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Ivan sat on the edge of the bed, his textbook open but unread. His phone sat in front of him, screen glowing with messages—mostly from his parents. He hadn’t replied to any of them yet, and he didn’t want to. Astronomy isn’t a real career, Ivan, they said. You’re wasting your future. The words stung, like they always did. But there was a part of him that knew they would never accept his choices, never approve of his happiness.
Still, it hurt. His stomach twisted, and he felt the familiar knot of anxiety tighten around his chest. This feeling had always been there, ever since he was young. This unbearable pressure to be perfect, to be everything his parents wanted him to be. To be worthy. The thought of failing them, of being disappointing, made his insides ache.
You’ll never be good enough for them, you know that, right?
The voice wasn’t new—it had followed him for years. It wasn’t just about his parents anymore; it was about everything. It was about being isolated, feeling disconnected from his friends, from Till. They were all so busy with their lives, and Ivan... well, he just felt like he was fading into the background. Alone. Forgotten.
What’s the point?
He hadn’t realized it at first, but the gnawing emptiness inside him had started a few days ago. It was subtle at first—an occasional missed meal here and there, maybe a few too many hours spent working without eating. But now, it had taken root. He was restricting himself again. It was a slow descent, one he hadn’t fully noticed until today.
It was easier that way—easier to skip meals, easier to shrink himself, to disappear into his own body. But the hunger gnawed at him, even when he didn’t eat. That constant feeling of being too much. Too needy, too weak. The days when food was an enemy again, when he could push it away, were days when he felt in control. But there was always the creeping doubt: Maybe if you don’t eat enough, you’ll finally be good enough.
His phone lit up again. This time, it was Mizi. A quick message, just as brief as the last one. Hey, I’m sorry. I’ve been swamped lately. Hope you’re doing okay. Ivan stared at it, and his heart dropped. I know she is busy, everyone is. Why am I being so selfish, wanting their attention so much? Maybe they’re all better off without me.
A whisper of self-loathing curled up inside him. His stomach growled, but instead of responding to the hunger, he ignored it. He could do this. He could fight it. I don’t need food. I don’t need anyone. I’ll just get through this on my own.
He ignored the sensation of emptiness growing inside of him. He could just keep pushing it down, bury it under more work, more studying, more distance.
But then... Why am I still so empty?
The question hit him, and he found himself sitting up straight, his breath shallow. He couldn’t fill the void. He tried. Eat less, control it, make it go away. But now, the gnawing in his stomach wasn’t hunger—it was something deeper, something darker.
And before he realized it, he was back at it. Grabbing food. Fast. His hands shaking as he tore open a bag of chips, grabbed some cookies, and anything he could find in the kitchen. His body moved on autopilot—he didn’t have to think about it. The bags crinkled in his hands, but the sounds felt muted, distant.
It wasn’t about the food, really. It was about filling something. Anything. The emptiness he couldn’t explain, the ache inside him that never seemed to go away, no matter how much he ate.
You’re weak. You’re out of control. You’ll never be able to stop. This is who you are.
The thoughts rang in his ears as he shoved food into his mouth, chewing too quickly, swallowing without tasting. He barely registered the discomfort in his stomach as it swelled with food. But it didn’t feel better. It didn’t fix anything. If anything, it made the emptiness worse.
It was all so loud inside his head. So noisy. Every thought a sharp, cutting jab.
What’s wrong with you? You’re disgusting. You’re pathetic. No one will ever want you when they see this.
Ivan couldn’t escape the spiral. It was like a cyclone of guilt and shame that refused to let him breathe. When had it gotten this bad again? He thought he was doing better. He was doing better. But this... this felt like an old friend, wrapping around him like a suffocating blanket. He was spiraling. How did I get here?
Then came the ache. His stomach felt so full, so bloated, but it wasn’t relief—it was a punishment. He couldn’t even stand to look at himself in the mirror. He stumbled to the bathroom, his legs shaky. His reflection greeted him like a stranger. His stomach was swollen, painfully tight. He lifted his shirt and stared at himself.
You’ve ruined it. All of it.
The voice screamed inside his head, loud and relentless, echoing in every corner of his mind. You’re disgusting. You can’t even control this. No one will love you now. No one will ever want someone like you. You’re a waste.
Ivan stood there for a moment, paralyzed. His hands trembled, and his heart pounded in his chest, suffocating him. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. And just like that, tears began to fall, hot and relentless. He sank to his knees, feeling the sharp sting of shame pierce through him.
Till is going to hate you. Your friends are going to leave you. You’ve ruined everything. No one could love someone like you.
He curled into himself, sobbing, the thoughts ringing in his head louder and louder.
