Chapter Text
When Louis walked into the front room and saw Harry still lying on the sofa with an arm draped over his eyes, he sighed.
“You even dressed yet?” A thumbs-up peeked over the back of the sofa. “Good. Get up now, it’s time to leave.”
Harry yawned and cleared his throat before speaking.
“Do I have to? I’m still not feeling right.”
He thought the raspiness creeping into his voice would prove his point, but maybe it wasn’t as obvious as he thought. He’d woken up that morning with a bit of a headache—nothing that wasn’t solved by a few painkillers—but as the morning went on there was an itching in his nose that started to become a real nuisance. Normally, that would be something Harry kept quiet from his husband, not wanting to trouble him with what was usually nothing, but something felt a bit more like… something this time. When he brought it up to Louis, it was brushed off, acknowledged only with a kiss on the top of the head and an order to take a nap before the label event they were obligated to attend that evening.
“You’ve gotta go, yeah. Don’t think you’ll get out of this one for hayfever.”
There was a significant difference between hayfever and a fever, and Harry was no idiot. Neither was Louis, but something had him distracted enough not to notice all of the tells that usually got Harry called out on the spot, much to his displeasure. The persistent throat clearing alone would usually be enough to get scrutinised, so Harry was rather annoyed that his husband didn’t seem to find the number of bless yous he doled out to be the slightest bit concerning. Almost every time he felt a cold coming on, he would fight to insist on his perfect health. Something about the suddenness of being slammed with a deeply sore throat and runny nose in the midst of brushing his teeth left him reeling in a way that made him want nothing more than Louis’ hand on his forehead and weakly-protested demands to lie down and rest whilst a hand carded through his curls.
With a dramatic groan, he hugged Louis from behind with arms draped over his shoulders, but Louis shook him off to put on his coat.
“Sun, c’mon, we’re runnin’ out of time. Take your antihistamine and I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
Having a sinking feeling that it absolutely wouldn’t be fine, Harry steeled himself for the night ahead with a sour expression.
“You look beautiful, darling,” Louis crooned, and Harry rolled his aching eyes before leaning down to give him the kiss he was so obviously asking for. “You always do.”
Louis was right; everything was fine… for around an hour and a half. That was when the room started to swirl around him. The floor was a ship’s deck over choppy water, and he kept bumping shoulders with the crowd as he stumbled through, rubbing his eyes to stop the figures around him from blending together. He stuck by Niall’s side for a while, but his bandmate set off for the catering table and never came back, leaving him to hang on to a conversation he could barely hear over the ringing in his ears. It wasn’t as if Niall had any way of knowing, but abandoning Harry to push through the night alone felt like the betrayal of the century. He swallowed down coughs and apologised politely for sneezes muffled in the arm of his too-expensive shirt. Fake laughs left him breathless and dizzy, but he did his best to keep his composure.
There was only so long he could cling to false hope before he knew he was in far too deep. Clammy hands braced himself on a table while he searched the crowd for the only person he wanted—the only person who would understand what he needed without words. The two weren’t supposed to be seen together, as per usual, but Harry desperately needed to get to Louis. After a lifetime of squinting through the crowd, he found what he was almost positive was the back of his husband’s head, so he went up behind him and tugged his sleeve gently.
“Baby,” he muttered just loud enough for Louis to hear.
“Stop it with that,” Louis chastised under his breath. “Not now, mate.”
With his heart aching worse than his throat, Harry struggled to blink back tears.
“Louis, I, erm, I need—” he trailed off with a cough, not finishing his sentence but pointing over his shoulder to indicate his desire to have a talk. Louis looked a bit annoyed as he left the circle of conversation to sneak away to the corner of the room.
“Harry. I love you, but y’can’t be comin’ up all close on me here.”
Icy blue eyes bored into Harry who stared blankly down at him, licking his lips without saying a word.
“So y’pull me away and now you won’t talk.” The lack of response had irritated Louis, and his patience was waning fast. “Childish, H, really. Can whatever this is wait until we’re home?”
Harry shook his spinning head, eyebrows knitting together in frustration as he could barely see the details of Louis’ face.
