Deep voice. Slow voice, thick with sleep, tongue wrapping lovingly around Louis’ name.
Harry voice. Lovely lovely Harry voice. Louis smiles and curls deeper into his cushion, his sore head welcoming the softness of it.
"Baby, hey, wake up."
Lovely Harry voice, a bit more forceful and accompanied by a big hand shaking Louis’ shoulder. Louis scowls this time, pulling away from the touch.
Louis finally opens his eyes, vision swimming for a moment before it locks on Harry’s concerned face. He’s kneeling in front of the couch, brows furrowed, curls still messy from sleep.
"You’re sick," Harry says, voice resigned. "Shit."
"How on earth d’you know that?" Louis asks. He sits up with some difficulty, groaning as the movement aggravates his headache.
Harry just points at the untouched cup of tea on the coffee table. “You never, ever forget to finish your tea,” he says simply. He presses his palm to Louis’ forehead with a frown. “You’re also really warm, and you hardly ever fall back asleep once you’re out of bed. Is your throat sore?”
Louis knows that as soon as one of them gets any kind of throat issue, they have to call into management right away so they can instigate quarantine policies. One band member with no voice is okay, but five is a disaster. He shakes his head. “Head’s killing me, I think I could sleep for days, and I just have that overall gross feeling, you know? Eurgh.”
"Babe," Harry clucks sympathetically, eyes big and worried. "What do you need, hmm? More tea? Breakfast? Did you take some painkillers yet?
"They haven’t done anything," Louis replies, somewhat bitterly. He closes his eyes, rubbing his temples. "I’m not hungry, love, I just want to sleep as much as I can before we have to leave. Can you just finish up that little bit of packing for me? You know what I need."
"Of course," Harry presses a kiss to his forehead and Louis curls up into the couch again.