Larry sick fics

Harry sick and stubborn

When his phone rings on a slow Tuesday afternoon, Louis has  absolutely no complaints—especially when a photo of a grinning Harry Styles pops up on his screen, a new shot he'd taken just last week when  they'd gone out to the Fleetwood Mac concert in LA. Seeing Harry that happy  does nothing but send a wave of affection through him every single time. Louis looks at it often.

"Hey, you," he answers, leaning back in  his chair with an easy smile. He glances over at Amanda, ignoring the  look of mock disgust on her face. She likes to tease him about Harry,  about the dopey smile he gets on his face for over a year now every time  his husband struts through the sudio doors or when he gets a call  in the middle of the afternoon unrelated to a new song idea or basically anytime Harry's name comes up in any capacity, really.

Louis doesn't mind it. He knows she's happy for him, even if she likes to pretend she's put out by it all.

"Louis"

His  smile fades into a frown almost immediately at the sound of Harry's  ragged voice. It catches Amanda's attention, but he shakes his head,  holding a finger up to signal for her to wait. "Haz, sweetheart, you  don't sound so good. What's wrong?"

"It's bad news. Terrible. The worst."

"I don't understand, what's bad news? You're going to have to help me out here."

"I  just want you to know that half of all my assets are going to you.  Other half to my mom. You can split up my belongings the way you want."

Louis stands from his chair, one hand coming to rest on his hip. He can feel  Amanda's eyes on him but he can't be bothered by anything else when Harry is talking like he's— well, Louis doesn't even want to entertain  the thought. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I didn't think I'd go out like this."

"Hey,  calm down!" Granted, Harry's not the one who sounds like he's in  hysterics, but Louis' heart is pounding in his chest and he ducks  around a corner where he paces two steps back and forth in the shadows.  "Listen, you're scaring me! Can you just tell me what's going on?  Please."

"It all came crashing down on me. I love you, Louis, so very, very much. I love your eyes. So blue. So pretty."

Hey, wait.

"And I love your hair. And all that, I love to kiss it. I love to kiss you all over, especially your—"

"Whoa,  okay, Mr. Styles, I think the rest can wait." The new voice is distant  but Louis hears it clearly. There's a scuffle on the other end of the  line and it isn't until the voice speaks again that he recognizes who it  is. "Louis, are you still there?"

"I'm here, Gemma. What's going on with him? He sounds drunk."

She  sighs, one of those heavy, exasperated sighs Louis is very familiar  with, particularly when directed Harry's way. "He passed out in the living room."

"I'm sorry, what? When?"

"About fifteen  minutes ago. I was just bringing in some tea and the second he stood up  from his chair, he just fell over. Hit his head, but it's not too bad,  just a bump. Paramedics came by, turns out he's dehydrated and also has a  fever."

Louis groans, dropping his chin to his chest. Harry had  felt a little more like a furnace than usual this morning but he hadn't  thought much of it because he'd already been running late for work. He  chastises himself for that now, for not stopping to make Harry eat  something or drink more than just four damn cups of coffee in a row.  "How high's the fever?"