“If y’don’t tell me what the hell you want I’m leavin’.”
With his blurry brain hindering his conversational skills, Harry was unsure of what to say, so he reached down and grabbed Louis’ hand. He ignored when Louis snapped at him as he tugged it up to touch his burning cheek, unable to care whether someone around them might see.
“Well, that’s… not good.” Louis took control of his own hand, resting it on Harry’s forehead as he slowly shook his head. “Fuck, you really didn’t feel well earlier, did you?”
He wiped his nose on his sleeve before sluggishly signing sore throat, looking nothing like the boy who grudgingly shrugged on his coat in their foyer earlier that evening.
“We’ve gotta get you home, love.”
It was difficult to make out the whisper that Louis directed his way, so Harry’s tense shoulders slumped in defeat—he looked somehow more unsteady on his feet, with tight breaths expanding his chest and shaking his shoulders. Rules be damned, Louis wouldn’t stop himself from taking care of his husband. It’s not as if they weren’t bandmates, and were any of the other lads to approach him in such a state he would do the same.
“You still in there?” Harry’s unfocused eyes met his for a second before closing fully. “God, right, okay. Hey. Harry, love — hi, darling. I know you’re not well, but y’gotta stay with me.”
Trying his absolute best to let Louis’ words in, Harry rubbed his forehead and nodded.
“Good job, H. Are you feelin’ sick at all?” Following Harry’s lead, Louis circled a hand over his stomach to subtly sign along with the words. It took a long moment for Harry to process before he shook his head. “That’s good. Could you—” he looked around to see that nobody lingered near them, “—sit yourself over there. Jus’ for a few minutes. Can y’do that for me, baby?” Louis spoke low and slow but had to wait for Harry to stop coughing before he rubbed his chest with a breathless response.
“Come with?”
Louis’ throat tightened, but all he could do was discretely touch Harry’s elbow.
“I can’t.” He couldn’t look Harry in the eyes when he dodged his attempt to grab his hand, unable to handle seeing the hurt on his paled face. “It’ll be alright, H, promise. Off with you, go on.”
Harry shuffled through the crowd to settle at a table in the dim, abandoned corner, not bothering to stop for people he passed despite a few clearly trying to catch his eye. It wasn’t until he saw his husband’s body flop down onto a chair that Louis scanned the room for any familiar face. He spotted Zayn a few metres away and wasted no time dragging him and his half-filled plate of food away by the neck of his jumper.
“The fuck was that for, you knob?”
“It’s Harry.”
“What about him?” Zayn was still irritated, rubbing his throat where the fabric dug in.
“I thought he was being dramatic but he wasn’t so it’s my fault he’s here and I’m so sorry but I need you to take him home.”
There was no response. Zayn stared at Louis, the annoyed expression holding strong on his face until Louis began to explain further.
“He’s real unwell and I-I know it’s a lot to ask, but y’know I can’t, and you’re always so gentle with him and… please, mate? I’m beggin’.”
“Hey, it’s fine. When’ve I ever said no?” Despite the fact that Zayn was no longer irritated, Louis stared at him nervously. “Relax, mate, y’look like you’re ‘bout to die. Where’s he gone?”
“Told him t’camp out at a table. He’s got it bad.”
With a deep sigh, Zayn nodded and turned to go, but he was stopped when Louis grabbed his jumper again—this time by the sleeve.
“Zayn…”
“I know, mate. Give us a ring when you leave, yeah?”
With that, he set off on his mission. Zayn looked around at the empty tables and easily spotted the boldly-patterned shirt of his target who was laying his head on his arms. This was far from the first time Harry had been up and working while he was so miserable, but that didn't mean it was any easier to watch.
“Harry?” The boy could clearly tell the voice wasn’t Louis, so he cringed away, curling in on himself. “Only me, H. Can we talk?”
He slowly lifted his head, only pushing up on his elbows when he could confirm it truly was Zayn. His arms shook with the weight of his body and parts of his shirt were stuck to him with sweat.
“Oh, babe. You wanna go home?”
“No,” Harry groaned.
“No?”
