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“Hey, beautiful. How’s life in Texas?” Louis asked when he saw Harry’s face pop up on his screen.
“Eh, it was great.”
“Was?” Louis asked, noticing Harry’s emphasis on the word.
“Was.”
“Why? Somethin’ go wrong?“
“Yeah. Some kinda bug’s going ‘round the crew, and I’m just a bit nervy ‘bout it? Really don’t wanna deal with that right now, I’ve been doing so good this time.” Harry tried to sound casual, but Louis knew him more than well enough to notice the nervous edge to his voice. That, paired with the way he avoided looking at his phone while he spoke, prompted his concern. Harry wasn’t too good with eye contact when he was anxious.
“Well, how’re you feelin’ now?” Harry looked at him warily, licking his lips and furrowing his brow slightly. “H?”
“I-I don’t feel very well. And I dunno if it’s just me convincing myself or if I’m actually getting it.” Louis raised his eyebrows, and Harry knew what he was about to ask. “I got a headache and I’m feeling a little congested is all. Could be nothing, maybe.”
“Have you taken your temperature?”
One of Harry’s dimples peeked out as a silly little smile grew on his face.
“Louis Tomlinson, you are a genius.”
Louis rolled his eyes while Harry went to search for a thermometer amongst his plethora of possessions that he’d lugged across the continent. He stuck it in his mouth and scrunched up his nose at Louis who playfully mimicked him.
“Erm, Lou?” Harry asked when it beeped and was removed from under his tongue.
“Yeah, princess?”
“When should I be worried? Like, what number?”
“Dunno. For you… thirty-eight?” Harry kept examining the thermometer’s screen and Louis teased him. “Can you not read?”
“Wish I couldn’t,” he mumbled, and Louis paid closer attention to his husband, turning off the television to rid the room of its background noise.
“Why, what’s it say?”
“Thirty-eight.”
Louis’ stomach dropped, but he didn’t let it show. He needed to stay steady for Harry, and there was no need to overreact yet. Harry always ran a bit warm, and that’s part of what made him the best little spoon. After over a decade, he’d grown used to being Louis’ personal heater, and he rarely complained about freezing hands on his stomach or a cold nose on his neck.
“Well, that doesn’t mean you’re doomed, love. Could jus’ be a bit warm in the room, y’know how buses get.”
“S’pretty cold in here,” Harry admitted, tilting the phone to show Louis how all of the hairs stuck up on his arm. “Louis, fuck.”
“Alright, don’t panic. You’ll be alright, H.”
“But what if I’m not?”
“Then we figure it out,” Louis said simply, trying to encourage Harry to put it out of his mind for the rest of the evening. “For now, let’s have a big glass of water, get all bundled up, and try sleepin’ it off. Could be a fluke thing, maybe you’ll sweat it out.”
Harry certainly had sweat, but not enough to flush out the illness from his body. He woke with a splitting headache and dry mouth, feeling absolutely exhausted despite having slept ten hours straight through the night. He squinted at his phone and struggled to read the notifications, but he was able to navigate to his messages with Louis.
L:
7:30 Good morning beautiful xx
Hope you’re doing better! Sending you all my kisses
God I sound like you
Gross
8:43 Late sleeper today
Let me know how you’re feeling
When you get the chance :)
9:00 Lou
It seemed that was all Louis needed to hear to know what he was dealing with.
L:
Oh no
How bad?
9:04 Bad bad
Not even being dramatic I swear
Love I’m sorry
What’s wrong?
9:09 Call please
“Harry, darling, what’s wrong?”
“I’m fucked. I’m so fucked.” Harry’s usually raspy morning voice was thin, and it cracked with the first words he’d spoken that day. Coughing to clear his throat only made it worse, and he brought a hand up to it when it ached.
“You gonna give me more than that?”
“Don’t feel good. I hurt all over and my nose burns and I can’t talk right and Louis—” he pleaded as if Louis could take it away, “—m’absolutely fucked.”
It was important that Louis de-escalate before Harry started to really upset himself. If he wasn’t feeling well, he was not only easier to upset, but harder to comfort.
