minho has an eating disorder.
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"that's a bmi of 17.6", the woman announced, the worried look on her face couldn't conceal her obvious pride about minhos weight loss. "I mean, wow".
minho only shakily exhaled. his stomach twisted, he was lightheaded...
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being able to wrap your hand around your wrist and still not actually touching it because there's still enough space.
being able to wrap both of your hands around your upper thigh.
maybe, being able to see a few ribs sticking out, without having to suck in your stomach.
being able to see how your face slowly gets smaller.
that were some of the many reasons for minho to continue.
114 lbs. that's the weight minho decided he wanted to be. sure, he would be underweight with a bmi of 17.6, but all those pretty boys in the magazine were as skinny as that too, so it shouldn't be a problem.
if he managed to do that, maybe he could go a little lower, just so he could stand out a little. bmi 17 sounded better anyway, it would probably look better, too.
and having that plan for yourself is easy, but having sudden, unexpected competition makes everything a bit harder...
it started like this:
six weeks later, minho had finally dropped under 125 lbs.
with a rather disbelieving nod, he stepped off the scale and looked at the number beneath him. this was such a big milestone, he had worked off his ass for this number to show on the scale, he had gone through hell and back, just to see this.
in the last few weeks, he had slowly seen the number on the scale drop (and sometimes rise), little by little. he had waitedfor this to happened so desperately, but now that he saw those numbers, it was a lot less euphoric than he expected it to be.
in minhos imagination, in his little romanticised version of what he was becoming, hitting this milestone would've been overwhelmingly great. he expected himself to be proud of himself, to be happy with all the progress, but after all this, this number was just another number too high to be satisfied.
he was still 11 lbs away from his actual goal weight, not to mention that he weighted himself after throwing up for the second time today, so that probably wasn't his actual weight anyway.
and, thinking about it, minho still looked exactly the same in the mirror he always looked into. sometimes, on good days, he was able to feel his hip bones slowly starting to poke out, sometimes he was able to feel his ribs whenever he lifted his arms, but that still wasn't enough.
because on bad days, minho could feel his thighs rubbing together and his arms filling out the whole hoodie he was wearing. sometimes he could feel his double chin when he laid down and see stomach bloat like crazy.
