Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Harry Edward, what the hell is this?”

A bundled-up Harry looked like a deer in the headlights when he was caught removing his damp shoes by a visibly unimpressed Louis, arms crossed over his chest and eyebrows raised.

“Was takin’—” he paused to sneeze into his free hand while the other continued to untie his laces, “—Cliffy for a walk. ‘Scuse me, sorry.”

“In this weather?” Louis said incredulously, too exasperated to acknowledge Harry’s sneeze.

“Well, the lad’s gotta have a poo somewhere, and I’d prefer it wasn’t our carpets,” Harry pointed out, but he knew there were about a dozen counter-arguments Louis could have that he would have trouble refuting.

“Y’know what I mean, Curls. It’s rainin’ out there and you’re gettin’ ill. You really shouldn’t’ve gone out.”

“No, I’m not,” he replied flippantly, trying to be as casual as possible as he sniffled, playing it off as a deep breath.

“Explain the sweat, then.” Louis approached his husband, taking the shoes from him to return them to their proper place.

“That’s just the rain, babe.”

“Rain, right. And that’d be why you’re only shiny on your forehead? And why you’re shiverin’ up a storm?”

“…Yes,” Harry agreed, knowing exactly how unconvincing he sounded when faced with Louis’ scolding. When his husband pointed out that he was trembling despite still wearing his heavy coat indoors, Harry stayed stubborn. “It’s cold out, Lou. Doesn’t mean I’m feverish.”

“Oh, but it does.”

Even if Harry was getting ill—which he wasn’t—he wouldn’t appreciate the confrontational nature of their interaction. Whenever he was coming down with something—which he wasn’t—Louis was usually more sympathetic, even in a situation where Harry chose to play innocent despite the obvious, frustrating him to no end. But he wasn’t feeling ill… not when their album release was four days away.

“Honey, I dunno why you think you know me better than I do. It’s my body, I’d know if I had a fever, wouldn’t I?”

Having both been trained to answer every question and dodge any topic they weren’t supposed to speak on, Harry and Louis frustrated each other to no end sometimes. They knew each other’s tells, but they were both so damn good at deflecting that lies were often difficult to call out without blowing things out of proportion.

“And I think you do know, you’re jus’ bein’ stubborn ‘bout it.”

There was no response that would satisfy Louis and Harry both, so the younger boy huffed and marched away to sit on the sofa, turning on the television and ignoring the eyes that bore into the back of his head. A minute later, he felt the cushion sink down at his side, and he decided not to ignore Louis’ arrival.

“Love, stop,” Harry said when he saw what Louis was offering him.

“Humour me.”

“Louis, I swear I’m alright. Why’re you so insistent on this?”

“I worry ‘bout your cute little self.” Louis kissed his cheek, lips just barely brushing the corner of his mouth. “We got that radio thing Thursday and the album Friday, so I’d rather be safe than sorry. Humour me, please.”

There was a poorly hidden hint of concern, so Harry decided to play along. He rolled his eyes and took the thermometer, sliding it under his tongue and leaning back onto the cushions, enjoying the feeling of Louis’ shoulder massage—seemingly a reward for complying with the request. Upon the beep, he checked the reading and nodded.

“All good then? No fever?”

Harry shook his head, but he turned the thermometer toward Louis just late enough that the numbers flashed off the screen before he could verify them. As much as Louis wanted to ask him to do it again, to prove that he wasn’t lying, he didn’t want to argue. The boy tossed the device onto the table in front of them, and Louis went against his better judgement when he decided to believe his husband.

“I’m not tryna be a nuisance, sun. I jus’ gotta protect me boy, don’t I?” With his hands still on Harry’s shoulders, he tugged the boy to slide into his lap, planting little kisses along the side of his throat to win his favour again.

Was the skin actually too warm, or was Louis reading into it too much?

“Yeah, I guess so.”

There was no more discussion—the two focused their attention on the television for a few minutes until Louis leaned to the side, grabbing a box of tissues to offer to his partner.

“I’m not ill, Lou,” Harry reminded him, though he didn’t sound particularly irritated.

“Yeah, I don’t care. Your snifflin’s drivin’ me mad — blow your nose. Healthy people are allowed t’do that too, y’know.”

Harry hadn’t even realised he’d been sniffling, he had tuned himself out as he relaxed into Louis’ arms, but he pulled one from the box without an argument. When he tossed the tissue carelessly over the side of the sofa, Louis nudged him to turn around and kissed the bridge of his nose. That seemed to have irritated it, and Louis rubbed Harry’s side before he sneezed.

“Bless you, sunshine. Oh… I’m sorry, did y’need somethin’ from me?” Louis asked cheekily when he noticed Harry still pressing his hands against his face with a pleading look in his eyes.

“Louis, please?” His voice was muffled behind his hands, and Louis teased him again.

“Wait, did you need one of these?” Irritated green eyes stared him down until the box of tissues was placed in his lap. Harry twisted around so he was facing away from Louis before lowering his hands and snatching a handful of tissues to clean himself up. Wiping his nose so aggressively had caused it to turn a faint pink, and Louis tried to hide a little smile.

“I’m not ill.” The insistence was tinged with the slightest congestion, and Harry had a feeling he could only convince himself of his perfect health for so much longer before he had to believe that Louis was right. The reading on the thermometer was nothing to worry about—why would he tell Louis about the thirty-eight that glared at him from the small digital screen? That would just cause him to worry over nothing because nothing was wrong. He couldn’t help feeling guilty, but he justified it to himself by saying that he always ran warm anyway.

