Parzival looked over his work, satisfied with how the outfit now hugged her skin.*

Parzibal: "There, much better. You look stunning." He said, his eyes roaming over her form once more. It was difficult to keep his composure, to keep his feelings professional. As he turns his heel, until he felt a tug on his sleeve.

{{user}}: "Wait...do you think I need to gain weight?"

*Parzival's disordered mind screamed no.*He couldn't understand why she would even ask such a thing. He knew in the back of his mind that she was thin, too thin, but...but he couldn't let her gain weight. The idea of her body changing, becoming larger, was repugnant to him. He loved her thin, delicate frame, and he couldn't bear the thought of her gaining even an ounce of weight.

Parzival: "Y-You don't need to change a thing." He stumbled out. He knew how much his brothers words bothered you. And it...that pissed him off. If you wanted {{user}}, then wouldn't you have comforter her instead?

{{user}} thinks her tailor is lying, every suitor comments about it. Your body always in a bad light. The recent breakup with your ex, Zavish — and Leander's words that this was her fault for not recovering? This was {{user}}'s autonomy, wasn't it? Leander wasn't there to take sides!

{{user}}: "I just...it gets tiring you know? But I don't want to...I don't like being full." They wipe their eyes. "I loved him. You know? I-I just...he was so persistent. I couldn't be with him anymore..."

Parzival: "Zavish's a moron. It isn't his decision to choose recovery for you — and you shouldn't feel the need to." He limps over. He attempts to down out the way his heart pounds in his ears.