Louis is about to head home from uni when he feels someone grab his shoulder. He almost knocks the person behind him to the ground when he turns around and barely manages to avoid stumbling over his own feet in fright. He coughs awkwardly and squeezes his eyes shut before looking at the person who is trying to get his attention.
"I'm so s-sorry," Louis stammers quickly, and he feels even worse when he sees that the person he was about to throw to the floor is none other than the boy from the park, Zayn.
"It's fine," Zayn chuckles. "I knew I recognised that fluffy hair." Louis' cheeks turn slightly red at the comment and he laughs nervously. "I just wanted to ask you if you wanted to hang out? I'm going to meet my mates in like five minutes. It's okay if you don't want to, but I figured you didn't know anyone yet."
"Oh, I-, y-yeah. Thanks," Louis replies, and he feels a mix of anxiety and excitement surge through his body. He twist the strap of his backpack in his sweaty hands and lets his eyes flicker back and forth.
"Brilliant. Well, we have to get going, we're going to met them in a coffee shop a couple of minutes from here. They're still in school though, so I hope you don't mind hanging out with younger people," Zayn explains.
"I don't m-mind." Louis smiles softly, and he really doesn't. He is just scared out of his mind; scared that they will turn out exactly like the kids were back home. Zayn seems like a nice lad, but Louis does not know him and the uncertainty makes him nauseous.
"Well, I turned eighteen this year, so I'm a year younger than you too, I guess," Zayn adds.
"I'm twenty in December," Louis answers awkwardly.
"Oh, really? Well, two years then." Zayn does not seem to mind at all and Louis feels a tiny bit of his anxiety seep out of his body.
It only takes about three minutes to walk to the coffee shop and Louis gladly steps inside the warm building. He is met by a strong scent of chocolate muffins and apple pie when he follows Zayn to the counter. Zayn gets coffee with milk and sugar and Louis just orders plain yorkshire tea. They carry their beverages to the back where three boys are sitting around a table, laughing at something that apparently is extremely funny.
"Oh my fucking God, Liam. Are you serious?" The Blonde boy chokes out in a thick Irish accent, and the boy with short brown hair, Liam, nods wordlessly in response while laughing.
"Hi guys," Zayn yells over the sound of laughter and sits down next to the Liam guy. Louis stands there for a few awkward seconds before slowly sitting down in the only available place left, next to a boy who has his head put down on the table to hide his miserable attempt to stop the snorts of laughter escaping his mouth. The only thing Louis can see is a mop of chocolate brown curls.
"Okay, so lads. Please listen," Zayn begs. "This is Louis, he goes to uni with me." He points at Louis and makes his cheeks turn an embarrassing shade of red. He coughs out a quick hi and tries to smile without frowning.
Liam introduces himself first and the Irishman, Niall, follows his example. A deep voice beside him makes him turn around, and he is met by Curly's face.
"I'm Harry," the boy says, and Louis just wants to melt and slip through the cracks in the floor when he sees the huge smile and the dimples and the perfectly carved face. Harry extends his right hand and waits patiently for Louis to grab it. Harry's hand is soft and big and steady, and Louis' is just trembling and slick with cold sweat.
Usually Louis never uses the word beautiful. It is not a word that fits any aspect of his life, but he has never been more sure about the word that is now permanently etched into his chest whenever he glances over at Harry; Harry is the most beautiful human being he has ever seen. He feels insane for having such an instant attraction to this guy, but Louis can not help the way it feels like his stomach is invaded by a butterfly farm every time they accidentally brush their thighs together.
The group spends a couple of hours in the coffee shop. Zayn and Louis step outside to smoke once during the loud conversation and Louis' heart speeds up to an incredibly fast pace when Zayn says that they seem to like you, mate. I do too. You're cool, you should continue to hang out with us. Louis has never had any friends, and he doesn't really know these guys well enough to even call them acquaintances but he is pretty sure that this is some sort of confirmation that he may be able to earn their friendship one day.
Zayn's comment makes Louis' confidence a little bit stronger, and he finds himself talking more than ever (which is probably still less than anyone else) and he learns several things about the others. He finds out that Niall is from Ireland and he moved here because of his parents divorce, and that he is really good at playing the guitar. Liam tells Louis that he enjoys singing and playing football, and that Zayn is a skilled skater with an odd passion for ancient buildings, which is why he is studying to become an architect.
He listens extra closely to what Harry has to say and he finds out that he likes strange indie bands, cooking weird dishes, singing too loud in the shower, and watching sappy romantic comedies. When Harry pulls his sweater off and Louis discovers all the small tattoos that litter his arms - and the fact that he probably has the most delicious bicep Louis has ever seen - Louis has to pinch his wrists to keep himself from awkwardly staring. Louis feels almost unworthy to even be in Harry's presence.
This whole new socialising with other people thing is making his head buzz with voices and thoughts, and he has to pause for a few minutes and just catch his breath when he steps inside his tiny flat. The adrenaline that rushes through his body is a huge contrast from his normally fuzzy and exhausted brain. He is actually feeling quite content and the abnormal feeling makes him toss and turn in his bed for several hours before finally getting some sleep.
He can not stop thinking about the hours he just spent socialising with Zayn and his friends. They all seem so genuine and kind, and Louis does not know how to react to that kind of behaviour. They all seemed so honest in their opinion about him and that confuses Louis more than anything. He has always been met by either cruelty or apathy whenever he gets close to someone his own age, and all these new feelings makes it impossible to lay in bed comfortably.
It is not a surprise that he is one step closer to death the next morning. Just before the last lecture of the day he realises that he will not be able to keep himself awake until he gets home if he doesn't get anything to eat. The way his body is so dependant on the thing he hates the most is making him feel sick, but the dizziness is really threatening to consume him and he can not afford to faint in front of other people. It would raise too many questions and too many accusations.
Louis wobbles to a shop nearby and buys himself a package of skittles - of which he eats eight in a futile attempt to raise his blood sugar -, a bagel and a diet coke. He does not feel too full afterwards but his stomach is heavily bloated after barely eating anything since he moved to Manchester. He does not keep track of how long he goes without food anymore, he just tries to consume as little as possible, but he is quite sure of the fact that it has been at least two full days since he last had something resembling a proper meal. He feels stupid for choosing white bread and a carbonated drink, of course his stomach is going to blow up like a balloon.
Louis has been avoiding his mirror for while now, only allowing himself a look if he is fully clothed, but the second he walks into his bedroom he undresses himself and warily steps in front of the reflective surface from hell.
He tells himself that he needs to do this; he needs to be aware of all his flaws; he needs to see how fucked up he is. He is not trying to be masochistic, it is a necessity. He needs this. It is vital that he sees this.
The whole thing is like a sick routine. He starts with his face, lifting it and brushing his fingers against the softness around his jaw and chin. He then lets his hands move to his upper arms and pinches the fat until small, puckered bruises start to form. His stomach is still horribly bloated and it sticks out over the waistband of his boxers. Harsh red lines of despair and anxiety are scratched across the stretched skin. He wants all this softness and chubbiness to disappear; he wants to finally be able to walk away from Chubby Louis.
The state of his thighs makes him sink to the floor and curl himself into the smallest ball he can manage. He does not cry, his eyes are completely dry. He just sits there with his eyes closed and lets the numbness and the shallow, uneven breaths consume him. It is like all the hope inside him just ceased to exist and he is left feeling utterly defeated and crushed.
