, Roman, and Virgil are trying to speak through facial expressions only. They think they are being subtle, or that Logan is too absorbed in whatever he’s thinking to notice. They are incorrect on both fronts.

Though to be fair, he has let his eyes glaze over and gone silent about four times already during this lunch, and it wasn’t even halfway over yet.

It’s Virgil who finally breaks. “Logan, are you like, good?”

“Yes,” Logan says, snapping out of his trance and sitting up a bit straighter.

“You sure?” Patton says, gently, “You seem a bit off today.”

“Yes. I’m eating, I’m fine.”

“Yeah, but you’ve only eaten, like 3/4ths of a celery stick.”

Logan puts the last piece in his mouth. He means to chew it, but suddenly it feels like solid rock sitting on his tongue and he can’t.

“Logan?” Patton says, and he manages to snap Logan back to reality enough for him to chew it.

And that’s how lunch goes. Logan breaks his lunch into pieces, and lets them sit there until someone coaxes him into eating.

By the time the bell rings, Logan has eaten two celery sticks and one fourth of a peanut butter sandwich. It’s when they all start packing up that he finally whispers, “It’s not real.”

“What?” Roman asks, starting to get worried.

“I mean it’s not me,” Logan shakes his head, “I just...look at pamphlets and warnings and definitions, and it doesn’t matter how much it fits. It’s just...not true. It’s not me. I can’t be doing this to myself.”

“Logan…,” Patton says, but now students are standing outside the door, and Logan is brushing everything into the trash and walking away before anyone can say anything.

Virgil pokes Roman in the side, and he yelps.

“Fix it.”

“Me? Why?” Roman asks.

“Because you’re the only one who has a class with him,” Virgil points out.

“I don’t know how to fix it, I don’t even have my own shit together!”

“Well, duh.”

Roman gasps, offended.

Patton debates going after him, but he has a feeling he’d never be able to convince Logan to skip a class to have a talk about feelings, so he just sighs and says, “Uh, guys? We should go.”

^

“You need to get to the bleachers, Crofter,” Coach says. His student has just walked into the gym. Logan’s eyes are glazed over, and he’s focusing on the students, counting each one as they pass him in their warm-up lap.

“Crofter. Bleachers,” his teacher repeats firmly.

Logan visibly shakes himself out of his trance and starts trudging up the bleachers. He actually considered skipping class, as Roman had done the previous week, but everything in him screamed that was wrong.

He has a feeling it won’t work, but it’s worth a shot. Instead of sitting next to Roman, he keeps walking, straight past him. A noble effort, but useless, because Roman just stands up and follows him.

“Do we have to make this difficult? I was really hoping we could just get to the opening up and talking thing that Picani and Sanders are trying to get us to do,” Logan keeps walking, “You know, Coach is going to yell at us for being up here.”

That makes Logan stop. Roman runs into him.

“Seriously? That worked? I mean, okay,” Roman says as they both sit down, “So what is this spacey thing you’re doing?”

“I am not spacing out,” Logan says, “I am counting.”

“Counting? Counting what?”

Calories. Steps. “Nothing,” Logan says, immediately, then he alters it to, “Everything. It’s not important.”

“I feel like if it was unimportant, you would be able to stop doing it.”

“I can stop doing it,” Logan says. Roman looks skeptical, “Stop looking at me like that! I’m fine. It’s fine. You are making a big deal out of nothing.”

“Me?” Roman huffs, “First off, not just me. Me and Virgil and Patton and definitely Picani and Sanders when I tell them.”

“Tell them whatever you want,” Logan snaps, “It doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t matter?” Roman suddenly goes quiet, “Logan, what do you mean?”

“I’m not going back to group,” Logan tells him, “I told you during lunch. I don’t have an eating disorder-”

“You don’t feel like you have an eating disorder,” Roman corrects.

“If I don’t feel like I have one, then what makes everyone so sure I do?”

“Probably because you can’t eat anything other than celery, bread, peanut butter, and jam,” Logan flinches at that, “Shit, no, wait-it’s fine. We’re not, like, judging you for your food or anything, it’s just-”

“It’s too much.”

Roman blinks. “Excuse me?”

“Do you know how many calories are in those? Do you know how much is in the jam alone? Because I do, and it’s in my brain and it won’t get out, it won’t stop, it won’t-” Logan’s hands tear at his hair for a second before he pulls them out and takes a deep breath. “I just started eating everything again, without any troubles. I don’t have a problem at all.”

“...I have several concerns,” Roman says, “Okay, one, I do know, thanks, and even for me, four things you feel comfortable eating is, like, a super low number. Two, you are definitely currently having troubles. So there’s a no for that. And also no to you not having a problem. Again, currently, having a very big problem.”

Logan leans forward, puts his head in his hands. Roman sighs.

“Logan? Do you realize why you’re here?”

