Hold me close

11.11.2015

11/11/2015 and 12/11/2015 BBC London

„Are you sure you wanna come love?" Louis asked, seeing how miserable Harry was.

The taller man only nodded, being on strict vocal rest to be able to sing during the BBC Live Lounge. Harry took hold of his inhaler and took 2 deep breaths, trying to open his airway but ending up coughing.

„You are not well H, I don't like you leaving at all."

„I have too," Harry wrote quickly on his phone, desperately fighting to get air into his lungs.

„You are scaring me!" Louis couldn't stop himself from saying. Harry taking his health so very little seriously was not like him, but he kept pushing himself over and over again. His voice sounded rough at the best of times but Harry had been on and off sick for the last few months, barely enough time to recover from one infection before the next one hit.

Louis took hold of Harry's wrist and started counting his pulse which was raging. Looking into the deep green eyes which were shining with a fever, Louis made him sit down.

Walking over to his bag, he took the pulse oximeter out and placed it onto Harry's finger. He stared Harry down, daring him to object.

„We will both not leave if your numbers are not good. I bring you straight to the doctor if I have to," Louis said. Thankfully Harry's oxygen level was fine, his high heart rate possibly being explained by the inhaler he had taken.

„Right, let's head, but I'm not letting you out of my eyes," Louis consided.

Harry only nodded in defeat, he knew how anxious Louis got when he wasn't well. It possibly all started since he had found Harry gasping for air when he couldn't find his inhaler during one of his first bad chest infections and him ending in hospital.

Louis felt Harry's head resting on his shoulder as they drove through London towards the BBC studios. Looking down, Louis saw that Harry had fallen asleep, his breathing still being a bit labored but settling.

Rehearsals went fine, Harry singing as little as possible, drinking loads of water and sitting down or leaning on his microphone stand as much as possible. Louis was on high alert, constantly looking over and checking up on Harry. During one of the breaks, he walked over to where Harry was resting, taking hold of his hand and attaching the pulse oxy he had brought with him, stroking over his sweaty forehead.

„I get you some more Paracetamol, take another puff please," Louis whispered, as he walked off and shortly returned with a small beaker with a white syrupy substance.

Harry rolled his eyes back but did as he was told. Louis had become so good at reading him it was frightening. Harry knew Louis was worried about him but it had taken on a new extent since the band's plans to take a break were finalized. Harry hadn't figured out what unsettled Louis but he was determined to help him along, even if it meant he got smothered in kind attention.

After returning home, Louis made Harry eat some chicken soup before propping him up in the bed, getting comfortable beside him as they watched a romcom during which Harry fell asleep.

The next morning came all too soon and they were back to the BBC for an interview with Nick Grimshaw before the performance on the Live Lounge.

Harry had installed an app on his phone which spoke his written words. Harry's long hair was hanging slightly wet down his shoulders, Harry sweating under the spotlights, having to open another one of his blue polka dot's shirt in an attempt to cool down.

Harry muddled through the interview and appeared all smiley but Louis knew it was all show. Harry was struggling but he was the last one to admit defeat.