Not thirty-eight degrees warm, though, and Harry knew that.

“Whatever you say, beautiful.”

Not much later, Harry’s yawning grew more frequent, prompting the pair to migrate to the bedroom. Louis was sprawled out on the bed, scrolling through his phone as he let Harry monopolise the bathroom. Undoubtedly, he would need to blow his nose at least once more, and Louis wanted to give the boy some privacy to avoid any unnecessary embarrassment. All of a sudden, he heard a gasp followed by a rushed sneeze.

“Bless, love,” he called to Harry, but the boy didn’t acknowledge him.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“What?” Louis tried to peer into the bathroom, but he couldn’t see much from his position.

“Got toothpaste on the mirror.”

That made Louis chuckle, and he set his phone down to go join his husband, finding Harry wiping down the glass with half-lidded eyes. He snaked his arms just below where he knew the moth tattoo was and lifted on his toes to rest his chin on that broad shoulder.

“You’re sure you’re alright, sleepy? Been a few hours since your walk and you still got that runny nose.” He wasn’t expecting Harry to be argumentative per se, but he was worried that pressuring his stubborn husband so close to bedtime would mean that his arms would be empty until morning.

“Louis. I’m fine — just real tired, but that’s the usual. Kinda dusty ‘round the house too since someone hasn’t done his share lately. If you’d just let me do it, it’d actually get done, y’know.” A scandalised Louis nipped Harry’s earlobe, muttering something about his husband’s allergies.

Harry pretended he didn’t hear a thing and finished cleaning off the mirror while making eye contact with his husband’s reflection. After a few seconds of fond staring, Louis released him, reaching for his own toothbrush and elbowing Harry to get him to make room.

Brushing his teeth while Harry washed his face was a dangerous game, since he never knew when a closed-eyed Harry would duck down to wet his face. He’d come close to spitting on him one too many times for him to want to keep testing his luck. Wet, minty lips kissed a freshly-rinsed cheek, capturing the corner of Harry’s mouth and leaving the smallest hint of toothpaste there. Harry’s bottom lip jutted out while he wiped it away with his thumb, but Louis licked the boy’s finger clean before rising on his toes to kiss his pout away. A large hand cupped his face while the other found its way to the curve of Louis’ arse, the taller partner’s smirk breaking their contact.

“Cheeky fuck.” Louis gave Harry’s waist a squeeze before giving him one last kiss. “Now go take an antihistamine, might clear you up.”

The couple had gone to bed with Harry still insisting that it was just a combination of the change of seasons and some dust that had his nose all itchy, but the next morning proved him dead wrong. He woke up to the feeling of Louis playing with a few of his curls, but the peace was rudely interrupted by the throbbing of his sinuses.

A whispered mornin’, sunshine broke the silence, and Harry cracked open his eyes to glance up at Louis. He fluttered them shut when they ached from the heavenly sunlight which streamed into the room. He took stock of his body, and the more conscious he became, the worse he felt. He shoved his face into Louis’ neck and flopped an arm over his chest possessively as if he was afraid he’d lose the cuddles if he didn’t hold on tight enough.

“So sleepy this mornin’. You’re usually up first,” Louis pointed out, twirling a defined curl around his fingers.

Harry didn’t answer. He burrowed deeper and pulled himself in impossibly closer to his husband’s warmth, sighing quietly at the comfort of Louis’ soft shirt on his cheek.

“Why so cuddly, hm?” Louis stroked loose curls out of the way so he could try to get a look at the side of Harry’s face and realised that the boy’s skin was clammy, little pieces of hair sticking to his forehead. It was no surprise, but Louis’ stomach sank.

“Feelin’ poorly, babygirl?” Harry whimpered pathetically into Louis’ skin, nosing at his throat presumably in an attempt to scratch an itch.

Louis cooed, getting a hand between Harry’s shoulder and his chest, and his fevered husband tried futilely to hide among the fabric of Louis’ shirt when he was rolled over slightly. Though his eyes were closed, his lips were open to draw in shallow breaths that his blocked nose couldn’t manage.

“Caught yourself a little cold, did you?” Harry nodded into his chest, unable to feel embarrassed by the I told you so tone Louis put on. “Lost your voice?”

His throat did ache terribly, but he hadn’t tried to make a sound yet. Harry cleared his throat, coughing a few times into the space between Louis’ chest and arm to try and keep his germs to himself.

“Lou—” his voice was there, albeit hoarse, “—don’feel well.”

Exhausted eyes finally opened, and Harry tilted his head up toward his love. Upon seeing his pink cheeks, furrowed brow, and dry lips, Louis put a hand on the back of the slightly tangled mess of hair and tucked Harry’s head under his chin protectively.

“How so, darling?”

“Throat hurts. Head, and body… dunno. Stuffy.” His arms squeezed Louis tighter and he stifled a cough. “Shivery.”

“Well, you’re certainly runnin’ a temp.” Louis rubbed a hand up and down Harry’s arm to try and calm the bumps that formed there, but the effort was in vain. “Let’s have a look at you, get medicine, a glass of water, some brekkie… how’s that sound?”

It clearly didn’t sound great, as Harry only sniffled pathetically and nuzzled his nose against Louis.

“We gotta do it sometime, H.” Harry’s arm moved up to latch around Louis’ neck, using his bicep to hide his face from the morning sun. “Baby, please? Y’can’t keep usin’ me as your tissue all day. I’ll get you a nice blanket, a hot drink…”

“Coffee?” he rasped.

“Tea. With honey.”

