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“Hey, Tommo, your phone’s been ringin’ off the hook for forever.”
Louis pulled off one side of his headphones, still in the recording booth as he responded to his friend through the glass.
“Who is it?”
“Dunno. Not my business,” he said and shrugged, pointing to where it was on the sofa.
“Well, could you at least bring it here then? Lazy bastard.”
His phone was blown up with notifications, and as he scrolled through them, his heart fell.
H:
7:59 Hi x
Love
Louis
8:00 Missed Call: H
Missed Call: H
8:01 Missed Call: H
8:03 Missed Call: H
8:04 Missed Call: H
Missed Call: H
Missed Call: H
8:05 Missed Call: H
H:
8:07 I’m ill
Flu
Louis
8:18 Lou
8:20 Missed Call: H
8:24 Missed Call: H
8:25 Missed Call: H
H:
8:29 Please Lou
“Why didn’t y’tell me sooner? Fuckin’ hell, mate. I’ll be back.”
Louis wouldn’t say he panicked per se, but he very abruptly whipped off the headphones, excusing himself from the studio and heading outside with the phone to his ear before anyone could question him.
“Harry, love,” Louis said the moment the dial tone stopped, not even waiting for his husband to greet him, “I’m so sorry, I’ve been recordin’. S’goin’ on?”
“Flu.”
“Yeah, you've said. Everythin’ alright?”
“No. I got flu, Louis. Not feeling well.” Harry’s voice wavered, and Louis could tell he was rather irritated by having to explain himself.
“I'm sure you’re not, love. I'm so sorry.” He cringed at Harry’s cough, hating how painful it sounded even through the phone. “You at home?”
“Still in the car. Drove to see a doctor, did the test. They put that thing in m’nose, Louis. They put it all the way up and it still hurts,” he whined, sounding on the verge of tears. “It hurts, Lou.”
“Alright, okay. Take a breath, H. You think you can drive yourself home or d’you want me to ring someone to meet you?”
“No, m’fine. I just… I need you.”
As much as he would love to drop everything and speed over to his husband’s place, Louis was all tied up in his work. He knew that there was absolutely no chance of him getting out early no matter how much he argued.
Not if it was for Harry, at least.
Despite being in the same city, rules were rules. If Louis or Harry had obligations, they had to wait. Two weeks, Louis, he’d be reminded every time he asked to see his husband. They had just over a day left—by the end of tomorrow, they could be together, but that wasn’t soon enough.
“Good you’re in London then, right? I can be there tomorrow evenin’, no problem.” He tried to keep his voice upbeat despite the disappointment he knew it would bring.
“Need you now, love,” he insisted, voice shaking with restrained tears.
“I want to. I want to more than anythin’, but I’m not so sure I can.”
“My head hurts,” Harry whimpered. “It really hurts.”
Louis’ heart continued to break.
“I know, H. You couldn’t’ve waited one more day t’burn out, could you,” he joked, but Harry wasn’t having it. He was silent, the only sound coming through the line being his heavy breaths.
“I miss you. Come home,” he begged, and Louis wanted nothing more.
“Lemme go have a word with all them inside. I’ll do me very best, H, I promise you. Get yourself back home, love. Be safe.”
“I need you,” Harry whispered before the call dropped.
“Fuck,” Louis hissed under his breath, holding his forehead in a hand and trying to think of anything he could say to push their break forward by a day.
He could pretend he was the ill one, sit out in his hot car for a few and warm up until he was sweaty, call it a fever and practice his acting skills. He could actually make himself sick—rush off to the toilet and force out his dinner. Certainly not ideal, but it might work… unless someone insisted he come in the next day even if he was ‘ill’. He could argue. He could just leave if he wanted, but he knew that would result in consequences that he nor Harry wanted to face.
Closing his eyes and letting out a deep breath through his nose, Louis walked back into the studio.
“Alright, Tommo?”