“Want Lou.” His lip pouted out for a moment before he had to open his mouth again to breathe. Despite Zayn’s sympathetic look, Harry could tell he wasn’t going to give in.
“I know, mate, but you know how it is. He’ll follow as soon as he can, but if y’come along with me I can start t’get you feelin’ better quicker.”
“No,” he insisted. “Won’t go.”
“Harry, you know the rules and I’m not lettin’ you stay here. Not like this. Can I please take you to your place?”
“No. Louis.”
“Listen, mate, that’s jus’ not a choice right now. You’re goin’ home with me, Liam, or Niall, so take your pick.” Harry’s eyes watered, and Zayn reached out to rub his arm sympathetically. “I know. S’not fair, is it?”
The boy was trembling so hard that a loose curl flopped over his forehead. Moments like these reminded Zayn that he was an eldest sibling—they brought out a hidden part of him that, like with Louis, developed from years of combing out too-tight plaits, patching up scraped knees, and checking for a monster in the closet. They brought out that instinctual calm, that tone of voice that should feel patronising, but instead was soft and kind and so very safe.
“What d’you say we go on home, Haz? Get you some pyjamas and a herbal tea — reckon that’d feel all good and cosy, hm? S’much too loud in here.”
“Too loud,” Harry echoed, dropping his head to his arms but still looking at Zayn. “And bright.”
“Yeah, it's no good,” he agreed, continuing to lure him in. “Should we maybe go home, have a little lie-down and wait for Louis? Get your pretty eyes away from all these lights.”
A mumbled agreement came from Harry, and Zayn couldn’t help but feel a bit proud at the fact that Harry trusted him enough to want him around while he was in such a vulnerable state. Maybe it was just the voice… either way, it worked.
“Alright, mate. You ready to stand up, or do we need a moment?”
“Be fine.” When Harry tried to push himself up, he immediately closed his eyes and lowered back down with his dizzy head in his hands. “Need a moment.”
If Louis was trying to be subtle he was failing miserably—he lingered as close as he could to the two boys, out of earshot but still in view, unabashedly staring over at them while very loosely engaged with the group around him. When Harry noticed him as they walked past, he weakly signed something that Zayn didn’t understand, but he did recognise the sorry that Louis signed in response.
“Zayn,” a weak voice called.
“What d’you need?”
When there was no response, Zayn tried again. Worried by the silence, he looked over his shoulder to find Harry padding over to him.
“I need help.” His words were shaky and his lower lip was bitten to an anxious pink.
“With what, mate?”
“Help me,” Harry insisted, and desperate tears pooled on his waterline.
“Harry, what’s wrong?”
After scanning Harry up and down for signs of injury, Zayn found nothing. Instead, his friend was staring down at the item clutched in his hand, completely distraught.
“I’m pregnant.” Harry held up a white plastic stick. The small digital screen on one end and a tapered, skinny stick on the other made it clear that it was not a pregnancy test, but a thermometer. It was a good joke, Zayn thought, though it quickly became apparent that Harry was deadly serious when he didn’t crack a smile. “I’m not r-ready t’be a mother, Zayn.”
His voice cracked as he started to cry, and Zayn’s smile slid from his face. He walked to Harry and put a hand on his shoulder while gently instructing him to sit on the sofa beside him. When the tears didn’t let up, he scratched the back of Harry’s neck softly with the tips of his fingers and felt again the difference in their body temperatures.
“You’re not gonna be a mother, mate.”
“I-I’m only nineteen,” he whined through his tears. “Mum will be so dis-disappointed in m-me.”
No matter how hard Zayn tried to get him to calm down, nothing seemed to stop his tears as he was either unwilling or unable to take in Zayn’s reassurances. He continued to sob, coughing as shallow breaths tripped over his words.
“Harry. Breathe.” Patting Harry’s thigh, he leaned down to better hear what he was trying to say. He reached over to the table and grabbed the box of tissues, trading them for the thermometer in Harry’s hand. “Here, blow your nose. I can’t understand a thing you’re sayin’.”
It was a futile effort on Harry’s part, but the action forced him to take deeper breaths. It seemed like that along with Zayn’s comfort had worked, albeit slowly, since he stopped crying and lolled his head forward.