“No, no, c'mon. We’ll get through this, right? I’ll help you best I can from here, and we’ll get you better.”
“Chicago shows Thursday, Saturday, and Sunday.”
“So you’ve got a little time then, hm?” He tried to give him a reassuring smile, but it didn’t do anything to help.
“It’s Wednesday, babe.” Harry sneezed, wincing at the way it made his head ache harder. “Ow, fuck. How’m I gonna do this?”
“Okay, well, let’s jus’ take a moment to process, alright?” Louis took in a deep breath and let it out; Harry heard and copied him. “Let’s talk it over. What’s wrong?”
“So much. A lot… I dunno. Y’know?”
“Sure, yeah. You have a fever still?”
“Can’t imagine I don’t.” He stopped to cough and the sound seemed to come from deep in his chest, deepening Louis’ frown.
“Oh, sunshine. Got a bit of a cough, sounds like,” he prompted, and Harry hummed in acknowledgement. “Guessin’ sore throat, headache, itchy nose?”
“Right on the money,” Harry said with minimal humour, but he appreciated how well Louis knew him that he barely had to say anything to be heard.
“Any stomach pain?”
“No. Thank fucking god. S’all chest up.”
“You got chills?”
“Little bit. S’mostly m’head and—” he stopped to sneeze, “—fuck, can’t stop doing that.”
Louis blessed him, but his throat got tight when he wasn’t sure how to broach the next subject.
“Have you, eh… have you taken a test?”
He heard Harry take in a sharp breath, and that was his signal that Harry hadn’t been awake long enough to put together the pieces of what might be going on with him.
“You haven’t. Okay. That’s alright, but I think y’nee— no, H, don’t cry. Baby, listen t’me, Harry, love. Big breath, close your eyes. Breathe.” Louis tried to keep him levelled out, but he knew it would only grow more difficult. “I’m not sayin’ you’ve got it, but I think it’s safe to check, right?”
Harry made an indistinct sound.
“I know you don’t like it, but I’ll be on the line with you the whole time. Could y’do that for me?”
“I…I don’t wanna know,” Harry whispered, and Louis sighed.
“I know you don’t, but y’kinda need to. It’s the responsible thing to do, and you wouldn’t wanna be spreadin’ it ‘round, would you? It’ll be alright, sweetheart, no matter what.” He was so gentle even over the phone that Harry’s tears were sniffed back as he inched toward being convinced.
“I don’t want to put it up there, Lou,” he mumbled, scratching his nose almost as if he were trying to hide it from an invisible cotton swab.
“H, I know, but you've gotta do it. Go and find a test, I know we put some in your bag.”
“Can’t you come do it for me?”
“I’m quite far — you’d be waitin’ twelve-some hours, darling. You’ve gotta get it done so we can think over what to do.”
Harry only hummed and left the phone on the bed, but Louis could still hear him sneezing from the next room over before he came back with a test in hand.
“Jesus, H, you alright? Sounds like your nose’s gonna fall off.”
“Hope it does,” he said blankly as he stared down at the test in his hand.
“You ready?” Louis prodded, but Harry shook his aching head.
“I can’t do it,” he insisted. “I can’t.”
“Then go find someone to help you, love.”
“No. That’s— I can’t,” he tripped over his words at the thought of bringing someone else into the room.
“Then you gotta do it yourself.”
Harry had never liked the feeling of testing, even before the pandemic. Any time he had to get a flu test he would put up a fuss, giving Louis his best doe-eyed look or trying to charm his way out of it. He hated how the stick burned his sinuses and made his eyes flood, but he had gotten quite used to it through his first stint of Love on Tour as he had everyone doing it daily. His desire to keep people safe and healthy outweighed his discomfort, but just barely. By the last few months of tour, his stomach-clenching dread and anxious squirming turned into a sulky frown as someone—often Sarah—stood by his side in support while he watched himself in the mirror.
It had been a long time since he’d needed to do one while actually feeling unwell, and something about the thought of being all alone with reason to believe it might come out positive upset him terribly the way it used to.
“Sweetheart, would it make y’feel better if I do one too? Might be a good idea anyway since I seen you in the last two weeks.”
