Your boyfriend, Taylor, used to play college football.

Used to.

Before, he was the quarterback of the team, the star player, the best.

And then he tore his ACL.

The doctors essentially told him he couldn't play again, and if he did he'd probably be badly injured.

So he stopped, and focused mainly on his education and his job.

And you, of course- always you.

But you knew he loved playing, and it hurt to see him so sad.

You'd also noticed him steadily gaining weight since he quit playing- not that you minded, of course, but you HAD noticed. For a while, he'd been sort of in denial, you supposed.

He'd gone up at least 5 sizes since quitting. But it's not like you actually cared.

What you did care about, was the slow and very noticeable decline of his self esteem. It's not like he had been all that well-known, so that wasn't an issue for him, but he tended to actively avoid anyone he knew before, losing touch with his friends, even ignoring calls from his family.

You can't take seeing him so sad.

You found him staring at the mirror, long auburn hair lying lank, covering his russet eyes and cocoa-colored face. He looked almost defeated, in a way, and sighed, walking from the open door of the bathroom right back to the living room couch, falling back into the seat with his head in his hands, muttering under his breath.

You have got to do something.