“To...learn? That’s typically what you go to school for-”

“No. I mean like, right here. On these bleachers. I know it’s really easy to forget, but you are hurting your body and that’s why you have to be up here.”

Logan lifts his head up from his hands, keeping his eyes on their peers below.

“Or maybe he’s just wrong. Maybe all these complications are just in my head-”

“Okay, we’re going to play a game,” Roman says, holding up a finger with one hand and digging for his phone with the other.

“A...game?”

“These complications, what are they?”

“Oh, they’re just little things that show I’m not quite as healthy as someone my age should be-”

“So, little things? Like being cold and shivering?”

“Um. Yes?” Logan says, surprised.

“Dehydration?”

“No, I drink eight glasses a day-” Logan cuts himself off. Wait. “Wait. Dry skin, dizziness, headache...maybe?”

“So, you have headaches, dry skin, and you get dizzy?”

“Yes...I don’t see how this is game.”

“The game is called, ‘Google Anorexia Side Effects and See How Many Logan Has’.”

“Ah. I don’t like this game.”

“Too bad! Ever fainted?”

“No.” His legs have crumpled under him and he’s been left scrambling for the counter to grasp on to. Sometimes his head swims, and he doesn’t remember how he got on the floor or why he’s holding on to the staircase like that. But Roman doesn’t need to know that.

“Fatigue?”

Logan glares at him and doesn’t say anything.

“Got it,” Roman says, putting his phone away. “Now how likely is it that you’re going to explain this counting thing to me?”

“The counting is not a thing, it’s just...sometimes I need to keep my brain occupied.” Because he’s afraid of what will happen if he lets go. He needs something to ground him in reality, to keep him steady. It was a healthy coping mechanism, really. Honestly.

^

Logan was not freaking out. He was trying to prove-no, he was trying to show everyone that he didn’t have anything wrong with him. So, crying over jam is definitely not a possibility.

But he can’t find it. He has searched and moved everything in his cabinet and shuffled things around but he can’t find it.

His mom walks in and he peeks around the door.

“Mom? Did you pick up the jam like I asked you to?”

“Oh, that,” she says, “I actually have been cutting some things out of my diet, to be healthier, so I didn’t pick that up. It’s too tempting to have around the house.”

“Tempting. Of course.”

“It’s not a big deal, Logan,” she says, “In fact, a healthier diet may help you out.”

His mind, the traitor, thinks back to gym class and Roman’s “game.”

“Actually, my doctor wanted me to avoid that.”

“Funny, that’s usually the first thing they want to change,” she laughs, then immediately cuts herself off, “Oh darn!” she rushes over to the fridge, where the calendar is hung up. “You were supposed to have an appointment today. If we hurry, we’ll still be late, but maybe-”

Logan knows about the appointment, and he knows he should have reminded her like he does every day. But instead he says, “You know what? Don’t worry about it.”

[timeoutforthee]

Like It or Not (Chapter 8)

Summary: Logan, Patton, Roman, and Virgil are all struggling in their recovery. Their doctors, Thomas Sanders and Emile Picani think they can help each other out.

Aka Group Therapy AU

Trigger Warnings: mentions of disordered eating habits, bullying. 

Read it on AO3!

Taglist: @itsausernamenotafobsong, @sea-blue-child, @iaminmultiplefandoms, @princeanxious, @uwillbeefoundtonight, @zaidiashipper, @arandompasserby, @levyredfox3, @falsett0, @error-i-dunno-what-went-wrong, @scrapbookofsketches, @podcastsandcoffee, @helloisthisusernametaken, @amuthefunperson, @michealawithana, @yamihatarou, @heck-im-lost, @unlikelynightmareconnoisseur, @idkaurl

“Logan…? Are you trying to...untangle your spaghetti?”

Logan glanced up at his mother before going back to his plate.

“Yes,” he said, unphased, pulling another noodle from the pile on his plate. He uses his fork and knife to stretch it out straight across his plate. It lines up almost perfectly with about fifteen other noodles.

His dad sighed. “Are you actually going to eat it after you do that?”

Logan paused.

“Maybe.”

His mom and dad look across the table at each other. Usually they were accepting of their son’s...quirks, but this? This might have been too far.

“Logan? Could you maybe just eat the damn spaghetti?” Kurt Crofter asks, wondering when exactly his son had become...this, and why he wasn’t back to normal yet.

“I would like to,” Logan says, stretching another strand across his plate, “But I have to do this first.”

“You have to?”

“Yes.”

Kurt looked over at his wife again, this time in desperation. Madelyn Crofter decided it was time to use her best coping skill: denial.

“So, honey, are you nervous about school tomorrow?”

“Not particularly. I hope some of the course material proves to be at least a bit challenging, since they are, in theory, supposed to be college-level.”

