“So you’re not gonna talk to me? ’S that how will it go?”
Harry asked, still a bit irritated from the fight the both of you had that was quite unresolved from last night, also stood in front of the front door for a few moments, looking at your figure on the couch that’s wrapped in a blanket, not a single acknowledgement that he was here being given.
Harry rolled his eyes, putting the car keys on the designated spot and taking off his shoes, about to go turn off the TV out of habit until he realized that it wasn’t even turned on.
His confused eyes went to your figure who was shallowly sleeping because of the flu you think you have at the moment, even the slightest bit of movement enough to remind you that you have a horrible migraine, shivering from the coldness and how thin the blanket is to suit your need, but didn’t have any choice because it pained you to find another one.
His gaze got more concentrated when he realized you were sleeping and a blanket around you, attempting to lift it off that made you immediately wake up and wince because of the bright lights, in a conclusion that it was too shallow to be even considered as sleep, let alone as rest.
Harry got more confused by the second when he heard your voice weak and hoarse which he wasn’t used to.
He hesitantly pressed his hand to the crook of your neck, eyes widening when he couldn’t believe how hot your temperature was just by touching it.
“You’re — you’re burning up.”
Harry said, retracting his hand from your neck and closing it, lips pursing on what he should do next.
“No, no. I could manage.”
You were halfway through finsihing the sentence when you stood up and had your legs give up on you at that moment, your vision blurring from the sudden move.
Harry immediately brought his hands out to catch you out of reflex and as response on what he saw.
He muttered under his breath the moment he catched you, a small amount of weight being lifted from his chest when he genuinely thought you were gonna collapse, but was replaced with a bigger one when he realized that there’s a high possibility of you doing so because of your current state.
“Easy does it.”
He said more to himself than to you, being nervous at the close call before carrying you gently, leaving the blanket on the couch because there was a comforter in your shared bedroom you could instead have.
He carried you snugly and securely, knowing that you love it when he does, head pressed to his chest and hands on his back.
Harry opened the door, closing it with his shoulder before going under the sheets with you still on top of him, pulling the comforter until it reached your neck.
His hand stroke your hair out of habit, slight hesitation still left.
“I — I think we should go to the hospital later. Get a-…”
Harry asked, frowning since he knew what he’s supposed to do, but also didn’t know how he was supposed to do it.
Although he does know that there’s a thermometer in one of the cabinets on his dresser, although not sure if there’s any medicine.
“I, uh, I think I don’t know what to do.”
Honestly speaking, Harry was nervous on how alarming your temperature was and what you’re feeling, be it minor or major, under the classification of being okay.
He has the thinking that maybe the fight last night is already disregarded, but he couldn’t really assure himself that since he genuinely doesn’t know what to do next.
Harry’s too on edge, stopping his breathing once in a while to feel yours, hand pressed on your back, wanting for moments like this for him to take the pain.
“Please tell me you’re okay. Just want to hear it.”