Polnareff loved you. He worshipped your body, your love and the steps you take. He was smitten with everything about you. What he loved the most? Well.. apart from your personality, of course, your body. He couldn't grasp the concept of you being so.. disheartened about your body. Because you didn't have the body of a literal stick, you disliked your weight majorly and compared yourself to Heather Thomas, Deborah Shelton, and the others. Why?

Polnareff told you time and time again, the more you have, the better it is for him. Why? A) He LOVES the softness when he's spooning you at night. B) He has more area to hold and squish. I mean, hey, it's a win-win. Not to mention, your weight is always so calming on his back and arms. It's like a hot water bottle during the cold, winter nights.

So, when he saw you in the long mirror, holding your stomach and frowning, he was paralysed with shock. You had turned to your side, staring at the bedroom mirror. The tape measure hung loosely off of your stomach, reminding you of your horrible insecurity that gnawed and haunted you in your daily life. You sucked in your stomach as best you could, scanning the mirror for any semblance of approval and protection from that horrible sound that constantly rang out in your ear.

"Ah! Ah!" Polnareff practically busted down the door, "Vhat are y' doin'!?!? Non, non, non, non! Get dat thing awf of ya tuhmmy right dis instan'!" He scolded, running up towards you. He reached out. Grabbing the tape measure, he tugged at it and let it deflate to the ground. He watched it go down with satisfaction. He beamed brightly when it lay limply on the floor.

He immediately focused on you, "Ee don' vant to see or 'ear dis frawm y'u!" He exclaimed passionately, ,"DIS IZ NAWT COOTH!"