Harry Sickfics {L.S}

I'll be your shelter

Tour is long and grueling - that much is certain. The days go on forever, and sleep doesn't last long enough; Louis wakes up every morning with exhaustion clawing at his bones. It'd be marginally easier to handle the workload if he had Harry wrapped in his arms, of course, but he falls asleep in an empty bed most nights. He knows it's the same for Harry; the dark circles under his eyes are as bad as Louis'.

He still manages to briefly sneak away with Harry once every two weeks, like they always do, but they've been forced apart in public for weeks now. It's so fucking obvious what they're trying to hide - if fans weren't already suspicious, the fact that they have to act like strangers around each other is enough to raise countless eyebrows.

The weeks drag on into months, and Louis is wearing thin. They're just slogging through the second-to-last leg of the tour, but they've barely reached the halfway mark in the number of shows. Their next scheduled bit of time off won't be for another few weeks, which isn't coming nearly quick enough. They're in the trenches, hunkering down and forcing themselves to work as hard as physically possible.

One morning in Belfast, Harry wakes up with a cold. Louis knows it's bad because his good morning text is short and emoji-less. He calls him immediately, sat in his pajamas at the desk in his lonely hotel room.

"Baby," He breathes when Harry finally picks up.

Harry sniffs a little. "Hey."

Louis' brow furrows in concern. "How are you feeling, love? Not good?" He pictures Harry shaking his head.

"Had a fever all night, Lou. It only just broke an hour ago. Now it's the chills." He makes a miserable noise. "I feel terrible."

God - Louis wishes more than anything that he could be with him, taking care of him and making him feel better.

"Gonna make it through today, d'you think?" Louis asks, worriedly chewing on his bottom lip.

"Not really another choice, is there?" Harry shoots wryly back, but he dissolves into a fit of coughs a second later. "Sorry."

Louis makes a soothing sound. "Shh, shh. 'M sorry you feel so awful, sweetheart. Wish I was there to make it better."

A sad silence hangs in the static between them for a moment.

"Me, too," Harry says quietly. Suddenly, a loud banging sounds on Louis' door - it's his PA calling for him to get dressed.

"See you out there, angel. Promise you'll tell me if you can't do the show tonight, yeah?"

Harry laughs a little, but it sounds pitiful. "Lou, I've told you a hundred times - you can't call off the whole bloody show just because of a cold."

"Oh, hush," Louis teases. "Anything for my baby. Anything."

"Bye, Lou," Harry murmurs.

"Bye, baby. Love you," Louis responds, heart breaking a little at the circumstances. "I mean it, by the way. If it gets to be too much, you just tell me. I promise I'll make it better."

"Kay," Harry whispers, then the line goes dead.

Almost immediately, Louis can tell that this is more than just a mild cold - it's probably escalating into walking pneumonia, or something equally as bad. Harry shows up to their first radio interview bundled in a fuzzy sweater and a coat, but he's sweating and down to a t-shirt by the end of it. His cheeks are all flushed, and he barely speaks unless he's asked a question directly.

It only goes downhill from there; they have a meeting in the afternoon to assess the financial progress of the American leg of the tour, and Harry spends most of it curled up in a chair, barely able to participate when he'd usually be taking notes and asking informed questions. Louis desperately wants to pull him aside and soothe him a little, just to take some of the pressure off, but they're whisked away to the venue before he has a chance.