triggers: mentioned self harm, self-image issues, weight issues

based on a true story with a few little detail changes

It wasn't like Alfred was dumb. He just acted that way around friends. So they'd love him, so they'd think he was funny. He was actually quite smart, being very good with English and Science. Math was his downfall. And he couldn't help but blame himself, either. He was the one who hadn't paid attention in class, the one who was always staring out the window and thinking about things 'less important' than how to work out the side of a hypothetical triangle.

He ate a lot. Not as much as stuffing his face every moment like people whispered he did. He had a rather unhealthy diet, and an unusual aversion to salads. It didn't help him that he worried about his weight all the time, and was often poking at his belly and wondering if it was going to go down. Every few trips to the bathroom, he would be drawn to the scales, and he would stare down at the number, inwardly despairing when it was higher than last time. He pretended his tight clothes still fit him perfectly.

Alfred was a generally quiet boy around the class. Sure, he made comments here and there and made a quip to the teacher occasionally, but for the most part, he either had his head down to work, or was lost in his own thoughts. He was loud around his friends, acting obnoxious and bombastic. A false sense of arrogance and self-worth, he had come to label it.

Speaking of friends, he didn't have very many. There was Kiku, who was silent and stoic; Arthur was there too, who was a grumpy boy who he would not admit that he had a crush on; finally, the quaint little Lithuanian, Toris, who Alfred had taken under his wing for a bit after the boy had been bullied. There had been more once, but over various fallouts and arguments, the group had dwindled down to four.

He only smiled outside of classes. While he wrote with one hand, the other often rested in his lap beneath the desk, or was gingerly pawing at his flabby belly. He would quickly imagine what someone else would think if they saw him doing that, and he would stop. He would fix his glasses, tap his pencil twice, and get back to writing.

Alfred was a kind boy. Sure, he had a bad habit of lying and inadvertently taking advantage of his friends, but it wasn't like they knew. They didn't know what was hidden behind a sunny smile and bright blue eyes, either. Only Alfred knew. He knew that being in his skin was almost like a personal hell. Sometimes, he was genuinely happy. He would forget it all and laugh and have a good time. When it came for him to be in solitude, his thoughts would darken, as would his spirits. He told himself how much he loathed being trapped in this ugly body.

He would stare at Arthur when they changed for sport. Alfred would never dare change in the main locker like everyone else. He didn't want them to see. Instead, he would hide himself away in one of the stalls. Arthur wasn't like him. Arthur was slim, and his body was as smooth as marble. Not pudgy and lumpy and curvy. He was jealous more than anything else. And of course, Alfred's envy extended to more than just his friends. Alfred envied them all. Most of the school populace were thin, with the right hair and the right face and the right personality. He would long to be one of them. He already had to pretty up his personality with a disguise and a mask.

Every math class, he would stare out the window. He tapped his pencil almost incessantly, or snapped a rubber band against his wrist. He often got told off by someone in front of him to stop the annoying noise. He just continued. Back at home, his brother never asked about his swollen forearm. He didn't need to ask. As much as Alfred loved his twin, he couldn't tell him anything. Matthew was a perfect one too. Alfred didn't mean to, but he resented him for it.

Matthew never asked when the marks began to appear. He didn't ask when Alfred wore long sleeves in the middle of summer. Alfred would just smile and shrug anyway, wouldn't he? That's our hero. Good boy. No one asked. Not his brother, not his friends. Alfred wasn't sure if they saw or not. Or if they even cared. Or if they just saw, and decided not to say anything. He wasn't sure if it was for attention, or for release. He felt doubly awful when he realised that he couldn't pinpoint the reason. But he smiled.

Slowly, something began to change. Matthew asked. Are you okay? Alfred didn't know. Was he? Over one thing or another, he was set on a downward spiral with no sense of being able to climb back up. He had long forgotten what had made him feel so sick inside. Perhaps it had all swirled together and he had become, in a way, lost. He figured that Matthew asked because the smiles started to disappear.

Arthur asked, too. Are you okay? Alfred didn't know. He wanted to be honest to Arthur, but found it hard. He was someone with the right everything. He was smart, and pretty, and he could get with almost anyone he wanted. Alfred didn't want to tell him anything, despite how inviting Arthur could be. He was hard to communicate with, and they found it hard to click a lot of the time; Arthur was quick to give up on trying to talk to him, even though Alfred knew that Arthur cared, and Alfred cared back. It was enough to send a wrong message and cut Alfred deeply.

With his brother's slow coaxing, Alfred calmed himself. He didn't need to wear thick hoodies or skivvies in the heat, for his arms became clean again. He managed to start to accept himself, to think that his body wasn't everything, and that he was beautiful regardless. He had this time of self-confidence, and it was a very welcome change.

After a while, he could smile in the mirror. He could be happy at school, with the exception of math class. He could laugh and not feel like he was going to cry over something entirely different. He was happy. He and Arthur grew closer even with their rift, the two of them even starting a relationship together. Alfred was truly happy, for the first time in what seemed like forever. And perhaps things were going to get better.

Things were better for a long time. A year, in fact. Alfred spent his holidays out, at the beach, or laughing with friends over some stupid YouTube video at one of their houses. He and Arthur slowly drifted apart, but they ended their relationship as friends. Alfred laughed and smiled and grinned and enjoyed everything. He was getting better. He told Matthew about how everything was feeling better within his heart. How he felt light and bubbly instead of stormy and glum. And he smiled so much.

Alfred? A voice, unknowingly to put him into misery again. You've put on weight. Alfred registered the comment vaguely, and turned his head to face his mother. He didn't particularly like her, as she was crude and had a temper worse than Arthur's, and on occasion, had struck him with a spoon or tea towel had she been mad. I mean it in the nicest way possible. I'm just saying you should watch what you eat. Alfred put down the plate he had been holding, suddenly losing his appetite. You wouldn't get sick as much if you ate healthy food.

He couldn't remember what he said in a fit of anger. He had spoken petulant words, and then stormed into his room, where he had locked the door and released angered mutterings to himself. It was just anger, he reminded himself. He wasn't affected at all by that comment. Alfred told himself to be strong, like Matthew had advised. Because her words meant nothing, right? At least he was eating.

It took a month for the words to get to him. Well, he assumed it was a month. Math classes were harder, and he stopped trying all together. Often, he sat there, pretended to write when he had to, and then watched the crows hop about outside. As it came to HPE season, he started to feel heavier in every step. Watching all the other students go about their activities with such finesse and skill made him ever so much more jealous.

That jealousy did return. And it tore at him with tooth and claw. He started checking the scales again. He started noticing how his stomach jutted out over the waistband of his pants. He hated it. Although his arms had been clean for a long time, his mind threatened to sully them, even against Matthew's kind words and love and care. At the end of that month of notice, it buried him.

There he lay, under his bedroom roof, and under the gravity of his own thoughts. All he felt like doing was crying, or fading away and not having to think about everything anymore. He hated his own company, even though he was alone a lot of the time. The only person he trusted to let inside his mindspace was Matthew, but Matthew belonged in a whole other world to Alfred. Everything hurt and he felt as if he wanted to fall asleep and awake a perfect boy. He wished for that only. He thought about his sorrows and stupid memories, angrily thought over how he'd been an idiot and how he was to be a bigger fool. And his thoughts culminated into sentences in his brain.

All he had left to do was write it down.