One Direction Preferences

#17 Sick

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#17 Sick

Liam: He was staring at you, slight pout on his lips, forehead wrinkled in worry. "Baby," He began, "are you sure your okay, you seem really ill." You mumbled some type of reassuring statement, which seemed to work, because he sighed and relaxed. He wrapped his arms around you and brought you closer to his chest, "I just want to ma-" He stopped mid-sentence, drawing himself away from you rapidly. "Your burning!" He exclaimed, lifting his hand to rest it on your forehead, you responded with a feeble moan, weakness and shakiness settling into you. "I didn't know you were this sick, do you want to go to bed." As you agreed to sleep, he brought you closer to him, whispering that he hoped you would feel better when you woke up.

Harry: You weren't expecting it, was the thing. Because even though you didn't feel incredible, you felt okay enough. You had been standing next to Harry as he spoke to some producers for twenty minutes when you started to feel all pin-prickly. You'd tried to ignore the feeling, and Harry's worried glance as he spoke to the men dressed in suits distractedly. You felt yourself slowly sinking down, your vision being taken over by a solid black. It seemed like no time passed when you found Harry breathing heavily, staring at you like you were the only thing he could see. "Jesus, fuck, are you okay? Shit, should I call an ambulance or-" You shook your head slightly, a slight fog covering your mind, "No, I'm okay? I just..." You trailed off, realizing that dozens of people were staring at you in concern. Harry closed his eyes in relief, "Scared me." He whispered slowly lifting you off the ground, holding onto you carefully.

Niall: He almost tripped over his own feet three times, gasping for breath which didn't make sense because he could handle workouts a lot harder than running down so many fucking corridors. He ran to your parents who had been waiting for him in the waiting room. They'd greeted him briefly, tried to ignore his disheveled appearance as they led him to your room. God, your room, in a hospital, his heart was pounding with anxiety as he opened the door, your parents letting him walk in alone for privacy. You smiled at his appearance, patting the bed beside you and sitting up, surprisingly awake for someone who just had a seizure. A seizure, he thinks. He sits beside you, nestling himself into the crook you your neck and stroking his hand up and down your arm. "What happened, how did this happen?" He asked against your skin. You shrugged, "The doctor said it's not uncommon, it happens, like 10% of people just have a random seizure, and then they're fine." He nods, bringing himself closer to you and praying that this was just a one time thing.

Zayn: When you'd heard he'd vomited on stage (well, back stage) at a concert you were mad, you knew you shouldn't be because he was sick. And you wanted to cuddle him, and push his hair out of his eyes and love him but you were angry. He was doing too much. Always. You were worried for him so often that it was affecting your work and just. You wanted him to be okay but he wouldn't care for himself. You told him as much while he laid his head in your lap, you stroking his hair as his eyes remained closed. He promised he would, grabbing your hand and pressing his chapped lips to the back of your hand. He apologized repeatedly, words becoming less coherent as he began to fall into sleep. His eyes closed lightly, mouth parted, looking sick and relaxed.

Louis: The amount he was coughing was absurd. You stroked your arm up and down his back in an attempt to comfort him but he continued to cough, wheezing air in in-between the racking coughs. He finally stopped, breathing for a minute before scoffing at his hurting throat. "Hate being sick," he told you as you began making him tea. "It sucks so much- You have to let the water cool a bit first." He berated, annoyed at your improper tea making skills. "Let me do it." He stole the kettle from you, examining the water in it. "And this is the worst kind of illness," he went on, "because like your not sick enough for anyone to feel sorry for you but you are sick enough to feel like shit." You gave a small smile, "Aw, Lou, I feel sorry for you." He grinned, "Yeah, how about a 'feel better shower' than?"