Fic: Make it go away
Title:
Prompt: sick
Pairing: Louis-centric ot5, Louis/Zayn mainly, minor Louis/Harry.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2k
Warnings: none.
Summary: Louis gets a bit of a runny nose and his whole world falls apart. Literally.
This was written for 1directionelite.
Louis's really healthy, generally speaking. If packs of chocolate and Haribo candy being part of every meal he eats doesn't count. He eats well, loves fruit and, really, he eats like anyone his age does. He is not sloppy when it comes to personal hygiene either, like okay, he'll put off cleaning the place around him for the longest time, and then forgets completely- but he's not a haphazard in terms of his own health.
So really, what he doesn't understand right now is why the fuck him. He's woken up with this choking feeling in his chest, and a funny tingling in his nose. But that doesn't even cut it, because when he sits up he feels his head pounding alarmingly and his whole face caught in heat. He's really into complaining and all that stuff. Louis will complain until his last breath; but his voice is strangled between his throat, and it feels scratchy every time he tries to blurt out a word.
It's okay. He can deal with all of that, as long as he doesn't get a runny nose, he'll manage to the route of remedy. But it's not really how this works out. Louis's nose feels clogged and it's irritating. He hates being sick, more than anything.
Louis gets a bit of a runny nose and his whole world falls apart. Literally.
Louis's only scared of a few thing, one of which include shrivelling up and dying and no one would hear about it. In a strange sense, it's too similar to having a runny nose. It is exactly like having a runny nose, actually. Louis contemplates how the next week is going to turn up into, and nothing worse comes to his mind than seeing himself lay limbless in the middle of his living room, paper tissues crumbled around him as the only thing that stayed with him till the very end.
He's not very keen about the picture. So maybe, if he puts it in his head, he'll walk out of this alive. Laughing in its face once it's all over, preferably.
Louis really hates being sick.
But what he hates more than being sick is being alone and sick. To be fair, he hates being alone all the time, but at least then he can do something about it and then there, problem solved. However, when he's drained out of his power and all alone on the couch, face squashed against the cushion uncomfortably and his entire body shaking even when he's huddled up under Zayn's jumper, he feels like his world is coming to an end.
And maybe he's over reacting (he's not) but he feels like he's alone in this, and maybe Zayn doesn't love him any longer, and maybe Harry didn't call this morning because he stopped liking Louis, and Niall still didn't show up with breakfast like every Wednesday.(is it Wednesday?) And really, the fact that Liam hasn’t called terrifies him the most. Liam always calls.
Or maybe Louis is just being really moronic. (he promises, he's not)
He stops feeling sad and lonely and starts feeling irritated and mad. How dare they think it's acceptable to forget about him? He solemnly promises haunting them would be the first on his list when he dies if no one comes to take care of him right this second.
Just then, the door starts open, and Louis's too tired to look who it is, and his senses aren't a reliable source to turn to right now.
"Louis?" he hears Zayn calling, and then hears him kicking off his trainers against the door, feet padding over against the floor and to the couch in a hurried hush. Zayn moves silently, but sweetly. Wordlessly, but kindly and Louis finds that he loves that very, very, much about Zayn.
The couch dips when Zayn sits at the end, taking Louis's cold feet in his lap and rubbing a hand over Louis's back. Louis lets out a whiny whimper, cracking an eye open. Zayn's eyebrows are creased together, and he places his hand on Louis's forehead. "You're burning!"
Louis shakes his head, "Pretty sure I am dying."
"You're not dying, babe, I promise." Zayn moves to get up but Louis protests, hooking his feet around Zayn's leg. Zayn leans to press a smile in Louis's hair. "I am going to get you something to eat,"
“Don’t leave me alone.”
“Harry’s going to be here in a second, and I won’t take long.”
“Fine. Just leave me to die on my own then.” Louis flops on the couch, and then curses for the sudden unpleasant pounding in his head. Zayn flumps back next to him, arms around his tiny waist.
“I am not going anywhere, and you’re not dying.”
“At least, I am not going to die alone on this unsightly couch.” He pauses as if to think about it for a second. “Do you think we should get a new one?”
“Yeah, okay.” Zayn shrugs, thinking about where in all this did the couch become relevant.
Louis gets this close to start crooning to the Smiths, really it was just on the tip of his tongue but Harry walks in the room and sits at the corner of the couch, as Zayn slips out and to the kitchen.
“How are you feeling?” Harry asks, arm around Louis as he stretches down beside him.
“Like death.”
“Well, you’re not dying.” Harry says sweetly, pressing his face at Louis’s neck and leaving a trail of soft sweet kisses on the line of his jaw. They make Louis’s inside flutter and his head light. Harry’s touch has always been as soothing as his voice is, and Louis finds that ideal to this situation right now.
“Yeah, yeah, you don’t have to sugarcoat it. You and Zayn, both. Where’s Niall? I need to hear the truth.”
“Niall thinks you’re not dying, either.” The door closes as Niall and Liam walk in, and Louis cracks an eyes open watching as they flop down on the floor next to the couch.
“Well, you know, it’s not like I am saying I want to die.” Louis says, scowling. “So thank you for the clarification, blondie.”
