Suggested by Cosplaywithflare (Hope ya like it ;) I had fun writing it)

Mild mentions of self harm

Heavy topics include eating disorders, depression

—

TIBBY'S P.O.V

We were running through our Los Angeles fashion show, but I struggled to concentrate. I really didn't want to do this. My Mom forced me into it. And this wasn't even the real thing. My heart was going a mile a minute as I stared at the curtains. "TIBBY!" Rupert yelled into my ear.

I jumped back into reality. "Wh-" I began, but he had already shoved me to the other side of the curtain. I was paralysed. All I could think about was the hundreds of thousands of people who would be filling the seats. I fidled with the white and blue gradient shirt I wore under my black leather jacket. My black skinny jeans and converse shoes felt unbearably tight. Before I knew it, I was pulled back behind the curtains. "Billy, chat him up! Whoever's next, you go now!" Rupert ordered. Billy pulled me to a quiet area. "Come on, Tibby. You can do this!" Billy said.

"Any inspirational talk feels fake coming from you," I said. "There's gonna be so many people! I've never done this, and they just pull me into one of the biggest shows of the year! Why couldn't we do the Sydney one first?!"

"I don't know! Just calm down and get it over with. Look confident."

"I look weird!"

"No you don't," said a voice from behind me.

I turned to see a beautiful girl. She had a blue denim jacket over top of a navy shirt. Her skirt went just above her knees, a creamy white. She wore sneakers. Her short blonde hair was in a curled ponytail, her side-fringe out of her eyes, partially tucked behind her ear. "I don't feel myself either. But my Mom would kill me if I didn't enter the fashion business," she shrugged. "Her family's been in it for generations."

Her features looked oddly familiar. "Your mother wouldn't be... Kiera Jones, would she?" I asked.

"That's her!"

I was looking at Mikayla Jones. Her Mom was one of the most famous models, everyone adored her. "You do loads being a model. You travel the world, wear so many different outfits. I like to pretend I'm a new person with every new outfit I wear. You should try it," Mikayla said.

"O-okay... I might keep that in mind, thanks Mikayla."

"You... you can call me Mickey."

I smiled, and she smiled back. Her hazel eyes glowed, and she walked away. "Dude, you talked to a girl!" Billy exclaimed.

"Oh my God I did!" I exclaimed back.

—

I had to brace the catwalk, for practice of course. I kept in mind what Mickey said she does. I like to pretend I'm a new person with every new outfit I wear. I stepped out with confidence. I was the popular boy in school, all the girls liked me. I walked with my chin high and a small smile. I showed off my outfit to the invisible people who watched at that moment. I walked back behind the curtain again, and everyone clapped. "Good job, Tibby. Now, let's break for lunch," Rupert said.

—

MICKEY'S P.O.V

I scrolled through Instagram, seeing the pictures if my beautiful Mother. She was so skinny... I was so chubby...

I tried not to think about the food everyone else ate, tried to hold in the tears. "Hey, Mickey, thanks for the help back there." I looked up to see Tibby standing with a smile. 

I turned off my phone. "You're welcome," I replied.

"You hungry at all?"

"Nah, I had a big breakfast."

"Oh, okay. I'm always hungry. I love food."

"I can tell." I smirked.

"Hey! I'm working on it!"

"I'm just teasing, you look great."

Tibby blushed. I felt my face heat up too. "I-I didn't mean it in that way, I swear!" I said.

"N-no, it's f-fine. You look great too."

We spent a few seconds staring into each other's eyes. Then it was time to continue the run-throughs.

—

"Now, Mikayla," Rupert said, clapping his hands together. "Your mother has asked that we stop dressing you in these casual outfits, so you're having a second outfit."

"Really?"

"Yes. Come look at it."

—

I didn't want to wear it. 

The skirt barely went halfway down my waist. The strapless crop-top I wore showed how skinny I was; my ribs were showing. I didn't want people to suspect I was starving myself. But the cuts on my stomach showed as well: razor's cuts from me trying to see if it would make any difference to my weight. "I'm NOT wearing this," I said, staring at the closed door of the changing room. 

"Your Mother has requested it, we can't do anything about it I'm afraid."

"I refuse to leave this room."

"Please, Mikayla, just show me how you look."

"No!"

"It can't be that ba-"

"IT IS THAT BAD, JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!"

Tears sprang in my eyes, and I felt a single one roll down my cheek as I heard fading footsteps. Crumpling to the ground, I felt a sharp pain in my stomach. I started feeling really lightheaded when I heard, "M-Mickey? Are you in here?"

I didn't reply. Instead, using the strength I had, I unlocked the door. It took everything I had. I had no energy to move. To cry. To talk. Tibby's face appeared in a crack in the door. He saw me helpless on the ground and immediately collapsed in front of me. He saw my ribs. My cuts. "Mickey, what is this?" he asked.

I couldn't reply. I tried to open my mouth to talk, but I only let out a squeak.

"Have y-you been... starving yourself?"

My head moved only slightly to attempt a nod. I began losing consciousness as I heard Tibby's voice cracking while he shouted out for help. It all faded to black.

