TW: Eating disorder/weight/depression

The first time I saw Ambrose cry was the following lunch time. We had met in the usual coffee shop, and he was already sitting by the window with two cappuccinos when I arrived, wiping away tears with his fingers, smiled at me, said nothing.

"What's wrong?" I asked, pulled out the chair opposite him and took the hot mug in my hands. I looked forward to our almost daily coffee shop meetup. It was the only time when I drank cappuccino, was too anxious to order one on my own for some obscene, irritating reason. 

Ambrose shook his head. "Oh, nothing. Don't worry about it." 

"Are you really going to brush off something that's making you cry right now?" 

He sipped his drink. 

"Come on, out with it. You've literally pulled me out of a breakdown, the least I can do is listen when you're upset." 

"I spoke to Amber," he began. "She was mad at me for not telling her." 

"That I have anorexia? Why would you tell her when I don't even know her?" 

"Well, exactly. That's what I said. But she was like, 'if you care about me at all, you'd tell me stuff like that. You made me look like a bitch last night.'" 

"She made herself look like a bitch." 

"I said that, basically. Well, told her she shouldn't talk about anyone's body regardless of whether she knows they have an eating disorder or not. Like, when did is become socially acceptable to use weight as small talk? And she goes, 'if you think you can go through your whole life without talking about weight and diets, you're delusional.' Then called me a 'lazy bastard' and said if I had any self-respect, I'd care more about my body and the way it looks."

As you can imagine, I had no immediate response, just stared at him like I didn't understand the language he was speaking. Then I said, "Your sister said that to you." 

He nodded. 

"Fuck me." 

"She's out of line, right? Or am I being way too emotional about this whole thing?" 

"Of course you're not, don't be fucking stupid. What fucking right does she have to say that shit? As if your body matters in the slightest to anyone apart from you. Fucking cunt. Honestly, I could deck her. That's so fucked up." 

Ambrose looked visibly relieved at my response, and that made my heart hurt. Everything he'd been preaching to me should have applied to him, too, and yet I started to realise then that perhaps he felt it didn't. That it was different for him than for me. "Anyway," he continued after sipping his drink. "She got all up in my shit, wouldn't shut up about my 'health' and all that bullshit. I'm so sick of it. Every time I see her, she bangs on about this shit. And I want to spend time with her - she's my sister - but for fuck's sake, does she have to be so rude?" 

"Apparently she does," I said. 

"It's just annoying because I've spent such a long time getting my head into a better space when it comes to my body and not going to the gym and everything, and then she just tears me down like it's fucking 'fuck up Ambrose' day. What the hell? She thinks I don't have feelings or something?" 

"You've eaten breakfast, right?" I'd had it alone that morning, since he was with his sister, had found it okay, all things considered. 

"Yeah. You?" 

"Mhm." 

"Good." 

"Ambrose, you know all the stuff you say to me applies to you, too, right? That no one has any right to demand how you look; your mental health is way more important than having abs; you're allowed to eat whatever the hell you want whenever you want regardless of whether you've already eaten. I've practically memorised this shit." Something I was proud of, too. Memorising it meant I was at least partly believing it. 

"I know," he said. "It just sucks, you know? I was protecting my mental health by quitting gym and then she says shit like this and I'm like, what was the fucking point?" He shook his head, sighed. "She's just got this belief that you have to be a certain way to be 'healthy' but I know I wasn't healthy when I was that way and I wish she'd understand that. Like, I'd rather be the way I am right now and not always miserable and obsessed with fucking protein powder. Which tastes like sand, by the way." 

"Oh, I know. I went through that phase a year or so ago. Trash with a price tag."

"Right? I don't know how everyone is so in love with it. Such a waste of money. I'd rather just have a regular milkshake."

"You get me." 

"I feel like I do," he agreed. 

I smiled. 

"Alright, we should get food. The usual?" 

I nodded. "Thanks." 

Ambrose went to the counter to order the soups and sandwiches we had every time we ate there for lunch. When he returned, I offered a hug, and he said into my neck, "You smell divine." 

I laughed. "Thank you. New body spray." 

"Good choice, it's delicious. I could lick you." 

"Right, see, you told me it was weird to say that when is said I wanted to lick your tattoo-" 

"Well, I take it back." 

We separated. I kissed him. He had covered the tattoo with makeup, presumably because of his sister. 

Rubbing at his temple as though he knew what I was thinking, he said, "Thanks. For listening to me. And understanding. It often seems like no one understands. Like, everyone is so obsessed with these social media diets and crap that are basically glorified starvation." Foundation came off on his fingers. The tattoo returned to the surface and he looked a lot more like himself.  

"God, tell me about it. It's so toxic." 

"So anyway, thanks." 

"Don't thank me. I want a milkshake now you mentioned it." 

"I ordered one to share. Strawberry." 

"See, you really do get me." 

We sat back down. I took a large gulp of coffee and he said after a pause, "You can slap me for saying this so soon, I won't hold it against you, but I genuinely think I'm in love with you." 

"Hey, I wanted to be the one to say it first." 

"You mean-" 

"Honestly, how could I not be in love with you?" 

"This day has become considerably better since you turned up." 

I grinned. 

"God, you're so pretty." 

"You're so good for my ego." 

"How're you doing today? How was breakfast?" 

"Oh, I'm good. Breakfast was...breakfast. I don't know. I ate it. But I'm feeling a lot better actually. I showered, even put some clothes in the washing machine. I think the worst of it, you know, the breaking down, is done. Fingers crossed." 

"I'm so glad." 

"Me too." 

"You know I'm so proud of you." 

"Shush." 

"No, it's true." He reached across the table, stroked the back of his fingers over my cheekbone. His gentleness could have brought me to tears. 

Maybe I was insane for suggesting it, and maybe he was insane for his answer, but I couldn't help myself from stating, "We should be married." 

He didn't look surprised. His hand lingered against my skin, then dropped to my hand. 

I thought, Jesus fuck, Andy, that's insane, you've only known the guy a few months. 

I thought, I cannot imagine living without him. 

He said, "You know, I think we should be."