Larry sick fics

Harry asthma attack on plane (2)

The incessant bleeping of an alarm clock wakes Harry up.

The first thing Harry notices as soon as he comes to is the itchy sheets he was lying under.

He's  not a picky person, not at all. Stardom hasn't turned him into some  sort of pop star diva who would only sleep under sheets of Egyptian  cotton or anything, but these were quite honestly the itchiest, most  uncomfortable sheets Harry's ever had the displeasure of sleeping with.

The  second thing he notices, as soon as he opens his eyes, is that the room  is too damn bright. The bright fluorescent lights are torture to his  poor eyeballs.

The third, and final, thing Harry notices is that  the beeping that awoke him wasn't an alarm clock at all, but rather a  heart monitor.

And well, that discovery had him scrambling up, his back hitting the back of the hospital bed with a thump. The steady beeping quickened somewhat, matching his flustered pants of air.

He doesn't know why he's in the hospital. He can't remember anything, which of course sends the curly headed boy into a panic.

"Whoa!  Slow down Haz!" someone says off to the side, grabbing his (somewhat  sweaty) hand with their own smaller one. Harry stares at the dainty  hand, which is practically engulfed by his own palm, and then looks up  into soft, blue eyes.

"Louis." He sighs, immediately calmed.

"That's my name." the Doncaster lad smirks, but Harry can tell that Louis is nervous by how hard he's squeezing his hand.

"You gave us such a scare you idiot." Louis says, squeezing his hand even harder.

"Sorry." He apologizes, clearing his throat a bit. His throat was dry and painful, "Erm... Right. Why am I exactly here?"

"You passed out on the plane. Remember?"

"Not really."

"Lou?" a thick and sleepy accent interrupts, "Who you talking to? 'S 'at the doctor?"

"Nope.  Actually, I'm having quite a conversation with young Harold here."  Louis replies, clearly amused. His hand leaves Harry's grasp, and the  patient finds himself missing the warm and assuring weight.

"Harry?"  Niall asks. When Harry turns his head and looks over at the Irishman,  who's asleep on the trademark blue hospital chairs. Harry's been in his  fair share of the uncomfortable furniture, and he knows how hard  sitting, let alone sleeping, in them is. Suddenly, his  scratchy bed  sheets don't seem that bad.

"Mhm." Louis hums in agreement, eyes twinkling mischievously.

"That's good," Niall yawns, shifting a bit, "Tell him he scared us to death."

It's  obvious that the blonde is somewhere off in dream world, and Harry has  to restraint himself from laughing out loud. He's not sure how much  sleep his best mates have gotten over the past, well, however long he  was in here.

"How long have I been in here?" he asks.

"Eh. A  little over 24 hours." The older boy replies nonchalantly. But Harry  can read his best friend, and he knows just by looking at Louis' tense  shoulders and chewed down nails that something else was bothering him.

"What else?" he presses.

"What else what?" comes the innocent reply.

"Louis-"

"You had him scared shitless Haz." Liam says, taking a seat on the cot, "You had us all scared."

"You are supposed to be asleep." Louis scowls, glaring a little at Daddy Direction.