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It’s eight am and Louis is positively dying.
Really, there’s no other reason that can explain how shitty he’s feeling at the moment other than his impending demise. Each and every one of his limbs seems to weigh like lead, his head throbs painfully every time he so much as blinks and his throat burns as if he’s swallowed glass.
After ten minutes trying to psych himself up and feeling like every muscle in his body is complaining against it, he finally sits down on his bed.
Like pretty much every morning, he has a bunch of unread texts from Harry from a couple hours ago that he reads squinting his eyes and sniffing pathetically.
I’m drinking chocolate flavoured tea...
It’s weird you wouldn’t like it
I miss youuuu :(
text me when you wake up xx
I’m dying, Louis texts back because it’s the truth and he doesn’t feel like lying so early in the morning.
He decides against a shower because he’s honestly not sure his body can survive it without giving out and instead he gets dressed in the first mostly clean clothes he can find. The hoodie he’s wearing is Harry’s and it looks a little too big on him but it’s also comfortable and warm and Louis needs that right now.
The few steps in between his bedroom and his kitchen seem like a hundred miles and Louis is out of breath and coughing by the time he reaches the kitchen counter. He closes his eyes for a second and then starts making himself some tea. His mother always says that tea makes everything better so surely he’ll feel better after he drinks it.
He doesn’t. But he hasn’t gotten any worse either (probably because if he gets worse he’ll pass out right on the floor but, details) so he counts it as a win.
Harry still hasn’t texted him back by the time Louis is ready to leave the flat but he’s not surprised. It’s one of the downsides of dating an international popstar - pretty hard to keep in contact when they are touring on the other side of the world. Louis doesn’t even know where his boyfriend is right now, maybe Argentina or Chile. And he definitely doesn’t know what time is there either.
It’s chilly outside even though they are already in May and Louis has never been more thankful than he is right now of the fact that the shop is just right around the corner of his flat. If he had to take a bus or, god forbid, drive a car, to get to work he probably wouldn’t make it in the state he’s into today.
He doesn’t stop at the bakery for his usual morning pastry because he’s not hungry so he reaches his shop in no time. Taking a deep breath that does nothing for his stuffed nose, he opens the front door to the building that is his pride and joy.
While some would say that dropping out of uni on his third year to open up a comic book store with his best mate can qualify as some kind of psychotic break, he and Zayn were mostly sure of what they were doing. His mother didn’t take it so well - she actually didn’t speak to him for a week, but now, after two somehow successful years, Louis is sure that he made the right choice. Their store is enough for him and Zayn to get by and he’s not stuck in a boring job that he hates.
Of course right now, not even his precious shop can get Louis’ spirits up. Nevertheless, he puts up the open sign and drags himself behind the counter hoping, for the first time in his life, that no one shows up all day. Trust his bad luck to get sick on Zayn’s week off.
It’s past noon when Louis’ phone chirps loudly. He has already scared off two kids that were fondling the latest comics but apparently not willing to buy anything, and grunted at a girl buying an Iron Man t-shirt. In short it’s been a pretty shitty day.
What’s wrong? Harry’s text says.
nothing. i have a cold, Louis answers. He doesn’t want Harry to worry about him from the other side of the world (okay, maybe he does a little, but he doesn’t want him to beat himself up for not being there to take care of him. Harry worries about their time apart enough as it is).
Harry’s response comes just a couple seconds later. Ooh, Lou, I’m sorry. Have you taken anything?
I will when I get home. As soon as he sends the text his phone starts buzzing non stop.
What do you mean?
Wait, where are you?
Have you gone to work?
LOUIS TOMLINSON ARE YOU INSANE?
GO HOME AND GET INTO BED RIGHT NOW
Louis smiles for the first time since he woke up feeling like someone was drilling a hole on his head. God, a couple of texts from Harry and he doesn’t even care about his cold anymore, he’s so gone. Has been since the beginning really.
Don’t worry it’s not so bad, he texts because he doesn’t want his boyfriend to die from a heart attack. I’m not dying or anything. He conveniently forgets that he was the first to exaggerate this morning.
His phone starts buzzing while the first notes of “You’re the one that I want” from Grease resonate on the empty store (Harry put that song as his personalized ringtone before he left and Louis hasn’t had the heart to change it). Louis sighs before picking up.
