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The apartment was still, save for the ticking of the kitchen clock and Willow's soft purring from her perch atop the back of the couch. Harry had fallen asleep with an arm slung around Louis, their legs tangled under the throw blanket, the TV screen now dim with the "Are you still watching?" prompt.

At some point past midnight, Louis stirred.

He shifted restlessly, his face scrunching up as he sniffled. His nose was stuffy, his head foggy, and his throat scratched like he'd swallowed a box of sandpaper. He blinked blearily at the ceiling, groaning quietly.

Harry stirred beside him. "Mm? Lou?"

Louis tried to wave him off. "M'fine. Go back to sleep."

Harry sat up groggily, curls sticking up in every direction. "You don't sound fine. You sound like someone tried to swallow a frog and lost."

Louis sniffled again, voice thick. "Just a cold. S'not a big deal."

But he didn't resist when Harry gently pressed the back of his hand to his forehead, frowning. "You're warm. And kind of... damp?"

Louis made a noise of protest and tried to burrow into the couch. "I'm not damp. I'm just... atmospherically moist."

Harry blinked. "That's the worst phrase I've ever heard you say."

He was already up and padding toward the kitchen, muttering something about tea and blankets. Louis half-sat up, grumbling, but the truth was... he didn't really want to be left alone. His whole body ached, his skin felt too hot, and the blanket suddenly wasn't nearly enough.

Harry returned moments later with a glass of water, a packet of tissues, and the coziest throw blanket they owned—the one Louis always teased him for because it had tiny cartoon frogs wearing crowns.

"I brought the royal amphibians," Harry said, draping the blanket over him with great care.

Louis blinked up at him, eyes glassy. "You're so weird."

"And you're sick. So I win."

He tucked the blanket around Louis, then sat beside him and gently guided Louis to lean against his chest. Louis didn't fight it this time. He let out a tired sigh and curled in close, pressing his cold nose to Harry's neck.

"You sure you don't mind?" he mumbled.

Harry kissed the top of his head. "I mind when you don't let me take care of you."

Louis sniffled again, quieter this time, and wrapped an arm around Harry's waist. "I hate being sick."

Harry ran soothing fingers through his hair. "I know. But you're very cute when you're miserable."

"I'm snotty and grumpy."

"Still cute. Like a very annoyed hedgehog."

Louis let out a snort that turned into a cough. He buried his face in Harry's hoodie and let himself melt into the comfort, the warmth, the steady rhythm of Harry's heartbeat.

"Don't move," he mumbled. "You're a very comfy hot water bottle."

Harry smiled, holding him tighter. "You got it, hedgehog."

——

The morning light filtered in through the curtains, soft and golden, casting a warm haze over the living room. Willow was curled up on the windowsill, snoring softly. The TV was off now, the blanket still draped over the pair of them like a cocoon.

Harry was already awake.

He hadn't slept much—too busy monitoring Louis' breathing, brushing hair from his forehead, and watching for any signs his fever was getting worse. Louis had clung to him all night, unusually still and quiet except for the occasional raspy cough or tired murmur.

Now, in the muted hush of morning, Louis was curled tightly into Harry's side, face buried in his chest, his breathing shallow and wheezy.

Harry frowned and gently eased back to look at him. "Babe?"

Louis stirred but didn't open his eyes. "Mmmn."

Harry pressed the back of his hand to Louis' cheek again. Still warm. Warmer than last night, maybe. His chest tightened a little.

"Hey," he whispered, brushing a thumb along Louis' jaw. "Still feeling rough?"

Louis finally cracked one eye open. His voice came out hoarse and rough-edged. "Like a truck ran over me. A sexy truck, maybe. But still a truck."

Harry huffed a laugh despite himself. "Not funny. Well, a little funny."

Louis sniffled, tried to sit up, and immediately flopped back with a groan. "Okay, yeah. This might be worse than I thought."

Harry got up in one quick motion. "Alright. You're staying right there. No arguing."

Louis blinked up at him. "You're pulling the nurse card, aren't you?"

"Yes," Harry said firmly. "And the worried boyfriend card. You were burning up in your sleep, Lou. I barely slept."

That softened something in Louis. He reached out, catching Harry's hand. "Didn't mean to worry you."

Harry sat back down and took his hand properly, lacing their fingers together. "I know. But you sound like a gravel driveway and your face is hot in a not-hot way."

"I disagree," Louis croaked. "Still devastatingly handsome."

Harry leaned in, resting their foreheads together. "Even now, you're a menace."

Louis gave a weak, smug smile. "You like it."

Harry kissed his temple. "I'll make you tea. And toast. And then you're getting back under the frog blanket and letting me baby you."

Louis groaned softly. "You're going to fuss all day, aren't you?"

"Absolutely."

He was already heading to the kitchen, muttering things like "thermometer, paracetamol, soft socks" under his breath like a man on a mission.

From the couch, Louis pulled the blanket tighter and watched him go with glassy eyes and a small smile.

Maybe being sick wasn't entirely awful—so long as it came with Harry fretting over him like this.