After a lot of encouragement, Harry finally twirled the swab up his nose. The couple started at the same time so Louis could be sure that Harry did it for the proper length of time. He knew the man wouldn’t remember to count if he was feeling so terrible and scared, so he served as the model for Harry to copy. It was followed by an unpleasant minute where Harry fought his nose—he wasn’t sure whether he was trying to get a sneeze out or hold it in, but he just wanted it all to go away.
Then it was time to wait.
“Lou, what if it’s…”
“Then we figure it out. Let’s leave it be ’til it’s done.”
To pass the time, Louis updated Harry on his younger sisters and brother, telling him about what they had all been up to in the past few weeks since they’d had a chance to swing by, and anything else he could think of to distract him. Twenty minutes later, Harry interrupted Louis’ story about the time that Clifford tromped his muddy paws all over the carpet, not seeming to have acknowledged anything that was said anyway.
“It’s done.”
There was a second of silence before Louis made his suggestion.
“You maybe wanna have a look?”
“No,” he whispered.
“Show me, then. Put me on facetime, baby, I'll look.”
He did, and the camera flipped from his blotchy face to the tabletop. Louis examined it closely, and a huge weight came off his shoulders. He let out the deep breath he’d been holding, but Harry couldn’t tell whether it was a sigh of relief or sympathy.
“What is it?”
“Negative.”
“Don’t bullshit me, Louis. S’not funny.”
“Babygirl, why would I lie ‘bout this? Swear on me life: negative — for the both of us,” he assured Harry as his hand came into frame, picking up the plastic tray to check it for himself.
“See, H? You’re fine. Well, not fine, but y’know what I mean. Now lemme see that pretty face of yours. There he is.” He gave Harry an encouraging smile when the camera switched back to show his flushed cheeks and tired eyes. “We’re alright.”
There was no relief on Harry’s face; he almost seemed to be more upset with the outcome than Louis expected him to be if it came out positive.
“They’re gonna make me go on tomorrow, then.”
“Why d’you say that?”
“If s’not COVID there’s no excuse. That's what they’ve said before,” his voice cracked and he rubbed his throat to try to soothe the pain.
“Well you’ve not gone more than two minutes without your nose kickin' up a fuss, so I’d say that’s a pretty solid excuse.” Louis tried to instil some hope into Harry, but he knew the only way to possibly get him the night off was by involving his band. If he couldn’t be there, he’d be damn sure someone else could. “Did y’still want me to come? I can try me best, look into flights.”
“I don’t want any trouble.”
Louis agreed to stay where he was and let Harry handle things on his own. He was a grown man, after all—certainly, he could see to his situation and work it out without his husband’s protection.
Harry told Louis he could handle things without him, but he was already having a great deal of trouble. It was tough to advocate for himself when he had a pounding headache and an all-encompassing feeling of bad that made him feel like he was on the brink of collapsing into a full-on anxiety attack. He was in his hotel suite with the rest of the band trying to work out plans to propose upon the cancellation of the show, but their efforts were crumbling along with Harry as he was confronted.
“You’re going on tonight.”
“I really don’t think I can,” Harry said with his broken voice, forcing the sound out painfully from behind the mask he insisted on wearing while his friends were around.
“You've promised them a show, you’ll give them a show.”
“I literally can’t. I genuinely can’t sing.”
The men looked at Harry like he was an idiot, one even rolling his eyes, and Harry’s bandmates stepped in before a response could be given.
“Yeah, I dunno if it’s such a good idea,” Pauli agreed, crossing the room to sit on the edge of Harry’s bed and squeezing his shoulder. “He’s down for the night, nothing more we can do about it.”
They felt Harry’s back twitch with the upset catch in his breath, so they gave him a little nudge with their elbow and leaned in to whisper in his ear.
“S’alright, H. Don’t give in.”
“Styles, you’ll need to be out for soundcheck in an hour.”
Harry looked around desperately at his band to see nothing but sympathetic smiles and encouraging nods.
“I-I dunno what to tell you, I really don’t feel well enough to go on. I’m sorry.”
His pride in himself for standing up to them was short-lived since only a few seconds passed before his protests were disrespected.