“Are you calling me from Argentine just to yell at me?”
“I’m in Brazil,” Harry says, his voice deep and rough, just like every morning he wakes up after having a concert the night before (Louis would know - he has heard that voice countless times whispering close in his ear). “And you really do sound sick, Lou.”
As much as Louis likes having his boyfriend fuss over him, he can’t close the shop all afternoon, Zayn would kill him. “It’s just the bad connection, Haz, you sound off to me too,” he lies, but a fit of cough has him doubling over himself and forces him to stop talking.
“Is that the bad connection too?” Harry asks smugly and worried at the same time.
“It’s not funny,” Louis replies after drinking some water. A young guy enters the shop and nods at him, Louis makes his best to look like a healthy human being and nod back.
“No it’s not,” Harry’s voice says in his ear. “Go home, Lou, you’ll only get yourself worse.”
“I can’t close the shop on a tuesday afternoon just because I’m feeling like crap. There’s only a couple of hours left anyway.” More like five, but Harry doesn’t need to know that.
“There’s still four or five hours before closing and you know it,” Harry says accusingly. Louis sighs and rubs his temples with his free hand.
The customer looks at him curiously from one of the comic rows and Louis sends him a glare that makes the guy leave hastily. Louis spares a second to thank that Zayn is not here, his friend is always on his back about treating customers nicely (which is rich coming from him) but Louis just can’t help himself sometimes. The guy didn’t look like he was going to buy anything anyway.
“Lou? Are you there?” Harry asks, a note of worry on his voice. With a start Louis realizes that he’s been silent for five minutes. He’s just having trouble thinking, his brain works twice as slowly as usual.
“Yeah, I’m here but I have to go now. There’s costumers.” Okay so that’s another lie, but Louis really needs to hang up or Harry is going to convince him to go home.
Harry sighs deeply. “Alright. Please go home if you start feeling worse? And call Zayn or someone else to take care of you.”
“I will,” Louis agrees easily. “Talk to you later, yeah, Haz?”
“Yeah. Love you.”
Louis chest warms up just like it did when he heard it for the first time. He’s glad that no one can see the stupid smile on his face. “I love you too. Bye.”
-
To Louis’ surprise he doesn’t feel better the next morning, in fact if it was possible he would say that he feels even worse. His nose is so stuffed that breathing through it it’s impossible and his head pulses as if someone spent the whole night hitting it with a hammer.
He curses loudly when his tired and groggy eyes register that it’s more than eleven thirty in the morning, meaning that he’s overslept spectacularly. Ignoring his sore muscles, he does his best to get ready quickly and leaves to the shop. He also vaguely registers that he doesn’t have any texts from Harry, which is weird, but he blames it on their skype conversation last night.
Harry somehow convinced Louis to call him on skype when he got home last night and as soon as he saw Louis’ pitiful state he started freaking out and berating him for not taking better care of himself. Thankfully the call didn’t last long because Harry had a photoshoot (or maybe an interview, or both, Louis’ brain can’t recall it) but it didn’t exactly end on a good note since Louis refused to promise Harry that he wouldn’t go to work tomorrow.
Louis also refuses to acknowledge how sweet it was of Harry’s part to make time to call him and attempt to take care of him when he’s usually so swamped when he’s on tour that he doesn’t even have time to breath.
He’s head down on the counter trying not to throw up, like he has being for what feels like hours, when the door of the shop opens. Louis groans quietly but he straightens up to attend the costumer.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Lou?” Zayn asks frowning.
“What?” Louis’ foggy brain can’t recall that he’s doing anything wrong. “I’m working?”
“You look like you’re about to pass out, why didn’t you call me?”
“I didn’t want you to worry,” Louis mumbles. “I can stay, really.” He shakes his head and gets so dizzy he has to grab the edge of the counter to avoid falling down.
Zayn looks at him raising an eyebrow. “Right,” he says. “C’mon, mate, go home. I’ll stay.”
Louis doesn’t try to argue anymore, he just puts on his beanie and his coat. “Harry called you, didn’t he?” he asks when he passes by Zayn.
“Are you gonna be able to get home?” Zayn asks instead of answering, which is answer enough really.
“Yes. I’m sick, I’m not a child.” Louis can’t suppress the challenge on his voice.
