Louis left Harry alone for the remainder of the evening, figuring it was best to let him calm down. Harry didn’t get angry easily, usually when he didn’t feel well, and it never ended well when Louis tried to talk things over with him. Somebody’s feelings always got hurt.
It was best to leave him alone to stew.
By the time evening rolled around, Harry was ready to admit he was sick. He felt absolutely terrible. His head was pounding, his throat was burning, his nose was all stuffed up, and to top it all off, he was so incredibly nauseas.
He might actually be dying this time
“Heh...hetschiew! Hetchoo! Ah..hetchoo! Heh...hetchoo!” He groaned, and buried his face in the pillow. If he didn’t know any better, he could have sworn he was run over by a truck.
He wanted to get up and move to the couch, he really did. That was where the television and medicine were, but moving sounded highly unappealing right now.
He grabbed his phone (it was times like these that he realized just how many muscles, and how much effort it took to move his arm), and texted Louis.
‘Save me, I’m dying’
Louis’ phone beeped with a text, and he read it with a sigh.
And so it begins.
Louis knocked on his door. “Harry?”
“Cub id.” Harry sniffled, shivering.
“Ready to admit it?”
“I’m sick, and this sucks.” Harry croaked, going into a coughing fit.
“How on earth did you even get sick? It’s the middle of May. I thought cold and flu season was over.”
“I dod’t doe.” Harry groaned. “I really thought it was allergies.”
“And now you don’t?”
“Doe.” He sniffled. “Hay fever doesd’t bake be feel like I’ve beed dragged through hell add back. Cad you please just drug be udtil this is over?”
“I can, if you really want me to.”
“Please?” Harry pleaded. “I seriously feel like I’ve bid hit by a truck.”
Louis nodded, and walked out into the kitchen and grabbed the NyQuil before walking back into Harry’s room.
Harry took the pills, and then nuzzled into the blankets, drifting to sleep.
*
He slept off and on for the majority of the next few days, but each time he woke up, and Louis checked on him, Harry felt just as sick as he did when he fell asleep.
“Maybe we should get you to the doctor...this is getting ridiculous.” Louis sighed, looking at the numbers on the thermometer.
“Doe.” Harry croaked, covering his face with the blankets.
“Leave be alode, I’b fide.”
“Haz, you’ve had a fever for three days straight. Not a slight one, either.”
“What is it?”
“102.3 every time I take your temperature. You probably have the flu.”
“If I do, the doctor cad’t do adythigg but tell be to get sub rest. Which is what I’b doigg.”
Louis sighed. “Humor me, please?”
“Ugh. Fide...bake be add apoidtbedt.”
Louis grinned, and walked out of the room.
“Heh...hetCHOO! HetCHOO! Heh...hetCHOO!” Harry sniffled, rubbing his nose on the blankets again as he drifted back to sleep.