“Harry’s…Harry’s ill.” He saw no point in lying. It wasn’t exactly his strong suit and he didn’t want to manufacture some story that he’d inevitably trip up with. “Feelin’ pretty shit, jus’ saw a doctor.”
“Oh, that sucks.”
“Yeah, hope he’s alright.”
They were all quiet for a second before Louis started to fidget with his fingers.
“So I was wonderin’ if—” he stopped himself when he saw a head shake from his manager.
“Sorry, Louis. You know the rules.” He seemed only the slightest bit apologetic, not even looking up from his phone as he spoke.
“But y’don’t understand, this is—”
“What’s the rule, Louis?”
“Two weeks,” he muttered, not appreciating being interrupted and talked down to. “But it seems like he’s really not well. Like, he’s got flu and he needs lookin’ after. Can’t you let it slide jus’ this once? Please?”
“You signed a contract, mate. You wanna be with Harry, you do it under their terms.” Louis looked as if he’d been punched in the gut. “I’m not happy ‘bout it, either. It’s not my choice, kid.”
“I’m not a kid,” he snapped, nostrils flaring. “Fuckin’ twenty-seven years old, and y’won’t let me go across town to care for me husband who I am married to ‘cos I’m an adult.”
“I’m fully aware of that, Louis, but you signed that contract. Not me.”
Louis could feel his ears getting hot as he flushed with his frustration.
“What if it was for Eleanor, hm? A wife? Imagine that’s your wife, cryin’ in her car ‘cos she’s miserable and weak and all alone. You gonna leave her t’look after herself when you’re only a half-hour away?”
That question was ignored, making Louis’ cheeks burn when his attitude wasn’t returned. It wasn’t as if he was looking for an argument, but any reason to storm off from the studio… he’d take it.
“If I let you go, you’ll have an absolute shitstorm to deal with on top of looking after Harry and dealing with Azoff’s guys. Do you really want that?”
“I… no. I don’t want that,” he said quietly. Louis shook off the hand placed on his shoulder and left the room again, shouting over his shoulder that he’d be back.
He dialled Harry, accepting the request to turn the call into facetime when Harry picked up, and it made Louis’ stomach twist. He’d finally made it home it seemed, as he was lying in their messy bed. His eyes were bloodshot and dry and his lips were parted. His cheeks were flushed as pink as his nose as he lay there, half-buried in his pillow.
“Harry,” Louis cooed. “Oh, darling.”
“When’re you coming home,” he croaked, his congestion rounding out his consonants.
“I, erm… tomorrow evening. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, sun.”
He expected complaints—whining and groaning and moping—but instead, he got a slow, heavy blink that seemed to nearly glue Harry’s eyes shut.
“S’okay,” he mumbled before muffling a cough into his blanket. “Least you’ll be back soon.”
His lack of drama was a bit concerning to Louis, but he wasn’t sure whether he should mention it.
“Will you be alright ’til then? I could ring Gemma and see if she’s around or—”
Louis’ voice was drowned out with a fit of coughs, Harry’s brow furrowed together as they ripped from his throat.
“Be fine alone,” he said with half a voice before clearing his throat.
“I dunno, are you sure?” Harry nodded slightly and hummed his agreement. “What’s your temperature, love?”
“I don’t wanna tell you—” he rubbed his nose into his pillow and avoided looking at the screen, “—‘cos you’ll worry.”
“Well, that’s not helpin’ me not worry. What’s your temp, H?”
“Thirty-nine something,” he mumbled. “Don’t remember exactly.”
Louis’ heart throbbed painfully. He was so damn close to home, but his poorly husband was just out of reach.
“And you drove yourself to and from the doctor’s? Harry, you could’ve had an accident.”
“Didn’t though. Made it fine.”
“You got a wicked-high fever, you shouldn’t be alone, babe. S’jus’ not safe. I should send someone your way.”
“Won’t let ‘em in. Only want you.”
