The Way We Are - Larry Stylinson AU

I

Word count: 6172

Pairing: Louis/Harry

I’ve been obsessed with the thought of a story where the boys meet at a clinic, hence this strange story coming to life in the first place.

 *

Bulimia. Ever heard of it? Louis has, many times. It’s imprinted in his head, makes him feel dizzy by just hearing the word. Eating shouldn’t be considered an disorder, Louis eats for gods sake, he doesn’t starve himself, nor does he exercise an unhealthy amount. He just eats, a lot. And then gets rid of the food. And it’s nothing really, but it’s important nonetheless, makes him clean, gets rid of the excess calories and greasy foods he stuffs greedily inside of him.

He’d rather be the one to actually not eat, the kind of person who can manage weeks on only water and caffeine. But Louis can’t. Can’t give up the food, the cravings and the endless calls for something, he’s never satisfied and it’s never enough. And it’s sort of strange how obsessed he gets with it, sickeningly even. How a day no longer can pass without him gathering a feast in front of him in his room, how he no longer can resist the urge to clean himself and get rid of the forbidden and close to intoxicating foods.

It doesn’t take an expert to realize that what he’s doing to himself is bad, way bad. And Louis gathers he gets that himself to. He just can’t stop. And that’s the thing, really.

*

Harry was fifteen when it first started, when it first began. For real. And it wasn’t even with his own will in the very beginning, it was a reckless accident, shaky fingers clenched tight around the metal object in his hand, clumsily removing the coarse hairs on his chin with the sharp object. And it was when he was nearly finished and so, so proud, that it all went downhill, the razor falling from his clenched fist, down his naked thigh. 

It wast until later that night that Harry noticed the scar there, the crimson mark that stood out angry and bold on his pale skin. And Harry couldn’t help the proud smile that formed on his lips, couldn’t help the feeling of triumph and excitement that bubbled inside of him. He had done that. And even if it was small, close to not showing at all, it was something. And Harry liked that.

It took a while until he dared to do it again, and it was with shaky hands that he let the sharp razor follow the curves of his thighs, watched with fascination as his skin went from milky pale to covered with glossy stripes of an angry crimson. It helped him lock out his mother’s teary screams and his father’s hoarse yells. Easy.

It became a thing, Harry sneaking into the bathroom every once in a while, razor tucked tight in a closed fist, the slight wince of pain he let out every time it slid his skin open, and then the feeling of relief that filled him once the scar was there. Beautiful, Harry thought.

*

Louis’ mother may be busy and sometimes might seem to care more for her career than for Louis himself. But she isn’t stupid. Nor are his sisters. And so when Lottie eventually finds Louis with his knees pressed against the cold tile floor, leaning exhaustedly over the toilet, shaky sobs escaping his throat as cascades of his recent feast leaves his mouth, hulking, body shaking miserably; She doesn’t hesitate to tell Jay, who sips of her tea nervously, and listens to everything her daughter has to say, takes in the details and doesn’t even correct her daughter when she curses, like she normally would.

And while Jay would /like/ to exclaim that this is total nonsense, that this can’t be real and tell her with a joking expression, “Don’t be silly Lottie. You know that isn’t true.", she can’t. Because somehow it just feels so real. And it’s like everything makes sense then, Jay realizes. Every meal Louis skipped with the family gathered, to Jay later finding her son locked in his room, the new packs of ice cream nowhere to be seen, the food disappearing so fast, to Louis spending such long time locked in the bathroom, and so the cold, blank and empty expression resting on her son’s features.