We had a mental illness presentation thing at school and I wanted to write something kind of angsty and wholesome.

Looking back, this can be considered a sequel to "Weight of the World" even tho this oneshot came first so it has been edited and added onto with context from that and because I simply felt like it

Trigger warnings:
Issues of low Self esteem + degrading
Bullima
Forced vomit
Overexercising

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

The male slumped against the machine he just had hopped off, his bulging muscles tired and demanding sleep as his stomach growled in hunger, wanting to be fed with delicious, nutritious foods.

Deep breath in.
Hold.
Deep breath out.
Hold.
Try to steady yourself...

His gray eyes turned towards his sounding ringtone, he leaned over, sliding up as he pressed his ear up to the phone speaker. "Hello?"

"Guten Tag, Mitchell. Just wanted to check up on you," Buck replied into the phone, muttering something in German quietly to himself. Buck had always been the type of person to overworry and overthink when people he cared about had gone silent for a few hours, especially after Maple had tattled on him about burning himself intentionally when him and Angel were out of the town. Mitch sensed the change in Buck's voice as he piqued, "Mitchell...?"

"Oh, yeah! I am fine! No need to worry, Buck. I am at the gym... Like I told you! Didn't go anywhere else!" He exclaimed, hearing a small sigh of relief exit his husband's mouth. Hearing that caused his heart to jump a beat: he cared. Of COURSE his husband cared about him... Why wouldn't he?

"I'm quite relieved. We had a meeting about mental illness in the office and I wanted to let you know that I love you and although I may be awkward to talk to, I will always be here for you."

"You're not awkward," softly smiled the male. He knew that Buck must have been overthinking about the consequences of leaving someone be with intrusive thoughts and spoke up again: "I appreciate your concern."

"You're not afraid I would make fun of you or not understand what you are going through?" Hearing the worry pained his heart as he responded quickly. "Of course not."

Buck beamed through the phone. "I love ya, liebling." The pet name caused a small blush to write itself on his face. It had been forever since Buck had used a pet name for him and honestly? He missed it.

"I love you too. You don't have to speak in English if you don't want to."

"I know, however, I don't want to give the impression that I am yelling at you," chuckled the male.

"You yelling? Never!" Teased Mitch, sitting down on the bench to allow his tense muscles a small rest before he went back at it again.

"I am coming off my lunch break. You going to be home when I am home or are you going to pick up Angel?" Buck asked.

"If you want me to pick Angel up, I can."

"Let's go together today, okay? I do get out of work an hour before he gets out of school," Buck responded. Mitch heard someone in German announce the end of lunch break and Buck said a final goodbye before hanging up. The blond let out a small sigh, softly throwing his phone down and adjusting his shades.

Whatever happened to the bold and arrogant male he was when he was a young child?

Whatever happened to the happy kid who didn't worry about painful memories and horrible deeds mortals caused?

He anxiously grabbed at the cigs and the red lighter he always warmly packed within his pocket. Lighting a smoke, he sat down by the window and watched the ashy gray lift into the dark gray sky. The torrent skies began to bellow as thunder rumbled like his empty stomach.

He began to turn his cig down towards his arm until he stopped. Maple had TATTLED on him about that... Buck would most likely be UPSET if he did that. He flicked the cig and just puffed.

Deep breath in.
Hold.
Deep breath out.
Hold.

He anxiously stepped onto the scale, his drooping gray eyes reading the number that flashed upon the scale; he was too heavy. There were reports that he was too heavy, looked too heavy, ate too much. His muscles pained at the little nutrients he had eaten since Buck cooked in the morning and obviously, he forced it out whenever Buck called him that he was at work.

It was like an awful habit, just like how he smoked, just like how he burnt the flame into his arms. He wasn't happy with his body, with his weight, his mental health, his stormy gray eyes, how everyone looked at him skeptical whenever he questioned someone's logic or brought something to the table and ALWAYS made sure to exercise after doing the act. The exercising room door open, which he promptly ignored, flicking his cig out the window and watching the cig dance through the rain.

"Christ Mitchell, do you ever NOT exercise?" A male voice asked as his fancy suit jacket was unbuttoned. "I didn't mean to be harsh when I said that—" the Brit had  doubled over upon, noticing the frown that carved itself so clearly into the taller's face.

"Exercising is good, I thought."

"Exercising too much and pushing yourself to your limits is where the line becomes crossed," he stated softly, setting his suit jacket upon a hanger and picking up a brown box that he had left outside the door. "I brought you something." He handed the small box to Mitch, who promptly opened it.

"Did you bake this??" Mitch asked, raising his eyebrows at the creamy frosted chocolate cake. He had the impulse to scoop his finger along the fluffy surface of it; however, he sat the cake down and felt like throwing up the water he had chugged to keep his hunger down.

