Just like what I did with 'Catch Your Breath,' I put together these chapters from my 100-Day Challenge. I liked this plot, as well, and decided to give readers who don't like 100-Day Challenges the opportunity to read a small part of it.

If you like this, and 'Catch Your Breath,' then you should try reading my 100-Day Challenge!

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

OoOoOo

Chapter One: Keeping a Secret

He'd never been comfortable in his own body. He'd grown up feeling awkward about himself.

When both Sweden and Denmark had shown off their abs, he'd been jealous and felt out-of-place. He'd left the two and entered his bedroom. He'd leaned against the closed door and poked hesitantly at his non-existent abs. He'd felt nauseous when he realized just how squishy it was.

He'd turned to the mirror, lifted his shirt up, and stared at the horrible image that was his body. He'd poked at his 'abs' some more, noted how he needed to work a bit on them. He'd heard Denmark calling for him, so he let his shirt drop and left to find the annoying idiot.

Before he'd gone to bed that night, he'd done 200 sit-ups.

The next morning, in the bathroom, he'd stripped and taken a good look at his body. He'd realized that, along with the squishiness in place of hard abs, he had a pudgy stomach. And his thighs were out of proportion with his hips and butt – all three needed to lose some fat.

He'd skipped eating until dinner, and even then he'd only eaten an apple. Then another 200 sit-ups.

It went on like that for quite some time. He never told anyone else – he wanted it to be a surprise. When he was skinny enough, when he was perfect enough, he'd show them all. Denmark especially. Then maybe Denmark would make love to him, and they'd both admit their feelings.

That was his biggest motivation. Denmark. He wanted to be perfect for his potential lover. He'd loved Denmark for the longest time, but was too self-conscious to speak up about it. As soon as he was perfect and loveable and beautiful, he was going to confess. But not beforehand. He needed to lose weight, get better curves, get rid of that fat. After all, Denmark wouldn't want to touch and hold and mark an imperfect man.

The first time he'd binged, he'd been devastated. He'd eaten almost everything in the fridge. He could feel the food weighing him down. He'd cried and punched the wall. But all of that food at made him sick. He'd run to the toilet and thrown up. He'd been amazed at how light he felt afterwards – but he'd still felt full. And if he just exercised a bit more …

He ate meals when around people or when desperate, but purged afterwards.

Iceland had confronted him about his weight loss. He'd only shrugged and said he'd taken up exercising a bit more. Iceland hadn't been convinced but had left it alone. He'd felt bad about it, but he needed to be the perfect brother for Iceland, so until he was skinny enough, he wouldn't say anything.

He wasn't sure how long it had been since he'd first started trying to become skinny. He just knew that he was in the habit of not eating breakfast or lunch, binging at dinner then purging afterwards, running laps around the neighborhood, doing 200 or more sit-ups, then weigh himself before bed.

Every night, he was not satisfied with the numbers on the scale. So he worked himself harder every day to make up for it.

He thought he'd been doing pretty good, until Denmark had made a surprise visit. The latter had caught him purging. His excuse of being sick seemed to work. The subject wasn't brought up again until that night, when Denmark insisted he sleep in the same bed as him. He'd agreed after a lot of whining. He regretted the decision when Denmark cuddled him and asked him,

"Why were you really throwing up earlier?"

He tried to get away, but Denmark had a firm grip on him. Denmark's eyes widened. He didn't know why. Denmark's hands traced over his arms, then lifted up his shirt. He protested, but the Dane was persistent. Denmark started crying, of all things, into his hair. He, too, began to cry.

"I know, I'm hideous and fat and horrible –"

Denmark shook his head frantically. "No. No, you're not. W-why would you ever think that?"

He leaned into Denmark. "I just want to be perfect for you, and for Iceland, and for everybody. I just want to look better and be skinnier and healthier."

Denmark grabbed one of his hands. "You're already perfect. But, Norge, this … what you're doing to yourself … it isn't healthy." He opened his mouth, but Denmark cut him off before he could speak. "You're sick. You need help. Please, let me help you."

"I don't need help," he snapped. "I'm fine. I just need to be a little bit skinner, and then I can be perfect for everyone."

"Norge, you need help. You're obsessed with your weight. With your looks. Let us help you. Let me help you."

He didn't reply. Denmark sat up and dragged him over to where the mirror was. Denmark's hands gently tugged his shirt up. He was forced to look at how ugly he was. He turned his gaze away.

"Look at yourself, Norge, and tell me you're okay." He ignored Denmark. "Look at yourself!"

Jumping at the sudden yell, he observed his body in the mirror. Denmark took off his own shirt.

"Look at the two of us," Denmark told him. He did so. He felt himself breaking. "Now tell me you're okay."

Instead of speaking, he turned his head into Denmark's chest and cried.