“And your electives? Are you excited for those?”

“Did you sign up for the computer course like I suggested?” Kurt asks. He sees his son hesitate for a just a second, and he narrows his eyes slightly, “Logan?”

“Well, I actually decided to take Psychology.”

“Why?”

“My therapist keeps throwing around terms and such that I don’t understand. I’d like to know how my-” Logan hesitates. “I’d like to know, chemically, how my brain is working, and why it’s different from others. I...think it would help. Plus, as you know, I am not used to not understanding.”

“Logan, this is a minor glitch in your overall life. In a few years, you may not even remember it,” his dad tells him, “Yet you want to put your career on hold due to it?”

“See, I would understand forgetting if it was a one or two appointment approach like we originally assumed it would be. But I have been in treatment for about eight months and it doesn’t seem to be ending any time soon, so I couldn’t-”

“Wait, why is it not stopping soon?” Madelyn asks, “How long are you going to be doing this? Will you be able to concentrate on school?”

“I entered treatment while I was in school, so I would assume-”

“Yeah, but now you’re going into junior year, Logan, do you know how important this year is for college?” Kurt asks.

“You have made that clear,” Logan mutters, and now the pile is completely stretched out on his plate, every piece lined up in a row. But it’s still not good enough. Carefully, Logan raises his knife and cuts the first noodle into thirds.

Irritated, his dad stands up and goes to the sink, getting rid of his own plate.

“Honey?” his mom asks.

“You deal with it,” he growls, heading upstairs.

Madelyn sighs, turning back to her son, who is concentrating on his plate.

“Don’t you think it’d be easier to just...cut them all at once?”

“I can’t do that.”

She looks up at the ceiling. Okay. Back to denial.

“What about your friends? Are you excited to see them?”

“I’ve told you multiple times. I do not have friends. I do not want friends. I do not need friends.”

“What about the boys in your...what was it...group? Group therapy?”

Logan pauses. He supposes, technically, he could call Patton, Roman, and Virgil friends. It was an interesting situation, because they had access to some of his best kept secrets, and he had theirs, but he didn’t have much more information. They would be at school tomorrow. Probably even Virgil, since he mentioned he was transferring. That...might change this year. Just slightly.

^

Who wanted to die?

Virgil didn’t even mean that in an angsty way. He meant it in a someone-is-texting-me-at-five-in-the-morning-on-my-first-day-of-a-new-school-and-therefore-clearly-has-a-death-wish way. His phone had not stopped buzzing on his night stand.

A smart person, he realized, would just reach over and silence it. But he knew once he had the phone in his hand, he’d get curious and actually read the damn things. Well. Time to stop fighting it.

Virgil picked up his phone, hissing when the phone’s light shone in his eyes.

Hey.

I’m assuming you’re still pissed at me, since you haven’t texted. And that’s fine.

I guess.

I just had to do something, V. I was scared for you. I wish I could say I’m sorry.

Virgil groaned. It was too damn early for feelings.

I am sorry for breaking your trust though.

Anyway. That’s not what this text is about. I meant to just text you and tell you good luck at your new school.

Congrats, you got out of this place.

And don’t worry about me. I know you worry about everything and everyone, but I have Kai and Lauren to watch out for me now. Also I’m still broken up with Mitchell.

Virgil still doesn’t respond, but he can see that Elliott is still typing on their side.

I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry and I’m not I know your aunt is taking better care of you and I did the right thing I think but sometimes I don’t know and I just want you to be happy and I hope you are. I’ve tried asking Picani how you are, to just see if you’re still alive and at your aunt’s, but that breaks confidentiality, so

That was a ramble. I’m sorry.

I’m going to go before I make things worse.

But I miss you. And I hope you text me back, eventually.

Virgil is tempted, he really is. Partly because of what Elliot said, partly because they got up at five to text it to him. They haven’t spoken to each other in two months, and Elliott is right, Virgil has been worrying about them.

But there’s still something that stings whenever he thinks of what happened. He knows, deep down, that it wasn’t their fault, and if they swapped places Virgil would have done the exact same thing. He should be the bigger person and text them saying he forgives them.

Instead, he turns off his phone.

^

Logan freezes at the entrance of his English classroom.

He hadn’t seen the other three all morning, and for a second it felt just like every other year. Yet, there Virgil was, sitting in a desk, headphones in and eyes closed, just like the first day of group.

The problem was that it was only now occurring to Logan that they had never discussed their interactions in the “real world.” How had they missed that? Most likely because they hadn’t hit school yet, but still. It really should have come up. What if Virgil didn’t want to talk to him? What if they all had their own friends? What if being around each other just made their disorders worse? What if-

Virgil cracked one of his eyes open, and looked directly at Logan. They stared at each other a bit, before Virgil jerked his head to the side, nodding at the empty seat next to him. Oh. Okay then.

