Chapter Text
“Fuckin’ hell, Tommo, you gonna live?”
It wasn’t the first time Louis’ throat thwarted an attempt to speak. His persistent coughs never seemed to satisfy the scratch that lingered there; in fact, it sounded as if each one made it worse, and there was only so long Zayn could turn a blind eye before he had to say something.
“Yes, I said I’m fine.” Louis’ cheeks warmed a faint, embarrassed pink when he had to clear his throat before trying to continue. His voice caught once again, and he made the mistake of trying to talk through it. All that effort did was help him further choke on his words, forcing shoulder-shaking coughs out of him. When he was a few seconds in with no relief in sight, Louis gestured for Zayn to hold his cigarette before distancing himself as he tried to get a handle on his lungs.
Though Zayn initially hadn’t thought much of Louis’ occasional coughs, they soon became impossible to ignore. Between talking and smoking, it seemed Louis’ throat was getting angrier by the minute. Watching his friend struggle, face half-obscured by his sleeve as his other hand pressed against his chest, was more than enough cause for Zayn to throw the cigarette entrusted to him on the pavement. He ground it in with the toe of his shoe, ensuring there was no chance the boy could revive it even if he tried.
When he finally got a hold of himself, Louis returned to his place. One hand wiped his watery eyes as the other reached out expectantly, but nothing was placed between his fingers. Louis looked up to watch the only cigarette in Zayn’s hands being raised to his own lips, and it didn’t take long to spot the half-crushed one at his feet. Expecting Louis to be defensive and wanting to get a word in himself, Zayn didn't leave room for Louis to speak first.
“You sound shit.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Choosing to dismiss Zayn’s concern, Louis waved him away. It was objectively true, but that didn’t make it any easier to accept. He could feel Zayn’s eyes on him, but he avoided his gaze, not wanting to see further evidence of the concern he could hear in his voice.
“I’m tellin’ Harry you’re ill.”
“You’re absolutely not.” Louis countered, unwilling to give in so easily. He began searching his jeans for the half-empty pack of cigarettes to light up another, but he came up empty.
Before he could even reach to pat down the pockets of his hoodie, Zayn’s hand was already there. He’d beat him to it, nabbing the small box and holding it high above his head when Louis tried to snatch it back. Louis put up a fight as he tried to retrieve his pickpocketed property, nearly tugging it out of his friend’s hand, but he was easily defeated. Deliberately exhaling smoke in his face triggered another cough and caused him to stumble away, giving Zayn enough time to tuck the pack in the waistband of his jeans. He hoped wedging it against his body rather than in a pocket would deter any attempts to plunder it back, but he wouldn’t put it past Louis to try.
“I’m telling Harry,” he repeated once Louis settled down, flicking ash off the end of his cigarette and watching it sprinkle over the mangled remains of the one he’d crushed.
“Don’t.” Even without looking, Louis could feel the unimpressed, deadpan stare boring into him. “C’mon, Malik, I… after the last time, I promised Harry I wouldn’t, like, keep secrets ‘bout if I’m–”
“Ill?” Zayn interrupted, to which Louis grumbled an irritated ‘not ill’ under his breath. “Then there’s no secret to keep, yeah?”
Louis wasn’t keen on pleading his case against a cold they both knew he was catching, but it was clear that Zayn had no intention of dropping the subject.
Even his best efforts to tame the slowly but steadily growing scratch in his throat weren’t enough; there was nothing he could do to hold off the illness taking hold of him. What he could hold off on was worrying his boyfriend. If keeping a grimace off his face with every swallow and finding an excuse to duck out of the room every time he had to cough would save Harry even one day of worry, it was worth the effort.
Going back and forth with Zayn would only waste his voice, and it wouldn’t hang on for long once it started to give. There was a chance that bickering would lead Zayn to go tattling on him to his boyfriend as well, and Louis couldn’t risk that. Part of him wished the kid would go away, stop pointing out the obvious and let him smoke a goddamn cigarette in peace, but Louis felt he shouldn’t let that part win. Not anymore.
At the band’s inception, Louis often struggled with expressing vulnerability around his bandmates. As the eldest, he tended to shy away from admitting when he wasn’t doing well—it felt more natural for him to care than be cared for. It didn’t take long for that aversion to wane, since the physical and emotional strain of their drastically changed lives was a burden best borne together. Openness had certainly become easier for Louis as he settled into life with his bandmates, but when under the stress of a busy schedule, that initial prickliness was eager to return.
Despite what the others might have assumed, his avoidance wasn’t an issue of pride. Well, perhaps pride played a small role in the matter, but it wasn’t the primary fuel behind Louis’ stubbornness. He struggled to give in when he was feeling unwell because it meant he was losing control.
It was out of his control if he fell ill.
It was out of his control if his boyfriend went down with him.
It was out of his control if his bandmates followed quickly behind.
Louis didn’t like when things were out of his control.