—

TIBBY'S P.O.V

Mickey's weak, sleeping body was on the ground in front of me. Still, no-one came. "SOMEBODY, PLEASE, QUICKLY! HELP! HELP!" I screamed off the top of my lungs, and finally, Billy popped his head in the door. He saw Mickey's weak body on the ground. He ran out of the room.

—

I sat by her hospital bed. She sleept more peacefully now. Her face wasn't contorted with pain. It was gentle, relaxed. I wondered if she was dreaming about anything. "Sometimes, I dream about me and Billy eating hotdogs," I said quietly, hoping she could hear me. "And then a massive dog would appear, and he'd be like, 'why are you eating my kind?' The dog actually did look really hot. He was panting and he was absolutely beautiful. And then I would bow to him, pulling down Billy too, and I'd say, 'sorry, my lord, I have been unaware of my sins, as has he.' Then we'd become friends with the giant dog."

I carefully grabbed Mickey's hand, holding it in mine, my other hand drawing shapes on top. I stopped the shapes and just held her hand, hoping and praying she would wake up and be okay. Then a younger girl sashayed in. "What are you doing with my fat sister, fat boy?" she asked.

I knew who she was. Emily Jones. I gaped at her. "What do you mean 'fat'?! You can literally see her ribs!"

"Yeah, it's because she's fat!"

A man appeared in the room, carefully pushing Emily out. I recorgnised him, but struggled to remember his name. Mike Jones. He was never one for the public eye, although he was spoken about. He saw me sitting by his daughter and glared at me. His face softened, however. He ran over, immediately planting a kiss on Mickey's forehead. I was about to get up when he said, "No, stay."

I looked up at him. Tears were gleaming in his eyes. "Did they tell you what happened?" he asked.

"No, sir. But I don't know if you know, but she's extremely skinny. I think she's been starving herself."

"Where... wh-what..."

"Mike! Get over here, we gotta go!" Kiera Jones appeared in the doorway. "Leave her and chubby boy, I'll be late for my photoshoot!"

Mike shook his head and started to cry. "Your daughter's dying and all you care about is a fricking photoshoot?" I spat.

"She'll live. Besides, this ain't your business."

"Have you seen her body? Do you care about her at all?!"

"Are you assuming stuff about me and my daughter?"

"Yes, yes I am. I can't believe someone as amazing as Mickey could be associated with someone as horrible as you."

"How dare you!"

Mike wiped his tears. "Go to your stupid photoshoot. I'm staying here with my daughter," he said.

"Come ON, Mike. She's a fat girl who's not good enough for your support!"

"You're not good enough for my support! Get out, go do whatever you have to do. Leave me. Please, do. I don't care about you if you don't care for the beautiful girl dying right here."

Kiera's eyes widened. Then she sashayed away.

—

Another two hours went by, and Mike and I continued to sit in silence. "Why are you here?" he asked eventually.

"I-I... I was helped by her," I said, "and so I want to be there for her. Someone of her standard came and talked to a dumb teenage boy like me. My self confidence shot up... all because of her."

"You don't seem dumb."

"Huh?"

"There are so many places you could be right now, but you chose to be here to comfort the suffering. That is not a dumb thing to do."

There was a loud beep. Everything from then on was a blur. All I remember is screaming and crying and professionals rushing around and ushering me out of the room.

—

I heard nothing for two days. No-one was allowed to see her. Talk to her. Be there for her. Anything could've happened to Mickey in this timeframe, but I was always thinking about her. Finally, Mike Jones came in, asking to see me. He took me to an empty room, tears in his eyes. "They've allowed us to see her."

—

My tear fell on her still hand. Mike ran his hand through her blonde hair. "All because she was self conscious..." I whispered.

Then she stirred.

—

MICKEY'S P.O.V 

My eyes slowly opened. Dad and Tibby sat above me. I couldn't move, I had no strength. "What... happened...?" I whispered.

"You collapsed, you've been asleep for half a week," Tibby replied.

"A-and you've been here?"

"Of course I have."

—

(2 WEEKS LATER)

Dad and I had front row seats. Most of the show was boring. Then Tibby stepped through the curtains. He strolled down the catwalk with confidence. He slipped the glasses he had in his hand onto the top of his head. He risked a smile and a wink at me. I smiled back. He walked back behind the curtains.

—

He weaved through the crowds to find me, his friend trailing behind me. "Mickey, this is Billy. He's an idiot," Tibby said.

"I'm not an idiot!" Billy stomped his foot. He wore normal clothes; it was obvious he wasn't in the show. 

"How's therapy?" Tibby asked.

"Eh, we're going slowly, but we're moving," I replied.

"Oh... that's good. I was hoping w-we could... get together more."

I grinned. "I'd like that." I hugged him. He hugged back. Just before we pulled away, I gave him a quick peck on the cheek. It was all I could reach. His face was a blushing mess. "I'd love to go on a date with you, Tibby," I whispered.

I'm beautiful. 

Tibby taught me that.

And I really owe it to him.