Harry Sickfics {L.S}

Sick :(

Crumpled tissues are scattered across the floor next to the couch, piling up from where Harry's listless throws have missed the trash bin. They might look something like snow, if they weren't so... gross. And snotty. Harry gives a half hearted shudder. It's not that he thinks sickness is disgusting, it's too much a part of life for that kind of attitude. It's more so just unpleasant. No one enjoys a sick day. Except the people who fake them. His eyes twitch over to the kitchen where he can hear Louis, the expert on faked sick days, rummaging around.

He's probably making tea, Harry smiles. He knows Louis, knows that even though he's useless at most things domestic he's completely unable to not care for people. And, for Louis, the best way to care for people is through heaping amounts of tea and cuddles. By the time he's over this cold there'll probably be more teacups surrounding him than there are tissues.

He's proved right by the shrill whistle of the kettle a couple seconds later. Or is it minutes? Harry gets so spacey when he's sick; it's better than thinking about his clogged nose and sore throat though so he won't really complain. Speaking of. A weak grab, lift, blow. This tissue lands in the bin. He'd celebrate if he had the energy.

Blinking his eyes shut for a moment Harry lets out a small groan of annoyance, followed by a cough, flexing his legs a little from where they're stretched across the couch underneath the blanket Louis had brought him a couple hours ago. He just wants to get up, off this couch, without feeling dizzy, without his head making him weak and off balance. But he can't. So instead he flops back down, resigned to his fate as the couch's prisoner.

Opening up his eyes again, he finds himself staring into blue eyes crinkled at the corners in concern. They instantly transition into the crinkles from a smile when Louis registers Harry staring back at him.

"I thought I heard you love" he says in the softest voice. "Wasn't sure if it was a foghorn though. Wouldn't put it past you with your nautical obsession." The teasing words are at odds with his fond smile.

Harry can't help a pout. "You mean our nautical obsession dickhead." He curls his hand loosely around Louis' right wrist, where it hangs over the side of the couch as he leans over it.

Mindlessly he strokes over his love's rope tattoo, fingers swirling over the inked design. "Besides," he smirks, "You can't be mean to me when I'm sick."

"You can't be mean to me when I'm sick." Louis mocks quietly, exaggerating Harry's posh accent. "I won't argue with your logic then love."

"Good" Harry whispers, before pulling Louis' hand that he'd been holding to his lips and pressing two chapped but soft kisses to it then linking his hand with Louis' and placing it on his chest. "Can you come cuddle now please?" He angles his head a little, so he's looking through his eyelashes.

Louis personifies tender, but shakes his head no. "Not yet baby. I came over to see if you were awake, I made tea. Or if you don't want that let me get you some water, and then I'll come right back, we can put on a movie or something. But you need --"

"It's okay Lou I know I need to drink. I'll have tea love, of course I will. The only thing that makes me feel better than your tea is you, you know that."

Louis makes direct eye contact with him and physically shudders.

"If you weren't sick I'd--"

"Lou."

"Haz."

"We both know --"

"What, Harry, tell me, what do we both know?"

He rushes it out before Louis can cut him off. "We both know you're the bigger sap."

Louis doesn't say anything, and Harry beams.

"See, you won't even deny it."

Louis pushes himself away from where he was leaning against the couch, presumably leaving to get the tea, a convenient excuse to protect his dignity.

When he comes back it's with a big mug of tea and a declaration of forgiveness that Harry didn't ask for but listens to nonetheless. Well, partially listens to, but he can't be blamed if sometimes he gets lost in the blue of Louis' eyes - they're too pretty to not get him distracted, especially when he's already lacking energy to concentrate. Apparently too distracted, as Louis is now staring at him expectantly holding out the steaming mug.

Harry takes it, cradling the warm ceramic between his hands, then, after a deep breath, goes to swing his legs off the couch to make room but is stopped by a gentle hand.

"Nah love you stay still. Here-" Louis lifts Harry's head up and moves the cushion that had been supporting it. Keeping his head raised, Louis careful slides himself onto the couch then gently lowers Harry's head onto his lap, crooking his arm to that Harry's head is angled up enough that he can drink his tea. "Now, what do you want to watch?"

Harry pauses, lowering the mug away from his mouth where he'd been blowing on the tea.

"Don't matter. 'M probably not gonna be paying that much attention so choose something you'll like Lou." He resumes his blowing on the tea, soft huffs of air filling their living room, a much gentler sound than the coughs it had gotten used to during the rest of the day.

Louis hums a response, signaling his understanding, and picks up the remote, reaching over Harry's head to grab it. He flips through options, halts to grab a tissue for Harry, flips through more. Eventually he seems to decide on one because the clicking on the remote stops.

Harry doesn't bother to look up from his tea,cooled down and half gone, to see what decision was made. He's content in his place in Louis' lap, feels the warmth from the tea pooling in his stomach, the pain in his throat being soothed by the honey Louis slipped in the tea, and his nose even feels better too, the liquid having helped unclog it slightly.

Reaching out he exchanges his cup for a tissue, helped by Louis, and blows his nose one more time before settling horizontal on the couch, then deciding that's not comfortable enough and switching to his side, head curled into Louis' stomach.

As Harry's eyes close they're accompanied by the sound of opening credits and the feel of a hand coming down to start running through his hair. He drifts off to sleep before the opening credits are done, but when the closing credits come on the hand hasn't stopped.