“I don’t feel too well.”
“I know, H,” Zayn cooed, moving a little closer and nudging Harry to use his shoulder as a pillow. He obeyed without a fight, and the feeling of his forehead against Zayn's neck made it even more clear that they needed to get a read on his temperature as soon as possible.
“I’m not ready to give birth.” His voice was so sincere that Zayn couldn’t bring himself to laugh at how ridiculous he sounded.
“I know you’re not.”
It wasn’t a big surprise when Harry grabbed Zayn’s hand and began to play with his fingers. It was something he often saw him do to Louis, as it seemed to bring him some kind of comfort. It was sweet to watch Louis smile down at Harry while the boy zoned out, weaving their hands together, tracing the knuckles, lines, and callouses reverently as if they were precious artefacts.
“Zayn—” his glassy eyes were filled to the brim with anxiety when he dropped Zayn’s hand back to his lap, “—what’m I gonna tell Lou?”
It shouldn’t have been so difficult to get through to Harry, but Zayn was having a lot of trouble cutting past his addled thoughts.
“Harry, babe, you’re not pregnant. Got a bit of a fever now, not thinkin’ right. That’s all.”
“But it said,” he insisted, pulling away from Zayn and stubbornly refusing to believe him since you haven’t even got pregnant yet, how would you know?
“H—” Zayn pulled his lip between his teeth to keep from smiling, forcing concern to take charge over his amusement, “—this is a thermometer. The only thing you are right now is ill, not pregnant. I promise you.” He tugged playfully on a loose curl to lighten the mood. “Let’s get a read on that temperature, yeah?”
“Not puttin’ that in my mouth,” Harry shrank away from him, pulling a face at the thermometer.
“And why’s that?” When Zayn looked at the device in his hand, he had a realisation that was less than pleasant. “Harry… did you wee on this?”
He was given an incredulous look and a nod, as if Harry was shocked that Zayn didn’t know how a pregnancy test was used.
“Right, yeah. Perfect.” Though he wasn’t quite sure how to react, he knew that laughing would hurt the boy’s already sensitive feelings. Restraining himself quite well, Zayn set it down at his side and clapped his hands together. “Well, I’m gonna go wash up… thoroughly. If I leave for a few minutes, would y’lie here and wait for me?” Harry nodded, and his breath hissed when Zayn touched his shoulder.
“Sorry, sorry. Bet your skin’s all sensitive. Sorry, H.”
Once Zayn got Harry settled with a blanket around his shoulders, he set out to clean both his hands and the thermometer. He rifled around in their cupboards for something that Harry could take to ease his pain, but it seemed that the Tomlinsons were out of any helpful medicine. He texted Louis advising him to stop off at a shop on the way home to replenish their supplies. Just as he rounded the corner, thermometer in hand, he nearly ran into the boy himself.
“Oi, you promised you’d stay there,” Zayn scolded gently, turning him around and pushing him back to the sofa.
“Louis.” It was half a question and half a statement.
“I know, babe. He’s on the road now.” Though Zayn didn’t know if that was true, it was the easiest way to placate him.
“Louis,” he begged, and it tugged at Zayn’s heart. All he could do was get a teary Harry settled again with the soft blankets draped over his shoulders and across his lap. Long legs stretched out onto the soft cushion in front of him as Zayn brushed a hand over his hair.
“He’s comin’, promise. Would you be a good lad and put this under your tongue? Thanks, mate.” Seeming to have forgotten its previous use, Harry obediently took the freshly cleaned thermometer. The resulting numbers on the screen didn’t particularly shock Zayn, but neither did they ease his worries.
“Hm. Runnin’ real hot.” There was a quiet hum of agreement from an exhausted Harry. “Can we get you into some new clothes? You’re all sweaty.”
“Want Louis to.”
"Not even a hoodie?"
