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Harry quietly walks into his flat. After twelve hours on a flight, he should be exhausted. But after years of extensive travel, he's used to it. It's late afternoon when he steps inside, setting his keys on the table beside the front door.
The first thing he notices are the few dishes strewn about in the sitting room. A couple plates on the table in front of the telly, a mug of tea that's only half-finished and probably cold by now. Some tissues are strewn about. There's a blanket hanging off the couch, partially on the floor.
If the state of their flat isn't enough indication that Niall's not feeling the best, the constant texts Harry received over the last few days certainly were.
I feel like fuckin death
i cant tell you how much ginger tea i drank this mornin and i still sounded like shite in rehearsal. I put half a bottle of honey in it . Didnt help .
Honey tastes a lot worse comin back up just so ya know
He's got three days off from his tour, and he didn't plan on coming back to the UK during that time. But the constant texts from his boyfriend worried him. He found himself catching a flight back to London right after his show in Austin to try and soothe some of his woes.
He sighs, cleaning up the dishes and dumping the tea down the sink. He flicks the kettle on, planning to make a fresh cup for Niall when he wakes up. After he folds the blanket in the living room back up and places it over the back of the couch, he walks over to their shared bedroom.
Sure enough, the blackout drapes are drawn and Niall's fast asleep in the middle of the bed. Comforter pooled around him and head resting on three pillows.
Harry knows he should probably just close the door and let Niall sleep. But he can't help himself. He just got home and he's only here for a night before he's got to get back on a plane and perform in Arizona. So he walks into the room and sits down on the edge of their bed.
Niall stirs a little, but he doesn't wake up. Harry reaches down and brushes Niall's hair out of his face with his hand. It's damp and matted down onto his red hot skin. Niall coughs and his eyes flutter open.
“Ya woke me up,” he mutters, his voice rough. He opens his eyes wider and realization washes over his face. “Harry?”
“Sorry Pet,” Harry says softly, leaning down and kissing him on the forehead.
“What're you doing here?” He blinks and rubs at his glassy eyes. “Thought you weren't comin' back until... later next week. When I'm gone,” he mutters the last bit.
Harry chuckles softly. “I've got a couple days off. And I couldn't quite leave you here to suffer alone, could I?”
Niall groans. He rolls onto his back and clasps a hand over his face. “I'm so fuckin' sick,” he says with a whimper. “I'm not even goin' to Italy. Like...” he trails off and sighs before launching into a coughing fit and rolling over onto his stomach, his face buried in his mountain of pillows.
Harry rubs his back through the thick material of his jumper. The neck of it is soaked with sweat. “You're burning up,” Harry says softly. “Take your jumper off. Come on, sit up.”
Niall hesitates for a second, but he does as Harry says. He lazily pulls himself up and Harry helps him pull his jumper over his head. “You're just trying to get me naked,” Niall says weakly.
“I promise you I'm not.” Harry rolls his eyes. He tosses the jumper into the basket beside the wall. When Niall lays back down, Harry covers him with the thick comforter.
“Just as well,” Niall mumbles, his eyes drooping shut. “Doubt I could get it up right now anyway.”
Harry shakes his head. He leans down to kiss Niall on the forehead again before getting up. He looks over at the humidifier by Niall's side of the bed. “Why don't you have this on? Your throat dries up at the best of times.”
Niall mutters something Harry doesn't understand, so Harry just ignores him. He walks into the bathroom, filling up the base of the humidifier before turning it on. He listens for a second, and sure enough Niall's fallen back asleep. If his deep breaths and light snores are any indication.
He walks back into the kitchen and turns the kettle off after fixing himself a cup of tea. Niall's probably not going to be awake soon. Instead, he takes his mug into the living room and turns the telly on, settling in for an evening by himself while Niall rests.
Fifteen minutes and a finished cup of tea later, Harry sighs to himself. He's never been one to be able to sit still for long. He turns the telly off and gathers his keys. If he's going to be here, he figures he may as well make himself useful. He heads off to Tesco to gather a few things figuring Niall will be hungry when he wakes up.
* * *
It's nearly half eight when Niall emerges from the bedroom. His hair's a mess, his t-shirt's crumpled and his navy blue pyjama bottoms look like they haven't been washed in weeks.
“You're awake,” Harry says with a soft smile, looking at him.
“Yeh,” Niall says, shrugging. He rubs his eye with his thumb before scratching at his cheek.
“You probably wouldn't get sick so often if you stopped touching your face,” Harry points out.
Niall drops his hand to his side and gives Harry an unamused look before joining him on the couch. He rests his head against Harry's shoulder. “Not goin' to Italy,” he mutters before coughing and groaning, rolling his head deeper onto Harry.
“You said that already.”
“I know but...” Niall pulls away from Harry, leaning back against the couch cushions and tilting his head backwards in frustration.
“You feel like shit about it.”
“Yeh.”
Harry pats Niall on the thigh and stands up. He walks into the kitchen and pulls Niall's mug out of the cupboard. The big one that Louis bought him for his 18th birthday that says “Number One Lad” on it.
He ladles out a generous portion of the soup simmering on the oven. It's not as good as the one his mum makes – she makes chicken broth from scratch rather than using the packaged stuff from Tesco. But it's good enough, Harry figures.
When he walks back into the room, Niall sits up. “What's that?” he asks, brightening up. “Anne's chicken soup?”
Harry rolls his eyes and laughs as he hands the mug to Niall. “Yes, Mum came all the way here from Cheshire just to make soup for you.”
“She would,” Niall says before gulping down a sip of the broth.
“If she knew you were ill, she probably would,” Harry concedes. He's about to tell Niall to be careful, that it's hot, but it's no use. Niall's already finished half of it, obviously not caring that he's probably burning the roof of his mouth as he chews on the soft vegetables.
“You came all the way back from America to make soup for me,” Niall says softly, setting the mug down on the table. He swallows thickly. A couple of tears collect in the corners of his eyes.
“I can't imagine why,” Harry says, kissing Niall's temple softly.
Niall cuddles up to him, snaking his arm around Harry's waist and hugging him tightly. “You love me,” he says softly.
“Maybe.”
Niall just giggles, nuzzling his face into Harry's arm. “I know that you do.”
“Yeah well, you better come take care of me when I end up ill because of you.”
Niall sighs happily. He kisses Harry's cheek before pulling away and getting back to his soup. “Of course I would,” he says, his mouth full.
Harry shakes his head, but he can't help but smile. Even riddled with illness, Niall's still adorable.