“Not even—”
“Only you.” The finality in his voice made it clear to Louis that he wasn’t able to change his mind, so all he did was encourage him to tuck the blankets up higher, give a gentle order to get some rest, and tell him over and over how much he was loved.
There was very little communication between the two for the rest of the day. Harry slept on and off for hours, only waking to adjust his blankets when he got too hot or too cold. That was when he began to really miss Louis. He didn’t realise how attentive his husband was to him until he wasn’t there. Louis would watch over him as he napped, tugging blankets down when he began to sweat and covering him up if he shivered so that he wouldn’t wake from discomfort. Harry would cry if he had the will to stay awake long enough, but his body was desperate for a reprieve from the pain and displeasure of being so unwell.
He lied to Louis about eating dinner since he’d begun to feel nauseous, but he did drink water and keep up with his medicine. It was only after his evening dose of flu medicine that he put together a pattern—any time he took the tablets, he felt sick. He tried to fight it off as long as he could, but he felt a painful churning through his abdomen that made tears spring to his eyes.
As he made his way back from the ensuite bathroom with a hand pressing hard to his torso, he texted Louis, desperate for comfort after the incredibly unpleasant experience he’d just endured.
H:
10:50 Can you come home please I feel worse Lou
Please angel
He knew it was a long shot, but he had to try. Beyond his hours of fevered sleeping, Harry wasn't quite sure how to help himself. There was nothing he could think to do short of dragging himself to sit on the floor of the shower for the hundredth time to try and feel anything close to the warmth that having Louis wrapped around him would provide.
10:53 I’m so sorry love. Less than a day and I’ll be right there next to you
H:
11:01 I’m so ill what if I die
You won’t die H
I’ll leave the moment I can, I promise you x
So so soon
11:06 But what if I do and you’re not here
11:11 You’ll be fine love. Nobody’s dying tonight
You let me know if you need anything alright?
Yeah I will unless I die
Love you
At least Harry was still being a bit dramatic—that was how Louis knew everything would be relatively alright until he made it back home.
11:13 Love you forever babygirl. Get some rest for me xxxx
11:14 Ok x
It didn’t take long before he dropped off, and he hoped the same for Harry as well. That didn’t seem to be the case, however, as he woke a few hours later to the sound of buzzing near his head, his pillow being vibrated from his phone.
1:15 Incoming Call: H
“‘lo?”
“Hi.” The low voice hummed through the speakers as Louis yawned.
“Y’need somethin’, babe?”
“Yeah.” There was no elaboration, only a light sniffle came from his husband as he waited patiently for a response.
“What y’need?”
“Having trouble sleeping.”
Louis rolled over onto his back and set the phone on his chest, knowing he would drop it on his face if he tried to hold it up while he was so tired.
“S’goin’ on, babe? Headache?”
“Well, yeah. But I just can’t do it.” He sounded so exhausted despite sleeping the day away, and Louis felt so very awful for him.
“Can I help?”
He heard Harry blow his nose, followed by a few little coughs before he gave his unhelpful, but not unexpected, response.
“Dunno.”
“Want me t’talk?” That usually helped his partner fall asleep, but Louis knew it was different when he wasn’t there by his side. If Harry couldn’t feel the vibrations of Louis’ chest under his hand and warm breath against his forehead, it just wasn’t the same.
“Dunno.” Despite the fact that he just blew his nose, Harry sniffled again.
“Want me to… be here?”
“Mhm.”
“Right.” Louis switched the call to facetime and squinted at the screen to make out his partner’s face in the darkness. “Settin’ you down right next t’me.”
Harry was placed next to Louis, propped up against a pillow so that he could see his sleepy husband as the man tried to stay awake.
“Can’t wait t’see you,” he mumbled as he blinked sleepily at Harry. "So soon, love.”
“Can’t wait to see you too,” Harry agreed while Louis yawned into a hand. “You can sleep, Lou.”
“Y’sure y’don’t wanna talk?”
