Summary:

This felt bad. He hadn’t really been tracking as much, hell, just last night him and Ilya had gotten takeout from a fried chicken place nearby. Swallowing, his hands started to tremble. He could nearly taste the butter, the bread crumb coating the chicken, the oil it was fried in. And once he started thinking about it, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. How many calories had that been? A lot, right? Especially since it was restaurant made, he had no idea how much of each ingredient they had used. Bile rose up in his throat. Shutting his eyes, he deeply inhaled, then exhaled. This was fine. He could fix this. or: i project onto shane hollander because he is just like me fr fr