How We Met: A Tinder Story (Larry Stylinson)✅

Meeting

Harry's POV 

***Trigger warning: eating disorders.

I can't fucking believe I am going to meet Louis in two hours. All morning long as I got brunch with my parents, I was nothing but jittery, bouncing my leg rapidly and biting my nails out of anxiousness. 

"Harry is everything okay with you?" my mother asked, taking a bite of her omelette. "You look more anxious than you were during your first flight alone when you were 12." 

I steady my leg and fold my hands in my lap, smiling at her nervously. "Yeah, I'm fine," I say quickly. "Just feeling a little antsy I guess because I didn't work out today."

That seems to be an acceptable answer enough for her, and we continue the brunch. My parents ask me questions about uni and my classes, my experience at the newspaper. I ask them about home and work and Gemma. 

When they talk, I pretend I'm listening, but all I'm thinking about is Louis. Louis and his beautiful blue eyes and his toussled hair and his beard. That fucking beard. His muscular body, his tight clothes. Ugh. How would I ever be good enough?

It doesn't make sense because I've been talking to Louis for two months. Six whole weeks - and he knows how weird I am, how crazy I am. He knows everything there is to know about me-- well, nearly everything. And he still hasn't left, he's still here, excited to meet me. 

And I am so fucking excited to meet him. But what if I fuck it up?

Talking over text is one thing, but what if I don't come off the same in person? What if I look a bit different than I did in my selfies? I always did hold the camera at a certain angle and use the best lighting.... Had I been misleading?

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I nearly fall backwards in my chair at the sensation. 

"Harold, seriously, what's going on with you? You're a nervous wreck," my father tuts, wagging an eyebrow in my direction. 

"Nothing, nothing," I assure him. "Just waiting for an important email from my professor. Exam grades." 

My parents look at each other and shrug, but I can tell the charade is up. They know something is wrong, but they're not close enough with me to discuss it. 

We used to be close, my parents and I. When I was a kid, my father would take me to play football on the fields. We would practice making goals for ages, and then he would take me to Nando's for dinner. 

But everything changed when I entered high school. I no longer played soccer, as I had been booted from the team in eighth year. I wasn't a good enough kicker. I joined track instead, which seemed like a good idea at the time. Little did I know that it would change my life forever, and not in the ways I expected. 

All of the men on my time were extremely tall and thin. I was too, but not as thin as these guys, who looked as shredded as Olympic athletes. I enjoyed my Nando's and my ice cream and didn't think twice about what I ate. I distinctly remember one of my teammates confronting me about the ham and cheese toastie that I ate after practice one day. 

"That's super unhealthy, Harry," he said, wrinkling his brow. "No wonder you can't make varsity. All that junk is slowing you down." 

I didn't think much of it at the time, but when I went home, I googled 'track runner diet.' And ham and cheese toasties definitely weren't a part of the regimen. There were all these healthy recipes like quinoa bowls and avocado salads and multigrain toast. 

I wasn't really one for eating healthy, as I was naturally thin already. But I figured if this is what my teammates were eating and this was what was making them faster, I should get on board.