On The Horizon || L.S.

Day 10: Charlotte Amalie, St. Thomas

Monday, the 22nd of August, 2022

Harry's sleep is fitful. He wakes up multiple times, sometimes due to his overactive mind, other times because of Louis. All night long, Louis coughs, sniffles, and shifts in the sheets. If Harry doesn't rest well, he's sure his pilot is even worse off.

Of course, he's such a grumpy person first thing in the morning that it's not altogether clear if he is worse when Harry's alarm blares at 8 am. It isn't that he thinks there's a chance that they're getting off the boat today, but the last thing he wants is for Louis to believe that he didn't get a say in the matter, that he didn't get the chance to have some kind of control over the situation.

When he nudges Louis' shoulder, he gets a rough and thick reply: "Why the fuck have you woken me up?"

"How are you feeling?" Harry presses the back of his hand to Louis' forehead. He's feverish and sweating, his face flushed. "Christ."

"Yeah, just lovely. Fuck off. 'M going back to bed."

"Hard no on the yacht, then?"

Louis sighs hard, launching himself into another coughing fit. Harry nabs the tissues and cough medicine to pass them over. When the fit eventually subsides, Louis mutters, "Fuckin' hell. The bloody yacht. What do you think?"

"Alright, Lou. Go back to bed." Harry kisses his forehead, and Louis groans in response before pulling the duvet higher and bundling himself in it. It makes Harry smile, in that 'poor, pitiful baby' kind of way, and he takes a second to watch him before doing the same, a substantial gap between them. There's something oddly domestic about sleeping without being entirely tied together, being so used to your person that you don't need to cling to them constantly. It's surprisingly lovely in a way he wouldn't have expected.

Of course, he's only doing it because Louis is sweating profusely, but that's neither here nor there.

He sets his alarm for a few minutes before their group plans to leave and lets sleep retake him. An hour later, Harry drags himself out of bed, grumbling and kicking Louis awake, who flails an arm in his general direction to ward him off.

Harry rolls his eyes and explains, "We've got to let your friends know we aren't coming. Get up for a minute, and then you can go back to sleep."

"Someone's never been on the other side of a call with Liam Payne," Louis mumbles, blinking drearily. "Man doesn't know how to have a concise call."

"Surely it won't be that bad," Harry argues, picking up the phone receiver to dial their room. "They have to get off the ship at some point."

"I'll bet you a handful of cough drops we'll be on here for over ten minutes. Put it on speaker."

Four rings in, the phone clicks, followed by Liam singing, "Laaaaads!"

"Hey, Lima," Louis greets, his gritty voice immediately conveying everything they need to tell their friends. He starts coughing up a lung, only emphasising the issue further.

"Oh no, is that Louis? You sound horrid."

"Thanks, mate," Louis wheezes. "Appreciate it. Kind of you."

"Sorry, it's just - wow. You didn't seem bad last night; what happened?"

"COVID happened or summat." Harry glares at Louis, who rolls his eyes. "Well, we don't know that yet, I s'pose. Need to get tested."

"That's bollocks. Sorry mate. Zayn, get in here. Lou's sick."

"What?" Zayn's voice sounds distant, and they can hear his footsteps as he crosses the room. "That's proper shite, sorry man. Are we going without you then? Harry?"