Something throbbing deep inside his skull—pulse scattershot as his heart thrashed wildly against his ribcage—Baz stared down at the scale. At the stark black number on the digital screen. Breath shaky, he rubbed at his eyes, then kneaded his temples as though either of these things might……he didn’t even know? Change what that number told him? Change what his eyes saw, because maybe they were lying to him? Change everything?
Not that Baz wanted to change what he saw, not when it was so good, but……well, it strained credulity, to say the least.
The number had blinked out of view by the time he looked back. He sighed at the inconvenience but, without anything else to do about it, Baz slipped his bare feet off the scale. Onto the smooth hardwood of his bedroom floor. He let the scale sit for a moment, as if asking it to better consider what it had told him, then stepped back on. Held his breath as the insane device pondered, flashing a bunch of disconnected lines over the readout. Then, finally, felt as though he’d choke when the same number he’d seen three times before settled back on the screen: 130.0.
The breath that Baz had held shambled out of him.
Although he felt as if he might drop his phone, Baz snapped a quick photo of the scale and his pale feet, his delicately painted toenails (currently a shade of baby blue that closely matched blue that dominated Ilmari’s fuku).
Shuddering, he stepped back to the floor, the hardwood smooth beneath his soles. One more step back from the scale. Then another. One more after that. When the backs of his knees collided with the edge of his mattress, with a heavy sigh, he let himself drop.
Whatever impact that had on the mattress, it startled a little someone who’d been sniffing and rubbing herself all over Baz’s pillows. With a yip, Lord Darlington scuttled over to where Baz sat. He didn’t look at her, but moved a hand to her back. Gently, slowly, he ruffled his fingers over her fur (much cleaner than it had been when he’d found her earlier; thankfully, a grooming place around here had had an opening). She nudged closer to him, nosing curiously at his chest. At the moment, she had easy access. For the sake of his weigh-in, Baz only wore a skimpy tank-top and equally flimsy pajama shorts. Better that he be a little chilly for a few minutes than let any extra mass from an outfit’s fabric wouldn’t throw off his results.
Besides, being cold made the body work harder to stay warm. So much the better for Baz. He needed to burn every calorie that he could manage to squeeze in—or anyway, he’d grown accustomed to thinking so, all the time. Couldn’t recall, offhand, how or when he’d first started holding to that truth, but……did that matter?
Oblivious to what Baz had on his mind, Lord Darlington rubbed her face more insistently at his chest. So much the better for her that she didn’t know, probably. She didn’t need to trouble herself with bullshit human problems.
But she pushed at him all the same, clearly trying to get something. Next, she gave him a soft little whine, and looked past him to the wall and the pillows she’d been scent-marking before wandering down here to sit with him.
Taking the hint from Lord Darlington, Baz shifted back further on the mattress. He paused to slip back into his loose-fit yoga pants. Laid down, put his legs where they went, lifted his back and hips to get the pants pulled up properly. Then, he hauled himself all the way back to the headboard. As he pulled on the zip-up hoodie waiting for him there (a black fleecey number with an embroidered design of Kuromi and ears on the hood that were shaped like hers), Lord Darlington trotted after him. When he folded his legs up, criss-cross applesauce, she did a little jump over his calf so she could curl up on the mattress, nestling her head in the crook of his knee.
Getting her over to the nearest ASPCA office earlier had been……interesting.
One of the vets had had time enough to help Baz and another staffer go over everything. They’d said that, as far as they could tell, Lord Darlington was about a year old. Running her DNA would’ve taken quite a bit of time (and tech that the ASPCA didn’t have), but she appeared to be Pomeranian. At least based on external appearances, she didn’t seem to have anything else from any other breeds mixed in. She was spayed already, which meant she’d likely been vaccinated for rabies (though, in lieu of proof, they’d scheduled her for her shots shortly after New Year, better safe than sorry after all).
Yet, despite that obvious care, in addition to not having tags, she wasn’t chipped. None of the lost dog reports that the ASPCA had any access to had matched her, either. As far as anyone could tell, she was simply a (probably pure) Pomeranian who’d received at least some amount of human care, but not been properly registered or recorded with anyone, matched to A Person who might’ve been missing or looking for her, or……anything to indicate that she already had a home to go back to. A depressing thought, and Baz couldn’t deny that it had wrenched hard at his heartstrings.
“All of the weird, inexplicable garbage that happens in this town,” Baz told her now, gently rubbing at her side, tousling her fur, “and I think you might be the strangest one to cross my path, sweetheart.”
Seriously, though. What other word was there for finding a (probably pure) Pomeranian on the streets, with no indication that anyone would miss her?
Baz had meant to leave Lord Darlington at the shelter, he really had.
But for one thing, they hadn’t had enough space to take her in right now. Trying to leave her there had meant a huge risk of seeing her euthanized simply due to the lack of available resources. For another, she had seemed to notice what Baz and the nice staffer were talking about (namely, the fact that, even having been spayed, she didn’t seem to have A Person in her life). Maybe she’d picked up on the shift in their tone. Then, she’d sat down on the exam room table and nosed at his arm as if she might literally perish without his attention. Precious, dark little eyes gleaming up at him, Lord Darlington hadn’t made a sound, but she’d made what she wanted perfectly clear.
Hence, her having come home with him.
