Sicky
Pairing - Louis x reader
Genre - fluff
Summary - you take care of Louis when he’s sick!
Requested
MASTERLIST
Requests are open!!
You don’t realize something’s wrong until he doesn’t text you back.
Louis is usually the type to spam you at the most random times. A picture of his half eaten breakfast. A voice note of him humming a melody he swears is going to be in the next comeback. A blurry selfie with the caption “I look good right now don’t lie.”
So when your phone stays quiet all morning, it sits weird in your chest.
You try not to overthink it at first. He’s busy. Practice. Meetings. Maybe he just fell asleep again because he stayed up too late. That happens all the time.
Still, you check your messages again.
Nothing.
By the time it hits early afternoon, you cave.
You: are you alive
You: hello???
You: if you died im gonna be mad
The message delivers, but no read receipt. That’s what makes your stomach drop.
You stare at the screen for a second before grabbing your hoodie and heading out. You don’t even really think about it. Your body just moves.
The dorm isn’t far. You’ve been there enough times that the walk feels automatic, but today everything feels a little too quiet, a little too slow.
When you finally get there, you don’t bother knocking lightly. You ring the bell and then knock again.
A few seconds later, the door opens.
Woojin blinks at you. “Oh. Hey.”
“Is Louis here?” you ask immediately.
He nods, stepping aside to let you in. “Yeah. He’s been in his room all day.”
Something about the way he says it makes your chest tighten. “Is he okay?”
Woojin shrugs. “He said he’s fine, but he looks like he got hit by a truck. Won’t come out. Didn’t eat either.”
Of course he didn’t.
You thank him quickly and head straight down the hall. You don’t even hesitate before knocking on Louis’s door.
“Louis?”
No answer.
You press your ear lightly against the wood. You can hear something faint. Movement maybe.
“Hey, it’s me,” you say, softer this time. “Open up.”
There’s a pause. A long one.
Then you hear a quiet, scratchy voice. “Go away.”
You frown immediately. “No.”
Another pause. Then a soft groan, followed by slow footsteps. The door cracks open just enough for you to see him.
And your heart drops.
His hair is a mess, sticking out in every direction like he hasn’t bothered fixing it. His face is flushed, eyes glassy and half lidded. Even the way he’s standing looks off, like he doesn’t have the energy to fully hold himself up.
“Why are you here,” he mumbles.
You push the door open wider without waiting. “Because you’re obviously dying.”
“I’m not dying,” he says, voice hoarse.
“You look like it.”
He huffs, but it turns into a cough halfway through. You’re already inside, closing the door behind you as you take him in properly.
His room is dim, curtains half closed. The air feels stuffy. There’s a blanket tossed on the bed, but it doesn’t look like he’s been resting properly.
“You’re sick,” you say, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“I’m fine,” he insists weakly.
You raise an eyebrow. “You literally just coughed like your soul was leaving your body.”
He doesn’t argue with that. Instead, he just kind of… sways.
You step forward immediately, grabbing his arm. “Okay, yeah, you’re not fine.”
Before you can even guide him anywhere, he leans into you.
Not just lightly. Fully.
Like he’s been waiting to do that.
His forehead presses against your shoulder, and his arms come around you in a loose, tired hug.
“…hi,” he mumbles into your hoodie.
Your heart does a weird flip.
“Hi,” you say softly, steadying him. “Let’s get you to bed.”
“No,” he mutters, tightening his hold slightly.
You blink. “What do you mean no.”
“I’m already comfortable.”
You stare at him for a second. “Louis.”
He hums.
“You’re standing.”
“Still comfortable.”
You almost laugh, but you don’t. Instead, you gently push him back just enough to look at his face.
He pouts at you.
Actually pouts.
“You’re being difficult,” you say.
“You came here just to insult me?”
“I came here to take care of you,” you correct, brushing his hair out of his face. It’s warm. Too warm. “Which I can’t do if you don’t listen.”
He stares at you for a second, like he’s thinking really hard about it.
Then he sighs dramatically.
“Fine.”