Ivan had spiraled so far, the thoughts became so loud that he didn't hear the front door open. Didn’t hear Till calling his name. Didn’t hear the sound of footsteps rushing around the apartment.
The bathroom door creaked open with a soft groan, but Ivan was too wrapped up in his own misery to register the sound. He was still kneeling on the cold tile floor, his eyes red from crying, hands tugging desperately at his hair, his body trembling as every cruel thought that had ever crossed his mind washed over him again and again.
Till will leave you. He’ll never look at you the same way again. Look at you, Ivan. Look at what you’ve done.
The voice inside his head was louder now, almost drowning out everything else. His stomach still ached from the binge, bloated and overfull. Every breath felt wrong, too shallow. The guilt clawed at him like it was trying to rip him apart from the inside. He wasn’t just hurting himself. He was hurting everyone who loved him—everyone who had been kind enough to care.
You're disgusting. No one will ever love someone like you.
When the footsteps stopped in front of him, Ivan didn’t even look up. He couldn’t. He couldn’t face the disappointment he was sure was waiting in Till’s eyes. His boyfriend had seen him struggle before, but this? This was different. This wasn’t just a bad day. This was the kind of mess that Till could never forgive. Ivan was sure of it.
But then, before he could spiral any further, there were hands—gentle, but firm—pulling his hands away from his hair, and pulling him away from the cold floor, guiding him into a warm embrace. Ivan didn’t fight it, but he didn’t understand it either. He felt the embrace of Till's arms around him, steady and unwavering, and for a moment, Ivan just let himself be held, feeling like he was floating somewhere outside of his own body.
"Ivan?" Till’s voice broke through the fog.
“Hey, hey, look at me.” Till’s voice was calm but filled with concern.
Ivan felt a sharp pain in his chest. He wanted to, more than anything, but the shame made him pull back instinctively. He couldn’t look at Till. Not like this. Not when he was so broken, so much. He was too much for anyone to handle, especially Till. But the hands on his face, gentle yet insistent, cupped his cheeks and guided him slowly upwards, forcing him to meet Till’s gaze.
When Ivan finally looked into his boyfriend’s eyes, he saw nothing but love. It was there—clear as day—and yet Ivan couldn't understand it. How could anyone look at him like that after what he had just done?
Till’s voice broke through again, this time quieter, more steady. “I’m not mad at you, Ivan. I’m just… so worried about you.” He paused, rubbing his thumb gently over Ivan’s cheek, brushing away the stray tear that still clung to his skin. “I’m not going anywhere. But you have to let me help you, okay?”
Ivan flinched at the idea of letting anyone help him. His mind screamed that he was beyond help. That he didn’t deserve help. His parents' words echoed in his mind. You’re a disappointment. You’re weak. His whole life, he had been told that he was a burden. So why would Till be any different?
“Till, I—I’m sorry,” Ivan stammered, his voice thick with emotion. His throat felt tight, like he couldn’t get the words out fast enough. He’s going to leave me. I’ve ruined it. “I—I ate too much. I didn’t mean to, I just—I don’t know why—I'm—I'm disgusting.” The words spilled out in a rush, completely out of his control. “I thought if I could just stop... just eat less... maybe then I’d be good enough. But I—I—look at me. I’m not... I’m not someone you could love. I can’t... I can’t stop.”
Till was silent for a moment, and in the silence, Ivan’s heart thundered. He expected anger. Disgust. A harsh word, maybe. He wanted something to make sense, even if it meant rejection. But instead, what he got was a soft breath and a strong, grounding presence.
“Ivan.” Till’s voice was steady, like a solid anchor. “You are not disgusting. You are not weak. You are not a failure.” Till leaned down to kiss Ivan’s forehead, the touch so tender that Ivan felt it in his soul. “You’re hurting. I see that. But I am here. I am always here for you. You don’t have to do this alone. You are enough. You are more than enough for me.”
Ivan’s chest tightened. The words should have comforted him, but he couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that they were lies. He wanted to believe them, but the voice in his head screamed louder, drowning out the love and the care in Till’s words.
“Till... please, just leave me,” Ivan whispered, his voice shaking with an intensity he didn’t know he had. “I’m too much. I’ll never stop. I can’t. I’m not good enough. I’m broken.”
Till’s hands were on his shoulders again, holding him firm. “You are not broken, Ivan. You are struggling. But that doesn’t mean you’re beyond repair. It doesn’t mean you’re worthless.” His voice softened, the words almost a plea. “I’m here. You don’t have to go through this alone anymore.”
Ivan’s heart wrenched at the raw sincerity in Till’s voice. Till’s presence was like the calm after a storm, the stillness in his embrace almost enough to quiet the loud, suffocating voice in Ivan’s head. Almost.