When Harry shook his head, Zayn realised that there seemed to be no point in arguing. He’d looked after Harry a handful of times when Louis had been ripped away, which seemed an odd choice at first since Zayn had never properly looked after someone before. When Louis insisted, saying that Liam’s got the same thing as Harry and Niall’s not very good at this stuff either, but I know he just adores you…he got ever so slightly closer to being convinced. It was only when Louis reminded him that he’s seventeen, away from home, and scared to be alone that he finally agreed. It was an interesting night to say the least, with Harry so spacey and afraid for the first hour before Zayn held him with his head against his chest, the only thing that calmed him down. Louis came back frantic to find Harry dead asleep on Zayn who was combing through his curls with one hand while the other was loosely trapped by both of Harry’s. From that point on, Louis knew to lean on Zayn. Of all the times he’d cared for Harry, though, rarely was he so dead-set on his husband that he refused to do anything without him.
Harry looked up at him with pleading eyes, and Zayn had an idea. He faked a shiver and crossed his arms tight over his chest.
“It’s awful cold in here, no? Could we have a cuddle ’til Louis gets back? You’re nice and warm, so I know it’d make me feel much better.”
That did the trick, like always. After acting as a stand-in for Louis a few times, Zayn developed a method for dealing with his uncooperative, clingy, hospital patient of a friend. Home, tea, fresh clothes, tea, plaited hair, tea, head-in-lap rests and quiet conversations… along those lines. No matter what they did, it always ended just as it had that first night, with Harry curled around Zayn, head lying comfortably on his chest. Whether sleeping or lying awake, a nice cuddle was just part of the routine. It was what Harry had always done for him when he wasn’t well, and Zayn was happy to reciprocate. Letting him rest with his ear over Zayn’s heart was a surefire way to get him to relax.
As expected, Harry’s eyes widened and he slowly lifted his blankets to let Zayn slide under before clinging to him like a baby koala. Being beneath so many blankets and attached to a flaming hot Harry made Zayn feel a bit swirly himself, but he shook it off and focused on Harry. He did his best to run a hand up and down Harry's back despite the sweat-soaked shirt snagging on his fingers where it stuck to his skin, letting him rub his nose against his jumper as he got comfortable.
“You want Netflix?” He offered, but Harry shook his head.
“You.”
Zayn’s stomach fluttered a bit at that. He truly adored Harry, and knowing that the younger boy was comforted enough by his presence alone made him feel so very loved. When he found himself getting lonely, a bit of time with Harry always worked to remind him how strongly his presence was desired and valued in the group. Even if he was burning with fever and on the verge of tears, time with him was still worthwhile. There was something about a friendship so trusting and genuine—it was a kind of unique love that he felt lucky to share with someone so Harry.
“Love you, Zayn,” he mumbled into the jumper, patting his stomach. It almost seemed like Harry could sense something shift in Zayn’s heart, though it was probably a perfectly-timed coincidence.
“Love you too, babe.” Zayn blushed at the attention, combing his fingers through Harry’s tangled hair. “M’sorry you got dragged out while you’re all miserable.”
“Louis made me,” grumbled Harry, and Zayn couldn't decide whose side to take. On one hand, it wasn’t as if Louis could have done anything to get him out of their obligations no matter how hard he tried, but it seemed by his own accounts that he had ignored Harry's complaints of feeling ill until it was far too late.
“Think he was just tryna save you from trouble. Didn’t quite work, did it? I’ll bet he feels proper guilty ‘bout it now. ”
Harry hummed and coughed lightly, scratching his nose against the soft wool again as he sniffled. Were it almost anyone else, Zayn would have scrunched his nose in disgust and found any excuse to leave, not wanting germs and sweat all over his clothes and right up in his personal space, but it was Harry. He was always there when Zayn wasn’t well, no matter what, so who was he to be any different? Though Louis was obviously Harry’s number one person, he maintained that Zayn was a close second. Even the usually jealous Louis would lightheartedly joke that the two of them were like platonic boyfriends, and that wasn’t far from the truth. They always watched out for each other, and Harry was truly the one who kept Zayn sane amidst the chaos.
Suddenly, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Stopping the rhythmic stroking of Harry’s hair roused him, and he grunted in displeasure, lightly smacking Zayn's thigh in protest.
“Hey, mate," he answered, pulling a face at Harry before placing his hand on his shoulder.
