One Direction preference

29. You Take Care Of Him When He's Sick

HARRY:  Harry has been feeling feverish for the last few days and finally he just can’t take it anymore and needs to take a couple days off to recuperate.  You stock the freezer with a couple gallons of ice cream and a box of popsicles, knowing that those are his favorite things to have when he’s sick.  You also make sure there is plenty of soup and crackers in the house.  You lay his pillow and favorite blanket on the couch, readying his favorite “sick spot” for him.  You hear Liam’s car pull up in the driveway and you open the door just in time to see Liam practically pushing Harry up the couple of steps into the house.  Harry looks so pitiful, you can’t help but wonder how he even made it this long without rest.  Harry flops down on the couch with a groan.  “I feel so awful,” he whines.  “Shh, just sleep,” you coax, pulling the blanket over him as Liam pulls Harry’s sneakers off.  It’s not long before Harry is fast asleep and you’re sitting on the coffee table, watching him sleep and brushing your hand through his hair.

LIAM: You wake up one morning to find Liam curled up in a tight ball with his back to you, laying near the edge of the bed.  You immediately know that something’s wrong; he never usually leaves your side as he sleeps at night.  “Liam?  You ok?” you ask, leaning over and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.  “Yeah, fine,” he says, but you can tell by the croaking of his voice that he’s fibbing to you.  “Liar,” you playfully accuse.  “Tell me what’s wrong.”  Not wanting to bother you, Liam insists, “Nothing.  I’m fine.”  “Alright, fine.  I’m going to make some breakfast then,” you say as you climb out of bed.  “Uhhhh…” Liam groans and curls up tighter, his stomach turning somersaults at the very thought of food.  “I’m sorry.  What can I get you?  And don’t you dare tell me ‘nothing.’  You always take care of me when I’m sick and now it’s my turn to do the same thing for you.”  “Ok…” Liam finally gives in, grateful for your help.

LOUIS:  “Babyyyyyy…” you hear Louis whine from the other room.  “What’s wrong?” you ask, coming into the room to see the boy haphazardly flopped on the couch, limbs sticking out from all over the place.  “What in the world?” you mutter upon seeing such a sight.  “I don’t feel gooooood,” he whines again.  “What’s wrong?” you reiterate your earlier question.  “My throat huuuurts.”  “Well, for someone with a sore throat, you’re doing an awful lot of whining,” you state.  “Can I have some ice cream please?”  “We don’t have any.  How about a popsicle instead?”  “I guess,” he says, pouting slightly.  “You’re pathetic,” you say good-naturedly, turning to head for the kitchen in pursuit of the popsicle.  When you return with it, Louis’ face lights up like a little kid’s on Christmas morning.  You chuckle and ruffle his hair, “Here you go, big boy,” you tease in a motherly tone as you hand him the frozen treat.

NIALL:  Being the food enthusiast that he is, Niall convinces you to try out a new sushi place that recently opened in your area.  You end up liking it more than you thought you would, and the two of you have a good time, Niall trying a little bit of everything.  Several hours later, as you’re sitting in bed watching TV before turning in for the night, Niall’s face goes pale and he suddenly doesn’t look very well.  “Oh no…” he moans.  “Niall?” you ask, sitting up in the bed.  “Oh no…” he repeats.  “What is it?” you question.  “Oh no, oh no, oh no.”  He gets up and bolts for the bathroom, slamming the door closed behind him.  You follow him to the bathroom, but stop at the closed door.  You lean your ear against the door, hearing sounds that almost seem inhuman.  “Babe, is everything alright?” you ask, not knowing what else to say - obviously everything was not alright.  You get no response, and slowly open the door, poking your head in.  “Babe?”  “Out…please,” Niall practically begs you.  You step into the room and sit down on the edge of the bathtub.  “I’m not going anywhere,” you state firmly and begin rubbing his back in an attempt to bring any kind of relief to him.

ZAYN:  “Achoo!  Achoo!  Achoo!  Achoo!” you hear a rapid fire of sneezes come from Zayn’s end of the couch.  You look up from your magazine to see him bundled up in a sweatshirt, with his arms tightly wrapped around his body, head down and his hood covering half of his face.  “Bless you,” you say.  “Uhh,” is his only response.  You reach across the couch and try to pull the hood off his head, but his hand flies up and stops you.  “Stop it,” he says firmly.  “No, you stop it.  Let me look at you.”  “I’m pale and feel like trash.”  “So?”  “So I don’t want you to see me.”  “Can you please stop being so vain just this once and let me help you?”  He remains quiet, and after a moment you reach up and try to remove the hood again.  This time he lets you.  He looks so pitiful that you can’t help but pucker out your lower lip and say “awww.”  “Cut it out!” he says, shifting his body away from you.  “I’m just teasing you.  Come here and rest up,” you instruct, tugging at his sleeve until he’s laying down with his head in your lap.  You continually stroke his hair until he falls asleep.