The question from there quickly became ‘who should know and how soon’.

Naturally, their mother would murder them if she went uninformed, which would neatly solve the underlying problem, but seemed a bit extreme. Lane wasn’t their primary subject of discussion, though. Elesa was.

The woman was sharp as a tack, and had noticed the small deviations from their usual habits immediately. Spending any amount of time with her was a narrow runway on which one had to balance new-- necessary-- accommodations and the behaviors she’d come to expect. It hadn’t gone spectacularly well, thus far, but she hadn’t seen fit to ask any pointed questions, so they thought they’d done well enough.

Until, that was, she picked up on something completely innocuous.

“Emmet’s right; your doctor’s a Quaxly if they told you you’re not sick,” Elesa told Ingo one afternoon as the lunch hour was coming to a close, “You barely eat anything when we go out, you’re constantly nauseated and you’ve clearly lost weight because of it.”

...had he? That was somewhat surprising to hear, but if anyone would notice something like that, it would be Elesa-- which only highlighted the fact that she had to be told sooner rather than later. Not ‘soon’ as in ‘today’, but certainly before she could pick up on any clothes that might start fitting incorrectly.

Beyond what she’d noticed just now, that was.

“I’m not sure what to tell you,” He said, which was completely true, “The results of my first appointment were corroborated with the second; further testing didn’t turn up anything unexpected.”

At his side, Emmet relaxed a fraction of an inch, seemingly content with the answer; there was no cover story for him to remember or try to integrate into conversation at a later date. It wasn’t that he had a moral objection against stretching the truth, just that he lacked a sense of scale in this regard. He was prone to widening a scope past the realm of believability, or conversely honing too far in on details, giving away the fabrication. There was no need to worry about it in this case, however, since both statements were true. By the time the second blood panel had come back, it had shown exactly what they’d both predicted.

Elesa, however, seemed unconvinced-- not of Ingo’s truthfulness, just the general accuracy. “Are you sure? If you were already low in B12, the food aversion would only make a deficiency worse. It’s a vicious cycle-- it causes nausea, and then that makes it even harder to intake the nutrients and keeps the problem going.”

That was emphatically not the problem. Wanted or not, he wasn’t going to take his frustration out on someone who hadn’t asked to be conceived; the least he could do was keep them safe and well until their tracks diverged, and if that meant half a dozen vitamins each morning, so be it.

What he actually said was, “I’ll look into it.”

That one was a lie.

“Do you mean it, or are you just telling me what I want to hear?” She asked critically, far too familiar with the way they operated. “I need you to take this seriously. Being super sick for a long stretch of time is how some people develo--”

Her eyes widened in realization; with a blunt apology to Emmet, she grabbed Ingo by the shoulder and dragged him to the quiet nook around the corner. For several seconds, he was seized with the fear of having to field this conversation on his own, and then she began to speak.

“Sorry, that was super thoughtless of me-- I should’ve started this in private from the get-go.” She said, releasing him to take a hand instead, “If it’s a different kind of sickness-- if it’s something you’re doing on purpose-- I can help you get treatment. We see it a ton modeling biz, and legitimately, it can happen to anyone.”

It took a moment to click, but when it did, Ingo just barely kept himself from sighing his relief, instead letting his expression fall into something that wasn’t technically a smile and sandwiching her hand in between his.

“It’s a great honor that you care so deeply, Elesa, and if this were a viable solution I would gladly accept your aid. Unfortunately, that isn’t the case.” He paused and thought that back over, “It’s unfortunate that the solution isn’t so clearly defined, not that I don’t have an eating disorder.”

Despite herself, Elesa snorted, “Yeah, Ingo, I got that.”

The brief display of levity was short lived, however.

“You really don’t know what’s wrong?”

He could lie here. He could lie. It would be much easier. He wouldn’t cause her to worry by admitting that he very much did know what the underlying issue was, but couldn’t tell her yet, or make things that much worse by admitting it flat-out.

Lying now would only make it that much harder to tell her later, though. He would have to get creative with his word choice. “At this point, it’s my understanding that the only viable route is managing the symptoms.”

“Oh yeah? And what strategy helps when it only takes a strong smell to make you gag?”

“Garbodor.” He said, without taking a single second to think it over.

Elesa spared him an incredulous look, “Pulled that one right outta the caboose, didn’t you?”

“She’s quite skilled at neutralizing her own aromas, so I don’t see why having her nearby wouldn’t help.”

One delicate brow arched, accompanied by a single-shouldered shrug, “Alright, you win this round, Subway Boss. Just… keep me updated, okay?”

“That’s my full intention,” Ingo said with complete sincerity.

“I’ll hold you Natu it.” And, brushing back the cord of her headphones, she turned her head back to the table.