I Hate You (Larry Stylinson) ✅

2. the diet

January 13

Louis' POV

"Tea, no milk no sugar," I say when I get to the coffee shop on Monday morning.

It's been three days since I met with Liam and the guys. Three days since Harry made fun of my weight... and my job. Three days since I started dieting.

Dieting - if you can even call it that. Usually, I eat whatever the fuck I want, on a pretty erratic schedule.

Some mornings I have a huge stack of pancakes for breakfast, other days I have a cup of coffee. For lunch, I might have pizza or a sandwich or maybe just toast with jam.

Dinner is usually a curry or a burger or lunch leftovers if I have some.

If I have a snack, it'll probably be something out of the vending machine - crisps or a granola bar or something.

My eating habits aren't particularly healthy, but it never used to be a problem before. In uni, I would eat and drink a ton, and I hardly gained weight.

I guess that's the toll that comes with getting older: your metabolism starts to slow down and you can't eat the things you used to anymore.

I'm so thankful to Harry for pointing that out to me.

After I get my drink, I take a seat in the corner of the cafe and sip on my bland, plain tea, wrinkling my nose as it goes down.

So far, I've been having fruit smoothies and whole grain toast with turkey and Greek yogurt and those noodles that are really made of zucchini or beans or whatever.

It all tastes pretty bland to me, but being fit is much more important right now than being able to eat things with flavor.

Besides, I have seasoning salt, and I pour that shit on everything. Works like a charm.

I do miss the old foods though. I really wanted to get a pastry with my tea, but I knew the only 'healthy' option would be some gluten free vegan bean brownie or some shit.

And it wasn't even worth it to me in the end.

As I gag down my tea, which is now lukewarm, I open my laptop and begin to write a new article.

'How far is too far? Are boys just being boys - or are they engaging in a cycle of toxic masculinity and bullying?'

I stare at the headline, reading it over to check for typos. Perhaps it's a little too far-fetched. But I think I'm going to keep it.

When I get this published - or if I get this published - the first thing I'm going to do is send it to that fuck wad Harry Styles.

Harry Styles. Liam said he was a poet. But who is he really? I bet you he's lying.

Squinting my eyes, I type his name into Google.

The first hit reads: Harry Styles, wins 2018 Bilingual Poetry Contest.

Bilingual poetry? Oh right, he said he also wrote in Spanish. Alright, I know a bit of Spanish, I think to myself. Let's see this bastard's work.

I click on the link, where Harry's works are supposedly featured and his poems begin to pop up. He entered the category of love poems.

I snort out loud when I see that, causing the person sitting next to me to shoot me a dirty look. Fuck, them. This is too fucking funny.

Harry is making fun of my job? At least I write fucking real news and critiques. He's at home jerking off and writing love poems. Give me a fucking break.