“No. This is good. Just wanna be w’you.”
“Mm. Right.” Louis’ eyes closed and he got comfortable, pulling the blanket up over his shoulders. “Love you loads.”
“Love you.”
“Wake me if y’need.”
Harry nodded, knowing Louis couldn’t see him but not wanting his voice to rouse him from his nearly-asleep state. Just being able to look at Louis’ sleeping face, still as sweet and beautiful as it was when they first met, was helping. If he had to stay awake and stare at something, it might as well be his love.
The next day in the studio was nearly unbearable. Louis rushed through his work, pushing everyone to finish up as early as they possibly could so he could get the hell home. Everyone seemed to be on his side, so when Louis glossed over small details or seemed like he wasn’t fully present, nobody brought it up. They just kept a running list of things that they were sure needed more work than was already put in, knowing Louis would double back for them once his brain was able to focus on the task at hand.
The very moment he could, Louis rushed out of the building, slammed the door of his car, and made his way back to collect both the bag he’d packed and his big fluffy son. When he arrived home, he was greeted immediately by the dog, nuzzling his face into Louis’ knees as he wagged his floppy tail around wildly.
“C’mon, mate, we’re goin’ for a ride.”
Clifford’s ears perked up and he bolted out of the house to sit patiently by Louis’ car. The sweet pup loved car rides, especially when it was warm enough to stick his head out of the windows and chomp at the wind.
3:40 I’m on my way my darling
Just got Cliffy
Be there so soon
H:
3:45 I’ll be on sofa dying
Miss you please come home
3:46 So soon H
Louis talked to his dog as they hit the road, just happy to have someone to rant to even if he couldn’t understand a word he said.
“We should’ve left yesterday, shouldn’t we? Yeah. Poor Harry. Feel so fuckin’ bad for him, bein’ all alone through the night. I feel like a shit husband, Cliff, I really do. Can’t wait ’til we’re all together for good, can you?”
Clifford’s tongue flopped out as he panted and looked at his dad with sweet, empty eyes, and his little woof made Louis smile.
“Glad we agree.”
When Louis rushed through the front door, he didn’t see Harry on the sofa—only a pile of empty blankets and a quiet television.
“Go on, lad,” he said to Clifford, ushering him toward the sliding glass doors, opening them to let him into the back garden.
“Harry? H, where’ve you gone, love?”
His heart started racing as he called out for his husband to no response, but not more than ten seconds later, the man emerged from the toilet with arms wrapped low around his stomach. He saw Louis and let out a dry sob, breaths hitching on the inhale. He was just so happy to see his husband, to finally be loved and cared for the way he’d been craving all day. He let Louis embrace him, though he kept his arms firmly across his torso and grunted when Louis gave him a bit of a squeeze.
“Oh, love. Were you sick?” Louis asked as he pulled back, still holding Harry’s arms to keep him close. Embarrassed tears welled up in his averted eyes and he bit his lip, chest shaking with held-in tears. “Hey now, s’alright. Nothin’ t’be embarrassed about. Let’s sit, then I’ll get somethin’ for your belly. All of you’s not feelin’ too well, no?”
He hadn’t mentioned anything about losing his voice, but Louis didn’t expect a verbal answer. He knew his husband well enough to assume that Harry was just overwhelmed, going nonverbal from his rocky mix of pain and loneliness and desperation for comfort and love. Louis kissed his cheek and guided his shivery body to the sofa, turning the lights on low enough to see well enough but still safe for his poor boy’s headache. Harry got settled back on the pillows, and Louis knelt in front of him.
“Hi, babe,” he said, his usual greeting delayed by his immediate need to comfort the younger man. “You don’t look too good.”
Louis could see shadows ringing his eyes and peeling around his sore nose. All the colour in his lips had moved to his cheeks and he was so blotchy that it looked as though he’d been crying for hours.
“Here,” he whispered, almost as if he didn’t believe it.
