Tiny, Darling.

Chapter 8

READ AUTHORS NOTE AT END OF CHAPTER TY ✨

It was two days before the show, and things had gone smoothly until this morning.

Harry had nearly perfected his catwalk, in Louis' opinion, and the younger boy was beginning to pull things together in a way that Louis couldn't understand. Most models would become frustrated, or even worse, quit, but Harry seemed to push through and become more determined whenever problems arose.

The only downfall is that neither one of them ever thought that Harry's body would shut down from the stress, and now that they were both in the car, with Harry in the passengers side, clutching the bag of antibiotics that Louis had just run to into the pharmacy to get for him, everything had come to screeching halt.

A soft sniffle, that came from Harry, brought Louis out of his thoughts, glancing over at the boy who was dressed in the comfiest clothing he could find. His nose looked red and sore, and his eyes were glassy from a fever, probably.

"How you feeling, love?" Louis cooed softly, reaching over and patting Harry's knee gently.

He pulled the seatbelt across his chest and started up the car to pull out of the parking space, headed back to the hotel where Harry has been pleading Louis to go for the past twenty minutes.

"How do you think I'm feeling?" Harry grumbled softly, reaching his arm up to wipe his nose on the back of his hand; simply not caring if it were gross, "I feel like shit."

A small smile pulled at Louis' lips. Small enough that he could hide it from Harry, though, "We'll get you back to the hotel and I'll order up a tea, okay? Get those antibiotics into you."

"I hate being sick," He sniffled, reading over the pill bottle as Louis drove, "I feel so helpless."

"Well, we need you better, so if lots of attention and tending to is what you need, then you'll be getting it."

He looked over at Louis and smiled small, "You'd do that for me?"

Louis shrugged and glanced over at him before turning his eyes back to the road, "I don't know how good the soup will taste, but I'll try."

Harry laughed and laid his head back against the seat, waiting impatiently for the drive to be over.

Once they arrived back at the hotel, Louis had been pampering and tending to Harry's every request. Blankets, the fireplace was on, the soup was boiling, Kleenex was provided, but one request in particular caught Louis off guard.

"Come lay down with me?" Harry asked quietly, his voice raspy and small.

Turning to look at him, Louis slowly moved over to the couch and sat on the edge only to watch Harry's hands reach out to make grabby hands. With a breathy chuckle, he laid down hesitantly beside the curly haired boy and pressed into his over-heated body.

"Thank you for all of this, Louis," Harry whispered, ducking his head down and letting his forehead rest against the inside of Louis' neck.

"Of course," he replied, "I'd expect you to do the same with me if I were sick, so I'm more than willing to do it with you."

A loud, true laugh bubbled up from inside the sick boy and echoed throughout the room. The ragged cough, that Louis become accustomed to hearing over the past couple of hours, quickly followed.

After his coughing fit died down, he smiled and shook his head with disbelief, "So this is basically just returning the favour for when I'll tend to you in the future when you're sick?"

"Exactly."

"How do you know I'll do that? Maybe I'll just ignore you," Harry smirked, "What if I have emetophobia?"