Louis rubbed a thumb across the exposed fern tattoo, and Harry sighed, trailing off with a few small coughs.

“Fine.”

“Good boy. Lemme free now.” Louis kissed his head before patting him on the back as if to say up. Harry obeyed, but the second he stood, he fell into Louis and wrapped him in a hug, hooking his chin over his shoulder.

“Mmm. Warm Lou.”

“Warm H, more like.” Harry’s shivers had started up again despite his overly hot skin, so Louis wiggled his way free and snagged a blanket from the end of their bed to drape over him like a cape. “What’s the plan, babygirl? If y’wanna spend today in bed, we’ll stop off at the toilet quick and come back, or we could camp out on the sofa if you like.” Harry tapped his finger twice on Louis’ arm. “Sofa it is.”

Louis slipped joggers on both himself and Harry before leaving the boy with some privacy, heading downstairs instead to turn on the kettle and let Clifford out in the garden. When Harry shuffled in, a steaming mug of tea and a variety of medicine was already waiting for him. His favourite hoodie of Louis’ was folded on the sofa next to a thick blanket that looked so very inviting to the chilled boy.

“Thanks, Lou.”

He dropped down into the other half of the chair to curl up against the armrest and Louis helped him slip on the hoodie before handing the mug over. Harry was surprisingly cooperative with having his temperature taken, but his body was against him. His nose was running incessantly while he muffled closed-mouth coughs around the thermometer, and the second it beeped he whipped it out, ducking away from Louis to sneeze into his hand, seeming to hold it back a little as it jerked his body forward.

“Bless you, sniffles,” Louis said sweetly while he took in the reading, eyebrows knitting together. “Right, so y’got a sore throat, little cough…”

“Bones hurt, tired—” he rubbed his nose aggressively with the sleeve of his—Louis’—hoodie, “—itchy nose. Fever?”

“Yeah, nasty fever. Sorry, love.” Louis hummed sympathetically when Harry’s cough rattled in his chest, reading the labels on various medicine bottles until he found a good combination. “I have a feelin’ I know the answer, but how d’you feel ‘bout seein’ a doctor?”

As expected, Harry shook his head. Louis wanted to convince him, though—they had to perform in two days, and if this was something more serious than a cold, it wouldn’t get any better without medical intervention.

“Not even for a little test? Fever makes me think y’got flu or an infection or summat. We’d get you some real medicine…”

“You’re m’medicine,” he mumbled, grabbing Louis by his shirt and dropping to rest his head against his husband’s chest so that his hot breath warmed Louis. Despite being a bit flattered, the older man didn’t humour his response.

“Think you’ll manage tablets or d’you want the syrup?” Harry wrinkled his nose at the thought of cough syrup, and Louis chuckled, unsurprised. “Alright, picky, here we are.”

It took a good minute of coaxing and back rubs to work Harry up to taking the medicine, encouraging him as he stared at the tablets in his palm, but he eventually popped them in his mouth. Harry gagged a bit when they went down his swollen throat, but he grabbed Louis’ arm when he saw the frantic look in his partner's eyes.

“Got stuck,” he assured him once the entire glass of water had been downed. “M’not sick.”

Louis sighed with relief—Harry, no matter how much he whined and cried over it, was no stranger to a little respiratory issue, but he did not do well with being sick. He had a strong stomach and comforting words when someone else needed his support, but going through it himself gave him far too much anxiety. He would be sick, get himself all worked up, be sick again, and the cycle continued. After enough drunken escapades and time spent with little siblings, Louis had no issue handling it from either side…but watching his husband go through it was painful in itself.

“Thank fuck, alright. That’s good. Y’alright if I bring some breakfast?” Harry nodded, and Louis turned on the television, handing him the remote and kissing his head. “Be back so soon.”

Sniffles and coughs could still be heard while Louis prepared himself a bowl of cereal and toast. He searched their cupboards before deciding to put together a bowl of fruit for Harry, figuring chilled berries and melon would feel nicer on his throat. He balanced his plate and both bowls in his arms, feeling a fond warmth rush through his body at the endearing sight of his husband wrapped up tight under a blanket, wiping his nose on it unashamedly since he clearly thought he was still alone.

“I come bearin’ gifts.” Harry’s head slowly turned, and little dimples peeked out. “Figured y’might not want much, but if m’wrong I’ll go find somethin’ else for you.”

“S’great. Thanks, angel.” Louis’ blush deepened at Harry’s look of pure appreciation, and he wasted no time in settling down at the boy’s side.

It was only when he was through half of his cereal that he looked over at Harry again, finding him frowning and barely picking at his small meal.

“Somethin’ wrong?” Harry just sniffled and stared deep into the bowl while Louis rested a hand on his shoulder.

“S’making m’stomach wonky. Not gonna be sick,” he clarified when Louis raised his eyebrows. “Jus’ like how a fever makes you all—” Harry wiggled the fingers of one hand, “—know what I mean?”

He absolutely didn’t, but he chose not to press him on it further.

“Hm… no. But I get the idea. Wanna try some toast?” Louis still had half a slice of buttered toast left. “Havin’ somethin’ different might settle things down. You can give it right back if s’not sittin’ well.”

A hesitant Harry nodded, and he took what must have been the smallest bites that Louis had ever seen. It did seem to help, though, because the hand that tightly clutched his hoodie loosened after a few minutes. After what was probably the equivalence of three normal bites, he passed it back to Louis, saying he was done and making his husband promise he wouldn’t eat it because s’got germs all over.

