love sick(or sick of love) - zayn centric

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Prompt: Harry's sick. The thing is, Zayn kinda is too. Chaos and cuddles ensue.


Zayn woke up at 3:00 A.M to throw up the dinner he hardly ate.

The prospect of dinner had seemed disgusting last night, even if dinner itself had seemed delicious. Harry’s special homemade ravioli, even though Harry himself had barely eaten, claiming he had a headache and was going to crash early.
The members of One Direction had yesterday and the next week and a half off of tour, which they had been eagerly awaiting ever since Simon had told them.
It wasn’t like they didn’t love their job. No, they absolutely adored their job. But sometimes, the boyfriends wanted the freedom to hug, kiss, and generally be a proper couple with each other with out the prying, judging eyes of paparazzi, fans, and management.
Zayn suspected he’d caught something from a few coughing, sniffling fans he’d run into earlier at the pharmacy. The only person who had been with him was Harry. Harry had been acting a bit off last night too, coughing everything few minutes and sniffling a lot.

Wiping his mouth while flushing the toilet, Zayn pulled himself out of his thoughts and shakily stood up, grasping the wall for support. He stumbled toward the sink and gripped the sides of the large, porcelain bowl until his knuckle turned white in order to steady himself. Sparing a quick glance at the mirror, Zayn miserably noticed the purple marks under his eyes and pale, clammy appearance of his slightly red face. He brushed his teeth in order to get the horrible taste of tossed ravioli out of his mouth and began to make his way back to the huge bed which he shared with his lovers. Evidently, the Bradford boy had moved to fast because his stomach began to do thing where it churned and did backflips causing the food to go back the way it came. Zayn stood still for a moment, eyes closed as slowly the war in his stomach degraded to an amateur food fight. Breathing in deeply, he continued to grope around in the dark room until he walked into the bed, wincing as the pain signals traveled up to his head, worsening the small head ache that had been pushed to the back of his mind up until now.
After he had clambered back into the bed, Zayn buried his face into his pillow, sighing contentedly as it’s coolness brought down his abnormally high body temperature.
Harry shifted, turning over in his spot on the left side of Zayn. He sleepily pulled the smaller boy closer.
“You okay Zee?” Harry asked tiredly, his voice slightly scratchy and his body slightly warm. A frown appeared on Zayn’s face as he murmured, “Yeah, just went for a wee.” He hated lying, but he wasn’t going to have the younger boy fawn over him if he was feeling ill too. I’ll see what the situation is when the sun comes up, Zayn told himself. Then he succumbed to a fitful sleep.

