Zayn knows it’s going to be a bad day when he’s awake before 8. He rolls over and throws an arm across his eyes, but there’s nothing for it, he can’t fall back asleep. He doesn’t know if it’s the lack of sleep or what, but his head is throbbing and his throat feels a bit like it’s on fire. Definitely not a good day.
He disentangles himself from Harry, who’s dead asleep with his lengthy limbs wrapped all over Zayn in typical octopus fashion. He pauses a minute, watching Harry’s tattooed chest rise and fall heavily, jealous of the peacefulness etched on his face. Zayn kisses him lightly because he sort of thinks Harry’s cutest when he’s asleep, and drags himself off to the kitchen.
He fills the kettle and noses through Harry’s extensive collection of herbal teas. Zayn’s usually a strictly-black coffee sort of person, but his stomach is turning uncomfortably and something a little lighter sounds better. He makes himself a mug of chamomile and pulls a chair up to the island, but doesn’t drink it. Instead he leans forward and lets his head rest against the granite, which feels cool against his too-hot face.
“Z?” comes a raspy voice and Zayn snaps his head back up, which, bad idea. He closes his eyes for a minute to stop the room spinning.
“ ‘Morning,” Zayn answers roughly, and Harry sidles over to him so that he can wrap both of his arms around his shoulders. Harry’s warm and soft and somehow always manages to smell like soap and vanilla. It’s nice.
“Are you alright?” Harry asks into his hair, rubbing his hands up and down Zayn’s arms slowly.
Zayn nods, because they’ve got a press conference today, and he really doesn’t need Harry fussing over him. “‘M fine,” he murmurs. “Just couldn’t sleep.”
Harry hums disappointedly and kisses Zayn’s temple. “How about some breakfast, then. What do you feel like babe?”
Zayn’s stomach lurches uncomfortably again and he bites back an instinctive grimace. “Just toast today, Haz.”
That gets Harry to pull back from where he’s nuzzling his head into his shoulder. He fixes his green eyes on him, and even though they’re still rimmed in sleepiness, Zayn doesn’t miss the concern there. “Are you feeling alright?” he frowns, and goes to press a hand to Zayn’s forehead.
Zayn ducks out of his reach and slides off the stool. “I’m fine, Harry,” he promises, even as he has to grasp the island lightly to regain his balance. Harry’s still frowning at him.
“But you’re all pale, Z,” he pouts and even though Zayn appreciates the concern he’s getting a tad annoyed with Harry’s constant mother-hen tendencies.
“I said I’m fine. Drop it, alright?” Zayn says sharply and Harry looks taken aback. He nods slowly, chewing on his bottom lip in a way that Zayn wishes wasn’t so stupidly endearing.
“Okay,” Harry murmurs, and gives Zayn a quick hug as he walks around him to the fridge. “Toast it is.”
Half a piece of toast and a cup of tea later, Zayn still feels like absolute shit. He figures he’s catching the flu and this is so not the time. They’ve got a full week of promo lined up and even though he knows they’d probably let him off, he hates admitting he’s sick. Even to Harry, who hasn’t stopped giving him his best concerned eyes all through breakfast as Zayn picks at his toast. At this point Harry knows better than to push Zayn when he’s on edge, and he appreciates that much. Even if all he really wants is to climb back into bed and feel Harry wrapped around him again.
-------------------------------------------------------
The press conference is pretty much horrible. The lights are too bright and hot on Zayn, making him sweat under his leather jacket even though he feels chilled to the bone. He can’t help turning to cough harshly into his elbow as few times and adamantly ignores Harry staring at him two seats down. Luckily Zayn can get away with only answering the questions aimed directly at him, being “the quiet one” has it’s perks sometimes. But the other boys can still tell he’s off, Niall puts his hand on his knee under the table when Zayn rubs his temples quickly, and Liam pushes his water bottle toward him with puppy dog eyes when Zayn coughs again.
They finish round one after an hour and half, and they all traipse off to the green room to take a break before round two. But as soon as they’re out of sight in the hallway, Zayn feels a warm hand being pressed to the small of his back and he stops and turns to face Harry.