His life was already so out of his hands, and more often than not, it felt like the only thing that was still truly his was his body. Sure, a cold wouldn’t kill him, but it took from him the one thing that they could never control. Losing any more grasp on the scraps of independence he was afforded wasn’t something he could stomach, so shamelessly embracing the fact that he was about to lose control over himself—to become a problem for the entire band with nothing he could do to stop it—didn’t feel like an option.
To be anything but a touch annoyed by a simple cold felt ridiculous to Louis, but the shame and fear that he’d conditioned himself to feel were inescapable. Almost as inescapable as the discerning eyes of Zayn.
Living in close quarters meant the band had learned to read each other quite well. Zayn, in particular, had become all too literate in Louis, and sharing a bus with him meant there was no escaping a tough conversation if Zayn set his mind to it.
“It’s only ‘cos I care ‘bout you, y’know that?” Zayn filled the silence when Louis didn’t, but there was something different about his tone. It had gone softer, radiating an even, coaxing energy that he rarely, if ever, used with Louis.
Louis saw himself in that voice. That voice was colourful plasters on skinned knees. It was small arms thrown around his neck as tears were soothed and a careful hand stroking hair off a feverish forehead. That was the voice of an older brother in action—gentle, warm, comforting without pity—and it took Louis off guard.
Tenderness wasn’t exactly part of Zayn and Louis’ dynamic. They knew better than to assume they could out-brother each other in times of need, too settled into their respective eldest sibling roles to accept that brand of sympathy from one another without a fight. Together, they were less 'is something wrong? can I help? and more something’s wrong, how can I help?', so for Zayn to approach Louis in that manner was a surprise. He was appreciative of the care and acknowledgement more than he was willing to admit, but it was only a tiny cough; no need to get all sensitive with him.
He wasn’t quite sure how to respond, but how could Louis get defensive over Zayn’s words when all he could hear was his own voice reflected back at him?
“Leave it, Zayn. Please? It’s really nothin’, don’t bother H with it.” Despite his best efforts, Louis had to give in to the twinge in his throat again—a cough that he knew could only pass as nothing for so much longer. “Look, Harry didn’t… it wasn’t a great day, alright?”
“You fightin’ or what?”
“No, no. We’re fine. It’s…”
“The usual?” Zayn supplied, and Louis tried not to let his face betray the disappointment he felt in himself as he nodded.
The anxiety that had always trailed menacingly behind Harry had started to catch up, manifesting itself in bleeding cuticles and a plague of sleeplessness that contributed to the exhaustion that touring already brought upon his boyfriend. It was Louis’ duty to care for Harry—it had been from the start—and watching that anxiety creep its way further into Harry’s life made him feel a bit helpless.
“He jus’ don’t need anythin’ more on his mind. He’s…y’know…”
Anxious? Insecure? Clingy? Louis wasn’t quite sure how to define it, but the look on Zayn’s face told him that he didn’t have to. Zayn knew Harry just as he knew Louis, and there was no chance he could spend day after day with the boy and not notice something was off.
“It’s jus’ that I-I don’t wanna be a player in that. He’s got enough goin’ on as is, I don’t wanna get him all nervy over some stupid scratchy throat.” As if he wasn’t already self-conscious enough, he couldn’t stop his face from heating at the prospect of receiving every bit of Harry’s attention. “Could you jus’ not tell him? Please?”
“He’s gonna find out. Boy knows you better than to hear that cough and leave it be. Tell him or don’t, but he’ll get all in his head about it either which way.”
He was right. Harry was no idiot and Louis was sounding worse with every cough, but he needed a few hours. Just a few hours to care for Harry before he became yet another responsibility for his boyfriend to take on—that was all he needed.
“Please?”
“If that’s what you want.” The abandoned cigarette on the pavement was joined by Zayn’s as he dropped it to the ground. “You need anythin’ before you come to your senses and talk to Harry, you let me know, yeah? I mean it.”
Nudging Louis with an elbow brought a hesitant smile to his face, and Zayn was happy to see he was still in his friend’s good books.
“I know you do.”
“Do you?”
“I do, I swear.” Louis wasn’t sure what the hell was wrong with him, but he felt embarrassment blush his cheeks once again as he steeled himself to take his friend up on his offer. “If I, eh, I dunno. I reckon there’s… sore throat stuff. Somewhere.”
“Usually is,” Zayn affirmed casually. He'd hoped that in giving Louis the offer, his friend would ask him outright for whatever it was he needed, though it didn't take a genius to pick up what Louis was putting down.
Searching their bus for cough medicine with Harry at his side more often than not would be a difficult task, so—despite his disagreement with Louis’ decision to delay the inevitable—Zayn was happy to assist. If it meant Louis would make an effort to care for himself in the meantime, Zayn would scrounge up whatever medicine he had in the bottom of his bag and hand it over.
Though Zayn hoped a moment of silence would help Louis get over himself, it seemed he didn't have the will to address the help he was seeking. With a reassuring squeeze of Louis' shoulder, Zayn decided to break the nervous tension.
“Hey. I won’t make you ask.”