"Stay," Harry whispers desperately, pressing his lips to Louis' temple like he can somehow ease the pain that's blooming there, but he can't make the pain stop and no matter how hard he tries he can't make Louis stay.
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{not my story}
COMPLETED
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•••
What he hasn't gotten used to, however, is the constant vomiting. Emphasis on constant. It's been just over a week since he first emptied the contents of his stomach into the sink in the downstairs bathroom, but it's just getting worse. It feels like every time he's puked his guts and then some into the toilet there's another brick weighing down his stomach, bile burning his throat. Eventually, he gives in and drags a pillow and blanket into the bathroom he shares with Harry and camps out in the tub.
When Harry finds him there, cocooned in blankets in the porcelain tub, half-asleep and drooling just a bit, he does two things. First, he laughs. Second, he scoops Louis up and before Louis can even protest he's in the fucking doctor's office with Harry's fingers tracing patterns on the back of his hand, feeling more nauseous than he ever did in his little bath fort.
But it's nothing. The doctor checks his vitals, asks about his symptoms, tells him to get lots of rest, drink lots of fluids and take some Advil. That's it.
Louis' glare on the way home nearly burns a hole in the back of Harry's head.
It's been four days of following the doctor's orders to an exact t, but the pain is Louis' head is worse than ever, like his brain is going to come oozing out his ears any second. Harry nearly laughs till he cries at the analogy, but still follows the outburst with a, "Sorry, baby. Here, let me help," and resumes massaging Louis' scalp with gentle fingers. It helps more than Louis cares to admit, but the second Harry's fingers are gone the pain seems to triple, so extreme at times he sees stars.
"Gonna make you another doctor's appointment in the morning," Harry mumbles later that evening when they're curled up under the covers, seeing how long they can procrastinate until Harry has to go make them something to eat. "Hate seeing you like this."
"Me too," Louis grumbles, burying his face in a pillow and trying to ignore the tears prickling at his eyes because it fucking hurts, dammit, and no matter how much Tylenol he swallows it never ceases and he's never experienced pain this bad for such an extended period of time and he just wants it to stop.
"Want me to make dinner now?" Harry suggests, propping himself up on his elbows, hair falling into his eyes and the sight makes Louis bite back a grin, shaking his head to the best of his ability without further upsetting his pounding head.
"In a little bit," he says, knocking Harry's elbows out from underneath him so Harry falls back onto the bed with a quiet oof. "Just stay here a while."
A while turns out to be something like half an hour in which Louis drifts in and out of consciousness while Harry cuddles him from behind. Then, without warning he's saying, "Gonna make dinner now, boo," and before Louis can protest he's gone and Louis is cold and alone.
The pain in his head is still very much present, but has let up a bit, so naturally he gets up very, very slowly and follows Harry downstairs to the kitchen where he's rattling around in the cupboard, looking for something. His face lights up adorably when he finds the gleaming silver spot he's apparently been looking for, setting it in the stove and fiddling with the knobs before becoming aware of Louis' presence.
"You should rest," he says simply, and it should sound demanding but this is Harry and it ends up sounding more like a suggestion. Louis shakes his head — oops, too fast, wincing as a fresh bolt of pain strikes his skull and he stumbles forward into Harry's embrace.
"Wanna stay with you and pick up on your magnificent culinary skills," he mumbles into Harry's shirt, lower lip jutting out in a pout and he knows Harry can't say no to that.
He's right. Harry grins, always so fond, reaching to absently swipe a few stray strands of hair from his face. "Okay. Right now this culinary master needs to take a wee, so." He gives Louis a terribly goofy, endearing look before trotting off awkwardly down the hall, and Louis can't help the giggle that escapes his lips because he loves Harry, can't imagine ever loving anyone half as much as he loves Harry.
Feeling cheeky, he peers into the pot on the stove and, finding it empty, leans against the counter, striking a ridiculous pose and waiting for Harry to return.