You guide him to the bed, helping him sit down. He moves slowly, like everything takes more effort than usual.
The second he sits, he reaches for you again.
You barely have time to react before his hand grabs your wrist, tugging you closer.
“Stay,” he mumbles.
“I’m not going anywhere,” you say.
He doesn’t seem convinced. His grip tightens just slightly, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.
You soften immediately.
“Hey,” you murmur, crouching in front of him. “I’m right here.”
He looks down at you, eyes tired but focused.
“Don’t leave,” he says quietly.
Your chest aches a little.
“I won’t.”
That seems to be enough. He relaxes a little, though his hand doesn’t leave yours.
“Okay,” you say gently. “Now lie down.”
He hesitates.
“Louis.”
“…okay.”
He lays back slowly, still holding onto you like you’re some kind of lifeline. You adjust the blanket over him, tucking it around his sides.
“Have you taken any medicine?” you ask.
He shakes his head.
“Of course you haven’t.”
“I didn’t feel like it.”
You sigh, but there’s no real annoyance behind it. “I’ll get you some.”
The second you try to pull your hand away, he frowns.
“Wait.”
“I’m just going to get medicine.”
“Don’t take long.”
You smile a little. “I won’t.”
You gently slip your hand from his and stand up, heading out to the kitchen. Woojin glances at you from the couch.
“Is he alive?”
“Barely,” you say, grabbing water and medicine.
“Yeah, sounds about right.”
When you come back, Louis is exactly where you left him. Except now he’s staring at the door like he’s been waiting.
The second he sees you, his expression softens.
“You came back.”
You snort. “I told you I would.”
He sits up a little, wincing.
“Don’t move so fast,” you scold, setting the water and medicine down. “Here.”
You hand him the pills, watching to make sure he actually takes them.
He does, though he makes a face after.
“Gross.”
“You’re acting like you’ve never taken medicine before.”
“I don’t like it.”
“Too bad.”
He huffs again, but it’s weaker this time. Once he’s done, he hands the glass back to you and then immediately reaches for you again.
You don’t even question it this time.
You sit on the edge of the bed, and he shifts closer, resting his head against your side.
“…you’re warm,” he murmurs.
You glance down at him. “You’re just freezing.”
“No, you’re warm.”
You smile a little, running your fingers through his hair. It’s soft, even when it’s messy.
He practically melts under your touch.
For a while, it’s quiet.
You keep playing with his hair, occasionally brushing your hand over his forehead to check his temperature. He stays close the entire time, like he physically can’t bring himself to move away.
At some point, his hand finds yours again.
He intertwines your fingers loosely, holding on without even looking.
“You’re really clingy right now,” you whisper.
“…am not.”
“You literally won’t let go of me.”
There’s a pause.
“…I don’t feel good.”
Your expression softens instantly. “I know.”
Another quiet moment passes.
“Stay closer,” he mumbles.
You shift slightly, letting him lean more fully against you. His head rests in your lap now, and he lets out a small sigh, like he’s finally comfortable.
“Better?” you ask.
He nods faintly.
Your fingers move through his hair again, slower this time. He closes his eyes, his breathing evening out just a little.
“You should sleep,” you say softly.
“Don’t stop,” he whispers.
“I won’t.”
That seems to be enough. Within minutes, he’s asleep.
You stay exactly where you are.
Time passes slowly. The room stays quiet except for the soft sound of his breathing. Every now and then, he shifts slightly, his grip on your hand tightening like he’s checking if you’re still there.
And every time, you squeeze back.
At some point, he stirs.
“…you still here?” he mumbles, eyes barely open.
“Yeah,” you whisper.
He relaxes immediately, eyes closing again.
“You didn’t leave.”
“I said I wouldn’t.”
He hums softly, nuzzling closer without even realizing it.
Your heart feels full in a way that’s hard to explain.
You lean down slightly, pressing a soft kiss to his hair.
“Get better soon,” you murmur.
He doesn’t respond, already half asleep again.
But his hand tightens around yours just a little more.
And you stay right there with him.