“One hour.”
They all left, and Harry was alone with his band, scattered around the room as he sat cross-legged on his massive bed.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, on the verge of tears, but the handful of reassurances he got was the only reason he could keep them down.
“It’s okay. Get some rest, kid,” Mitch encouraged him, gently ruffling his hair.
“They’ll be back for me in an hour,” Harry said warily, but Mitch spoke for the group, knowing they were all on the same page.
“Not if we have anything to say about it.”
Harry only hummed and burrowed down under the blankets.
“Y’can stay around ’til they come back… I mean, if you want. I’ve got food out there,” he told them all as they exited the bedroom to the rest of the suite, as if they would need to be convinced to stick by his side. A chorus of thanks and acknowledgements was the last thing Harry heard before the door closed and his brain switched off.
However those men could come back up there in good conscience and attempt to pull the singer out of bed was appalling to Harry’s band, and they all made sure to stick around for moral support and to share the information that none of them would be going on.
It was a very short sleep before Harry woke to the sound of muffled voices on the other side of the bedroom door. Sweaty palms rubbed his aching eyes as he slung the mask back on over his ears before stumbling out of bed. He held the wall for balance as he swung the door open and leaned heavily on its frame to investigate the situation.
“This really doesn’t concern any of you,” one man said, looking around at the band who all seemed more than ready to argue, but a rough cough from Harry caused everyone to turn their heads.
“I got it. S’alright.”
“Hey sickie, go back to sleep,” insisted Pauli as they tried to push Harry back into the bedroom, but Harry resisted.
“No, m’good. Lemme through.” Harry sniffled and wiped his forehead on his sleeve.
The long back-and-forth argument that followed his arrival was only won by Harry and the band when the ill man fled the room, coughing so hard that he needed his inhaler.
“That enough for you?” Niji asked as Mitch hustled after his friend.
A sweaty Harry returned with Mitch’s guiding hand on his back, breathing heavily when he was guided to one of the armchairs. When informed of the rescheduling, he sighed and squeezed his eyes shut.
“Would you put something out? Like, an apology?” Harry croaked, eyes still shut tight. “You can sign it from me, just run it by Mitch ‘fore it goes out.”
“Yeah, we’ll get right on that.” Harry didn’t hear how disingenuous that was, but the looks on their faces gave the band a bad feeling that the message wouldn’t cross Mitch’s path before it was posted.
“Thanks. Could I have some space, please? I’m sorry, I just feel awful and I need to,” he had pressed his face into his elbow to sneeze despite his mask, so he didn’t see all of the men cringe away. “Excuse me, sorry. I need to call my husband.”
“Yes, of course. You stay up here and get your rest.” Once again Harry didn’t pick out the hint of sarcasm in the sentiment, but the daggers stared at them by the rest of the room were enough to urge them away.
“Sweetheart, you can text Mitch.”
“No.”
“Why no?”
“‘Cos he won’t wanna.”
“I’m sure he’d sit with you if you ask, love,” Louis insisted, but Harry wasn’t convinced.
“He won’t. I’m a walking disease.” A deep sniffle and long sigh accompanied his words, and Louis let out a sigh of his own.
“I’m sendin’ him a text.”
“No, Lou, don’t,” Harry protested, but his husband had no intention of hearing him out.
Harry heard the ping from the other end of the line that indicated a new message, and tears pooled in his eyes.
“Louis, no. I only want you.”
“And I want you, but y'need lookin’ after and I’ve got a good candidate.”
A knock on the partially open door accompanied Mitch’s entrance just as Harry said his goodbyes to Louis.
“Hey, H. You need something?”
“Yeah.” The tears were still present, but Harry managed to blink most of them back while fumbling for a new mask on the table at his side.
“What can I do?”
“Was wondering if, erm, if you’d sit with me maybe? S’fine if you don’t wanna ‘cos I’m all germy, but I, erm, my head hurts and I’m lonely and I miss Louis and I—”
All Mitch did was hold out a hand to help him stand.
“It’s warmer in our room. Sarah’s got tea, we were gonna watch a movie.”
