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: Trigger warnings: self-deprecating thoughts and purging (skip last section, after "but it might be okay for a while.")
Read it on AO3!
This is almost as awkward as the first session.
The four of them sat down, with their desks pushed together to make a small, makeshift table. They were slowly realizing how little they knew about each other. What were they even supposed to talk about?
They were all very determined not to look at each other’s food, though, and commenting on it was definitely not an option, which already made this better than sitting out in the cafeteria.
Dot Spencer was still keeping a close eye on them, though, since two of them had brought in lunches that were as small as Roman’s and the third was becoming reluctant to eat anything.
“So, Virgil, you’re new this year right?” she asks, trying to fill some of the silence.
“Yep.”
“Then how do you guys know each other?”
All four heads snap up and look at each other.
“Shit,” Virgil says, “we might have to figure out that story.”
“The actual answer,” Roman says to her, “is we met at group therapy. But no one else needs to know that.”
Dot maintains her professional composure, even though she’s really tempted to squeal.
“Is that in addition to your individual therapy, Roman?”
“It is.”
“That’s fantastic!” she smiles, “And it’s really great that you all are trying to be there for each other.”
Too much, Virgil thinks, too much attention, too much positivity.
But, thankfully, after that she backs off, going to her own lunch.
“Maybe people will just assume we met the first day,” Logan says.
“Uh...that might not be as believable,” Virgil says.
“Why not?”
“Because Virgil was ready to punch someone out for Patton after what would be half a day,” Roman explains.
“He was not going to punch Cameron,” Patton says, but he notices that Virgil is now avoiding eye contact, “...you weren’t going to punch Cameron, right?”
“The important thing is that I didn’t need to punch Cameron.”
“Cameron? Cameron Burk?” Logan shakes his head, “Wait, what is going on?”
“Virgil and I went to the lunchroom, ready to retrieve our dear friend Patton-”
“Then we heard someone call him a name, I told him to back off, we had a staring contest and we all walked away.”
“Okay, first of all, rude, I was preparing to tell the tale properly with as much as theatricality as it deserved-”
“I know you were, Princey, that’s why I stepped in.”
“And second of all, you were dragged away.”
“I was not-”
Logan looked over at Patton, who was staring at his food. Logan always found it hard not to notice other people’s eating habits. It wasn’t as if he was judging them, it was just his observant nature. He tried not to do it here, because it felt like an invasion of privacy, in a way, but he still picked up on things. And it was hard not to notice that Patton was struggling to eat anything right now. Was this why?
Meanwhile, Patton was staring at the bag his lunch came in and not thinking. He was not thinking about how he had spent this past summer starving. He not thinking about how he had spent last night puking until blood came up. He was not thinking about the calories sitting on the table in front of him.
He doesn’t think about how none of it was good enough. He’s still Fatton.
Maybe it’s time to starve again. It wouldn’t-
“Patton, are you going to eat your sandwich?”
Patton jerks his head up, and automatically the smile is back on his face, “Sorry, spacing out a little there! I’m actually not that-”
“Don’t,” Logan cuts him off, “I wasn’t actually asking. I was trying to think of a polite way to say ‘you need to eat your sandwich’.”
Patton’s smile falls as Virgil and Roman turn away from their bickering to look at him.
“I don’t need to eat,” Patton practically whispers.
“Falsehood,” Logan says, “You-”
“Don’t,” Patton pushes his hands against his ears, “Just-I can’t. I’m sorry. I can’t.”
And he doesn’t look at them, because he knows he’s letting them down. They don’t need to see him acting like a child, yet here he is, like a little-
“What about half?”
Patton looks up at Logan, through the tears in his eyes, “What?”
Logan is bracing himself, “Half of it. And...I’ll eat the other half. So you don’t feel alone. If it’ll help….I don’t know how this works.”
Mrs. Spencer is chewing her food slowly, ready to step in if need be. But Patton slowly pulls his sandwich apart and passes one half over to Logan. Virgil and Roman look away so that they’re not staring as they both take a bite.
Logan’s eyes go wide and after he swallows he asks, “Is this Crofter’s?”
“Uh-yeah. You mentioned it in the session and when we went shopping, I picked some up out of curiosity. It’s really good.”
The first thing in Logan’s mind is his mom’s face when she was looking at the calories. But the second thing is the thought that Patton-or his mom, whoever made the sandwich-actually made it with enough jelly for Logan, and honestly, that was an impressive feat.
It wasn’t easy, for either of them. Patton was too aware of every bit of sweetness passing his lips as Cameron’s voice echoed in his mind. Logan’s mind was focused on numbers, sugars, calories, and carbs. But Roman and Virgil went back to talking, trying to keep a steady conversation to tune out the voices they knew their friends were hearing in their heads.
It didn’t completely work. But it was something.
“You know, my room is always open to anyone who needs it,” Mrs. Spencer speaks up as they clean up at the end of lunch, “The only rule is that you have to eat something.”
^
“What do you mean?!”
