Narry: One Shots

I Won't Be On My Own

by: sakabelle

Summary:

Harry takes a quick trip back to London to care for his ailing boyfriend.

°•°•°

Harry quietly walks into his flat. After twelve hours on a flight, he should be exhausted. But after years of extensive travel, he's used to it. It's late afternoon when he steps inside, setting his keys on the table beside the front door.

The first thing he notices are the few dishes strewn about in the sitting room. A couple plates on the table in front of the telly, a mug of tea that's only half-finished and probably cold by now. Some tissues are strewn about. There's a blanket hanging off the couch, partially on the floor.

If the state of their flat isn't enough indication that Niall's not feeling the best, the constant texts Harry received over the last few days certainly were.

I feel like fuckin death

i cant tell you how much ginger tea i drank this mornin and i still sounded like shite in rehearsal. I put half a bottle of honey in it . Didnt help .

Honey tastes a lot worse comin back up just so ya know

He's got three days off from his tour, and he didn't plan on coming back to the UK during that time. But the constant texts from his boyfriend worried him. He found himself catching a flight back to London right after his show in Austin to try and soothe some of his woes.

He sighs, cleaning up the dishes and dumping the tea down the sink. He flicks the kettle on, planning to make a fresh cup for Niall when he wakes up. After he folds the blanket in the living room back up and places it over the back of the couch, he walks over to their shared bedroom.

Sure enough, the blackout drapes are drawn and Niall's fast asleep in the middle of the bed. Comforter pooled around him and head resting on three pillows.

Harry knows he should probably just close the door and let Niall sleep. But he can't help himself. He just got home and he's only here for a night before he's got to get back on a plane and perform in Arizona. So he walks into the room and sits down on the edge of their bed.

Niall stirs a little, but he doesn't wake up. Harry reaches down and brushes Niall's hair out of his face with his hand. It's damp and matted down onto his red hot skin. Niall coughs and his eyes flutter open.

“Ya woke me up,” he mutters, his voice rough. He opens his eyes wider and realization washes over his face. “Harry?”

“Sorry Pet,” Harry says softly, leaning down and kissing him on the forehead.

“What're you doing here?” He blinks and rubs at his glassy eyes. “Thought you weren't comin' back until... later next week. When I'm gone,” he mutters the last bit.

Harry chuckles softly. “I've got a couple days off. And I couldn't quite leave you here to suffer alone, could I?”

Niall groans. He rolls onto his back and clasps a hand over his face. “I'm so fuckin' sick,” he says with a whimper. “I'm not even goin' to Italy. Like...” he trails off and sighs before launching into a coughing fit and rolling over onto his stomach, his face buried in his mountain of pillows.