He must really look like he’s dying because Zayn lets it pass. “Text me if you need anything, alright?”
-
There’s is someone on his flat, Louis realizes as soon as he gets in. Really, that’s just perfect. He’s been suffering for two days from the worse cold in the history of colds and now he’s going to get murdered before he can say a proper goodbye to-
“Harry?” Louis asks, pretty sure that he’s hallucinating. There’s no way that his boyfriend is currently on his kitchen holding a bowl of soup.
“Lou!” Harry almost drops the bowl in his hurry to get to him. “Oh my god, you look even worse than yesterday.”
“Thanks, Haz, I love you too,” Louis croaks out.
“It’s not funny,” Harry leads him to the bedroom while he starts helping him take off his clothes. Usually this would immediately get Louis attention but he’s having trouble keeping his eyes open at the moment. “C’mon you have to get into bed. I’ll bring you some soup and medicine.”
“I don’t want soup I just want to die,” Louis mumbles from under the duvet Harry has tucked under his chin.
“After you finish your soup,” Harry says sternly. And that’s about the last thing Louis remembers coherently before passing out.
-
It’s only after Louis has slept for a couple of hours more and wakes up feeling more human (probably because of Harry practically forcing the soup and medicine down his throat, though he’s never admitting it) that he realizes that, huh, his boyfriend is supposed to be in the other side of the world right now.
“Hazza?” he asks confused while Harry touches his warm forehead and clucks at him. “What are you doing here?”
“My boyfriend is sick where else am I supposed to be?”
“Um…” Louis’ brain doesn’t work as quickly as it should so he takes a minute to answer properly. “Giving a concert somewhere…? You know, that thing you do when you’re on tour?”
“You’re still yourself. Good,” Harry says smiling fondly, his left dimple denting his cheek. “I was worried there for a second.”
Louis grunts out as he puts the heavy duvet off him, he’s sweating like a pig now. “Seriously, Haz, I hope you haven’t bailed on something important just because I have a cold.” He manages to say it like a warning when he’s practically squealing on the inside for having his boyfriend with him.
“Okay, first, nothing is more important than you,” Harry says, brutally honest as always, and Louis stops fighting the stupid grin that reigns over his face. “And second, I managed to move some things around to have four days off. I’ll just grab a plane back the day after tomorrow.”
“You just flew over ten hours to spend two days with me because I’m sick?”
“Yes?” Harry asks as if he doesn’t see anything wrong with that. And he probably doesn’t, god, how is Louis supposed to act rationally when his boyfriend is about the most perfect guy on earth? “Stop distracting me! You have to take your medicine again.”
“But I took it earlier,” Louis whines petulantly.
“You’re supposed to take medicine until you feel well not just once.”
Louis repress the urge to stick his tongue out. “Okay, but I want a cuddle first.”
To his delight Harry doesn’t put up a fight. Instead he smiles and sits down besides Louis, putting his arm over his shoulders. Louis leans his head on his shoulder and sighs, feeling content for the first time in two days.
“Are you sure you’re feeling better?” Harry asks and Louis shivers when he feels his boyfriends’ voice rumble on his chest. “Maybe I should call a doctor.”
“Haz, seriously, I’m fine. Just a little more rest and I’ll be good as new.”
Harry hums. “Yeah, if only you had stayed home today like someone suggested…”
“Don’t get cute with me, I can still kick your ass,” Louis says nuzzling into Harry’s chest.
“Sure, love, whatever you say,” Harry humors him. Louis would complain but Harry’s also running his fingers through his hair and he feels too warm and sleepy to talk.
They spend most of the day in bed, either sleeping or talking lazily, only getting up to go to the bathroom (“I’m not an invalid, Hazza, I can piss by myself!”) or get some more food. Louis would feel like he’s boring Harry but his boyfriend is tired and jetlagged and he seems as content with staying in bed as Louis.
The next day Louis is feeling almost like a human being. His nose is still stuffed and his throat burns a little bit when he swallows but his head doesn’t hurt anymore and his mind is clear. He actually manages to eat something apart from soup and take a shower.
That also means that he’s fully aware that his boyfriend, who he hasn’t seen in weeks, is currently lying by his side.
“I feel like we should be having sex,” Louis says when Harry is checking his phone.
“Um, you were barely conscious yesterday,” Harry says looking up at him. “So maybe not?”
