Chris has an eating disorder.
A/N: Right, so, like, I’ve seen a few pictures, where putting his hands on his stomach. I’m not saying he does have an eating disorder (in fact, I hope he doesn’t), but yeah.
I’m so fat, Chris thought to himself, as he looked at his body in the floor length mirror in front of him.
He turned from side to side, pinching here and there and sighing sadly when he felt a bit of fat. Chris placed his palm on his stomach, just feeling the muscle there.
Still, too much fat, his inner voice whispered, and he nodded to himself, as he turned in the mirror again.
Chris pinched his stomach a few times, frowning.
Not enough muscle.
His hands moved down to his thighs, where he pinched a few times, grabbing fat and frowning.
Chris’ eyes traveled up to his face, then, and his frown grew deeper.
Need to get rid of that baby fat.
His thoughts continued to beat at him, as he stared at himself in the mirror.
This happened often.
He would get out of the shower and accidentally see himself in the mirror. Sometimes he just stood there and stared at his body in disgust. Other times, he would just walk away, throw on some overly baggy clothes and then go hang out with his cat - because, God knows, that’s the only friend he truly had.
He’d pinch random parts of his body as he sat on the couch or did signings, just to remind himself that he needed to work harder. He needed to get thinner and grow some more muscle. He would place his palm on his stomach, for relief, since he hadn’t eaten breakfast today - or lunch, or dinner.
And if he did eat something?
He would just throw it back up, in the bathroom of the hotel, or the studio, or his house.
Chris looked at his face again, realizing that he looked so tired. Truthfully, he wanted to drop.
How long had it been since he’d eaten last?
Twelve hours? Twenty?
He groaned, as he walked into his closet, full of clothes that were too big. Chris pulled out his favorite t-shirt - one from Michigan University - and a pair of sweatpants that didn’t belong to him.
Then, he walked over to the bed, which smelled of him. Smelled of them.
And he laid there, just thinking about how fucked up he was.
Everything was going great, and he still wasn’t happy.
He heard the door closing downstairs, and, then, he heard footsteps on the stairs.
His heart started racing at the thought. Maybe, today could end well, after all.
The door to the bedroom opened silently, and he heard soft foot steps going into the walk-in closet.
A few minutes later, the other side of the bed dipped, and then he heard the alarm being set for an early day of shooting tomorrow.
There were arms wrapped around Chris’ middle, then, and a chin in the crook of his neck, and Chris let out a content sigh.
“Did you have a good day today?” he murmured, snuggling back into the other man.
“Mhm,” Darren hummed, kissing Chris on the underside of his jaw. “Yours?”
Chris didn’t want to lie.
Especially to Darren.
But then he’d ask why.
Chris wasn’t ready for that part yet.
He wasn’t ready to tell the man he loved his biggest secret.
Because, honestly, he didn’t want to lose him.
Didn’t want him to think he was as hideous as he thought he was, himself.
“Yeah,” Chris finally answered, pushing down the regret he felt. “Very good.”