I'm Trying (Like Everyone Else) [Larry]

1.

Objectively, Harry knows he's sick. He understands that most people don't weigh themselves every day. He knows most people don't give themselves an "allowance" of 800 calories a day.

But he's not most people . Obviously.

Which is why he's sat on the toilet, having used his first laxatives in hopes of losing a stubborn pound.

Harry can hear his sister pound on the door a few times, asking if he's okay, but he just calls back a quick yes, just some dodgy takeout last night .

An hour passes like that before he's washing up, grabbing his bag, and heading out the door.

"Where are you headed?" Gemma asks as she swings past him and towards the bathroom.

"Meeting some friends for coffee. I should be back in a bit." He says.

The walk to the small coffee shop is exactly fifteen minutes. Eight if he walks really fast, but he doesn't like to sweat. His typical walk burns about forty calories each way. He'll have burned at least eighty by the time he gets back home.

When he walks through the glass doors of the little shop, he's met by John Mayer playing softly and the cheery barista Harry sees every Friday.

"Hey, Harry. The usual black?" The blonde at the counter asks, nudging his glasses up his nose a bit and fiddling around his station.

"I'm actually going for the small Americano with exactly four tablespoons of almond milk, and two pumps of the sugar-free vanilla. Sorry, I know you hate white lady Starbucks orders," Harry can't help but redden at his lengthy and specific order, but he trusts Niall isn't too upset.

"No problem, you know you're the one exception I make." Harry punches in his prepaid drink card, and with a last polite smile, Harry is wandering off to his usual bench against the windows.

He sits for a moment to take in his surroundings but settles on pulling out his phone and scrolling through his unread messages. He has this terrible trouble with responding to his friends, and by the time a few days have passed he knows he'll really never respond.

Suddenly, a small mug is set on the tiny table in front of him, Niall giving him a quick smile before whisking away again.

The two seem to have an understanding between them, in that Niall may love people but he understands that Harry is quiet, not because he has nothing to say but because his thoughts aren't the kind you share. Harry sees the scars lining Niall's arms and understands that he smiles because it's better than crying. So they get each other. In a weird, we'll-never-talk-about-it sort of way.

Harry decides to pull out his laptop, opening up his favorite forums and going straight to his accountability thread. He's ready to update after three days and two pounds down. His laxative adventure did help get that last pound off, but he probably won't be doing that ever again. He sips at his drink only after he adds the calories to his food tracking app, pleased to see he's still below 50 for the day. He usually has no problem staying under his 800, but now that he's gotten too weak to trust going to the gym alone, he's replaced his workout with jumping jacks and small weights. His mom is considering buying a treadmill for the family to share, and he's really hoping she's serious this time.

He spends some time like this, clicking away, scanning over forum posts and restriction tips, wondering if he could try a liquid fast over the weekend without alerting his mum or sister. There are only a few others in the shop, most of them coming and going. Harry used to be so paranoid sitting like this, used to be so afraid of everyone looking at him. Now, though, he sees that no one spares more than a glance, and it's usually at his ripped jeans or the pins scattered on his denim jacket.