Here to Help

Look, we have to talk

TWs: mentions of abuse, and while Peter doesn't actually have an eating disorder, his behavior/the descriptions may be triggering to some.

I thought Peter would get better if I remembered to feed him more. But he didn't. He still hid his food all over the tower, like he's preparing for disaster to strike at any given moment.

I didn't say anything. To be completely honest, I didn't know what to say. For the next two weeks, I acted as though I didn't suspect a thing. If I found food, I'd leave it there and pretend nothing happened. If I spotted him sneaking something in his pocket or under his shirt, I'd pretend I hadn't seen.

Until one day, I couldn't pretend anymore.

"Hey Peter! Wanna come work on something in the lab with me?" I called down the hallway to Peter's bedroom.

He didn't answer.

"Peter?" I called again.

Still no answer.

He probably has his headphones in, I thought, walking down the hallway.

"Peter, I was thinking--" I cut off when I stepped into his doorway.

Peter was sitting cross-legged on the floor of his room, with at least twenty containers of food spread in front of him. I saw the oreos from two weeks ago, a few different containers of salad, a chinese take-out box, and several other things I didn't even know he'd taken.

But Peter was staring silently at a container holding a moldy sandwich. You couldn't even tell what type of sandwich it was before, but I knew that it had been a ham and cheese. He'd hidden it about four days into his stay, only eating half before putting the other into a container and pushing it into the large pocket of his (my) hoodie.

There were tears pouring down his face, but no sound came from him. He wasn't even shaking. It was like he was in shock.

"Peter?"

He slowly looked up at me, and there was fear and despair in his eyes.

"I... I didn't mean to let it rot," he said, his voice trembling in the way that I could tell he was trying desperately to keep it steady. "I'm sorry."

He watched my every move as I slowly walked over and got down on my knees. I pushed all the containers out of the way one by one, making sure my movements were easy and calm, then sat directly in front of him, my back facing his bed.

"It's okay. You're not in trouble," I said, laying a hand on his shoulder.

"I've been hiding food. Around the tower," he said, his voice dull and shaking, eyes staring blankly.

"I know."

Peter's eyes snapped into focus, his face wearing an expression of horror.

"What?"

"I know you've been hiding food. You've been doing it since your second day here," I said gently. "I thought it would help if I set up that reminder. Then you wouldn't be as worried. But it looks like it didn't change much."

Peter stared at me for another moment, before ducking his head and staring at his hands, letting tears fall onto his legs.

"This is bad, isn't it? This isn't normal, no one else does this, this is bad," he said. His shoulders started to tremble, and I wrapped my arms around him, practically pulling him into my lap so his back laid against my chest and my arms curled around his torso.