Honeydew || dnf

Plight

Hello

Currently obsessed with heartstopper

Go stream it on netflix.

TW/CW: eating disorder/anorexia, disordered thinking, nausea, refusal to eat, eating

Previously...

It was a picture of George and another man, nobody that Dream recognized. He had jet-black hair, olive skin, and piercing blue eyes that made the blond feel unsettled just looking at them. The man had his arm around George's shoulder, maybe a little too tight. The smaller boy was smiling in the picture, but it wasn't genuine– Dream always knew when George was faking a smile. In fact, he looked almost uncomfortable, leaning into the other man in a way that seemed forced. The picture made Dream's stomach churn, anxiety bubbling up inside of him.

Who was that man in the picture? Why was he holding George like that, and why did George seem so uncomfortable? Why was the picture frame broken? Why did George keep so much from him?

Dream frowned, haphazardly tossing the picture frame back onto the table. He wasn't sure if he wanted to get any further into that right now... not when there were other things to worry about. Maybe it wasn't even that important.

3rd Person P.O.V.

George groaned softly, wrinkling his nose. The smell of food wafted through his house, infiltrating every bit of air. It made George feel sick to his stomach. He was reminded that Dream and Wilbur were in his house, presumably cooking food.

He rolled over in bed, pushing his face into the pillow with a sigh. Maybe it would be fine, maybe they wouldn't even bother him about it-

"Hello? George?" Dream called softly, knocking on the door. "Can I come in?" George stiffened, shoulders coming up to his ears. He didn't respond, hoping that Dream would just drop it and leave him alone.

No such luck.

"Alright... I'm coming in!" The door opened slowly, and George didn't move. Dream treaded lightly, finding his way up to George's bed. Gently, he gripped the smaller boy's shoulder, giving him a shake.

"Time for dinner, Georgie," Dream murmured softly. "C'mon. You should eat something." George kept his breathing as slow as possible, trying his best to appear asleep despite his racing heart. Maybe Dream would give up and leave him alone.

"C'mon, I know you're awake," the blond observed, speaking slightly louder. "It's time for dinner."

"Mm..." George mumbled, curling into himself. He made himself as small as possible, hiding underneath pillows and blankets. He really didn't want to face Dream.

"George." Dream's voice was firm, and George knew he meant business. "Stop hiding. I made dinner, now come join Wilbur and I and we can have some time together. The three of us."

"Mhm..."

"Plus you need to eat something," Dream added. George internally (and maybe a little externally, too) cringed, wrinkling his nose slightly. Dream grabbed George's arm, tugging at it. "C'mon. Up."

"Dream..." George whined softly, frowning. "I'm too tired."

"You'll feel better after you eat," Dream reasoned.

"I feel sick."

"Maybe you should have some dinner with us then."

"I don't want to."

"Why not?"

George paused. Why not? He didn't want to eat. Why not? He didn't feel like it. Why not? He felt sick.

"C'mon." Dream's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Just come with me. I think you'll like what we prepared."

George grit his teeth. "Fine." He forced a smile. "I'll come to dinner." Dream lit up, grinning brightly.

"Yay! Oh, oh, I'm so excited to see you try it!" He gushed, bringing his hands up excitedly. George pressed his lips together, dragging his weakened body out of bed to follow Dream into the kitchen.

It would be fine. George would take really small portions, push it around a bit, and tell Dream it was delicious. No harm, no foul. Right?

Yeah, no. George's luck seemed to be way down, because the smell of food got stronger as he got closer to the kitchen. Nausea bubbled up inside him, forcing its way up his throat just enough to make the feeling way worse. This officially sucked.

"Sit down! I'll get you some food," Dream decided. George frowned, shaking his head.

"No, no... I can get my own food. Thanks..."

"No, I insist!" Dream ushered him into a seat, bringing a completely full plate of food back to the table. George's jaw dropped slightly, lips parted with the shock of the situation. That was way too much food! And Dream would surely notice if he didn't eat it...

"Hey, Dream." Wilbur walked in, stretching his arm until it popped. "Oh, hey George. Nice to see you up."

"Yeah..." George smiled forcefully, trying really hard not to show his unease.

"Oh, Wil, here's your plate," Dream handed Wilbur a plate, nearly identical to the one currently sitting under George's nose. Wilbur sat down, and Dream returned with a third plate, sitting down next to George.

"So, George, how're you feeling?" Wilbur asked, taking a bite of the food. Dream had practically prepared a whole feast– corn, sweet buns, seared chicken bites... it was a lot.

"Um..." George pushed the corn around his plate, shrugging. His hand shook slightly; whether it was from fear or something else, George didn't know. "I dunno. Okay, I guess."

"Well, that's good." Wilbur and Dream ate quickly, nearly half of their plates already gone. They seemed to be watching him, too... or was that just George's imagination?

"You've barely touched your food," Dream pointed out, gesturing with his fork. George's hands balled into fists, fingernails digging into his palms.

"Oh..." He said shakily. His whole body was trembling, horror coursing through him.

"Are you sure you're feeling alright?" Wilbur questioned, brows furrowed. George opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. His tongue felt dry, his throat scratchy.

George stood up suddenly, pushing his chair back with such force that it tipped and clattered onto the floor. He stood there for a moment, frozen. Dream and Wilbur stared at him with wide eyes, both unsure of what to do.

"I-" George cleared his throat hastily, shaking his head and taking a few steps backward. "I need to go. I-I'm sorry."

"Wait, George!" Dream stood up, lunging toward the brunette, but it was too late. George had already run off, locking himself in his room. Dream turned to Wilbur, worry and horror mushing together to form his expression.

"Fuck!"

(Additional TW)

This book is supposed to help me but like... my relationship with food is pretty iffy rn :/

Hope y'all are doing well though <3