Roman is trying not to cause a scene, but honestly? He’s probably failing. His breathing is too fast and his voice is too loud. He can tell by the way his gym teacher, who everyone calls Coach, glances over his shoulder.
“Sorry, there’s nothing I can do.”
“Coach, look at me, I’m fine-”
“Roman. They gave me a doctor’s note saying you’re not allowed to participate in gym. There is nothing I can do, legally.”
“But-”
“Enough.”
“Then what am I supposed to do?”
“That, uh, that I don’t know,” Coach says, rubbing the back of his neck, “they’re trying to get something set up for you, but it’s not ready yet. For now, just sit in the bleachers.”
Roman wants to fight, and he might actually have to fight Picani over this, but he doesn’t want to do it in front of everyone in gym class. He could only imagine how that would go. He could imagine the rumors now, and the rumors would get back to Philip, who would tell his dad, who would demand to know what the hell he was doing and why couldn’t he do gym class anymore? Nope. Quietly sulking in the bleachers it is.
He’s starting to completely check out, going into “Daydream mode,” as he calls it, when he hears footsteps coming up to sit next to him. He jerks himself back to reality.
“Specs!”
“Salutations, Roman,” Logan says, “I didn’t know you were in this class.”
“Well, I was,” Roman says, gesturing dramatically to the bleachers, “But now I’m stuck up here. I’m guessing they sent you up here for the same reason.”
“Because of a doctor? Yes,” Logan adjusts his glasses, “Though I’m going to guess that I am much less distraught than you.”
“Probably. Because I am very, very distraught,” Roman leans back and groans.
“Tell me, is it a conscious choice to be this dramatic or does it just come naturally?”
“It comes naturally,” Roman replies, easily, “And honestly? Who am I to deny the world this magnificence?”
Logan blinks. “Wow. If I didn’t know you, that would be convincing.”
“What can I say? I’ve perfected the act.”
There’s a brief silence before Roman says, “Hey Logan?”
“Yes?”
“How exactly are we supposed to have a normal conversation?”
“Well, first we start with a topic, then the other will respond-”
“You’re a little shit, you know that?”
Logan turns to him, perfectly concealing a smirk, as he leans back, “I have no idea what you mean.”
“Uh-huh, sure.”
They’re both leaning back, watching their class down below. Roman would honestly rather be running alongside them, but it might be okay up here for a while.
^
Patton wakes up at 11:52 on the dot. He always wakes up between 11:45 and 12:10, his body is so accustomed to his late night binges. He still sets an alarm on rough days, days when he knows he’s going to sneak down to the kitchen.
He knew today was going to be a rough day. The first day always was, but it was solidified the second Cameron had slid in across from him. His mom had actually offered to let him switch to homeschooling when she first found out about his disorder.
“Anything that’s going to help you, Patton, we can do.”
But Patton didn’t deserve help.
He didn’t deserve his mom’s worried looks. Sometimes he was tempted to tell her to just give up, he was never getting better. He was waiting for the day she realized she made a mistake all those years ago when they brought him to their home. They had so much kindness to give, and he was only filled with bitterness and could only offer disappointment.
I deserve nothing.
He didn’t deserve Virgil. He deserved Cameron’s words, because Cameron was the only one brave enough to say anything to his face. He knew his classmates were whispering behind his back, offering him shallow, plastic smiles to his face. Besides, anything Cameron said paled in comparison when it came to what he told himself. He could handle it. But Virgil deserved happiness, and to actually enjoy his new school. Yet he had tried to come to his rescue, and now he had made himself a target on the first day.
I’m not worth it.
He knew how hard it was for Logan to eat. He had watched him work up the courage to even offer. He shouldn’t have made him do it, he should have sucked it up and ate it himself, it wasn’t like he couldn’t make it come back up later. But Patton was selfish. He put his own needs, his pathetic need to eat ahead of what Logan needed. What if Patton just made it worse?
I am making it worse.
His friends, his family, they cared so much. For now.
They should see you now.
Patton knew it was gross. He had his forehead leaning against the rim of the toilet, and he was sweating. He forced himself to stand up and moved to the sink, grabbing his toothbrush. He had gotten rid of the evidence as soon as he could, since his mom still didn’t know he never stopped, but he could still taste on his breath.
You’re disgusting.
Tears were stinging his eyes as he scrubbed his teeth. His gums were starting to sting. He had a habit of brushing too hard at night, and he never gave his mouth a chance to properly heal. His teeth were becoming sensitive, but he never eased up.
He finally stopped, more so because he knew he had to get back to the kitchen and clean up the wrappers and get rid of any sign that he’d been down there. He rinsed his mouth out. He didn’t dare look at himself in the mirror. He knew if he did, if he saw his bloodshot eyes and bloated cheeks, he’d just start crying.
He dragged himself out into the kitchen, the words he’d whispered to himself repeating in his head. It was so clear to him, yet no one seemed to notice just how disgusting unworthy awful he was.
But one day they would, he knew it. And that day was going to hurt like hell.
