if i could fly // larry stylinson oneshots

poorly love

louis's pov

i never liked going out in public as a "superstar". it was always stressful and it constantly worried me.every time i'm out, whether it be with the rest of the boys, family, or even childhood friends, paparazzi and 12-year-old girls find me. no matter what. today was no different. i was just walking to the store to get some medicine since my baby hazzie bear had a headache, but me being me, i went ahead and bought candy, ice cream, and a whole bunch of other junk, even though he would refuse to eat it.

somehow, I managed to get through the crowd of 50-year old men with cameras and no lives. shockingly, it was the paps who gave me the most trouble, the fans didn't bother me as much. they could probably sense i was fed up with the paps. the paps get annoying because they always want to ask about "larry stylinson." harry is only 16 and already has people shoving his sexuality down his throat. obviously, harry knows he's bisexual, but that doesn't mean he needs to constantly get asked what his sexuality is, even after saying he would like to stay unlabeled. 

finally arriving at the home harry and i shared, i quickly fixed my composure so harry doesn't worry about me in his sick. i don't like it when he does that. he would worry himself over me for no reason, even on his death bed.

i walk into our painted white home to immediately smell the stench of vomit and to hear small, heart-breaking groans coming from the bathroom we have downstairs. thankfully, he never left the couch, so i could get to him quicker than if i had to walk up the flight of stairs. i quickly throw the shopping bag onto the couch and dash into the bathroom.

as i barge in, i see Harry, leaning on the side of the bathtub, the head was thrown back and eyes closed in pain and suffering. i walk over to him and rub his head, alerting him of my presence.

"lou," he groaned out. "hey, baby boy. what's going on? how'd you get sick?" "i tried to eat some toast and have a little bit of tea. it didn't work and now, everything hurts." "oh, my poor baby. okay, doll, can you help me get you to the sofa?" he nodded, making me smile. 

he put his hand on the side of the tub and pushed himself up. he stood up, but his knees starting shaking, but before he could hit the ground, i caught him, taking matters into my hands. i picked him up gently and carried him to the couch. i took the bag off the sofa and sat him down. he smiled up at him and then groaned in pain. he laid down and shut his eyes, taking a small nap.

i went into the kitchen to grab supplies like a sick bucket, some medicine, a glass of water and i laid out a small serving of soup. while i was putting everything up and made Harry's soup, putting it in the microwave, so it would keep the heat in it. 

after i finished all of those chores, i sat everything that was supposed to go to harry in front of him so he could see them. i looked under the sink, finding the disinfectant spray and the air freshening spray, i decided to spray the house so all the sick germs were out and so our house didn't smell like vomit.

as i started to walk upstairs, i heard a whimper and small, baby-like cries. i, swiftly, ran down the stairs to see harry sitting up, his face buried in his hands, crying. 

"babycakes, what's wrong?" "i thought you got tired of taking care of me, so you left me for someone better, like zayn or liam." "no, baby boy. i'm right here, don't you worry 'bout a thing. don't you dare compare yourself to anybody. you, harry, are your own person. i would never want liam or zayn, when i have the perfect little boy sitting right in front of me." 

harry smiled, looking up at me and tried to press our lips together. i pressed my lips together tightly, shaking my head no. he pouted and crossed his arms across his chest. 

he made grabby hands for me, so i laid down next to him. he laid his head on my collarbone. i made sure i told him how amazing and perfect he was, peppering kisses onto his face as he slept. kissing his head once more, i laid my head upon his and fell asleep, only to wake up to niall taking pictures of us, whispering to himself. i hate being the oldest...