“Everything alright? Bit worried that I haven’t heard from you yet.” Based on the background noise, it seemed Louis had stopped off to get Harry some medicine.
"We’re about as alright as we can be without you, I think.”
There was a barely audible sigh from the other end of the line, as if Louis was having trouble believing that things could possibly be going well.
“He’s not being difficult, is he?”
“Dunno. H, y’been good for me?” Zayn put the phone on speaker so that Louis could hear his response.
“Been perfect,” Harry muttered, half-asleep and irritated about the continued lack of a hand in his hair.
“I’m sure you have, love.”
“Lou?” A sharp elbow nailed Zayn right in the stomach in Harry’s haste to raise himself up. “Where?”
“Almost home. Gimme ten more minutes, baby.” Harry sniffled and nodded at the promise, not registering that Louis couldn’t see his response.
“I’ve got him ’til then, long as he don’t rupture any more of my organs,” Zayn assured Louis, a hand rubbing his stomach where it got impaled by Harry’s bony arm.
“Thanks, lad.”
With the beeping of the line cutting off, Harry huffed, but he relaxed again once Zayn’s attention was back on his curls.
“Why’s it that I keep gettin’ stuck with you like this, hm? Louis’ always dumpin’ your arse on me when you’re all needy and cough-y.”
“Sorry,” he muttered, weakly attempting to push himself up and off of his friend’s chest.
“Oi, stop that. You know I love you, mate,” he said as he forced Harry to stay where he was beneath his arm. He burrowed deeper into Zayn, cracking open one eye while the rest of his face was hidden in the shirt. “You’re adorable,” he said, and Harry rasped an I know with a weak attempt at a smirk.
Despite how desperately he pined for Louis all night, Harry refused to emerge from under Zayn’s arm when he arrived home. It was alright for a while, Zayn had time to fill Louis in on the happenings while rubbing Harry’s back, though he kept the pregnancy story to himself as he wanted Louis and a more lucid Harry to hear it for the first time together. A few minutes in, Harry tapped Zayn’s shoulder and mumbled something to him that made Zayn roll his eyes and smile.
“He’s very upset with you for making him go to the stupid party— oh, sorry, mate —we’re very upset,” he smirked up at Louis, who rubbed a hand down his face.
“Look, H, I’m so sorry. More than sorry,” he pleaded, but Harry only shook his head, burying impossibly deeper into Zayn’s jumper.
“Harry, c’mon out,” Zayn murmured. “You’ve been waitin’ all night, babe. Yeah, I know, but he just apologised. Why w— hm? H, you’re not makin’ sense again. What you bein’ all grumpy for?” He gently scratched Harry’s head. “I know I’m much prettier than Louis, but you’ve stuck yourself with him. That’s on you. But we— no, listen, babe. We can cuddle any time you’d like, but I’ve gotta go, alright? Up you get, germy, it’s Louis’ turn to get sneezed on.”
Harry slowly untucked himself, revealing a warm, pink cheek imprinted with a cable-knit pattern. Zayn extracted himself from the boy’s grasp and made him promise to feel better real soon before giving both him and Louis a kiss on the cheek. The couple stared at each other in silence until they heard their front door shut behind their bandmate.
“Oh, darling, I feel like a real—”
The extending of Harry’s shaky hand cut Louis off, tugging him down so he could throw hot arms around his neck and cling on like he’d never let go. Louis sat, pulling Harry so that he was practically in his lap. He heard Harry breathe out a soft Louis that he wasn’t sure he was meant to hear, but he squeezed the boy a bit tighter because of it. After a long minute, Harry’s arms got tired and dropped back to his sides. Ever so gently, Louis stroked his hands down the sides of Harry’s body, coming to rest on his hips as he kissed his forehead.
“You’ve still got that fever, haven’t you?”
“I’m sorry.”
The unnecessary apology made Louis frown and run his hand from Harry’s forehead through his hair.
“Why’re you sorry?”
He shrugged and didn't supply a reason, so Louis began to play with his mussed-up curls.
“I’m sorry I didn’t listen. You’re always so stubborn ‘bout this stuff that I kinda figured you were fishin’ for an excuse to get out of goin’. Not that I blame you — it was the worst.” He put his other hand on Harry’s thigh. “And m’sorry I couldn’t take you home, but Zayn’s always so good to you, hm?”