An exhausted Harry shook his head, not accepting his friend’s help and strongly regretting it when his arms shook with the effort of pushing himself to sit.
“Don’t wanna interrupt your date.”
Mitch let out a short breath through his nose as he supported Harry with a hand on his back.
“It’s hardly a date. Come on, let’s go. Bring your blanket.”
It was draped over Harry like a cape, floating behind as the two men journeyed a few doors down.
“I brought this one,” Mitch announced to Sarah when they entered the room, and her lower lip pouted out when she took in his appearance.
“Oh, H, you look terrible.”
“Feel it.” He sniffled and pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders as Sarah approached to feel his forehead. She ended up shrouded in it as well when she gave him a tight hug, his arms enveloping her with the warm fleecy fabric. “Could I crash your date?”
“S’hardly a date,” she said, and Harry managed a small smile at the way she unknowingly echoed her partner. He split from her and went to curl up in one of the armchairs, tossing away its decorative pillow to create more space for him to bring his knees to his chest.
“You can come here if you like,” Sarah patted the spot next to her. “You look sad, love.”
“Mm. Don’t wanna get you ill.”
Despite his insistence, Sarah knew he’d change his mind. She left a large space on her right for him while Mitch settled in on her left. Only a few minutes later, she saw Harry shifting out of the corner of her eye. He was shaking, unable to warm himself even with the insulation of the blanket.
“H, love, you’re cold. You've got your mask, please come sit with us.”
This time, he didn’t argue. Harry joined the couple on the sofa and let Sarah manipulate him to lie curled up with his head on her lap.
“That alright?” she asked and his nose bumped against her leg as he nodded. Once Mitch adjusted the blanket over him, he was lights out—dead weight and snoring.
“You think this is what parenting's gonna be like?” Mitch asked, and Sarah gave him a long kiss.
“I suppose so, my love.”
It seemed Harry couldn’t go more than an hour without being disturbed or upset, since the group of men had reappeared at the door. He’d hoped they wouldn’t be able to find him tucked away in his bandmates’ room, but he was sadly mistaken.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Oh, we must’ve forgotten.”
“I specifically asked you to.” Harry had to really strain his scratchy voice to be heard. “I asked you to say something. Anything.”
“Sorry, Harry. Slipped our minds.” Their flippant acknowledgement of his frustration only made things worse. Harry lowered his mask to wipe his running nose on his wrist, not caring how unsanitary it was while anger continued to bubble up inside him.
“What’m I being punished for this time?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Cut the shit. You know exactly what I mean.”
From across the room, Mitch and Sarah looked up from their phones and turned their attention to the brewing argument.
“You’re not being punished, Harry.”
“Then what d’you call this, turning everyone against me and making it seem like I don’t care? Hearing from the bloody venue, but not HSHQ? What the hell is this?” Harry held up his phone with his Twitter account open to show nothing more than the photos from Austin, and his raw throat didn’t appreciate the continued raising of his voice. He coughed harshly, nearly doubled over from the pain as he buried his face in his sleeve.
“We forgot.”
“You didn’t fucking forget, no, you didn’t fucking forget." He stood suddenly and approached one of the men, ignoring the black spots that danced in his vision. Harry backed him into the wall, pressing a finger into his chest and standing just a breath away. “Tell me why.”
“Should you really be this close?” He asked warily, not liking how he could feel the unnatural, feverish heat emanating from an unmasked Harry with only a fingertip’s contact. Harry didn’t care, though. He always tried to be considerate and cautious when it came to illness, but this was the one time when he hoped every one of them caught whatever he had and suffered just as much as him. No, more. Treat People With Kindness could wait—these men didn’t deserve a single drop of his respect.
“I’ll be as close as I want to, you fucking p—”
“H, come on, love. We don’t have to do this.” Sarah was up and off her feet, resting a hand on Harry’s upper arm to try and bring him to the sofa.
“Yes, we do.” His jaw was set and his over-bright eyes were on fire with his rage. “Yes, we fucking do. Why aren’t you on my side? You’re s’posed to be on my side.” He turned away from Sarah, coughing into his sleeve with a force that echoed his anger. She rubbed his back and kept trying to bring him back down, but she knew he wasn’t going to be at his most rational while his brain was actively frying.