Hence, the stops en route to the townhouse, first at the place where they’d taken a same-day grooming call. Then, at a pet store, where Baz had picked up a bag of some food recommended by the ASPCA vet, a little dog-bed for her, and several toys that she’d seemed to like.
Hence, the texts he’d sent his parents about getting help with whatever paperwork he’d need to do with the city or county or whoever, and the set of pet-friendly steps he’d ordered off Amazon when he and Lord Darlington had gotten back to the townhouse. She could manage the main stairs fine, if a little bit awkwardly, but she’d need the smaller set of steps to get into Baz’s bed without him picking her up. Until they got here (Amazon promised overnight shipping), he didn’t mind doing that, but getting her the freedom to come and go as she pleased felt important. He didn’t want to make the poor baby feel trapped, or penned in, or anything like that.
Then, there’d been a shower for Baz. Then, he’d snapped some shirtless mirror selfies from various angles, for the purposes of body-checking. Then, once he’d gotten into his tiny sleep shorts and his tank-top, he’d prepared to climb up on the scale for the first time in about seven weeks.
Hadn’t given himself much prep time. He’d already wound himself up by posting about it with his Friends Like These while waiting at the groomer’s. Giving himself more time to worry would only make it harder for Baz to get this over with, the way he knew he needed to do.
Although Baz kept lavishing Lord Darlington in affection, his phone felt heavy in his hoodie’s pocket. Everything he’d just stared down on the scale, he needed to tell somebody. Needed to say something about it. Right before getting on the scale, he’d posted thrice on his Bluesky: bout to check the scale for the first time in almst 2 months. pretty sure i havent gained at least? im still scared tho 😭
like ok i dont think ive gained but what if im just delusional yk? been feelin pretty skinny lately but feelings can lie?? idk rly i just dont wanna ******** up all my hard work this year
pls god if im actually a delusional fattie pls pls pls keep me ~150, swear im gonna Keep Myself Safe if i see 165 again 😭
Some replies had come in while Baz had fussed about weighing himself. Mikaylah had responded to the first with b***h please if you’ve gained while lookin like this? there’s no hope for ANY of us ijbol ❤️and a repost of two body-check mirror selfies Baz had shared with his Internet friends last weekend.
In the first photo, he kept his face (mostly) forward but posed with his torso in a three-quarters view. In the second, he stood in profile, all the better to assess his stomach and what state it was in. He needed these multiple angles and points of view, these different sides of himself committed to photographic form. After all, any midriff that looked toned and flat from the front could reveal a wealth of hidden fat to be excised when examined from the side.
On some level, Baz wanted to believe what Mikaylah was telling him. On the other side of weighing in, he felt like it should’ve been a simple matter. Seeing 130.0 on the scale should have resolved any doubts he harbored. The number was objective. And lower than Baz had aimed for, besides.
Making himself wait so long between weigh-ins had been, on one hand, a matter of focusing on all the end-of-semester business that had plagued him until earlier today, with the end of his exams. Baz knew how much it threw him off—threw off his confidence and his ability to focus on literally anything—when he saw the number on the scale fluctuating upward, even if it was only a fluke of being well-hydrated or something. He couldn’t afford to deal with that during finals prep and then exams, so he’d given himself a seven-week reprieve from facing anything that even vaguely resembled The Music.
On the other hand, though, part of Baz had wanted to test himself. Skipping too many weigh-ins last year had been the reason why, right after New Year, Baz had weighed in at 165 pounds, fully twenty pounds heavier than he’d been when Gilbert had first moved in. Most of those twenty pounds, he’d gained back since Jayce had joined them, freshly corrupted and in need of a new home with members of his team. After letting himself backslide so badly while not keeping such a close eye on his weight, Baz had needed to prove that he’d learned better. He needed to show himself that he had a handle on his weight problem and wouldn’t let himself get Too Fat all over again, just because he’d given himself a temporary reprieve from checking the scale.
November first, the last time Baz had weighed himself, he’d been at 145. Not great, not terrible. Ten pounds heavier than he’d wanted to be but he’d looked alright regardless. Slimmer than he thought he looked in his old pics from around when Gilbert first moved in. Still, the numerical verdict said that that must’ve been an illusion.
He knew that he’d been good for the past seven weeks. His food diary, his exercise logs, and his body-check selfies all knew that, too. Maybe Baz hadn’t entirely believed it when he’d read the comments about how much thinner he looked from his Friends Like These—the online friends with locked-down Instagram accounts, and the accounts on Tumblr and Bluesky where they plastered all over their bios disclaimers about how they were only venting, not encouraging anybody to get sick or anything. But however little he’d believed them about things going well for him, he’d felt quite certain that things hadn’t been going badly.
Still, even now that he had numbers telling him something objective how could Baz believe any of it?
How could he let himself believe something so positive? When so many things still felt like such a ******** mess?
Moving carefully, Baz disentangled his legs from Lord Darlington. She made a discontented noise about that, but it didn’t last long. Once he’d stretched out on his side, back to his door and face to his window, Lord Darlington trotted up closer. Flopped down beside him and nestled herself close to his chest. Letting his eyes drift shut, Baz put a gentle hand on her side.
Reaching goals felt good. Surpassing goals felt great. Right now, Baz felt neither of those things.
Which left him two options to explain the situation: either the scale was lying to him, or he had more work yet ahead of him before he was allowed to feel good.
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