Larry Stylinson Oneshots

Sniffles

Author:  lucy_in_the_sky

Summary: Harry Styles is an awful sick person.

The slightest cold turned the boy into a miserable mess, crying at the slightest cough and hiding in a pile of blankets all day when his temperature rose above 37 degrees.

The only thing, it seemed, that could make Harry feel better when he's feeling ill is his boyfriend, Louis.

___

All Harry could think about was the staccato pounding in his head.

He gulped down another long sip from his water bottle and willed his brain to stay in one piece, just until the class was over.

Louis would probably be cross with him for staying through class with his killer headache and growing fever, but Harry Styles was not one to miss class. Like, ever. 

Fuck me, he thought very eloquently, lamenting for the thousandth time his need to be perfect in everything. 

And now he was thinking about Louis.

He imagined how Louis would have given Harry his best pouty face until Harry finally gave in and stayed home from class and then he would make him soup with those delicious oyster crackers he loves and he would scratch his scalp and rub his back until Harry fell asleep and he would tuck him in and kiss him goodnight and take care of him until this stupid cold ran its course.

Maybe he could drop and go into littlespace, letting his brain take a much needed break after a stressful several weeks of school. It would be so nice to relax for a bit and let Louis take care of him, nursing him through being sick.

But here Harry was, halfway through his two hour long engineering lecture, miserable and completely Louis-less. 

He couldn’t help the tears that stung at his eyes.

But he quickly wiped them away and blinked hard a few times. He picked up his pen again and tried to focus on the lecture. Dr. Meiser was rambling about seismic loading or FVDs or whatnot, Harry couldn’t really be arsed to care, not when his entire body ached. He jotted down the words he could understand through the haze of his muddled brain and hoped that future-Harry would be able to decipher the main gist of the scrawled notes.

Probably not, but that’s future-Harry’s problem.

The lecture moved slower than molasses.

With every minute ticking by, Harry felt more and more miserable, seriously considering just getting up and leaving. But A) his work ethic and attendance record scoffed at the idea of Harry missing class and B) he’s pretty sure he’d fall down the stairs if he tried to leave in a rush. So he stayed put.

After another excruciating forty minutes passed by, the professor dismissed the class with a wave of her hands, saying something about the upcoming project and some assignment due next class.

Harry let out a sigh of relief that quickly turned into a sharp wince when he tried to stand up.

His legs felt like jelly and it seemed like his skull was trying to split itself in half.

He whimpered quietly as he fell back into his chair.

The lecture hall was slowly emptying but Harry was still trying to will his legs to work again.

After two more tries, he finally righted himself and successfully draped his backpack over one shoulder, too exhausted to swing it over the other.

He took the stairs slowly. His usual seat was on the third row of desks so he had to concentrate on staying upright down the shallow set of steps.