“I am, H. That’s why I want you to relax. You’re getting all riled up, and we don’t need that right now. You’ve gone real pale, please sit down with me.” Her voice was calm, and she returned the hand to his arm for a little squeeze. Harry, despite being visibly ill and sweaty in his rumpled hoodie, was still intimidating. There was only one person Sarah had seen go up against Harry when he was in a state like this, but if he were here, she was sure none of this would have happened in the first place. Oh god, how they needed Louis.
“M’fine,” he panted as he stared down the man in front of him, nostrils flaring with his anger. He knew how rude it was, but he didn’t back off when he needed to cough again, just covered his mouth half-heartedly. It was probably rather cruel since that was essentially sealing the deal on the man’s fate, but he was being taunted and hung out to dry. He felt it was justified to share a few germs with his unwanted guests.
“Tell me why.”
“No, Styles.”
“I’m serious.” He growled, face far too close to the other man’s as he towered over him. He said nothing, seeming to hold his breath to avoid sharing Harry’s. “Tell me. Why.”
“No,” the man spat with finality, shoving Harry away so hard that he stumbled back, only standing because he had slammed into Sarah who struggled to support his weight.
“Hey, hey, hey, no. You don’t do that.” Mitch got to his feet and made it across the room in a few strides to take Harry’s place, and within seconds all of the men were shouting over each other. Sarah had settled a stunned Harry on the sofa where he clutched his head, the sounds rattling around his aching skull. She knelt in front of him and put her hands on his knees—he covered them with his own, and she could feel how they trembled from shock and fever.
“M’sorry. You alright?”
“I’m fine, H. Take a breath.”
Keep your dirty fucking hands off him, who do you think you are? You think you can just push him around because he’s weak and sick — you wouldn’t dare cross him if he wasn’t because you know he’d kick your ass.
Watch it, Rowland.
No, you watch it! If you wanna get physical with him, we’ll take this outside. I’ll give it right the fuck back, I don’t even care.
Oh, really? I think I hear empty threats…
Why don’t you fuck around and find out?
“Mitchell,” Sarah scolded him, but he shot her a look over his shoulder that suggested she keep out of it. So much was happening all at once, and Sarah wasn’t sure which man needed more of her attention. She wanted to keep her partner far away from a charge of assault and battery, but Harry’s face was nearly bone white as he stared blankly down at his feet.
“Stop,” he called out weakly before looking up at Sarah. “They’re so loud.”
After looking back and forth between everyone in the room, she sighed and directed Harry to cover his ears.
“Listen here, you lot,” she yelled over the chaos, and hearing her raised voice shocked them all into silence. “You come into my room and have the audacity to torture my friend for your own satisfaction? My friend who’s terribly ill and needs his rest so he can do the thousands of things you expect of him each day? You’re behaving like animals! You waltz in here and cause a ruckus like you own the goddamn place when this is supposed to be a quiet, calm environment for poor Harry to get some fucking rest for once in his damn life. How dare you?”
“Hey, honey,” Mitch was drawn to her side, unsuccessfully trying to quell her anger and put a stop to the conversation, but she shook his hand off of her shoulder and continued to glare at the men with a protective, vengeful expression that showed she wasn’t meant to be crossed.
“I’d advise you to leave Harry alone.” There was some indistinct chatter as they all turned to leave, but she called them back. “Oh, I’m sorry, were you dismissed? Didn’t think so. I’d like an apology.”
“Sorry,” they mumbled together, sounding like schoolboys called out for their disobedience.
“What for?” She pressed, patronising the men who began to look a bit ashamed of themselves.
“For disturbing you,” one mumbled.
“And what else?”
“Interrupting Styles’ rest,” another spoke up.
“Oh, don’t tell me. Tell him.”
A chorus of weak sorries was sent Harry’s way, but he didn’t notice. He propped his elbows on his knees and squeezed his aching eyes shut, forehead resting heavily against his palms.
“Anything else?”
“Not Tweeting when he asked us to.”
Sarah raised her eyebrows and cocked her head over to Harry again.