Once the dishes were cleared away and their teas were replenished, Louis came back to find Harry had laid down with the blanket half-draped over his legs.

“Cold?” He asked when he saw Harry shudder, but it took a second for him to decide on the answer.

“Hot… I think.”

“Well isn’t that lovely. Got me a space heater, don’t I?” Louis joked, and Harry glared at him while he coughed into the neck of the hoodie. “Lift up, gorgeous.” Taking over the spot where Harry’s pillow had been, Louis helped him roll onto his back so they could look at each other.

“Not gorgeous,” he mumbled shyly. “Not right now.”

“You very much are. Proper grumpy, but gorgeous.” He scratched Harry’s back, causing a shiver to go down Harry’s spine.

“Not when m’ill… all pink and sweaty.”

“Oh, but I disagree. You’re still me perfect princess. Look at you: gorgeous eyes—” two fingers gently traced the dramatic shadows under both of Harry’s eyes, “—gorgeous cheeks—” he drew little hearts on the heated skin before moving to cup both sides of his face, tilting it upward slightly, “—gorgeous nose—” he leaned down to plant a kiss on it, “—gorgeous lips.” He managed to peck Harry’s lips before his hands were shaken off, breaking himself out of the trance that Louis’ adoration had sucked him into.

“M’diseased, don’t kiss me.” He sniffled and scrubbed at his nose with his sleeve, but Louis just kissed the palm of his hand and laid it over Harry’s mouth as if to transfer it to the protesting boy.

“That better?” A grin stretched across his face when he saw Harry’s disgruntled nose scrunch. “Oi, what was that?”

Harry had licked his hand, but Louis was so disgustingly in love that he wasn't offended. He took on a faux-scandalised demeanour, dramatic enough that a fever-scrambled brain could still make out the playful intent.

“So y’won’t kiss me but you’ll put your spit on me? Well, s’the best I can get…” he pretended to kiss his hand, and Harry’s playful demeanour completely dropped. He whined, reaching up weakly to grab his wrist with a desperation that reminded Louis how sensitive a fever always made him. “You know I’m jokin’, princess. I don’t want your germs.”

He took his non-licked hand and stroked Harry’s heated cheek to placate him. An anxious Harry wiped Louis’ palm on his own shirt, making sure it was all dry before he gave it back, but his fingers still lingered around his wrist. If Harry saw Louis accidentally touch his face with that hand before it was properly washed, he knew he would certainly cry. Feeling how tense Harry had become, Louis tried to pivot the conversation in the hopes that he could push the moment away.

“You are though. Gorgeous, I mean.” Louis put a hand under Harry’s head to lift it slightly so that he could slump down on the sofa. They were closer now with this new position, Harry’s cheek pressed up against Louis’ ribs rather than his stomach. With some difficulty, he ran a hand through Harry’s slightly sweaty hair and played with pieces of it while they quietly observed each other. They memorised each detail of the other’s face all over again, and Louis immediately took notice of the slight pink tint to his nose and dull sheen over his eyes. Harry pressed his chapped lips to Louis’ chest, just above his heart—a small gesture that meant the world and sent Louis’ stomach fluttering.

“So fuckin’ perfect, baby. The most beautiful person in the world. Breathtakin’.”

Harry preened slightly with the praise, and his intense gaze made Louis’ ears go pink, but it was broken a few seconds later. Those tired eyes flitted up to the ceiling, closing as a hand came up to hover above his chest. He turned away from Louis as far as he could and sneezed, the rough sound interrupting the peaceful moment they just shared. Louis blessed him, and Harry tapped on his chest with his free hand in thanks. It took a few seconds of heavy breaths for Harry to decide whether he needed to sneeze again, but he eventually trusted that he was done, sniffling like crazy with his sleeve pressed to his face. Louis stretched for the tissues and grabbed a few, wiping Harry’s nose so that he didn’t have to lift his too-heavy arms to do it himself.

The boy laid on his back again, though he was too embarrassed to look at Louis after what was certainly a gesture of unconditional love. When he took a deep breath to steady himself, his chest hitched in pain. Ever-attentive Louis rubbed it while he carefully exhaled.

“Need your puffer, princess?”

With the smallest shake of his head, Harry pointed urgently at his throat, rolling over so his back was to Louis once again. The second he was out of sight, his body was wracked with coughs, face buried in his elbow while the other clutched Louis’ knee. He felt himself being guided upright, and his grip on Louis released so he could use that hand to support his exhausted arm as it stayed in place. His diaphragm relaxed eventually and, after a few stray coughs, he dropped his arms and hung his head, trying to catch his breath while firm back rubs grounded him.

“Chin up, you’ll breathe easier.” Louis tipped it with two fingers while his husband’s chest continue to visibly rise and fall, and it actually seemed to help. Harry cleared his throat and reached shakily for his tea, but Louis gently pushed his arm down, settling him back into the sofa.

“S’gotta be cold by now. Have some water, I’ll go fix you another cuppa and get your puffer.”

“Don’t need my—” Harry started, but he was cut off.

“Yes, you do.”

Harry accepted the glass of water that Louis was holding out to him, and he swallowed a large sip with a grimace. A little sympathetic sound came from Louis before he rested a hand on top of that fevered head and promised to be right back. When he returned with two steaming mugs in hand, a good amount of the water was gone, but so was Harry. Nervous, Louis called his name, not having heard him get up, and the boy shuffled around the corner.

“Hm?”

“What’re y’doin’ up?” He hoped that the anxiety wasn’t evident in his voice, but if it was, Harry didn’t seem to notice.