"No Paris did, wait, why? Don't think I can bake??" Archie pressed, Mitch only adjusted his shades as he leaned in, "come on..." They both knew that the Brit would burn down the kitchen, even if he was making something as simple as pouring milk over cereal.

"Tch, you just looked down at the meetings and Paris thought it was a good idea to bake you something... Your favorite, or your old favorite..." Archie trailed off, the brit's mind ead probably thinking about the softness of when Mitch and Maple were children, where Francis and Archie watched over them together, all bonding as one big family. 

One big family.

"I guess I should leave you be, correct?" Archie pondered, watching the male closely, only getting a small shrug from Mitch. The offer of Paris baking something for him was sweet. Like she was thinking about him and wanting to keep his spirits up.

Archie and Maple probably told her about the incident from a couple of months ago...

"Mitch?"

"I am only going to be exercising; however, you can stay and chit-" Mitch began, something rose within him as he began his offer... Company would be nice. He tried to keep his weak smile up as Archie cut him off.

"SHIT!" Archie looked down at his wrist watch, waving a small hand at Mitch. "Let's put a small pin in us hanging out, I got a meeting, okay?"

"Yeah, that's fine." He softly had wished that Archie skipped the meeting, telling his worries to the Brit he once looked up to and fixing the strain that existed between them: whether Archie cared of not. But Archie only cared about the meetings, he sprinted out the door, just like he had done multiple times when he was younger.

That moment you guys shared awhile ago probably meant nothing to him. His thoughts beat into him.

Meetings are more important than you. Just be glad he made an effort to hang with you. Even if he did it out of pity.

Pity. Archie probably pitied the once strong, young man he had raised.

Pity.

He sat down where Archie's suit jacket used to rest; Arch had picked that article of clothing up so fast that he didn't catch the male pick it up. He sat down besides the box, pressing his elbow hard into his tired knee as the temptation sunk in deeper and deeper.

Until then! Like a flash! He squeezed a piece of the chocolate cake, shoving it into his mouth faster and faster, crumbs falling onto his bandanna as the creamy chocolate bounced all over his tongue, sliding sweetly down into his throat.

It felt wrong.
It felt good.
It felt like his younger self was back as he devoured Paris' cake she had humbly baked for him.

He dug in more and more until his eyes glimpsed at the mirror in horror. Chocolate gathered around the corners of his mouth like ugly blobs of paint on a canvas while crumbs had caught themselves against his clothing.

Who was that??
What had he done??

The box slammed onto the ground as he shot up towards the sky, his chocolate covered fingers finding themselves shoved down his throat.

What a fucking disgusting individual.

The way he devored the cake into shreds caused tears to flood out of his stormy eyes.

How dare he chow down when him and Buck could've shared a happy moment, both sharing the delicious cake. But atlast, he had to be a disgusting pig and ruin that.

He sat infront a small trashcan, tears swirling around on the floor as hotness sizzled throughout his whole neck and soon enough... The chocolate had left his system.

Deep breaths in.
Hold.
Deep breaths out.
Hold.

He felt heavy arms wrap themselves around his waist; however, he didn't dare turn to face the individual behind him. He kept his head within the trashcan: embarrassed. Embarrassed that somebody saw HIM.

What if BUCK saw him??

"... Buck... I am..."

"Try again," the voice cooed into his neck... Sending a cold shiver to swim up his flesh.

What was... HE doing here??

The two didn't speak at all until... Until...

"What happened?" The voice was quiet at first, which startled the American. Someone like him couldn't have a voice as gentle as that.

"..."

"What happened?" His voice took it up a notch. He wanted to know... And why?? This individual HATED his guts: or that's how it felt.

"..." His throat burned as the sobs hiccuped out of his sore throat. How the hell was he supposed to explain why he vomited?? He didn't know why the individual wanted to help anyways, he never took him to being someone who cared about how he felt.

"I... I think it was something in the cake mix. Wouldn't be surprised if Archie slipped me something," Mitchell murmured. He felt the arms around him tighten a bit.

"You really think that the Britishman would have the audacity to do something like that? Seems out of character, Mitch. So I implore you to try again." His voice was cool but it felt like it left him with frostbites. Mitch raised himself up as he pressed his back into the slightly shorter male's chest.

He never realized that this individual could feel any sense of warmth as the male cradled him: refusing to let go.

He felt the male's cold lips press against his ear as he murmured: "you're not fuckin' fat, okay? Is that what this little incident is over?" The coldness returned. The same old individual he liked and hated at the same time.

"Why do you care?" Mitch choked out, only feeling the grip around him tighten. Mitchell's eyes glanced in the mirror and realized how close they were...

Breath in.
Hold.
Breath out.
Hold.