Harry’s gazing at him with his eyebrows crinkled at the middle and he pulls Zayn to him before he can speak. Zayn lets his head rest on Harry’s shoulder, it’s broad and steady and familiar, and it’s exactly what he needs right now. Harry wraps his arms around him and cuddles him tight against his chest, rubbing a small circle on his back with one of his giant hands.
“Oh, Z,” Harry murmurs, and that makes Zayn lean in a little more into him, finally letting Harry take some of his weight.
“I’m taking you home,” Harry pulls back and decides, and Zayn opens his mouth to protest but Harry just shakes his head firmly. “Don’t, Zayn. I’m taking you home.”
Harry kisses his forehead and Zayn lets his eyes flutter shut. He’s just so tired and cold and Harry is so warm that he can’t fight anymore. “Okay,” he whispers and Harry hugs him tight again at that.
Harry sends him to the car while he goes to talk with Paul and normally Zayn’d be embarrassed about Harry fussing over him in front of everyone, but his head is pounding too much to care. He rests his forehead against the cool glass of the window until Harry climbs into the drivers seat and leans over to him. “All taken care of, babe,” he says gently, kissing his forehead again. “Let’s get you home.”
“Thanks,” Zayn rasps and Harry smiles a little sadly at him.
“I only wish I could have taken care of you sooner,” he tucks a flyaway hair behind Zayn’s ear and Zayn feels a little overwhelmed with how gentle Harry is being with him. Zayn’s supposed to be the strong one, the one who doesn’t cry at cheesy romances, the one who holds Harry when he wakes up shaking from a nightmare, and he’s not used to this. But it’s kind of nice, the way that Harry’s looking at him like he thinks he’s precious, the way he feels like he can trust Harry enough to let his guard down a little.
“I love you. You’re too sweet,” Zayn mumbles and Harry kisses him lightly on the lips.
“Hush,” Harry murmurs, and buckles Zayn’s seatbelt for him. “Just try to rest, Z.”
Zayn doesn’t really need further encouragement, he lets his head fall back against the window, and Harry holds his hand with the one not on the wheel. They don’t talk during the drive and Harry keeps his indie rock turned off, which makes Zayn figure he must look even worse than he feels.
When they get back home, Harry guides him straight to the bedroom, pulling back the covers and fluffing Zayn’s pillows for him. Zayn falls between the sheets heavily, so glad to finally be laying down. Harry takes the opportunity to press the back of his hand to his head and sighs when he feels Zayn’s fever.
“Oh, babe,” he tuts unhappily, and pulls the covers up to his shoulders. “Don’t fall asleep just yet okay? You’re really hot, I need you to take some paracetamol.”
“Okay,” Zayn agrees, even though his eyes are already shut and he can feel himself losing focus.
“You’re beautiful,” Harry whispers, and Zayn coughs out a small chuckle.
“I’ve got the flu, Haz.”
“Yeah, and you’re beautiful.” Harry pets his hair slowly and Zayn wonders again how he ended up with Harry.
Harry disappears for a few moments and returns with a tray laden with tea, orange juice, water, a bottle of vitamin C and paracetamol, and a bowl of steaming soup. Zayn squints a little at it, trying to figure out if he’s dreaming.
“Is that all for me?” he mumbles groggily and Harry sits down on the edge of the bed, settling the tray on the nightstand.
“I’m going to take proper care of you,” Harry says, giving his shoulder a little squeeze. “I’m an excellent nurse.”
“You’re kinky,” Zayn grumbles and Harry barks out a laugh.
“Glad to see you’ve still got your sass,” he smiles, and helps Zayns sit up with an arm around his shoulders. “If you don’t want the soup that’s alright, but you need to have a little juice and medicine.”
Zayn nods and accepts the cool glass of orange juice and takes a few sips. Harry hands him two pills and he downs them with a grimace and Harry hums in approval. “Good,” he decides. “Do you want to sleep now?”
Harry takes the glass back and helps Zayn settle down when he nods yes, climbing in the bed next to him. He wraps himself all the way around him, so tightly that Zayn wonders if he should tell Harry to relax. But he’s so warm and soap-smelling and Zayn’s body doesn’t ache as much with Harry clutching him, so he doesn’t say anything. Zayn already feels the corners of his thoughts going hazy as sleep approaches and the last thing he remembers is mumbling, “You’re my rock.”
“You’re my everything,” Harry whispers, and Zayn sleeps.