Symptomatic

5

"How do you feel?" Tobi asked once Harry stepped out of the bedroom, causing the boy to jump in startlement. He was still feeling incredibly off, but he wasn't going to cause his friends any more stress by vocalising it.

"A lot better. What are you doing up?"

"I couldn't sleep," Tobi said. "We were all so worried about you, but I'm glad you're feeling better now."

Harry felt guilt pierce his heart. He took a peek into one of the other bedrooms, noticing how exhausted Josh looked as he slept. He had light bags under his eyes, which were closed so tightly that it almost looked as though he were trying to get in twice as much rest as he would have otherwise. He had caused his house mates to lose sleep and worry. He had caused them all stress, and all because he couldn't control his stupid body.

"Why don't you go back to bed, Tobes. I'll make breakfast myself." Harry spoke.

"You don't have to, especially since you weren't feeling well last night. I've got it."

"No, I want to. As a thank you for, you know, the way you all handled last night."

"Bog, you don't need to thank us for that. That's just what friends do for each other. It's not like we would've let you deal with it alone." Tobi finished with a poorly concealed yawn.

"Really, I want to make breakfast. It'll give me a chance to practice cooking anyway." He spoke with a soft smile, just wanting his friend to get some rest, and not worry about him.

"Yeah, okay. Sure Boggo."

Tobi was a bundle of kindness and love- he was exactly what people pictured when they imagined the perfect friend. And Harry had caused him to worry, to the point of loosing sleep. He had caused him pain. Part of Harry thought that he wasn't worth the energy, but the other part of him feared for his life, knowing that the only way to feel okay again was to get help.

But, now, Harry needed to continue his routine or everything would shatter, so he pretended to be okay. Even if he felt sick and just the sight and smell of food- even if he couldn't eat more than a couple bites of the breakfast he had made for his friends.

"You're not filming with us today, Harry." Josh said as everyone went to their rooms to get dressed and ready for the day. Harry looked at him blankly for a moment.

"I feel fine now." He responded.

"Well you weren't feeling well last night, and I think you just need to rest. Try and get some sleep. We'll be back in a few hours."

"But, Josh-"

"No, Harry. You are staying home today. End of story." Josh's tone was firm, almost harsh, causing the younger to sink. It wasn't that he necessarily wanted to be put through all the stress of filming out in the streets of Central London, in the agonising heat- but rather that he didn't know if he would be okay staying home alone with nothing to occupy his mind. He could no longer watch movies or Youtube because- somehow- they only reminded him of the calmness and health he didn't have. Even cleaning his bedroom caused him to sweat and sometimes feel out of breath.

These symptoms only seemed to get worse when he had nothing to do but dwell over them.

But Harry still sat there, watching as everyone headed out the door on their way to their filming destination, dread building up in his chest. He really didn't want to stay home. He needed to get out and do something, somehow.

Maybe I'll go for a walk, he thought to himself, standing up, only to experience a disorienting head rush. When his vision cleared, he walked to the bathroom so that he could change. It was then, when he truly began to realise how much weight he had lost. He wasn't deathly skinny, not by any means, and his bones weren't sticking out of his body- but still, he had definitely lost a substantial amount of weight.

He was pale all over from the anxiety and lack of nutrition. He didn't like it.

***

Harry slipped his phone into his pocket and started to walk along the outside pavements. It was a fairly nice day, to his surprise, hints of blue sky showing through the white clouds and sun hitting his face. He felt better walking, thinking about where he would go, having control. Nobody was telling him what to do, nobody was expecting him to do anything, he wasn't blindly waiting for his body to start feeling better. He was going where he wanted to go.

Even if his calves grew sore by the end and he collapsed on the sofa, completely drained when he finally returned home, it felt good.

Maybe he just needed to try eating again, and his stomach would have to get used to it. He decided to choose something that would be gentle on his stomach, peeling a banana and taking a bite out of it. The second it touched his tongue, though, he began to have his doubts. He chewed and chewed, and when the time came for him to swallow, his throat completely rejected it, forcing him to spit it out.

It was suddenly a chore to drink water. He couldn't scroll through social media without feeling dizzy, and he couldn't concentrate enough to do anything else.

What was wrong with him?

His heart was getting faster, and he kept trembling. What was he so anxious about? The boys would be back soon. He should have been grateful to be given a chance to rest.

Why was he so anxious?

And so his heart began to pound again, and the world began to spin. His stomach began to churn and he started to feel chills spread up and down his body. He couldn't look at anything without feeling even more dread build up inside of him. Looking at the kitchen only reminded him that he couldn't eat. Looking at the couch only reminded him that he couldn't enjoy things anymore- that's where he was when he found out his mum died. Looking at his bedroom only reminded him of waking up in the night, panicked and sweaty. The only place that didn't make him want to run away was the wardrobe- just like when he was still a little boy. So dark that he couldn't see anything. He stepped in and closed the door behind him, scrunching up into a ball.

The world didn't spin because he couldn't see the world.

There was nothing to remind him of how pathetic he was.

But all Harry could think was the fact that he couldn't call his mum. She would never again be able to comfort him when he was sick. She would never again calm his fears. She would never again make him feel loved when everything was out of control.

Never again, would she find her little boy cooped up in the dark of his wardrobe, crying out for her.

Harry wanted his mum, but he knew she would never come back to him.