Chapter Text
Stephen learned early on that people had an expected view of others. They imagined you looking a certain way, and if you ever started to deviate from that idea they would (quite rudely) point it out. He had always been a skinny kid, as most kids tend to be. Knobby knees and sharp elbows followed him through his teen years and into adulthood, so no one said a word. It was in fact, only when he was a correspondent for Comedy Central and heading into his 30's that those first whispers made their way to him and settled in the back of his mind.
As most young adults exiting their 20's tend to do, Stephen developed that signature bump in his stomach and the soft love handles that plagued most middle aged people. It didn't hurt him though, he just shrugged it off as a fact of life and continued on. However, the eager audiences noticed the change much more than he did.
To deal with this growing onslaught of viewer comments, Stephen did the thing he knew best. He turned it into comedy. When anything of that nature was brought up, Stephen would just laugh, and blame it on "all those donuts that were just too damn good". Jon and him would joke and poke fun at each other's chub, and everything was right again in the world.
On the outside, the comments slid off of Stephen's back like water on a duck's feathers. People commented on how secure he was in himself; how all of those comments were lies anyways and how he looked good. But, proving the theory that if you hear something enough you'll believe it, the comments hit deeper than Stephen thought they would. He didn't even hear them so much anymore, but the thought that maybe he was getting fatter had already wormed it's way into his brain and made a home, ready to strike when he was at his most vulnerable.
The first attack came right before he was about to go on air. The cameraman called a 2 minute countdown, and Stephen hadn't even put on any pants yet. Jumping up from his changing room chair, he scrambled for a pair of slacks that weren't wrinkled into oblivion. Hastily shoving his foot through the pant leg, he gave his frantic hopping a pause when he encountered some kind of resistance. For the first time in his life, his pants didn't quite fit over his hips. This gave him pause. When did this happen? He'd worn the same size for over 5 years. Had this been happening for a while, and he hadn't noticed? Or - God forbid - had those commenters been right?
The sharp bark of the cameraman brought him out of his reverie. With 30 seconds left till he was supposed to be on air, Stephen brushed aside any irrational thought and sprinted out of his changing room, clumsily buckling his belt and snatching his mic from some scared intern's sweaty hand.
If you asked Stephen afterwards if he gave another thought to the pants debacle, he would give a confident no. But Stephen was also a world-class liar. He didn't mean to think about it again, but when he, Jon, and Steve met for their almost nightly tradition of fast food and ridiculing the current political climate, Stephen just couldn't get that moment out of his head. At one point, when he was half-heartedly picking at his chow mein, Jon turned his head and quirked a brow at him. Stephen just waved him off; gave him a shrug to say 'it's nothing to worry about, I'm just tired'. Jon didn't look totally convinced, but he turned his gaze back to the TV, laughing as some random politician made a fool of himself (again).
Now, Stephen was a big supporter of the theory that a good sleep would let you forget yesterday's problems. But these infectious mumblings clung to him like burrs on an old sweater all week. When he sat, a small voice would hiss out "thunder thighs!". When he tucked in his dress shirt a sing-song chorus of "beer belly!" Would come alive in his head, the hushed voices meshing and blending together into a growing hubbub of self hatred. Each time he would shake off the strange thoughts, and wonder how he had become so swayed by the opinions of people he had never seen or met.
The uneasiness followed him into the weekend, where everything came to a head on that Sunday night. He had just finished a wonderful dinner, and had gone into the bathroom for a quick shower before settling in for the night. As he unbuttoned his shirt, Stephen turned his sight to his figure in the mirror and stopped dead in his tracks. Blinking as if to dispel an illusion, he did a double take and took stock of what was looking back at him. His stomach seemed to expand before his eyes, hanging low over the seam of his slacks. His thighs suddenly seemed to rub together, as if stuck together with glue. As he turned on his shower, he couldn't get that image of himself out of his head. But surely this was normal for guys? After all, only teenage girls were vain and insecure to worry about their weight. No matter how hard he tried to rationalize these non sensical thoughts though, the louder the voice at the back of his head screamed otherwise.
Toweling off his hair, Stephen decided that maybe he did just need to work off the extra padding. Exercise would be good for him anyway, he would be healthier... He named every single excuse under the sun to convince himself that yes, this was the right choice to make. But how could he make time for going to the gym? His week was already full to the brim with work, and he didn't want to throw away the sliver of life he had left. Before he could delve further into the dilemma however, Stephen became acutely aware of the growing weight behind his eyes. Shaken and exhausted, he collapsed into bed.
Come the start of the work week, Stephen had largely forgot his weekend crisis. Too engrossed with his day to day work, he wasn't reminded of the promise he made to himself until he once again encountered what was shaping up to be his worst critic: the mirror. At this point, Stephen really couldn't imagine how he had missed this before; he wondered how he could let himself get like... This. So when his lunch break rolled around and he took out his usual sandwich and chips, he took a moment to look at it. There they both were, sitting innocently on the table, beckoning for him to indulge in their savory delight. Hesitantly, Stephen turned the chip bag around and looked at the nutrition label. When he saw the calorie number, he felt like his eyes popped out of his head from how wide they got. The cause of his newfound distress lay in a single number, carefully printed. 430. 430 calories for a chip bag that Stephen knew was always under-filled anyways. His face suddenly burning, he pushed away the bag to the middle of the break room table. Turning towards his sandwich, he suddenly couldn't stomach taking even a bite. After all, at least the chip bag had a label for him. This sandwich was a stranger to him; he had no way of knowing what it held for him anymore. Quickly looking around to see if anyone had seen his outburst, he gave a slight cough and slipped the sandwich into the mini fridge. After all, if he didn't want it he didn't see a reason to throw it out. As he walked to the door, his stomach gave a pitiful growl. Stephen had never fully skipped lunch before, and his stomach was making it well known that it wasn't happy with that ruling. Looking around, he marched over to the coffee maker and poured himself a cup. Hopefully, a scalding mug of coffee would quell the tremors. He passed Steve on the way out, who gave him a questioning look as he walked by. Steve and him would eat together quite often, as Jon was normally on air during this time. Seeing Stephen exiting the room with nothing but coffee must have looked a little strange, but before Steve could ask him anything Stephen made some flimsy excuse about makeup wanting to see him and hurried down the hall. Collapsing with a sigh on his dressing room couch, he browsed on his phone in solitude for the last minutes of his break.