"Simple. I don't like seeing people cry unless —"

"Unless you make them cry?" muttered the American, who rubbed his eyes. He had thrown his shades onto the floor before he began this and flinched when a chuckle escaped the Russian's mouth.

You shouldn't show weakness to the devil... He's gonna expose you and your deed to get a sickening laugh out of it.

"Whatever makes you happy. Now. Explain."

Mitch felt the words burn in his chest as he wiped the leftovers off his face. He only stared ahead as he noticed the Russian begin to play softly with Mitch's hair. The feeling felt so tender as he watched his chest swell up...

Breath in.
Ho—

"... You were right. You were right on the dot," he didn't mean to stammer it. He didn't even MEAN to say the damn sentence; however, he couldn't take it back... No matter how hard he wished for it.

Fuck.

He's going to make fun of you.

Turn it against you.

Tell everybody.

Tell Buck.

The male only sighed as he took in what Mitch had said. Mitch glanced in the mirror and noticed Sergei's red eyes staring at him.

The two stood in silence... THANKFULLY nobody had come in while Sergei gave him a hug from behind: that'd be hard to explain to anybody... Especially his lover who didn't like Sergei one bit.

After what felt like an eternity, Sergei's shoulders shrugged as he rested his head upon the American's shoulder as he replied: "this may be out of my paygrade but I may not understand what you're going through; however, that doesn't mean that Buck and others don't care about how you're doing. People will always be there to support you, whether you know that or not." The male softly let go as Mitch turned around to meet the devil.

"That is oddly kind of you. Why? Why say those things?" The words fell out coldly that he couldn't believed he had said that... He even witnessed the devil flinch a bit.

"My brother suffered through it," he muttered quietly. "I hate seeing someone else do it, whether we don't always see eye-to-eye." Mitch's attention snapped away from the Russian and towards his phone that had multiple of texts from his husband and the mom friend, Paris, asking if I was okay and if he liked the double chocolate cake.

"You still probably hate me, don't you?" Mitch asked. His eyes flashed up towards Sergei as he answered Buck and Paris quickly.

Yes. I am okay ❤️

Thank you for baking me a cake. I appreciate you thinking about me.

"Sometimes. Sometimes you're... Bearable..." Sergei murmured the last part to himself; however, his thick accent deceived him. Mitch grabbed the box and threw away the ruined pieces of the cake he had torn to shreds and felt guilt trickle down into his stomach.

"Must've been one hell of a cake."

"... " Mitch didn't say anything out loud as his mind was pacing with thoughts. It was the best cake he had ever had. He brushed himself off as the exercising room swung open as soft panting escaped into the room, "... Mitch...?"

"I'm alright. I was on my way down."

Buck eyed the Russian skeptically as he shouldered past him. "He didn't give you trouble, did he?"

"Not this time. He told me it was a public gym and we exercised in silence." Mitch rubbed his throat as Buck handed him a bottled water, his brown eyes glancing into the trash, nose wrinkling as the awful smell dawned on their nostrils.

"Mitch? Are you sure he didn't —?"

"Can we talk after we sing and put Angel to bed? I have to get something off of my chest," the American asked. Why was it so hard for him to love his body like Emele and others did?? Buck softly placed a hand on his shoulders as he bobbed his head up and down.

"Catch you later, America," Sergei passed the American, who gave a hand wave as his red eyes locked upon the German.

"Germany."

"Russia," Buck's voice was tense as the Russian shouldered past. Buck turned back towards Mitch and placed a soft hand on his cheek.

"Ja. You can always talk to me about anything."

"And you won't find me... dis...gusting...?" He choked as a stream of tired tears leaked down from his shades.

"Shades off, Mitch," Buck softly took off his husband's glasses, regardless if he wanted to or not and grabbed his bandaged hand softly.

"Mitchell. You will NEVER be disgusting, okay? You're literally the perfect husband anyone could ask for and you're so charming that I couldn't help but feel intoxicated," he shagged the blond bang's that stuck to his lover's forehead out of the way and continued, "I know you feel like you don't make the world a better place, put all that shit upon you; however, you don't have to be a hero. Just being you is good enough."

"I haven't been eating," Mitch choked out through an airbubble and his lover brought him closer.

"We will go through this together, okay? I won't give up on you. You're stronger than whatever horrible thoughts plague your mind. They aren't true."

The male's bold stance crumbled like ancient ruins as he fell to the floor, tears falling like a waterfall while sobs escaped, although he clasped a hand over his mouth. He felt the warmth of his husband's arms around him as he rested his head upon the German's chest.

"Let's go home. Get you cleaned up before we go pick up Angel. We will research and talk about how you feel, okay?"

"Okay. I'd like that."

Words: 2939