Niall laughs, grins toothily and too wide and Louis maybe forgets how this flu is going to end him and thinks about how great his friends are actually. Liam furrows his eyebrows and rubs Louis’s feet and Louis really, really, appreciates it. He even purrs, and purring is not his thing. It’s Harry’s mostly.
Zayn slips into the room, tray in hand. There is a steaming bowl and Zayn holds it out for Louis. To tell the truth, under normal circumstances Louis wouldn’t scrunch his nose up at the bowl. Under normal circumstances, he thinks he might actually like it.
“I don’t want it, I want ice cream.” Louis whines, burying his face further into the cushion.
(“No, you can’t have ice cream you’re sick.” “But my throat hurts!” “You have to eat this.” “I hate you!” “Okay,” “No, no, Z, come back!”)
Louis ends up eating half of the soup Zayn made, and alright, he might be feeling a bit better, but he’s not going to give Zayn that.
Niall pops in a movie; The Hangover, and okay Louis can enjoy that. It’s a bit annoying when he doesn’t stop coughing for a continuous five minutes, wheezing and gasping for air. It leaves him tired and sleepy and he doesn’t know how but he ends up sleeping halfway through the movie, for some long time. He thinks.
He wakes up to find himself in his own room, tucked under the covers and finds that he had indeed have been sleeping for a long time because it’s dark outside. Louis rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, and sits up slowly. His head doesn’t hurt as much as before, and that’s good. That’s really good, actually. He slips out of the bed, in quest for Zayn.
Zayn’s in the kitchen, and he’s singing and Louis stands there for a while because he does not want Zayn to stop. Zayn’s voice is crisp and eloquent and it washes over Louis like a happy memory. And that’s really saying something with the way he’s feeling now.
Zayn whips his head towards the door, where Louis is standing. It’s quiet toe-curling how by now, they both can just feel each other’s presence innately.
“Hey,” Zayn walks up to Louis, wiping his hands dry on his jeans. “How are you feeling?”
Louis shrugs, he could go with a couple adjectives to use right now but he can’t do that without sounding too pessimistic. So he shrugs and climbs onto a stool, propping his elbows on the table, and watches Zayn take out two teacups.
Tea is Louis’s lifeblood. Just a tiny bit of that stuff and he would feel better than ever. A cup of tea right now would restore his normality, thank you very much. Zayn places the cup on the table, and leans swiftly to kiss Louis.
Louis lets out a strangled noise, it sounds like a whine, really. “I am gross,”
“I am not going to stop kissing you just ‘cause you’re feeling a bit under the weather,” Zayn objects, leaning on his elbows, eyes watching Louis with that warm swirl of concern.
“Well, I suppose that’s alright then,” Louis leans closer, he feels like hell, like really, but Zayn’s touch melts all that away. He thinks, Zayn’s touch might be his anesthetic anodyne.
“Just alright?” Zayn smiles against his lips, and Louis’s stomach does a flip or two.
“It’s adequate.” Louis teases, and Zayn’s let’s out a shaky laugh, gnawing at his bottom lip.
-
“So, Harry and Niall took Liam to this party thing last Friday, I think. Have they told you about it? I mean Liam ran into her there. Well, she bumped into him trying to get out of the room and he was carrying a drink- and yeah like, you know how he is, he couldn’t face her after spilling out his entire drink on her dress! It probably cost a lot, too. Lou.. are you listening?”
Yes. Louis was listening. He wasn’t going deaf too, you know. But Zayn’s just been telling him stories since they crashed into bed. An hour ago. Zayn’s been rattling on all night, and Louis doubts that could get him any sleep. Sleeps is better. He doesn’t feel as sick when asleep. Although, now that he thinks of it, the twinge in his muscles and the whole stupid feeling-sick-ordeal is demanding now more than ever that Zayn has stopped talking.
“Lou?”
He tries to say something but it comes out more a noise. A whine. It sounds so pathetic and he buries his face into Zayn’s shirt.
“Lou?”
Louis groans. Go back to talking. He can’t sleep if his name was the only thing repeated. He takes a deep breath and tries saying something; to keep Zayn talking. It’s what Zayn does best when it means to calm Louis down, or make him feel better. “Zayn,” he croaks. Well that sounded odd, even to his own ears.
“Yes?”
“’M dying, and ‘s all your fault.” There, that should do it. Zayn can take it on from here, he can blather on how it’s not his fault and maybe Louis can get some sleep then. Zayn snorts.
“No you’re not, I am”
To Louis, that doesn’t sound like death. Not when his own voice is croaking pathetically like that, he knows what death sounds like. That sounded almost too chipper. That is if chipper was speaking with a soft voice muffled by something. A pillow, maybe.
Hmm, pillows were nice and soft. They didn’t talk back and argue. Maybe Louis should be paying more attention to the pillows and less to Zayn. But there is this nagging feeling that he needs to say something first. “still your fault.” He mutters.
All he gets is a hum in response.
Zayn tightens his grip around Louis’s waist, and hums into the tiniest bit of exposed skin, and Louis finds himself relaxing. Just a little.