Logan slid into it as Virgil popped his headphones out.

“You know, I didn’t know the teachers allowed you to have those.”

“They allow you to have anything as long as you don’t get caught.”

“Ah. I see,” Logan paused, “So I can ask a question that some may consider to be ‘blunt’?”

Virgil raises an eyebrows, “Go ahead.”

“You claimed you were not smart, yet you are in AP English.”

“Yeah, I’m just as confused about it as you are. I don’t know, I had to take these tests so they knew what classes to put me in, and when I got my schedule, they had stuck me here. And my aunt was too excited to do anything.”

“Well, yes, it is an exciting thing.”

“I can tell, you seem to be jumping for joy.”

Just then, the bell rang, and their teacher walked to the front.

“Hello, everyone,” A woman with red-framed glasses greeted them, “I’m Mrs. Spencer, and I will be your teacher this year.”

^

Logan picks up his books and carefully slides them back into the bag. He and Virgil didn’t get a chance to talk during the class, but he’s wondering if he’s made plans for lunch already. He usually spends it in the library helping the librarian organize, but he figures it’s time to start actually eating at lunch, and he’d prefer not to do it alone. He glances over at Virgil, just to see his slumped over on his desk.

“Uh, Virgil?”

“I can’t do this, I am stupid.”

“You know, you keep saying that, I’m not sure I believe you.”

Virgil turns his head slightly, just enough so he can hiss at Logan.

“I’m sorry, did he just hiss at you?” their teacher says, coming over cautiously. Most of the class has cleared out by now, already rushing down to the cafeteria.

“Yes. But it’s okay, not very unusual.”

“O...kay,” Mrs. Spencer starts to say something else, but she’s interrupted by someone shouting her name.

“Mrs. Spencer!” Virgil and Logan look up to see Roman walk through the door, “You will not believe-” he cuts himself off, “Oh. Hey guys.”

“Shouldn’t you be at the cafeteria?” Virgil asks.

“Oh, uh, this is actually the room I eat in. If that’s still okay,” he rushes to add, looking over at his former teacher. She nods and he relaxes.

“Are your friends joining us?” she says, looking at Logan and Virgil.

“I, uh…,” Roman is going to say no, because why would they want to eat with him? But he’s going to take a wild guess and say they hate the cafeteria as much as he does, so instead he just raises his eyebrows and says, “Do you guys want to?”

“Yes,” Logan says, quickly, not giving himself time to overanalyze.

Virgil sighs, “Sure. But first, we should see if we can find Patton.”

^

It’s fine!

Everything’s fine! It’s fine that he stayed up too late last night bingeing! It’s fine that his yearbook friends didn’t have enough room at their table! It’s fine that they keep glancing over their shoulders to look at him with pity from the table over! It’s fine that he hasn’t found Roman or Logan or Virgil!

They wouldn’t want to sit here anyway.

And that’s fine! It’s really, really-

“Hey Fatton!”

And Patton freezes, like ice water has been poured down his spine. Okay. It might not be fine.

Cameron Burk slides in across from him. One of his friends plops in next to Patton so he’s blocked in. He forces a smile on to his face. No, it’s going to be fine.

“Hey, guys. How’s the first day going?” Because he can’t be mean. He can’t be mad at them for saying what everyone else is saying.

Cameron laughs.

“Oh, it’s great Fatton,” and Patton forces himself not to flinch. He wishes for that name to go away, but it’s followed him since middle school, resurrected every year by none other than Cameron himself, “Why are you all alone, hm?”

“He’s not.”

Cameron practically jumps out of his skin, whirling around in his seat. He’s met with an icy glare that cuts through him. Who...who the fuck was that?

“Who the fuck are you?” Cameron stands up. At his full height, he towers over this kid, but he just raises an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“I’m Virgil. I’d ask who the fuck are you, but it’s irrelevant.”

Patton glances between the two as Cameron’s friend laughs next to him. That earns him a glare.

“I’m Cameron fucking Bu-”

Virgil presses a finger to his lips, and it catches him off guard enough that he actually shuts up.

“Maybe you didn’t hear me the first time,” Virgil bares his teeth in a smile, a warning, “I don’t fucking care about who you are. But I do care about you staying the fuck away from my friend.”

Charles furrows his eyebrows, before glancing behind him at Patton. He looks back at Virgil, in his black, ripped skinny jeans, black hoodie, with his purple hair.

“...friend?”

“Yes, friend.” But that’s a new voice, coming from...Roman Prince?

What the fuck is going on?

Patton is standing up now, walking over to the two.

“You know, guys, maybe we should go.”

“Good idea,” Virgil says, but he and Cameron are still glaring at each other. Patton puts a hand on Virgil’s elbow, and guides him away, following Roman.

Roman pauses, “Don’t forget your lunch, Patton.”