“Havin’ a wee. Can I wash m’hands now or…” His poor voice was cracking, nearly spent, and Louis could tell that one more word might make him hit the breaking point.

“Yes, sorry, of course.”

A minute of fidgeting and intrusive thoughts passed before Harry returned—what if he faints? What if he falls over and hits his head? What if he has an asthma attack and I don’t hear it and I’m not there?—but the boy seemed as fine as he could be, all things considered. A sigh left him, and it took everything in him to not jump up and meet him halfway.

Harry made it to the sofa, but he didn’t sit. Instead, he pointed behind him with a blank expression.

“What’s wrong? Did somethin’ happen?” Harry shook his head, and a small crease formed between his brows. He just pointed again, but Louis wasn’t sure what he could do to help. “What, darling?”

A bit stumped on how to communicate his desires, Harry put his hands up by his head, making a sleep gesture. He didn’t want to go to bed, he just wanted to go to bed. To lie down there, to be held and coddled and adored… but he didn’t have the nonverbal language to express his desperate desires.

“Wanna have a little kip?” Harry shook his head, and his eyes wasted no time filling with frustrated tears. Louis stood and rubbed his hands on Harry’s hoodie-clad arms, still able to feel their heat through the layer of fabric. “What d’you need, H?”

A pout coloured Harry’s face, clearly frustrated with his communication skills. Much of the sign he and Louis learned wasn’t useful for situations like this, and Harry was disappointed that he hadn’t thought to learn more helpful words for days when his throat was too sore to make a sound. He could finger-spell his thoughts, but his brain was running slow and he didn’t want to do anything that required significant effort. Instead, he just grabbed the sleeve of Louis’ t-shirt, pointing behind him again.

“You wanna have a cuddle in bed?” Harry nodded, blinking away the wetness in his eyes and wiping the single tear that escaped. “Hey. I’d love a little snuggle. I got you, princess. How ‘bout you bring these, and I’ll get the rest. Sound good?”

Louis draped the blanket over Harry’s shoulder and handed him the puffer before kissing his cheek and thanking him for all your help, you’re always such a good boy for me, H. He took care of the full mugs while Harry led the way, trudging up the stairs on weak legs. Halfway up, Harry stopped in his tracks—Louis almost sloshed the tea all over Harry’s back when he paused to stifle a sneeze.

“Don’t do that, lovely, you’ll hurt yourself,” he requested and Harry croaked an unnecessary apology as they continued toward the bedroom. Once he set the mugs on Harry’s bedside table, he hurried out to retrieve the glass of water and their phones which had been abandoned on the first trip.

When Louis returned, Harry was sitting on the floor sipping from his mug, both hands wrapped around it with long fingers overlapping each other. When Louis inquired about the choice of seating, Harry shrugged wordlessly and took another long drink. Rolling his eyes fondly, he let his poorly husband do as he pleased while he cosied up their bed, putting boxes of tissues and water bottles within their reach.

Once everything was to his liking, he lowered himself to sit across from Harry, having a strange, silent tea party on the floor of their bedroom. When Harry set his mug down and sighed, Louis followed suit. He insisted that Harry take a hit or two from his inhaler before he was allowed to crawl into bed, and there was no resistance. After the tightness in his chest loosened slightly, Louis helped the weak boy up, keeping him steady by holding one of his elbows until he settled himself into the sea of soft blankets. Louis slipped under the covers and waited for Harry to manipulate him into his desired position, but the boy just lay there, looking at him with the most miserable expression.

“You’re really feelin’ it, aren’t you, love?” He frowned, stroking Harry’s hair when he nodded and closed his eyes. “Come on over then.”

Louis laid down and guided his husband to cuddle in closer. They looked quite similar to how they had upon waking that morning, but the way Harry buried his face into Louis and clung on as if his life depended on it showed how his condition had worsened.

“Can you even breathe like that?” He felt Harry shake his head, sniffly nose bumping his throat. “Here — let go of me neck for a mo.”

A pliable Harry was shimmied around so he could smush his cheek into Louis' chest instead, and the boy hooked his leg around Louis’ as he curled up for warmth. When his flaming face met the soft fabric of a well-worn t-shirt, he grumbled incoherently; though Louis couldn’t make out the words, he had a feeling he knew their intention. He shifted Harry onto his pillow temporarily before taking off his shirt so that they could be skin-to-skin. Immediately, Harry latched on, humming in pleasure as he rubbed a clammy hand on Louis’ soft stomach. The blanket was pulled to cover them both, tugged all the way up to Harry’s shoulders, but the boy quickly snatched another one to cover most of his face.

“Why’re you hidin’ from me?”

Harry’s answer came in the form of a few shivery sneezes directed under the blanket, and he patted Louis’ chest as if to say that’s why. Louis just tucked him back under his arm and held him tight.

“Bless you times a thousand. Don’t hide under there, love, won’t be easy t’breathe. You can keep it if it makes y’warm, but that’s all. I know you’re feelin’ rubbish, so s’alright if you turn off the manners for the day.”

That didn’t sound like an ideal plan to Harry who was still concerned about keeping his cold to himself, so he said nothing, just wiped his nose on the blanket until Louis easily uncovered him.

“Don’t worry ‘bout being polite, s’only me. I swear I don’t mind — hey, you,” he chastised gently as he tried to tug the blanket away from Harry who had craned his neck down uncomfortably to cough into it. “Don’t make me pin you down, Styles. Let yourself be ill.”