“Told you I would be. Wish I could’ve come sooner, H, m’so sorry you’ve been alone.”
Harry nodded in agreement before pointing to the armchair beside their sofa. It had a box of surgical masks on its seat, and Louis shook his head fondly with a soft smile.
“No, love. I’m not afraid of you.”
“Flu.”
“I know that, sweetheart, but it don’t change me mind one bit. How could I possibly do this with one of them on?” He asked as he pressed his soft lips to Harry’s hot forehead. The man let out a desperate little sound as if that touch was all he’d been waiting for his whole life.
“Mi-missed you.”
“And I missed you. Now shut it and let me fuss. Pull that blanket up… and that one.” Steady hands rested on Harry’s thighs. “Did you take any medicine this evenin’?”
Harry shook his head. The only thing he’d found the energy for was water—that was all he managed to get before feeling as if he were about to pass out and crack his skull open on the floor.
“Right. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Gonna let Cliff in and get you some things.” He stroked Harry’s hair and felt the man nuzzle up into his hand. “Don’t you dare move.”
“Won’t.”
“Promise?”
“Mhm. Too achy.”
The few minutes that he spent without Louis were excruciating. He’d just gotten him back—why was he alone again? It took everything in Harry not to sob, and the only thing that kept the tears at bay was the arrival of Clifford and his wiggly body, wagging his tail and placing his front paws onto Harry’s lap to lick his face.
“Right, love, I’m — oi, Cliffy! Get down, you little beast. Leave daddy alone.”
Despite Louis’ insistence that the dog let Harry be, Harry wrapped his arms around the pup’s neck and gave him a little squeeze, whispering a hello, mate into his curly ear before he trotted off to find the bowl of food Louis had set out for him in the kitchen.
“God, what a menace he is. I found your prescription.” Harry’s eyes widened and he shook his head at the box of Tamiflu. “What’s that face?”
“Makes me, uh, it was… I, erm, it made…” Harry put a hand on his stomach again and Louis hummed in understanding.
“Oh, no worries. We’ll leave it. Somethin’ else, then.”
As Louis walked away, Harry reached out a hand as if begging him to stay, but he didn’t see it. It only took a few seconds before he returned this time, a bottle of ibuprofen and mug of tea in hand. Setting the tea down on the side table, Louis came up from behind and put a hand on the back of Harry’s neck.
“Ow,” he said, flinching away from the touch.
“What?”
“Hands are freezing, love,” he mumbled with a shiver. Louis’ hands were not cold—if anything they were a bit warm from carrying the tea—but he didn’t want to invalidate Harry’s fever-induced pains.
“Sorry, sweetheart, I’ll warm up for you. Take your medicine quick and I’ll be back.”
“Don’t leave me again,” he blurted out after getting down the tablets with an aching sip of hot tea, and Louis turned around. “Don’t leave me. Please.”
“I was jus’ gonna get another cuppa so I can warm up me hands.”
“No. Want you. I like cold hands.” He was begging now, and the intensity with which his husband wanted his presence made Louis’ heart swell.
“No you don’t,” Louis grinned at him, but he made his way back to the sofa. “Lemme under your blanket then.”
“M’gross, Lou, get your own. Go ‘way, I’m contagious. Don’t wanna breathe on you.” Harry tried to nudge Louis away, but once he was pulled back against the man’s chest he curled into it, pressing his cheek over Louis’ heart with minimal coaxing.
“You were sayin’?”
“Shuddup.” He sniffled and hid his face under the blanket. “How’m I s’posed to cough now?”
“Eh, with your mouth?”
“Don’t wanna cough on you, stupid,” he said, but he knew what Louis’ answer was going to be before he even finished speaking.
“I don’t mind. Let yourself be ill, princess. I’m here t’look after you now, so don't you worry your pretty little head over me.”