Seven hours later, in which he had only gotten up to puke twice, Zayn’s weary eyes opened again. Patting around the enormous bed, he realized that all the boys had already woken up and gone downstairs. While slowly sitting up, Zayn felt a sudden rush of fatigue overtake his body, instantly pulling him back down onto the plush bed. He attempted to take a deep breath, but found that he couldn’t. Zayn felt as if his airways were closing up slightly, and took small breaths until he was able to get his breathing under control. A sharp pain erupted in his the center of his chest, causing him to double over agony.
“Shit,” he hissed, clutching his chest. After a few agonizingly long minutes, the pain slightly subsided. It wasn’t much relief, but it was enough for him to be able to sluggishly climb out of bed and shuffle into the bathroom.
After Zayn had gotten changed and looked somewhat decent, he slowly dragged his feet downstairs, where he nearly walked into a flustered looking Liam.
“Morning, Li,” he whispered. Zayn had intended to be louder but his throat suddenly felt like he’d swallowed broken glass shards, leaving his throat stripped of all its precious muscle tissue. His boyfriend glared at him.
“I don’t have time to deal with your shit, Zayn. None of us do. Harry’s poorly and the least you could do is help take care of him.” Shoving a bowl of steaming hot soup at him, Liam instructed, “Go take this to him.” Wincing as the hot soup burned his already warm hands, Zayn turned around as fast as he could. He really didn’t want Liam to be mad at him, and Zayn supposed he could forge through the day.
Stepping into the living room, Zayn searched for a few moments before letting his gaze fall upon what looked like a long pile of bundled up blankets. Looking closer, he saw a massive pile of curly chestnut hair peeking out from the green fuzzy blankets. Zayn gave a harsh throaty cough and, swallowing back the disgusting mucus building up in his mouth, he walked over to his sick boyfriend a crouched. A look of grimace passed over his face as an ache in his calf muscles began to grab hold of his leg.
“Harreh?” He croaked out softly, prickle traveling through his esophagus. The bundle of blanket shift until the slightly pale, clammy face of his boyfriend peered through. Placing the soup on the table beside the couch, Zayn pressed a gentle hand to Harry’s forehead. The sheer amount of heat radiating from his boyfriend’s forehead shocked him, until he realized that a lot of the heat might have been coming from. A shiver wracked through Zayn’s body, eliminating any thought of him being overheated.
“How’re you feeling?” he asked softly. Harry pouted.
“Like poo.” He answered shakily, and a Zayn smiled a bit. Harry sniffled.
“You haven’t been throwing up, have you?” Zayn questioned worriedly. He was answered with a small shake of a head.
“That’s good. You need to get some food in your system,” Zayn declared, but his voice cracked halfway through the sentence. A small coughing fit shook his body and Harry looked at him with concerned green eyes.
“Are you feeling alright? You’re not poorly too, are you?” Harry asked, panicking that it might have been him who got his boyfriend under the weather.
“No, I’m fine, Haz. Don’t worry. Now, Liam made you soup.” Harry looked as if he didn’t believe him at all. He sneezed, and Zayn was about to say 'bless you’ before the pain in his chest suddenly made a reappearance. He grasped his chest and squeezed his eyes shut, as he had done earlier, until the pain degraded from an ax stabbing him to a pocket knife.
“Zee, I don’t–”
“I’m just a bit tired. Nothing, really. Now eat your soup.”
“Liam’s cooking doesn’t count as food.” Harry stated, slowly sitting up. Zayn grinned and gave a small chuckle. He picked up the bowl and was about to set it on Harry’s lap when a familiar Irish accent broke in.
“Look who finally decided to give a damn that Harry’s sick,” Niall was holding a bowl with cold water and a rag, glaring at Zayn.
“Well I’m glad you finally have your priorities sorted,” he sneered, stepping closer. A very confused Zayn responded with a scratchy, “What do you mean?” Niall looked at him incredulously, before setting the basin of water down and placing a hand on his hip.
“Instead of sleeping the fucking day away, you finally realized that maybe you fucking boyfriend is more important that you goddamn beauty sleep!” Niall’s voice raised towards the end, and Zayn felt a pang of hurt travel through him, hurting him more than the ache in his muscles or the pain in his chest. Harry looked a bit angry.
“Ni, I think Zayn’s feeling a bit i–”
“Be quiet, Haz. You don’t want to mess up your throat any more.” Niall’s voice instantly became more soft and gentle as he spoke to their youngest lover. Harry looked pained, but he closed his mouth. The Irish boy turned to Zayn and growled, “Since you obviously aren’t helping out here, go help Lou or something.” As if on cue, Louis walked.
“Hazza, babes, how are y…” Louis trailed off as he glanced at Zayn then at Niall.
“Look who finally came down,” Niall said haughtily, and that was all the encouragement the oldest boy needed to completely ignore the Pakistani boy. Louis knelt down in front of Harry, Niall following the suite. They both proceeded to fawn over him, brushing off the hurt boy standing behind them.
Zayn’s jello-like mind was still struggling to process what just went down. The second the sick boy realized that he was no longer wanted, he walked to the kitchen with his heavy head hanging.