Till he pulled Ivan close again, hugging him tightly, his chest strong and solid against Ivan’s trembling body. The comfort of it—of Till’s touch—felt so safe and so warm.
After a long moment of holding each other in the bathroom, Till gently helped Ivan up, his arms steady and sure, guiding him away from the cold, sterile space that had been filled with so much pain. Ivan felt like a fragile thing, his whole body still trembling from the rush of emotions, but he didn't pull away. He let Till lead him, the warmth of his boyfriend’s touch giving him just enough strength to keep moving forward.
As they reached their bedroom, Till didn’t immediately ask Ivan to talk more. He didn’t rush anything, just helped him change into his favorite pajamas—teal bunny-covered long sleeves and soft sweatpants. It was a small, comforting gesture, but in that moment, it felt like Till was putting the world back together, one careful touch at a time.
When Ivan finally settled into the bed, Till slid in beside him, his movements slow, gentle. But Ivan couldn't bring himself to close the distance between them completely, not yet. He pulled away slightly, just enough so his stomach wouldn't press against Till’s body. He still felt… too much. His mind was still clouded by guilt, by shame, by the belief that his body was unlovable.
“Sorry…” Ivan mumbled, his voice shaky. “I just… I’m sorry. My stomach—it's so big right now. I feel gross. I’m sorry.”
Till's expression softened. He didn’t say anything right away. He didn’t need to. Instead, he just reached for Ivan, pulling him closer, drawing him into his embrace like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Ivan,” Till murmured softly, his voice full of warmth, “You don’t ever need to apologize for being you. Not to me. I love every part of you, okay? Every single part.”
Ivan felt his breath catch in his chest. It was too much to comprehend, too much to hold in his heart. His eyes fluttered shut, and for a moment, he felt completely undone. He still couldn’t believe that someone like Till could love him so fully, despite everything he thought was wrong with him.
But then, Till did something unexpected. He gently lifted Ivan’s shirt, his hands warm against Ivan’s skin. And with the softest of touches, Till placed a kiss on Ivan’s stomach—a small, tender gesture, but to Ivan, it felt like the world shifted.
The warmth of Till’s lips against his skin was grounding. So much pressure had been building in Ivan’s chest, but with each soft kiss, he felt a little more of it slip away. It wasn’t a magical fix, but it was enough to quiet the storm, just for a moment.
Till pulled away just slightly, his gaze never leaving Ivan. “I love every part of you, Ivan,” he whispered again, his voice a soft, unwavering promise. “Every part. Your heart, your mind, and yes, even your stomach. You are so much more than you think you are.”
Ivan’s eyes filled with tears once again, but these weren’t tears of shame or guilt. These were tears of something new—something raw, something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in so long: acceptance. The kind of acceptance that Till had been giving him all along. The kind Ivan thought he didn’t deserve.
“I—I don’t know if I can ever believe that,” Ivan said, his voice catching. “I don’t know if I can stop feeling like I’m not enough.”
Till shook his head gently, his expression filled with a quiet strength. “You don’t have to believe it all at once. Just take it one step at a time. I’m here. I’ll be here with you through every step.”
Then, in a movement so natural, so full of care, Till cupped Ivan’s face with both hands, brushing the tears from his eyes. His thumbs traced over Ivan’s cheeks as if to memorize the softness of his skin.
And then, with infinite tenderness, Till kissed him—softly at first, as if testing the waters, but soon deepening the kiss, pulling Ivan closer until their breaths were shared in slow, gentle rhythm. The kiss wasn’t about passion or heat. It was about connection. It was about showing Ivan, without a single word, that he was loved.
Ivan’s heart hammered in his chest as he kissed Till back, his hands finding their way to the edges of Till’s shirt. He didn’t know what to say, what to do. He still felt so fractured, so broken, but in Till’s arms, he was beginning to believe that maybe—just maybe—he could be whole again.
After a long, lingering kiss, they pulled apart, and Till lay back against the pillow, drawing Ivan with him. They nestled together, the blankets pulled up around them, but this time Ivan didn’t try to create distance. He let himself melt into Till’s warmth, his body craving the closeness he had been denying himself for so long.
“I love you,” Till whispered, his breath warm against Ivan’s ear.
“I love you too, Till,” Ivan said softly, the words feeling more real now. He could feel them—really feel them—as they settled into his heart. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t fixed. But in this moment, with Till holding him close, he knew he was starting to believe.
Till hugged him tighter, his arms like an unbreakable anchor, grounding Ivan in the simple truth: You are enough.
And for the first time in a long time, Ivan allowed himself to believe it.