Again, it wouldn’t be that easy to convince him to relax. He signed a simple I love you, looking more than embarrassed for losing control of his nose.

“I love you too, babygirl, s’why I’m tryna help. I know what you’re gettin’ at, but s’not your time t’worry for me. Quite the opposite, actually. Now get some real air in them lungs.” Louis successfully pulled the blanket all the way down, tucking it in around Harry’s waist so it would still be somewhat useful and ignoring the whine of protest that Harry hoped would convince him to give it back.

When Harry’s breath caught, his eyes widened in panic. With his arms tangled in the remaining blanket and nowhere to hide away, he stifled a sneeze almost silently, leaving him panting desperately for air.

“That’s also not what I meant, love. Just relax.” Harry rubbed a circle on his chest. “You signin’ or does your chest hurt?” Harry’s hand trembled when he tapped Louis’ stomach once. “‘No ‘sorry’ allowed, even if you don’t say the words.”

Louis rubbed his thumb on Harry’s sensitive skin, giving his second fern the attention the other got earlier that morning. That caused a shiver to run down Harry’s spine, and he threw his leg over Louis’, pulling himself up so his stomach overlapped halfway on top of Louis’ hips. When he looked up, full of sleepy adoration, Louis kissed the top of his head over and over. A sweet smile lit up the younger partner’s face, brushing away some of the tension and sadness that had taken up residence there through the morning.

Giving in and scratching his sensitive nose against Louis’ chest caused it to twitch, and before he could help it, he sneezed onto Louis’ bare stomach. A look of horror crossed his features, and he started to apologise before he was cut off by another sneeze. His husband only laughed and rubbed his back.

“Bless you, bless you, H. Isn’t that much easier?”

“M’sorry. M’so sorry. I’m—” Harry choked on his words, and a harsh cough was directed between his shoulder and Louis’ chest.

“Save your voice, love. You’re poorly, do what you gotta do, alright? I truly don’t mind.”

“But—”

“Quiet now,” he urged, continuing to run a hand along his spine in an effort to prove how unbothered he was by their closeness. “Shut those pretty eyes, try t’get some rest. I’ll wake you for more medicine later.”

Too exhausted to fight it and knowing that Louis was telling the truth, Harry let himself melt into Louis’ touch and drop off within a minute, more than happy to replace his aches and pains with the sweet nothingness of sleep. Having nearly five years of experience looking after the boy, Louis had a nagging feeling that his husband's cold was something more. Despite the temptation from Harry's heat and the soft pillows behind him, Louis wouldn't let himself give in to sleep. He stayed awake to watch over Harry's fitful nap, combing out his hair, dabbing away sweat from his forehead when it built up, and carefully wiping his nose any time it was in danger of dripping onto the bare chest beneath it.

They had hoped in vain that Harry would heal up before Thursday, but by Wednesday morning, it was more than clear that Harry had no chance of regaining any semblance of health. Despite Louis’ best attempts at keeping him in the dark, Harry heard the arguments he had over countless phone calls, saying anything and everything he could to get his husband out of the Live Lounge performance, but his efforts were fruitless. It was album promotion, not some random appearance, and there was no chance they would let him off the hook.

Thursday morning rolled around, and Louis woke to find his poor husband sobbing, his back shaking against Louis as he was spooned close. Louis wiped away tears and cradled the boy who was so disappointed in himself for not healing in time. It wasn’t his fault, he was told time and time again, but it took around an hour of reassurances to calm him before they could get up and begin to prepare for the rocky day ahead.

Once Harry was medicated, he was in a better state to understand what was expected of him that day. Louis promised he would be with him every step of the way, so all he had to worry about was staying awake. That promise was almost immediately broken when two cars rolled up to their home despite Louis promising they would travel together.

“I tried to convince them. I-I really tried, princess,” Louis insisted as he helped his boy into the back seat of one of the cars that were sent to whisk them both off for what was bound to be an incredibly difficult day.

“I know,” Harry croaked, grabbing Louis’ hands and giving them the best squeeze he could.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I—”

“Lou. I’ll be alright.” Harry kissed the back of Louis’ hand to reassure him that he was alright. He looked exhausted, but the tea and throat-numbing lozenges seemed to be getting him to a more comfortable state. “S’not a long drive.”

“But you’ll be alone.” A small smile revealed one of Harry’s dimples, and he silently cocked his head to the side as a gesture for him to get in his own car. They weren’t allowed to arrive together, because of course they weren’t, and Harry knew that running behind would cause more trouble than they already had to work around. Despite his disappointment, Louis leaned in to fasten Harry’s seatbelt for him, kissing his cheek before closing the door as softly as he could. By the time they both arrived, Louis was surprised to see that Harry was looking significantly more awake than he had when they left.

“You feelin’ better?” He asked hopefully, but a quiet scoff from Harry squished that dream.

“Absolutely not.”

There was no time for Harry to elaborate, though, as they were ushered into a quick pre-interview meeting. Much to Louis’ surprise, their team had brought a doctor to check Harry over. That was a welcome appearance in Louis' eyes, but Harry only chose to behave because Louis let him sit on his lap during the examination.

He was allowed to do the interview, but singing was off the table.