That’s pretty much how the rest of the morning and a good part afternoon passed by. Zayn was constantly either ignored or insulted by his boyfriends at every attempt he made to help out with Harry. The hurt was rapidly piling up inside of him, worsening the excruciating pain that the painful, stabbing sensation in his chest brought on. Zayn’s airways had seemed to be getting tighter and tighter and at this point, the poor lad was struggling to breath. All of his muscles were aching and he seemed to be utterly exhausted even though he hadn’t really moved much that day. Thick, harsh, deep cough wracked through his body all day, and when he’d felt the urge to hurl, nothing had come up besides blood mixed in with a sickeningly green mucus. Right now, Zayn wanted nothing more than to lie down and cuddle with his four boyfriend. But that wasn’t going to happen because Niall, Louis, and Liam were all giving him a cold shoulder and caring for Harry, who had a fever that left him a miserable, sick mess of limbs and blankets on the couch.
Sitting on one of the spinning bar stools in the kitchen, Zayn swallowed for the millionth time, trying to soothe the burning in hjs throat. went it didn’t work, he finally decided to check and see if they had any cough drops that might help. He shakily stood up, wincing as his aching legs wobbled under his weight. Zayn stumbled to the cabinet and pulled it open. Grasping the bag labeled cough drops, he reached in it and pulled one out. It also happened to be the last one left.
Zayn just stared at it, before thinking that Harry wouldn’t need it because he hadn’t been coughing. He was just about to open it when Louis walked in the kitchen. He eyed Zayn, then the cough drop in his hand.
“I’ll take that,” Louis stated, snatching the medication of his boyfriend’s hand.
“Harry has a bit of a tickle in his throat. This’ll make sure it won’t get worse.” Louis explained testily, twirling the cough drop in his hand. When Zayn didn’t answer, he became even more infuriated with his boyfriend.
“Why are you not fucking answering? What are you playing at?” They were nose to nose now, and Zayn wanted to answer so bad but he couldn’t because his throat was completely clogged up and he was having trouble breathing.
“I..” Zayn stuttered out painfully. Louis glared at him before turning on his heel and stalking off. He stopped but didn’t turn around. “Since your obviously not any help here, make yourself useful and go the pharmacy to get medicine for Haz.” With that, Louis left, leaving a devastated Zayn feeling more sick and alone than ever.
After just staring at the spot Louis had stood in for about two minutes, Zayn let out a sad, breathy sigh that didn’t help his burning throat or his clogged airways. Then, pulling himself together, he walked over to one of the drawers and groped around for his car keys. Once he found them, Zayn left the house, shivering violently. That was strange, considering it wasn’t the least bit cold outside.
Zayn climbed into his Range Rover, still trembling as he fumbled with his keys, trying to turn his car on. It took much longer than it should’ve because he felt like absolute shit right then. Fatigue gripped his body and dragged his weary, aching limbs down. Pain sprouted in his abdomen, and that combined with his chest made his vision all blurry. The sick boy felt as if someone had blowtorched his throat because it was burning so fucking much and breathing was becoming harder by the second and how the hell had he already driven out of their neighborhood?
Focus he thought determinedly.
But even focusing was becoming a hard task because his mind felt like pudding and his reactions were becoming was to slow. Rapid splashing noises broke Zayn away from his tiring thoughts, and he blinked rapidly before noticing that it had started raining. Hard.
Now, the only thoughts running through his head were shitshitshitshitshit, almost in time with the steady thrum of the rain beating down on the windshield.
Zayn slowly stopped at a light and took a deep breath. Which promptly led him to break into a fit of coughing that made him swear one of his lungs were going to come up. A loud honk told him that the light had turned green a and he was holding up traffic. Still hacking and coughing, Zayn kept driving.
Zayn honestly didn’t really remember much of what happened next.
The screeching sound of tires on pavement rang out, fueling his pounding headache. Another car swerved around the corner and spun out of control, spinning closer to his own car. Zayn sluggish mind couldn’t process what was happening until it was already to late.
The other car spun straight into his Range Rover, smashing his windshield into a billion pieces and shoving them both into the median. The ear piercing sound of metal on metal echoed in his ears and ricocheted around Zayn’s brain. Glass was littered on the seats and floor of his upside down car as rain pattered down, soaking everything inside.
There was just so much mind numbing pain and agony. Blood was dripping down his temples and into his eye, blurring Zayn’s already shaky vision. The odd part was, he couldn’t feel any of it. As a matter a fact, Zayn couldn’t feel much of anything. Or taste whatever wet substance was in his mouth. It was either blood, puke, or both. Probably both. The sharp stench of blood and smoke only briefly entered his nose, before suddenly, Zayn couldn’t smell anymore. And his hearing was gone, too. The only sense he had left was his sight, and it was like he was looking at everything from underwater.
Deep down in the back of his muddled mind, Zayn knew that this was all actual pretty bad, but he just couldn’t really be bothered to care. Zayn was just so damn tired. So fucking exhausted and now sleep was finally ready to claim him. The last he remembered were red flashing lights and distant, panicky voices before he fell into sleep’s welcoming arms.

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