“Yeah.” Harry conceded with a sniff. “Wanted you, though.”
“Wanted you too, but I’m here now.” He kissed his temple. “You still look so beautiful, darling.”
When Harry did nothing but stare up at him in silence, Louis frowned and grabbed his hand. When the hot fingers didn’t intertwine with his own, Louis sighed.
“You really got it bad.” His concern grew when he realised Harry seemed to be struggling to stay awake. “How’s your head?”
Harry closed his eyes and let it fall forward onto Louis’ collarbone without a word. That was a lot, even for him. Usually things came on slowly, in bits and pieces day by day, sometimes overnight, but not all at once. That must have been why he was so willing to tell Louis before they left—something had to have felt very off for him to surrender so quickly. Wiggling his shoulder to make his husband lift his head, Louis kissed the side of his head and sat him back against the cushions. A wildly different Harry from when the night began, this one was pale, limp-haired, and absolutely spent. If Louis couldn’t get him to explain what was happening, he could at least work on what he knew needed fixing. With the way his fever felt against Louis’ skin, he knew that, if nothing else, he could try to ease it down in the hopes of relieving some pain.
“Hey, sweaty boy, could I get you in the bath?” Harry shook his head. “Y’gotta do somethin’, H. You’ve sweat through your shirt.”
“New clothes,” he mumbled, hardly intelligible.
“Yeah, new clothes, but maybe get all cleaned up first, hm? Bath or shower might be nice.” There was a whispered bath, so Louis put in serious effort to get a floppy and uncooperative Harry up and off the sofa. While Louis checked the water temperature, Harry sat on the edge of the tub with his head against the wall beside him, eyes closed and brows knit together. Once the water was filled, Louis leaned down to eye level and put his hands on Harry’s thighs.
“Can I help you with that pretty outfit, darling?”
Nodding and uncrossing his arms, he let Louis begin to remove his clothes, but when Louis brushed his knuckles over Harry’s bare collarbone, there was a sad little ouch.
“What’s ouch? Your chest?”
“M’skin." A teary-eyed stare made Louis feel extra guilty.
“So sorry, lovely, I didn’t know.”
“Zayn knew,” Harry pouted, and Louis chuckled at his weak attempt at sass.
“Well, Zayn knows everything, doesn’t he? It’ll only ouch for a moment, then it’s over.”
As Louis fielded complaints about the water being too cold, he got Harry to quiet by washing his hair.
“D’you think you could tell me what’s wrong, H?”
“All.”
“All?”
“Everything.”
That was a simultaneously unhelpful and useful explanation, but Louis needed more information than that if he was to get the proper medicines in him.
“Okay, yeah, got it. Feel like givin’ me a few examples?”
He pointed at his forehead, nose, throat, and chest, before giving up and shrugging and signing a general hurt as if to suggest there was more.
“Aw, poor love,” Louis sympathised as he rinsed out the conditioner. “Y’got a bellyache? I know it was alright before.” His lips turned up at the sleepy head shake. “Good to hear. Wanna soak for a bit longer? You seem all comfortable.”
There was no rush to get him out of the tub, so Louis let him loll his head back with his eyes closed—if he didn't know better he’d say Harry looked peaceful, but if the way he was sniffling and sneezing was anything to go by, his husband wasn’t likely feeling all too relaxed. Once he signalled that he was done, Louis dried him with the fluffiest towel he could find and got him dressed.
“M’havin’ your baby,” a sleepy Harry slurred to Louis while the excess water was carefully scrunched from his hair with an old t-shirt.
“Are you now? That’s nice.”
“Yeah. I had a wee, so I, erm, I knew…” He sounded almost as if he were drunk before trailing off to sneeze into his freshly-cleaned hands.
“Yeah, no, that makes sense, sunshine.” Louis finished with the shirt and wiped Harry’s hands with it, rolling his eyes fondly before wrapping him up in his arms. “I think it’s time for someone t’go to bed now, hm? C’mon, lovely, let’s get some sleep.”