“But Harry!” Louis grabs his phone and puts it on the nightstand to assure that he has his undivided attention. Harry looks at him smiling brightly. “We haven’t had sex in weeks and who knows how long it’ll be before we are able to again. We have to.”
Harry smirks. “Well if we have to.” In a blink Louis is straddling Harry.
“That took very little convincing,” he says tugging softly at one of his boyfriend’s curls.
“Have you seen yourself?”
“Yeah, after being sick for three days I must look great,” Louis says sarcastically. Harry makes an affirmative noise while he starts kissing his neck and Louis runs his fingers through his hair encouragingly. However, when Harry tries to kiss him, he pulls away. “No kissing. You’ll get sick too.”
“What? Lou-” Harry starts to whine but Louis interrupts him with a cheeky wink and he starts pulling himself down until his face is levelled with Harry’s crotch.
“There,” he says while he pulls Harry’s sweats down and frees his already half hard cock. “You don’t have to sing with it.”
“You do realize that doesn’t make any sense, right?” Harry says raising his eyebrow.
“You don’t want it then?” Louis asks as if he didn’t have Harry’s erection right in front of his mouth. His boyfriend shivers when Louis’ breath hits his exposed skin.
“I didn’t say that,” Harry breaths out.
-
After more than making up for their time apart (and for the next weeks they are going to spend apart too), Louis gets clingy and needy. He figures that he’s allowed to since he’s still recovering from his cold and his boyfriend is leaving again in the morning.
They cuddle on the couch half watching telly half kissing lazily and whispering to each other.
“You’ll send me a pic from every place you visit right?” Louis asks, quite unnecessarily. Harry always sends him pictures from wherever he is at the moment (and also from everything he deems important enough, which can vary from a landmark building to a penny on the floor).
“Of course,” Harry nods. “It won’t be so bad, you’ll see. In no time at all I’ll be back in the UK and then you can join us touring the rest of Europe in the summer.”
“Sure I- What?” Louis turns around to face him. “Harry I told you I don’t know if I should come…”
“C’mon, Lou!” Harry pouts at him. “Don’t you wanna come with me? Just for a couple of weeks. We could do touristy things during the day, and then spend the nights at the hotel…”
The plan does sound alluring, really, Louis can’t think of a better way to spend his summer. But then he reminds himself that he’ll be basically following his boyfriend around while he works and pays for everything, and something about that just rubs Louis the wrong way.
“Even if I could leave the shop unattended…” he starts cautiously.
“Zayn already offered to cover for you,” Harry reminds him with a hopeful smile and just, how is Louis supposed to say no to that face?
“We’ll see,” he says in the end.
Harry frowns for a moment but then he smiles again. “That’s okay, you’ll say yes in the end.”
Balancing himself on one arm to look at his boyfriend properly, Louis frowns. “What makes you so sure?”
“Just that in one month you’ll probably miss me as much as I’ll miss you and you won’t want us to be apart anymore.” Harry blushes after saying it. “I mean, at least I hope you won’t.”
Louis can’t keep up his stern expression anymore and he smiles. “How do you feel about pizza for dinner?” He asks to change the subject. A part of him already knows that he’s going to end up giving in and joining Harry on his tour - seriously, who wouldn’t want to travel around Europe with his hot and sweet boyfriend? - but that doesn’t mean that he’s ready to admit it.
“No, Lou, you can’t eat pizza, you’re sick!” Harry protests.
“But I’m all better now,” Louis argues before sneezing twice. Harry looks at him smugly. “Okay, I’m still not one hundred percent, you know what would help me get better? Pizza.” He send his boyfriend an adorable smile and blinks innocently.
Harry watches him thoughtfully for a few seconds. “If you drink orange juice too,” he finally says.
“What? Pizza doesn’t go with orange juice!”
“You need vitamins, Lou,” Harry says. “That’s my last offer.”
“Fine,” Louis grumbles. “I hate you.”
“Sure you do,” Harry says while he stands up and heads to the kitchen, probably to make five liters of orange juice. “Love you too.”
And, just like every time that he hears it, Louis flushes and smiles like an idiot. Alright, maybe having to drink orange juice is not so bad if he also has his boyfriend taking care of him for a couple of days.
Harry doesn’t need to know that, though.