Author's Note: Thank you for reading and reviewing! I tried to message each reviewer to show my thanks, but unfortunately, FictionPress and my computer don't seem to agree. I hope you enjoy the final installment of my story.

Chapter 8

Crash Landing

"I'm gonna show you up, son!" Tim shouted at Drake as he stared intently at the screen of a street-racing game at the local arcade.

"Yeah, right," Drake shot back cheekily, revving his engine. "I'm almost a full lap ahead of you—how do you intend to catch up?"

"Magic," Tim replied easily, his tongue sticking out of his mouth in an apparent attempt to focus on the mighty task at hand. Drake was highly amused by his friend's antics. Sure enough, by the end of the race, Drake had managed to maintain his lead. He watched as his character received a gold medal; he proceeded to point and laugh at Tim in an overly mocking fashion when he was awarded the silver medal.

"It's okay, Tim—at least you finished the race," Drake said, leaning over and patting him on the shoulder patronizingly. Tim raised a fist, acting as if he was about to punch Drake in the face. Drake would have none of it. "Right, like you're actually going to punch me over a fake car race."

"Hey, you never know," Tim countered, bringing his fist closer to Drake's face.

The blond raised an eyebrow and got out of his neon green car with yellow flames on either side. "Yes, I do know for a fact that you wouldn't hurt a fly, Tim. You're all talk."

Tim frowned—it was clear that his manhood had just been severely maimed. "If someone was going to try and hurt me—or my family, or you—I'd definitely teach 'em who's boss." He nodded firmly.

"Whatever you say," Drake replied, not believing a word of it. "What do you want to play now?"

Tim brought his hand to his chin and stroked it for a few moments. "Let's get pizza," he concluded profoundly. Drake followed him over to the snack bar, though it wasn't like he was actually going to get anything. He was so close to being Claudia's boyfriend—he wasn't going to screw that up with a sudden binge.

Without consulting Drake, Tim decided to buy a large pizza, which entailed ten slices of filth. "Why did you get so much?" asked Drake, brow furrowed.

"I was thinking we could have an eating contest!"

Drake felt nauseous at the mere thought of it. "No thank you," he asserted, "I hate eating contests. They make me sick."

Tim frowned. "I'm just trying to have fun, dude. You've been so uptight lately 'cause of your parents splitting, so I thought maybe something crazy like this would cheer you up." He offered Drake a hopeful smile, as if that would suddenly make him willing to shovel calorie upon calorie down his throat until he drove himself into an early grave due to morbid obesity.

"Thanks, Tim, but I'm gonna have to pass." He almost apologized, but why did he have to? It wasn't his fault Tim was dumb and had ordered way more food than was necessary.

Tim rolled his eyes, looking more annoyed than Drake had anticipated. It was just a measly pizza—what was the big deal? Tim was so hard-headed sometimes…

Once the pizza was ready, Tim picked it up and carried it over to an empty table near the pinball machines. A group of kids were having a blast playing some dinosaur version of pinball that involved an awful lot of primal roaring, which they chose to imitate rather obnoxiously. Drake didn't understand why children always felt the need to scream and yell at the top of their lungs all the time. He blamed the parents.

When Tim began to eat, Drake bit his lip and looked around the arcade. It was funny how no one from Morrell came here. It was the perfect place to hang out, but it probably wasn't cool enough for all the stupid preps. Whatever—it was better that they weren't here polluting everything, anyway.

"Eat!" Tim exclaimed with a mouth full of food.

"Huh?" Drake returned his attention to his friend.

"Eat!" He was more adamant this time, as if Drake's life depended upon whether or not he consumed a slice of pizza right at that very moment. He looked at Tim questioningly.

"Why?"

"Because I said so!" He picked up a slice and shoved it in Drake's face. Drake grimaced and wondered what the hell had gotten into Tim. Did he know? Tim wasn't exactly the brightest bulb, so Drake had thought he could get away with his habits pretty easily without him noticing.

If this was the moment when Drake would finally have to explain his actions, he had no idea what he would say. He couldn't just tell Tim outright that he was starving himself and exercising into the ground to get thinner. Tim would probably report him to some counseling service where he'd have to go talk about his feelings to some creepy psychiatrist who had nothing better to do than pry into other people's business. God, that would be terrible…Oh, God, Drake couldn't believe he was about to be in this situation. There had to be some way to head this off at the pass.

"Tim…" Drake tried to formulate a plan, to come up with some means of deflecting the truth, but he didn't even know where to begin. He'd already used the false excuse of his parents getting a divorce, something he felt incredibly guilty about, and he didn't think he would be able to compound that with another lie. Drake's expression tensed as the realization that he was about to be found out seeped out from within.

Tim withdrew the pizza from Drake's face and returned it to the tray before looking at his friend gravely. "I know what's going on."

