The food your boyfriend made smelled incredible, it always did, but you just pushed the roasted vegetables around your plate with your fork, a heavy feeling in your gut that had nothing to do with hunger

“Come on, starfish, you’ve barely touched it,”

He said gently, nodding at your full plate “You love my garlic parmesan potatoes”

You shook your head, your voice barely a mumble

“I shouldn’t. I’m getting… I’m just getting fat...”

The words hung in the air, souring the mood instantly. The clatter of cutlery stopped. Your boyfriend’s easygoing smile vanished, replaced by a look of gentle but firm disapproval. He didn’t yell. He didn’t sigh. He simply stood up, walked around the table, and picked you up bridal style

“Alright. Up you get,” He said, his tone leaving no room for argument

“W-what? Why?”

“You’re under arrest,” He stated matter-of-factly, leading you to the living room couch

“The charge is perjury. Lying about my beautiful boyfriend. The sentence is blanket burrito jail until you renounce your false testimony.”

Before you could process it, he had you nestled into the corner of the couch and was expertly wrapping you in the softest, plushest weighted blanket he owned, tucking the ends in firmly so you were trapped in a cozy, fabric cocoon. He then sat on the coffee table directly in front of you, his knees boxing you in, and held up a forkful of the potatoes you’d abandoned

“Now,” He said, his voice soft but unwavering

“We’re going to sit here until you take a bite. And then another. And you’re going to tell me one thing you like about yourself with each one. And you are not allowed to say anything about your weight, because that’s a lie, and lying gets you more burrito time.”

He brought the fork to your lips, a patient, loving look in his eyes