“We’re sorry, Styles.” They were clearly not genuine, but it was the way their cheeks paled with fear of Sarah’s wrath that made it worthwhile.
“That’s better. Now go. I don’t want to see any of you set foot near this room, got it? And don’t you dare slam that door.”
Once they’d all left, a bit stunned by Sarah’s outburst, she turned her attention to Harry who continued to muffle the sounds of the room. She lowered his hands and held them between her own as she once again squatted in front of him.
“Are you alright, H?”
She expected Harry to complain, to maybe even shed a tear, but all he did was shake with a silent laugh.
“You must be such a good mum. You’re like a lioness,” he mumbled, eyelids heavy and dimples just barely present on his cheeks.
She laughed and felt his forehead.
“And you’re like an oven. Time for bed, come on.”
“M’not tired. Mitch, tell her.”
“Um, I think I’ll pass.” He looked at his wife with a mixture of awe and fear, making a note to never get on her bad side. Even when Harry looked at him like he’d been betrayed, Mitch only shrugged. “She’s the boss.”
“He’s so scared of you,” he said to Sarah with a little giggle, tugging on her ponytail after Mitch helped him up. “M’gonna use that.”
Sarah only rolled her eyes and reached to hold his hand as she guided him back to his hotel room. Mild delirium was certainly not a great sign, but she was just happy he was no longer jumpy and tearful.
She walked with Harry while Mitch gathered up all of the man’s possessions from their room. When they finally approached the bed, she spoke again.
“H, I’m so sorry. Truly, I am. We’ll keep it nice and quiet ‘round here now so you can rest up. D’you need anything from me?”
He seemed nervous as he bit his lip, looking down and shaking his head.
“Did you want a hug?” She asked, having a feeling that’s what he was too embarrassed to ask for. He sniffed and nodded, wrapping hot arms around his drummer and sighing at how lovely it felt to be held.
“You can always ask for a hug, love. I’m a mum now, that’s kinda my area of expertise.”
“I’m twenty-eight, Sarah,” he mumbled into her hair. “Shouldn’t need t’be looked after.”
“Everyone needs a bit of help sometimes, even Harry Styles.”
Harry scrunched his nose when she playfully poked it, and she laughed when he whipped to the side to sneeze.
“Yeah. Just embarrassed, I guess,” he admitted as he lowered to sit on the edge of the bed.
“You’d let Louis do it, right? Yes, you would — don’t lie. If your husband can’t be here, let your friends help. Alright?”
Harry’s eyes filled with tears when he saw Mitch nod from where he was standing in the doorway with the big fluffy blanket in his arms.
“We really wanna help, H.”
With that, tears spilt out of his eyes and he squeezed them shut. He heard Mitch cross to stand by the bed and felt the blanket drape over his legs. A large palm rested on his back, rubbing it comfortingly while Sarah sat on the bed, holding onto one of his hands. He sat with his head hung as he cried for a few minutes, and his friends stayed steady by his side.
“M’so sorry. I’m just not feeling well and now all this and… I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologise. You have a fever, H. We know you get a bit weepy,” Sarah reminded him. “We’ve seen you down a few times now, haven’t we?”
“Don’t worry about it, man. You’re all good,” Mitch agreed with a shoulder squeeze.
“Your kid is the luckiest in the world, y’know that?”
They both grinned at each other and then at Harry who was yawning into the collar of his hoodie.
“You’re sweet, H. Can we get you in bed now? You need to rest if you want to go out on Saturday.”
“Will you tell Louis? Just, y’know… tell him.”
Regardless of whether or not he knew what exactly Harry wanted Mitch to say, he figured a full run-down of the last few hours would suffice. He ducked out to give him a call while Sarah helped Harry get comfortable.
“Hey, mate. Alright?” Louis didn’t sound frantic or suspicious, and Mitch took that as a good sign that he was truly trusted with Harry’s care. He knew not many people got that luxury what with how protective the man was over his husband.
“Yeah, I’m good. You?”
“Bit nervy bout me husband. Is everythin’ good?”
“He’s a little upset. Well, a lot upset. He got kinda worked up and then he cried and... it’s a long story.”
“I’ve got time.”