The ridiculous fever was reason enough for the doctor to consider barring him from participating point-blank, but when the rapid flu test came back positive, he made the call that Harry shouldn't be pushing his limits, let alone out of bed. Harry begged and pleaded, and no matter how much Louis tried to stop him, he refused to take no for an answer. One Direction couldn't function as a three-piece, and Harry would rather die than be the one to bring that upon the group. For once, it seemed his desperation worked in his favour—now he could choose either the interview or the performance. Not both, but he had the choice. It would be none of the above if he refused the treatments that were prescribed for him—an IV drip to keep him hydrated and deliver medicine while his body burned thirty-nine and a half degrees, his inhaler, and as much rest as he could get before needing to get to work. As Harry began to thank him profusely, he was silenced by a hand slapping over his mouth, Louis taking over as he promised to keep him honest and enforce a strict vocal rest.

A packet of antivirals was passed his way, along with one each for the rest of the band. Being exposed to Harry as much as they were, and would continue to be throughout the afternoon, it was wise that they completed a course as well. It was incredibly convenient that the doctor happened to not only have the prescriptions on hand, but to have exactly four? Louis assumed that their team had asked him to come prepared for the worst. Knowing Harry, preparing for the worst was often just… preparing.

The combination of the medication and whatever was in the IV drip perked Harry up to a shocking degree. If he didn’t know any better, Louis would say that Harry had been cured, but the scorching of his skin was proof that he was just drugged beyond belief. His coughing and sneezing had decreased in frequency, but he kept his surgical mask on until he had to get his makeup done—a very necessary task as the sickly contrast between his cheeks and the rest of his paled face made him look absolutely pitiable. The other lads had gone through grooming first since they weren’t thrilled with the thought of sharing makeup brushes with their flu-ridden bandmate, and the longer Harry could wear that mask, the better it would be for everyone around him.

Louis was amazed by his husband. Not only was he surprisingly lively, so friendly and gracious even without words, but he was quite sure Harry had never looked more beautiful than at that moment. His skin glowed with the help of a bit of concealer, face framed by perfect curls that tumbled past his shoulders and rested atop the little stars that peppered his shirt. He was giggly and sweet, and Louis had hope that maybe, just maybe, it would be smooth sailing all day long.

He spent some time tucked under Niall’s arm while Louis got himself ready, enjoying the attention and laughing silently while the two downloaded a text-to-speech app at the blonde’s suggestion so that he could still participate in the interview. They messed around with the voice options, Niall trying to find one that sounded anything close to Harry’s, but all of his choices were denied. Instead, Harry opted for a female voice, and he saw Louis’ soft, proud smile out of the corner of his eye.

Harry had Louis positively swooning. That whole interview, Louis truly struggled to keep himself in check while his angel of a husband sat perched delicately on the arm of the sofa. Even while terribly ill, he was so irresistibly perfect. The way his dimples lit up his cheeks, how his eyes sparkled with a subtle fever-brightness, there was something so addictive about the pure sweetness that his medicine-doped self radiated. Voiceless as he was, everything about him was still so charming and endearing and fucking intoxicating that Louis was torn between maintaining professionalism and kissing the fuck out of his lips right then and there. If it wasn’t for the risk of catching the flu, which he felt was inevitable at this point anyway, he might have lost control of himself.

When the time came to perform, however, it was clear that Harry had burned through most of the energy the medicine lent him. He was still sociable and smiley, but there were moments when he could be caught closing his eyes tight as if he could will his headache away with a strong enough thought. Warming up his voice showed how rough it had become from illness and disuse, despite having drunk at least two full bottles of water within the last hour. Louis had begged them to change the lineup, you’ve practically got him carryin’ the entire set, but the songs were set in stone, no shot at revision so close to the start.

“Babygirl, are you sure you’ll be alright?” Louis asked, slipping a concerned hand under Harry’s shirt to rub his back and get a subtle feel of his temperature.

“No choice,” Harry replied softly, hooking a finger in one of Louis’ belt loops. “Be fine, though. Long as you’re with me.”

“Y’know we can’t touch out there, though. S’bein’ filmed. There’s loads of people, lovely.” Harry’s foggy brain didn’t seem to have remembered that, and his face fell. His lips parted to respond, but no words came out. “I’ll see if I can be next to you, though, how’s that sound?”

“Yeah. It’s, eh… gonna be fine.” He settled for the bare minimum, because being beside Louis, no matter the distance between their microphone stands, would make it fine.

No matter how much Harry tried to convince himself, the voice in his head wouldn’t stop chanting nothing’s fine, nothing’s fine, nothing’s fine… and he was torn between giving in to the anxiety that was seeping through the medicine-induced calm or continuing to delude himself into believing everything would be perfectly fine.

There wasn’t enough time to rest between the interview and their set, and the four were lined up on the small stage before they knew it. It was a bit of a blur to Harry, but that was far from the first time he’d performed while feverish. He knew his parts well enough that he hardly needed to focus on the task at hand, but he found that he needed to keep his body moving throughout to prevent himself from zoning out entirely. He constantly sipped his water, craving relief from the flames licking his throat. The throat spray that someone offered to him before the set helped, but only to a certain extent as it wore off far too quickly.

The more he used his voice, the less strained he sounded, but he knew he was setting himself up for disaster. Pitch-perfect Harry was ever so slightly off, causing his voice to clash with Liam’s on occasion. He heard them lower his mic, and though he understood why, it did hurt his already sensitive feelings. Harry was doing the best he could with what he had to work with, and he sounded unbelievably good considering the circumstances.

By that point, he was starting to look a bit worn out—just as gorgeous with his makeup expertly covering the blush of his cheeks and nose, but his brows drew together almost constantly and there was a deep sadness in his eyes that showed his desperation for everything to be over.

