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The morning light slipped gently through the curtains, spilling golden stripes across the bed. Louis stirred under the duvet, sniffling softly, his head resting against Harry's chest. He was still warm to the touch, but the fever had eased. His breaths were slower now—steadier.

Harry was already awake, lying still so he wouldn't wake him, one hand absently stroking Louis' hair. On the windowsill, Willow sat like a little sentinel, tail tucked around her paws, watching them quietly.

Harry whispered, "You did good, Nurse Willow," with a tired smile.

The cat blinked slowly, as if acknowledging the praise, then leapt off the sill and padded over to the bed. With the grace only cats seem to have, she stepped lightly onto the duvet and nestled herself behind Louis' knees, curling up as if to say, he's safe now.

Louis stirred again, opening one eye. His voice came out raspy, half-asleep. "You're still here."

"Always," Harry murmured.

Louis gave a lazy smile and buried his face further into Harry's chest. "Your heartbeat's loud."

Harry chuckled. "Sorry. I didn't mean to be so alive."

Louis groaned into his shirt but didn't move. "Remind me to never make fun of your ginger-and-lavender tea again."

"I will. Every day. For the rest of your life."

Willow gave a soft chirp from her spot. Louis turned his head slightly and met her eyes. "You too, huh? Ganging up on me?"

Willow blinked again. Louis sighed. "This is bullying."

Harry pressed a kiss to Louis' forehead. "It's love, actually."

There was a long pause where nothing happened—just quiet breathing, morning warmth, the soft hum of the city outside. Louis eventually sighed and whispered, "I don't say it enough, but I feel it, okay?"

Harry smiled and tucked him closer. "I know."

Willow stretched, as if satisfied her work was done, and hopped off the bed.

Harry and Louis chatted some before Louis fell asleep again, Harry holding him close to his chest, watching him sleep with a smile, a smile that only Louis has seen.

——

By late afternoon, Louis felt well enough to trade the bed for the couch, bundled in a hoodie that was absolutely Harry's and socks he swore weren't his. Harry was fluttering around, insisting on "minimal movement" and "maximum hydration," while Willow sat like a queen on the armrest, watching him as if keeping score.

Then came the knock.

Harry opened the door to the familiar, slightly chaotic trio—Zayn carrying a casserole dish with mild reluctance, Liam holding a tote bag full of snacks and tea, and Niall, already talking before he even stepped inside.

"We come bearing food, comfort, and whatever this tea is Liam swears by."

Louis looked up from the couch, smirking. "If there's not at least one edible thing in that bag, you're banned."

"I brought crisps," Niall said proudly, waving the bag. "I am your most reliable friend."

Zayn set the dish on the kitchen counter. "Margot texted me, by the way. She needs help moving some litter bags and cat towers or something. Thought we could all swing by after this."

The boys had also met Margot when they wanted to visit the boys and Louis and Harry were walking the cats once again, Margot inviting them in until they were back and talking their ears off about her cats and how lovely Harry and Louis look together. Ever since then Margot has a special place in the other three boys their hearts as well, the woman being weird but sweet, baking them all cookies once in a while that weren't edible but no one would ever tell her that.