A few hours of doting went by before Louis decided he needed to get up. His stomach was starting to growl audibly, and even though he felt guilty for waking Harry, he thought it was necessary to feed himself and his husband. He looked so peaceful, sleeping with his head in Louis’ lap, but Louis stroked a hand over his hair and leaned down to kiss his forehead.
“Hi, darling, sorry t’wake you. Time for dinner, I think.”
“Not hungry,” he whispered, barely audible over the sound of the music over the speakers.
“You need to eat some, and so do I.”
“Stomachache,” he complained, curling his knees up closer to his chest and hooking his fingers through Louis’ belt loop. Louis didn't make a big deal of it, though. He knew Harry already felt awful enough without having a conversation about his history with their bathroom, so he chose not to address it.
“Got it. But I reckon it’d do you some good to eat. You’re dehydrated, s’not helpin’ any. Only soup, nothin’ more.”
The fact that Harry didn’t put up a fight as Louis carefully fed him soup was more than worrying. As needy and clingy as feverish Harry could be, he always held some kind of embarrassment about being assisted. This time, though, he was fully pliable and allowed Louis to take charge of everything. Combing out the tangles in his short hair, taking his temperature, plying him with tea and water—anything and everything Louis did was accepted by Harry with no complaint. He even let himself be lowered into the bath so Louis could wash the sweat from his hair and pale body. He even drifted off, lightly snoring with his head leaned back on the tiles.
“Wake up, princess.” He kissed Harry’s cheek once the water started to cool off. “Hi, H.”
Harry hummed and tilted his head to the side to make blurry eye contact with the beautiful man who just woke him from his accidental nap.
“Hey b’by. I’s sleep’n?”
“Yeah, sweets.” He kissed Harry’s cheek before he blindly reached into the water, soaking the cuff of his rolled sleeve as he pulled the drain plug. He offered his hands to Harry and helped him get out. “You’re jus’ so tired, aren’t you? Poor baby.”
“Mm. S’cold.” His teeth were audibly clattering, and Louis wrapped him tight in his towel before pulling him in for a drippy hug.
“I know. Got clothes in the bedroom, c’mon.”
“Your hoodie?”
“Already laid out.”
As Louis pulled said hoodie over Harry’s head, he heard the man’s muffled voice through the thick fabric.
“Needed you yesterday.”
Harry’s damp head popped through the garment and he looked so pitiful with his still-wet hair and little pout. Louis uncovered him from the hood and took his face in both hands, tilting it up to kiss the bridge of his nose.
“I’m so sorry. Truly, H, I-I wish there was somethin’ more I could’ve done without gettin’ us in hot water.”
Harry leaned forward to rest his head on Louis’ stomach, rubbing his cheek against it and slithering sleepy arms around his waist.
“What if we left?” He asked, face still buried in his husband’s shirt.
“What do you mean, love?”
“Left our jobs.”
“We’ve talked ‘bout this, H. You know we can’t. I’d give it all up in a heartbeat, but y’know we can’t do that.”
“Could leave the country.” He cleared his throat painfully. “Me and you forever.”
“Well, s’always me and you forever,” Louis reminded him as he slowly knelt down in front of the younger man. “No matter where we are, always me and you.”
“I gotta be better now,” he insisted to Louis, his raspy voice sounding a bit less ill than it had a few days before despite its obvious wear and tear.
“Take your time with it, H. You’ll be better when you’re better.” He thought a quick peck to his lips would be enough to shut him up, but Harry frowned his disapproval at the act and shook his head.
“No, ‘cos I got that article thing. Whole photoshoot and all. And don’t do that — I’m probably still contagious.”
Louis scrunched his nose playfully at Harry and patted his cheek.
“Which one?”
“Rolling Stone, Lou. In two days. You gotta make me better.” He clung onto Louis’ side, nudging his face into the side of his husband’s neck over and over like a needy cat. “They’re gonna take photos of me and if I look all sickly they’ll have to cancel. Make me better, Louis.”
