Love in a photograph

XV11

The end of the semester comes with another blizzard, one that leaves them snowed in through Christmas. Harry does extremely well in all of his classes again, so they celebrate both that and Louis's birthday on the night of Christmas Eve with a lovely chicken supper and whatever vegetables and desserts they could find around the store. The store will be closed now until the new year, but Louis did so well with all of the people preparing for the snow storms that they'll be alright well into next month.

They have a quiet Christmas, spending the day telling stories by the fire and making each other laugh over cup after cup of tea. The apartment is a fair bit warmer since they hung up all of the blankets, but it's still a bit damp sometimes, still a bit too chilly to go around without thick socks and a blanket. Nonetheless, it's a lovely Christmas, and Harry can't believe his luck at getting to spend it together with his best friend a second time, after so long of wishing he could be right here again.

Louis never really got fully sick after that first night, but he never really got fully better, either. He's been sluggish and slow for nearly two weeks now, but he keeps promising Harry that he's fine, hiding his sneezes in the crook of his elbow and smiling like Harry won't notice.

It takes exactly one day after Christmas for everything to fall apart. Louis wakes up with a hacking cough and a sore throat, one that no amount of tea will soothe. He finally admits out loud that he doesn't feel very well and lets Harry confine him to his bed, coddling him like a sick child and bringing him everything he could possibly need.

Harry's doing his best to help Louis get over whatever he's got, but he'd be lying if he said he knows what he's doing. He tries to recall everything Ma used to do for him when he got ill in the winter, but Harry doesn't know how serious this is, doesn't know if Louis has a cold or the flu or pneumonia or tuberculosis, if he's going to just get over it and get better, or if he needs to go to the hospital. Louis keeps promising that he doesn't need to see a doctor, and Harry's hoping he's right, but the worry is eating him alive.

"How are you feeling?" Harry asks, creeping into the bedroom with yet another cup of tea. Louis is propped up on his pillow, buried under every spare blanket in the apartment, looking miserable.

"Same as five minutes ago," Louis croaks, but he accepts the tea gratefully. "Really, Harry, I'll be fine. Just a Christmas cold," he shrugs.

"Can never be too careful," Harry murmurs, sitting down on the mattress beside him and reaching out to feel his forehead. "Are my hands cold? You feel very warm, but I'm not sure if you have a fever. Not really sure how to measure that, anyway. We don't have a thermometer, do we?"

"I'm alright," Louis says, smiling now, fond. "I'm sure I don't have a fever. Just a nasty cough."

"That could be tuberculosis, though," Harry worries, chewing at his thumb nail. "What if this is more serious than you think it is? You've been run down for weeks," he says.

"You're not very good at making me feel better," Louis muses, sipping carefully at his tea.

"I should have gone to medical school," Harry says, mostly to himself, feeling Louis's forehead again. "Who needs lawyers these days? A lawyer is useless if you're dead," he mumbles. "Should have been a doctor."

"I mean no offense Harry, really, but you'd be a shit doctor," Louis chuckles, batting Harry's hand away. The laughter triggers a rather intense coughing fit, and Harry snatches the mug out of Louis's hand before he can dump hot tea all over himself.

"But I would know what was wrong with you, and how to take care of you," Harry argues, frowning as he smooths Louis's hair away from his forehead and checks his temperature again. "Goodness, you feel warm. Are there thermometers in the store? I'll go check."