Take These Broken Wings [And Learn to Fly]

8. A Sick Day [Or Two]

Harry is surprised when he finds the kitchen quiet and empty aside from Liam eating a bowl of cereal that morning. He's grown used to finding Niall standing on a stool against the counter, washing or drying the dishes each morning.

It's a good thing though - he hates that the boy forces himself to do chores that he doesn't even need to do, just to feel helpful, to feel assured that he'll stay with them so long as he's of service.

Still, as good as he wants to believe that it is, he knows that it's unlikely that the eight year old simply woke up today and decided that he's going to break his habit.

He smiles tiredly at Liam as the seventeen year old looks up at him, hair scruffy and pyjamas still on. It's a Saturday, after all, and Harry has no doubts that the boy will spend the better part of the day studying, so he doesn't mention the lack of day clothes.

He pets Benji as the dog yaps at him, then turns back to his son. "Good morning, sunshine," he singsongs, crossing the room to ruffle his sons hair and press a kiss to his temple. "Has Niall been in yet?"

Liam shakes his head, setting his spoon down. "Nope. It's weirdly quiet without him talking to me while I eat breakfast. Think he's finally getting a lie-in?" He asks.

Harry contemplates this before giving a small shake of his head. "I don't know. I'm gonna go check in on him, make sure he's alright," he says, pulling away from the boy and scooping Benji up into his arms since the small dog is still whining and barking for his attention. "Alright, needy."

Liam grins at him. "You love him," he says, then glances towards the hallway. "Papa already at work?"

Harry nods. "Yup. Early start today, he wants to get back home sooner. He'll probably be back in time for lunch."

"'Kay. He said he'd go over some flash cards with me later. If he's not back, will you help instead?"

Harry sets a hand on his chest and feigns hurt. "Wow. I'm second choice in this equation? I'm literally a tutor, Li. You've wounded me, truly," he mutters, shaking his head to himself as he walks towards the stairs.

Liam rolls his eyes but grins. "S'that a yes?"

"Absolutely not," Harry calls over his shoulder.

"I'm taking it as a yes!" Liam calls back.

Harry chuckles to himself as he continues up the stairs, setting Benji down once he's in the upstairs hallway. He heads over to Niall's bedroom door and gives a gentle knock, not wanting to startle him awake if he really is just sleeping.

When he gets no response, he quietly pushes the door open and peers in.

The curtains are still drawn and the room is dim, but he can just about make out the small mound beneath the duvet and blankets on the bed.

He smiles, crossing the room on tiptoes and kneeling beside the bed. The quilt is partially covering the child's face, so only the very top of his forehead and his tufts of sweaty, blond hair are visible.

Reaching out, he tugs the duvet down a little, then ever so gently brushes his hand over the boy's hair, stopping with a frown when he feels heat radiating off of the boys skin.

He moves his palm to Niall's clammy forehead, then turns his hand to press his knuckles against his pink, hot cheek. Wincing, he goes back to carding his fingers through the eight year olds hair.

"Ni, sweetie," he murmurs, gently rousing the boy.

Niall's brows pull together and he whines, stretching his arms up above his head and kicking his legs out. He turns his head into Harry's hand and squeezes his eyes shut harder.