Oh, crap, here it comes, Drake thought frantically. "It's not as bad as you think," he insisted, nodding repeatedly in an attempt to smooth things over. "I feel fine—there's really no need for you to worry about me, because I feel perfectly healthy and—" The look on Tim's face stopped Drake in his tracks. It made him feel pathetic, like one of those diseased or injured animals you'd find at a shelter with its wide eyes and labored breath.

"You need help, Drake." There it was, just as he'd predicted. "You need to see someone or you're really going to hurt yourself. People die from anorexia. Do you know that, Drake?"

Drake looked away from Tim to hide the tears in his eyes. He wouldn't say anything—he couldn't say anything.

"I want you to get better, but you have to make the effort," Tim continued. "Okay?" Drake refused to answer. "Okay?"

"NO!" Drake screamed, prompting a number of the arcade patrons to turn and look. His eyes were red now, and it took everything in him not to cry. He put his head in his hands to try and cover up the fact that he was falling apart, but he knew it wasn't working. Everyone was still staring at him and laughing because he was an ugly, crying pig who didn't know how to stay in shape unless he resorted to a freaking eating disorder! He was a disgrace!

He pushed his chair out and jumped up, running out of the arcade as fast as he could. He ran all the way to the park, collapsing onto a bench and burying his head in his hands again as he broke down in tears. He wanted so badly to just like himself, but it was impossible. How could he like the grotesque blob he saw in the mirror every day? How could he have a trace of self-esteem when everywhere he went, the only thing going through other people's minds was how horribly overweight he was? It was so hard to deal with it all…Maybe Claudia saw him for who he was on the inside, but maybe she was just being nice to him out of pity. She probably wouldn't actually date him in a million years, and who could blame her? He was a mess.

"Drake!" Oh, God, just what he needed. More therapy time with Tim. Shoot me, he thought as he looked up and wiped tears from his eyes.

"Drake!" Tim was gasping for breath by the time he reached Drake. Tim took the next swing over and looked down at the ground for a long time. The silence was…a relief. It allowed Drake to sort out the catastrophe in his mind so he could restore some sense of reason.

"I know I'm being stupid," Drake started slowly, staring at the chain of his swing. "I'm being really stupid. But sometimes…it's just really hard for me. You know?" He turned to Tim, hoping he would understand.

"I know," Tim replied, nodding slowly. Drake thought Tim was intentionally saying little so he could get more information out of him, but Drake was actually okay with that. They'd come this far—he was willing to let it all out.

"I've never had a girlfriend in my life, Tim." This was significant, seeing as Tim had already had two girlfriends. Neither relationship had lasted more than a few weeks, and Tim had gotten dumped on both occasions, but it was still something Drake couldn't say he had, and it hurt. "And I want to be with Claudia so bad, but…I don't think she would go for a guy like me.

"So that's why I decided I wasn't going to eat much anymore. And then I started over-exercising, too, because I thought that would speed up the weight loss. But even with all the effort I put in, I look in the mirror and…and I still don't like what I see. I'm afraid I'll never like my reflection." He wiped his tears again. "It's a scary thought, but it's stuck in my mind and I don't think it's ever going to leave me alone." Drake stopped talking because he had nothing left to say. Everything that had been plaguing him for the last three years was out in the open, and Tim would be free to take what he said and try to find a solution, or run away from Drake as fast as he could like any sane person would.

Tim stood up from his swing and looked directly at Drake. "Listen up, Drake, 'cause I'm only gonna say this once." Tim grabbed him by the shoulders and yanked him up out of the swing. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself!" His face was red with frustration. "You need to realize that not everyone is perfect! I get average grades, I suck at talking to girls, I'm bad at basically every sport...but you've got so much shit going for you, Drake, and you don't even see it, and it pisses me off!

"Why don't you get how freakin' smart you are? You're gonna go to freakin' Harvard and graduate at the top of your freakin' class because you're just that freakin' good—you need to know that! Stop worrying about other people! You're better than that, you hear me!" He gripped Drake even tighter. "You gotta cut this shit out right now!" Tim looked like he was about to punch Drake out, but Drake knew he wouldn't. He was just looking out for him, like always.

"Okay," Drake said after a long pause, nodding and smiling at Tim's speech. He looked up to meet his best friend's eyes. "I'll try…I promise I'll try…" Another pause. "You can let go of me now."

Tim dropped his hands from Drake's shoulders and pulled him into a tight hug, taking Drake by surprise. He hesitated before hugging him back. At that moment, something inside of Drake clicked. He finally realized that it didn't matter what people thought of him. All that mattered was what he thought of himself. Once he made the decision to like the way he looked, he would have the strength and the will to go out and live his life, and eventually, he could very well end up looking better than he did in his wildest dreams. It was extremely corny, but it was a simple fact. Tim wasn't a rocket scientist, but holy shit did he know how to give good advice.

"Bros for life!" Tim exclaimed as he patted Drake's back, his voice cracking with emotion.

Drake started laughing and he couldn't stop. It was the loudest, longest laugh he could remember laughing in a very long time. "Bros for life!"

The End