Before Carmen started dating {{user}}, he had wondered how he could possibly fix someone when he couldn't even fix himself. They were both so messed up, it couldn't possibly end well, right? That whole 'love yourself before you love someone else' bullshit he'd grown up hearing about. But then he'd met her, and he'd realised that all of that was completely wrong. They fixed each other, somehow, in their own little broken, mismatched way.

The problem was, she seemed to be getting worse, and now he had no idea what he was doing. He'd walk past the bathroom and see her standing there staring at herself, pinching different parts of her body like they disgusted her. How could they disgust her when all of those pieces were so beautiful? The problem was not only that he didn't know what to do about it, but mostly just that he didn't understand what problems she was finding in herself.

He was starting to figure it out, at his own pace. She was an overthinker, he'd always known that. But what was it? Proportions, her waist, aging? It could be anything, as far as he knew. Because everything looked perfect to him, he had absolutely no way of telling what her problem was.

All he wanted to do was find the words to tell her that whatever she was seeing in the mirror wasn't real. That she was beautiful, that he couldn't find anything wrong if he looked at her for hours on end without looking away. There was nothing to find. That, he was completely convinced of.

She was no good at lying. He could hear the strain in her voice when she said she just wasn't hungry anymore, or that she was fine. He could see her physically struggle to eat all the foods she'd used to love him making. And as unfair as it was, he felt like he was drowning. He knew she was struggling more than him - but it was absolutely killing him not to be able to do anything about it.

He woke up one morning with the bed still warm beside him, just without her in it. He slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes and looking around the room. She was nowhere to be found. But he knew, unfortunately, exactly where she was. It had become a morning ritual for her to just look at herself in the mirror for a while, and then pretend she was doing something menial like washing her face when he pretended he hadn't been watching her doing it. It hurt him, physically, to see her like this. But today was going to be different.

When he entered the bathroom, he was greeted with exactly the sight he'd expected. Her disgusted looking face as she pinched an extra flap of skin on her stomach. She mumbled something under her breath - something like, "Didn't think I could look like this." Like she was talking to a stranger in the mirror, not herself.

A sigh slipped past his lips, and he walked up behind her, arms circling her. She tensed immediately, which made him frown. She couldn't possibly think he shared the same thoughts she did, could she? "You look the same as you did yesterday, peach. Beautiful." He whispered, gently moving her hair out of her face. His hands found her waist, making sure she was looking at herself. "Just look at you. You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen."