Empty.

Chapter Two

Harry had slowly become the master of deception.

It's easy now for him to trick Zayn into thinking he'd eat breakfast or grab a bite to eat before he headed to his afternoon art class at the college. It was barely a task to lie whenever a classmate invited him to a meal. Harry sometimes felt pangs of sympathy but those were replaced with a screaming voice in his head that reminded him what all this was for.

Monday mornings were the easiest.

For most people these types of days were dreadful but on Monday Harry breezed through the day with a sense of ease.

Zayn usually woke up late-- this sent him to a state of panic in which he'd fumble around the house with one shoe or the buttons on his shirt undone. Today was no different.

As usual, Zayn entered Harry's room making a terrible amount of noise, and after he staggered through the dark and found Harry's bed, he pried the sheets away from the boys face and shook him a little.

"Harry," He whispered, and Harry, who'd already been awake through most of the night opened his eyes a crack. "Haz, I'm leaving." Harry gave a small nod, and Zayn placed a featherlight kiss on his best friends forehead.

'let the day begin'

Harry does eat breakfast-- just not Zayn's. His breakfast consists of an apple slice with a dab of peanut butter, but he really shouldn't be having the peanut butter because that used to be his favorite and whenever he eats it his stomach growls for more.

The stabs of pain that shoot through abdomen are simply a part of his everyday life now. After eating that he takes only a few sips of water, because if he takes too much he'll be bloated and that is one of the worst feelings in the world.

The rest of the day consists of cleaning up after Zayn and studying for a bit. His afternoon class began at 2:00, so he would usually just lounge around until then.

Well, on his good days. But on his bad days he would go into his closet. From the back of the closet he'd pull out his old box, and his electric scale.

He'd proceed to stand in the mirror, stripped down to nothing but his boxers and his protruding bones. And then he'd count.

He'd count how much weight he'd lost, the measurents of his waist, the scars on his stomach. He'd keep recounting, making sure he'd gotten everything right, and he'd write them down in his notebook along with the date. He'd had the old thing since he was 16.

Afterwards he'd cry.

He'd cry until he had a headache, and he'd go throw up whatever was in his stomach. And then he'd feel okay, because he was empty. It was never okay until he was empty.

But today was different-- it wasn't a bad day, and he didn't feel like poking and prodding himself in front of the mirror. Instead Harry found himself storing the broom in the utility closet and exchanging it for his coat.

He slipped on his boots and carefully combed his hair back. He glanced in the mirror and quickly looked away. He'd never quite get used to what his reflection had become.

After grabbing his bookbag so he didn't have to come back for them, he left the flat. He feet knew where to take him, and Harry tried to think when the last time it was that Harry went out without Zayn to protect him.

The sound of birds singing and running water told him that he'd made it. He was in the park, and for a while he watched the ducks waddle out of the lake and the people on their jogs.

"Oh, Harry," He murmured under his breath. What was he even doing here? There was absolutely no guarentee that they'd be here, the singing boys.

But for the first time in a while Harry actually wanted to leave the house and go out, and talk to people. And he couldn't just ignore that feeling, not after how long it'd been.

Harry was almost discouraged until he heard the sound of strumming. His head was quick to whip around, the wind blowing his hair in front of his eyes. He shoved it back and stared as he saw the boys in the distance.

His feet moved quickly and his heart sped up. He could make out the three boys, but in particualr the navy jumper of the one he'd come for.

This time the strumming was unfamiliar, and he heard a high voice singing. The boys sat, and the blonde one was still clutching the guitar.

The boy with the gorgeous eyes was looking up int the sky as a cloud of cold air blew out from between his lips. The other brunette was singing- 

"Do you ever wonder if the stars shine out for you? 

Float down 

Like autumn leaves  

Hush now 

Close your eyes before the sleep." 

His high voice took Harry's breathe away, and he was quickly unable to take any air into his lungs as the boy he'd come for picked up where the brunette left off. 

"And your miles away 

And yesterday you were here with me 

Float down like autumn leaves 

Hush now  

Close your eyes before the sleep." 

All three boys sang oohs in perfect harmony until the strumming on the blondes old guitar stopped. 

A scattering of claps came from the audience as people leaned forward to drop money into the red snapback that one of the boys had placed on the ground. The blonde grinned sheepishly and tucked his chin under his scarf and the brunette extended his arm around his shoulders. 

And the boy in the navy jumper with the ocean eyes, well he was... he was... well, as impossible as it seems he was looking at Harry, who'd pushed his way to the front of the crowd and was now only a few meters away from the boy. 

Harry wanted to look away, and he planned to,but then their eyes met, and Harry felt a jolt of energy running through him. He usually felt nervous when he made eye contact with attractive people, but the nervousness he felt when looking at the boy was different, he felt nervous because the boy was practically staring into Harry's soul with his beautiful squinted eyes. 

Harry knew he was turning red and he suddenly felt terrible in his big sweater and black jeans. He felt huge, and his too-big hands were getting clammy. He didn't want someone like the boy to look at someone like him. Because Harry was one of those people who, if you look at them for too long, you can pick out every single flaw with ease. 

The boy smiled, a light, kind, close lipped smile and Harry wanted to reciprocate this gesture but he couldn't make his lips move. 

The one thing he could make move however, were his feet. Before he could change his mind, Harry was letting his feet take him far away. 

He ran all the way to the college, and as he sat in his class he didn't use his pencil to take notes on the different types of brush strokes but to draw beautiful, ocean colored, squinted eyes in the margins of his notebook.