Harry Styles Imagines/Blurbs

He's Sick on Tour

The night before you'd woken to find him barricaded in the hotel bathroom, his back against the tub, knees poking out in front, head drooping as sleep came and went too easily.

"Babe, what on earth are you doing?" you'd sleepily mumbled, his head rising with a sniff and eyes so heavy you thought he might pass out right there.

"I've been coughing. Didn't want to wake you." he grumbled out, his voice thick and deep and all kinds of ill. You sighed, touched by his thoughtfulness, but feeling motherly at his reasoning.

"Oh my gosh, Harry. You're an idiot. Come back to bed." you'd shaken your head and reached for his arm, helping his long limbs unfold. His chest heaved and shook with another fit of coughing as you stumbled sleepily back into the darkened room.

At first he'd insisted on staying as far as from you as possible to keep you from getting sick, but by morning his head had wandered to your chest, arms gripping your middle and legs all curled up like a kid. His snuffly breathing and croupy coughs had woken you up early, but you hadn't dared to move seeing that he was finally asleep. Instead, your fingers raked slowly through his hair, slightly damp from his cold sweats.

Eventually another attack of coughs brought him from his uneasy slumber, and he sat up, trying to clear his throat. You put a hand to his back as you rubbed the sleep off your face.

"Sorry." he threw over his shoulder, still trying to work the mucus out of his throat. When it wouldn't dislodge itself, he threw the covers off to reach for his water bottle. Fingers wiped over his eyes and landed pinched over his nose. You couldn't tell if he was aggravated or just tired-- or maybe both.

"'s fine." you'd quietly shrugged before he slumped into a sit at the end of the bed, knocking back a few more sips of water until his chest seemed calm again. "You going to be okay for the show today?"

"I'll be fine. Just a cold." he nodded his head, but his voice didn't seem to agree-- raspy and faltering against his will.

"You sure? You'll get better faster if you just take a day.. you sound awful." you'd suggested in concern, your brows knitting together as you propped yourself up.

Harry sighed before crawling back up towards you and flopping down dramatically. "Babe, I can't. I have to be there for them."

Them. The fans. Harry always had them in mind. Even though he'd never know them each personally, he tried to treat them as if he could. He was so mindful of their dedication and their love, and he always wanted to reciprocate it as much as he could. One of the things you'd always loved about him was that stubborn streak of loyalty he always fell back on-- and you'd come to realize it applied to the fans as well. It amazed you how someone could be so loyal to people he didn't even know. But they knew him, and you supposed that was reason enough.

Still, you'd spent the rest of the morning trying to convince him to take care of himself, but, just like always, he wouldn't listen. You tried to remember that of all the problems to have, being too concerned about others was probably a pretty good one. But you hated to see him making himself even more ill.

Thankfully, his team had felt similarly to you, and had suggested after sound check that he not sing. He'd seemed to know before they even said it though. You'd insisted on coming with him and had watched him stumble over his solos, dropping out midway through and throwing aggravated punches to the air, the other boys patting him on the back as they picked up his parts. You knew he hated it-- knew he hated having to admit defeat and prepare to be a disappointment and realize that sometimes he just couldn't do everything. But he wasn't that stupid-- he'd accept the obvious and agree to take a vocal rest for the evening, even though it made him feel awfully terrible on the inside.

And when you'd sat with him backstage waiting for the show to start, he'd mumbled on in his unnaturally deep voice about how much it sucked because he knew the fans would be disappointed-- they'd paid and traveled and anticipated and he wasn't going to be able to deliver. You'd tried to comfort him with the fact that they loved him and, as such, would be understanding, but honestly by that point he was too busy pretending to not be sick and feel his normal goofy self that you weren't sure he was letting your words sink in.

"Harry--" you'd tried to make him focus, but he cut you off, knowing your concerns.

"I'm going to be fiiine." he insisted, an arm swiping away at his dripping nose. You tried to shake your head in disapproval, but the cheeky grin he gave to reassure you made you whimper a chuckle. "Just let me go give them a good show and then I'll let you take care of me or whatever it is you're so concerned about."

You'd glared hard at him, knowing it wasn't just his loyalty to the fans driving him, but his love of the stage. You sort of figured even if he got his arm chopped off he'd still want to go up there and do his best for the sake of the boys, the fans, the show of it all. He was a performer through and through, no matter the bumps in the road.

"Fine." you'd sighed and moved to hug him, but he'd backed away cheekily and held his hands out.

"No no. I'm sick, remember?" he'd given you the dumbest look, and you'd rolled your eyes, annoyed in the best way.

And so he'd gone out and given a show-- really, given his love in the form of a show-- despite his insides feeling like they had been run over by a mack truck several times and then thrown off a cliff. His goofy dancing and silly communications with fans proved to make up for his lack of singing time and again, and his sheer ability to put mind over matter impressed you. You were a little jealous that he could look so adorably cute and happy even when sick, because every time you'd been suffocating from congestion you'd looked like your whole body had been put through a food processor. But not Harry. Somehow Harry was able to pull it off and pretend he was fine-- other than his not singing and randomly coughing and having to run off stage every now and then for a tissue. But you supposed that was part of the enigma of Harry Styles-- his ability both to put on a show no matter what and to shrug off his own problems for the sake of others. You liked that about him, and liked watching it play out in front of you.

After the show, though completely buzzed from the crowd and grinning from excitement, he'd just sort of collapsed in your arms and swallowed you in a pitiful hug.

"Now can I take care of you?" you'd poked with a smile.

"I guuuess." he joked, but his voice was even raspier than before and revealed his true feelings more than he'd hoped.

"Come on, then." you'd tugged him along towards the car waiting in the back, intent on making him as comfortable as possible even though more traveling was ahead.The other boys all crammed into the other van so he'd have room to stretch out for a nap on the way to the airport. As his head fell in your lap and his eyes closed easily from exhaustion and a medicine induced sleep coma, you sighed a small smile. You were thankful that this time you'd be going with him, because you knew he listened to you best. It was hard for him to take care of himself when he was so intent on the fans, the boys, his team. You were good for reminding him that if he didn't care for himself first, he couldn't care for others at all. Besides, sometimes it's just nice to have a cuddle when you're feeling poorly, and he thought having you around for that was better than any dumb cold medicine.