“I’ll certainly try. Ew, don’t wipe your nose on me, snotty. Get a tissue.”
And try he did. Louis’ attentive and never-ending care was enough to help get Harry back on his feet, but he was still not feeling his best. It was worst in the evenings, but through the daytime hours, he was finally feeling like he might be on track to wellness again. It seemed Louis had kept his word since two days later, his fever was long gone and his skin had regained its healthy glow.
Harry was checking himself in the mirror, about to leave the house, when Louis entered the room.
“Promised I’d make you better, didn’t I?”
“M’still sniffly,” Harry grumbled, demonstrating for Louis before he was drawn into a hug from behind.
“Nobody’s gonna say a thing if you’re a bit sniffly. You don’t got a fever, so s’not like you’re a danger to society. Go, try and enjoy yourself, and know I’ll be here to give you a cuddle once it’s over.”
He shifted to be at Harry’s side and felt an arm wrap around his shirtless waist, thumb rubbing up and down on his bare skin. When he tipped his chin up for a kiss, Harry obliged, finally willing to let his husband so close without wriggling away or covering his mouth with a hand to keep it hidden from his insistent lips.
“Come with?” He whispered, breath mixing with Louis’.
“I can’t, handsome. Love you, though.”
“Love you, baby.” He kissed Louis again, bringing a hand up to cup his cheek and adjusting him so they were chest to chest. “Thanks again for taking care of me. I really appreciate it, I hope you know that.”
“I do, and I hope you know I’m happy to do it. Any time you need me, I’m here for you.”
“You’re sweet."
“You’re sweeter.”
As much as it might make him sound like a diva, Harry loved getting his hair and makeup done. All of that attention and pampering made him feel so beautiful and important, and he knew that seemed very self-centred but couldn’t bring himself to care. He quite enjoyed the company of the girl in charge of his grooming that day as well. Harry loved meeting new people. He took great pleasure in hearing about their lives, whether or not they were having a good day, or anything else they wanted to tell him. It was fascinating in his eyes, to let others talk rather than talking about himself the way he was expected to at countless public engagements.
He listened to her talk about her upcoming wedding and gushed over photos of her dress and how cute she and her fianceé looked during their beachside proposal. He listened intently to a particularly sweet story about how the two girls had met, but when a laugh turned into a cough, he ducked into his shoulder.
“Excuse me, I’m so sorry. I got knocked on my arse with flu last week, and I’m still getting over it.” A few people in the room aww-ed at him, and he smiled shyly. “I understand if you’d want to keep your distance. M’not contagious, I think, just a little unpleasant.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she waved his concern away and grabbed a box of tissues to place at his side, a gesture which he was more than grateful for as he’d been trying to sniff subtly the whole time he’d been on set.
“I’ll try to not breathe on you,” he joked, and the girl giggled.
“You’re fine. I’ll keep things light.”
She gently applied concealer to his nostrils where the pink lingered and apologised when it made him scrunch up his nose.
“I’m so sorry, gimme a moment,” he said quickly before pulling up a tissue and rotating the chair away from her to sneeze. “M’sorry. Bet I just ruined your hard work.”
“Bless you! And no, it actually… it looks fine,” she said, examining him after he finished dabbing at his nose.
“Oh, good. God, can’t believe I’m still like this. First time I’ve left the house in a week, actually,” he pointed out. “Was trying to quarantine myself — nobody needs me sneezing all over them.”
She laughed and gave him a friendly yet sympathetic expression coupled with a squeeze of his shoulder that made him feel like he was just some normal person, not Harry Styles. It was nice when people made him feel like he was normal, and this girl spoke to him as if he were a close friend rather than a massive celebrity. He quite liked her, and he hoped they'd meet again someday.
“I hope you weren’t all alone, though. That would be miserable.”
Harry smiled fondly, looking down at the rings on his fingers. He spun the one on his middle finger to read the letters stamped into its surface.
“It was miserable, but… I wasn’t alone.”