His behaviours made all three of the boys nervous, but Harry chose to avoid any eye contact, not wanting to see the concern on their faces knowing that it would only tighten up his throat further. Louis was desperate to cut it short after Story of My Life proved that his husband was truly struggling, but there was nothing to be done. Cutting off the ends of lines, tapping his feet more aggressively than usual, coughing into his shoulder, wandering around the stage to keep himself alert…it was all too concerning for his bandmates. Louis knew he would be beating himself up for everything that happened once they got home, and he was all too prepared to hold him all night long and do what he could to take away the pain, physical and emotional.

Gracefully as he could, Harry pushed himself through the performance. While he felt so immensely guilty that he allowed his husband to work while feeling as awful as he did, Louis also felt a sense of pride. That was his Harry out there. His poor Harry just did what none of the others could have—or would have—because he was dedicated and selfless to a fault. It was upsetting to know what that effort did to his Harry, but Louis was so very proud of what that boy was able to accomplish while stricken with flu. He would be sure to tell him that at the first chance he got, and the moment the cameras cut, he felt an unnatural heat drawn to his side.

“Wanna go home,” Harry whispered into Louis’ ear, that well-maintained professionalism quickly slipping away.

“We can go in just a moment, sweets,” Louis reminded him, but that made Harry’s heart pound. What was a moment? He needed to go now. He didn’t feel well and he wanted to leave and he needed to leave and it was so loud and so bright and he could feel every molecule of air on his skin and it hurt and he hurt and if they didn’t leave soon he was going to…

Panic.

Panic bubbled up, and Harry knew he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from breaking down. He quickly darted off, claiming he was headed to the toilet, and Louis didn’t question his sudden departure. The boy had drunk enough water to hydrate an army, after all, but a concerned Louis sought him out after far too many minutes had passed with no return.

He had found Harry curled up in the private restroom, leaning back against the wall by the sink with his knees drawn to his chest, forehead resting on them as he shook from silent sobs.

“S’goin’ on in here, lovely?” Harry raised his head to meet Louis’ eyes, and his were bloodshot with their dark lashes clumped from tears. He could tell from the look on Harry’s face that he was spiralling out of control, and he tried his best to keep his voice soft. “Aw, you get a bit overwhelmed? S’alright, H. You had a long day, darling, but s’all over now. You did so well for me.”

Despite knowing it wasn’t likely to help, Louis modelled deep breaths in the hopes that Harry would follow. His tight-chested partner was unable, and likely unwilling, to join him.

“Could I touch you, H?” The crying boy whined, nodding as he cried harder. “You poor, sweet thing, c’mere.”

Louis couldn’t get him to uncurl from his ball, but he sat by Harry’s side, one arm protectively around his shoulders while the other’s hand stroked up and down his leg. It slowly ran from knee to ankle in the hopes that the rhythm could help to steady him in some way.

“I fucked it. Fu-ucked it up.” Louis cooed a no, baby, under his breath, but Harry continued his broken whimpering. “I-I jus’ want you to ta-ake care of m-me.”

That admission was a bit of a surprise. It wasn’t as though Harry had been shy about wanting Louis to fuss over him for the last two days, but to practically beg for it while so desperately vulnerable speared Louis’ heart straight through. Harry was already overstimulated and positively devastated, so Louis restrained himself from being too tactile despite everything in him screaming to smother him in affection.

“I always do.” Louis kissed his temple, aching from his very core with a need to comfort the boy and solve his every last problem. “We’ll run you a bath, get some more medicine, and turn in early. What, that not sound alright?”

Harry had started to shiver, wiping his nose on his jeans before resting his cheek on his knee to face his husband.

“I want it so-o bad. Want you.”

“And you’ve got me, baby. No more tears, you’ll give yourself a headache.” Harry mumbled have one through his hitching breaths, so Louis carefully massaged his scalp. “You’ll get a worse headache, then.”

“I feel so ill.” That much was more than obvious, but Louis didn’t shoot back a playful answer the way he usually might to try lightening the mood. It wasn’t time to cheer the boy up, it was time to support him in his sorrow as best as he could. Tattooed fingers tenderly stroked away the tears that slid down Harry’s exposed cheek.

“The sooner we’re home the sooner I can get you better.” Louis pushed himself to stand and offered a hand to Harry. “Come along now.”

Despite his yearning for their bed, Harry didn’t want to move from that cold tile floor. The tears and the headache had him feeling dizzy, and he feared that he’d go right back down the second he stood up. Knowing that Louis wouldn’t let him fall, he reluctantly accepted the hand, immediately leaning all of his weight on Louis while draping his arms over the shorter boy’s shoulders.

“Whoa, big guy, you want me to carry you?” He almost expected Harry to say no, to be stubborn about giving over control so easily, but the boy hummed his approval. After a bit of collaboration, Louis got Harry settled on his back, arms wrapped around his neck and face buried in the back of his shoulder. Harry rubbed his itchy nose on Louis, sneezing against his t-shirt as they made their way out to the car, but it didn’t seem to faze him. He just squeezed Harry’s thighs and offered a quiet blessing, promising that they were almost there, so close to home.

After clamouring into the back seat together, Louis found himself with a lap full of Harry for the entire ride. He was hesitant to allow it, not excited that the boy would have no seatbelt while they were driven through busy London, but he couldn’t possibly ask him to move. If Harry needed comfort—if he needed arms around him and a chest to cough against and soft, repetitive words of comfort, Louis would provide. Harry could sniffle on him all day, and he wouldn’t mind one bit. All that mattered was that he got his babygirl home safe and sound, to a place where he could treat his Harry like the princess he was.