Disclaimer: I do not own the Fosters or any of the characters in this fic apart from Fee.

I know it's my fault. I know that.

Last night, I lost the battle. I allowed myself to gorge greedily on rice, and now my stomach is paying the price. Rotating slowly, I survey myself in the mirror, cupping my fingers over my bloated stomach. I sigh, and lower my white chiffon shirt, allowing it to fall over the bloated skin, tugging it tight to ensure it covers my midriff. Reaching for my mascara, I take a deep breath and steady myself for the day ahead. One sweep, two sweeps, left eye, right eye. The routine helps to relax my nerves and normalize the morning. I dab on some blusher and slick on a coat of lipgloss. Reaching for my hairbrush, I count the number of times it takes to get my dark brown hair to lie smooth.

17.

'Cal?' Jude's high pitched whisper is audible as he raps on the bathroom door three times.

I wince, inwardly willing him to be more quiet, so as not to wake up the entire house.

I sigh, and reach for the handle, opening it to let him into the broom-cupboard sized bathroom, and he quietly shuts it behind him again.

'Why are you up, bud?' I ask, as I pull him into a morning embrace.

'I couldn't sleep, I've been up all night.' He mumbles, his voice lost in our hug.

I feel the familiar butterflies begin to rise up in a storm from the pit of my stomach… if Jude is having trouble sleeping again, things must be worse than I thought. He's always had anxiety, but the insomnia only starts when he's particularly irrational.

I close my eyes to steady my fears, and strain a smile for his benefit.

'Why don't you come to breakfast with me?' I offer.

He smiles, and tells me he'll just be a minute, as he tiptoe runs back down the corridor, and emerges several minutes later, dressed in dark denim jeans exposing his ankles, that he's long outgrown, battered sneakers, and his favourite pink t-shirt, that I helped him tie-dye last summer. He slings his backpack over his shoulder, and he looks so small and fragile in the early morning light that for a minute I panic that it's going to crush him. I reach forward and ruffle his hair, and propel him forwards, one hand on each shoulder.

We creep out of the house together.

'Where is he?' Jude pesters, as we sit waiting perched on the sign for the café where I had agreed to meet Fee, at 7.

It was now 20 past, and Jude was becoming increasingly bad tempered.

'I'm sure he'll be here soon, bud.' I tell him, and squeeze his shoulder by way of reassurance, casting my eyes hopefully around the parking lot, my spirits lifting when I see the familiar tall frame sloping towards us, grey hooded sweatshirt hiding his face, and probably his hangover from the previous night. As he spots us, he smirks, the closest I ever get to an official smile, and I bite my lip in apprehension as the smirk turns sour upon clocking Jude. I shrug my shoulders in a wordless apology, and my shoulders relax as he winks at me and greets Jude with a friendly fist bump, despite the fact I've told him on multiple occasions that Jude isn't a fist-bump kind of kid.

'Hey Cal' he says softly, and gives me a hug, stooping so he can wrap his arms around me, before tilting my chin up for a kiss. His lips linger on mine just long enough for me to catch a whiff of stale alcohol on his breath. I hide my gag, but take his hand and Jude's, with my other hand, and we walk into the café looking something like a military unit.

Ten minutes later, Jude has a hot chocolate and some toast, and Fee and I both have black coffees, and the conversation is flowing more easily. I love it when it's easy, carefree. I love that the two most important people in my life can get on.

'So, Cal, you free tonight?' Fee murmurs, holding my hand in his across the table as Jude slumps beside me, engrossed in spreading his jam perfectly evenly on each piece of toast.

'Fee, you know I'm working.' I feel the mild irritation rising, as I've always worked Mondays , as long as Fee and I have been dating.

'Ugh, you'd think your work was more important than your boyfriend.' His expression turns sulky, and he withdraws his hand. We sit in uncomfortable silence. I count 136 seconds before he asks me why I'm not drinking my coffee.

'I will,' I murmur, 'it's just too hot.' I recall the bloated feeling this morning from my rice last night, and suddenly the smell of the strong coffee makes me feel nauseous.

'Well, it cost me 5$ so you better drink it,' he jokes. I smile gratefully, acknowledging the fact that he's paying, however as the bill arrives at the same time, he puts down a 10$ bill. He's paying for our coffees, I realize, but I'm paying for Jude. I slide down the money for his toast and cocoa and we hand it to a waitress.

I take 3 pretend sips of my coffee, and slosh some purposefully onto the saucer, to make it look like I drank some. Fee, luckily, doesn't notice, but I can feel Jude staring at me from my right.

I lift the cup to my lips again, and, knowing Jude is watching, force myself to take a sip. The coffee is piping hot and delicious, liquid energy.

20 calories of liquid energy, I think subconsciously, before shaking my head to myself. The things I worry about when I'm overtired. I have much more pressing issues to deal with than my bikini body, I remind myself inwardly, and force one more sip, and reach down, and squeeze Jude's hand in reassurance.