One Direction Sickfics

Harry sick- for storiesoftheseven

I wished morning would just hurry up and get here already. I felt like I'd been waiting a lifetime yet it was only 4:26, and counting. I couldn't sleep to pass the time, tried that multiple times both voluntarily and accidentally but every time I got marginally close to unconsciousness my chest would tighten and my throat would tickle and I'd fall into another god awful fit of coughs that made me rise upright like I was coming out of a grave.

I'd been coughing for the last few days after managing to pick up a cold a week or so ago, on and off but nothing anywhere near the bark that was stampeding through my chest now, at 4:27 in the morning.

I rolled over with a quiet sound, resting a hand on my aching chest. The poor thing was under a fair amount of stress and it was hurting. I huffed a quick cough to relieve the tightness, hoping that it wouldn't trigger anything more. Bad idea apparently.

My whole body shook and there were tears prickling at my eyes thanks to the force behind the sudden fit and after spitting a glob of who fucking knows what into a tissue and biffing it onto the floor halfheartedly I sagged heavily back into the mound of pillows I had created for myself. 

 I realised I was wheezing and uttered a shallow curse.

I had exactly 36 hours to kick this thing before the next concert and to me wheezing like an old man with a oxygen tank trailing behind him wasn't a good thing at all.

I cuddled my duvet into my chest and tried to relax. I really needed to get some sleep, at least try to lessen the force of whatever this was. Zero hours snoozing wouldn't help me at all. Tomorrow, or today I supposed, was empty so at least I'd have more time to rest up but who was to say this sleepless thing wouldn't carry on all the way up until concert day? Then I really would be screwed.

I could literally feel the temperature dropping around me and wondered if I'd been stupid enough to leave the window open. I was way too tired to actually get up and check though so I just tucked the duvet under my feet and curled up into a ball as small as I could manage without getting a cramp.

'Sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep.' 

The mantra echoed through my head as I tried to force my brain into shutting down.

***

Next thing I know I'm coughing myself awake, feeling like I'm trying to expel my insides. My eyes are squeezed shut but I can see the light from underneath my lids, meaning that I must've somehow managed to fall asleep. It was a small triumph though, because now I felt far worse.

My chest was on fire and rattling hard with every cough, convulsing painfully along with the blood rushing through my head. My throat felt scraped and raw and I was sweating buckets despite feeling freezing cold.

Add a fever to the lengthening list of reasons why I'm contemplating just ending myself.

My head was swimming but I still understood that I was sick and the fact that my lungs only felt like they were filling up a quarter with oxygen wasn't very assuring.

 I cleared my throat with a steadying hand holding the bed beside me.

I wiped my other hand across my forehead to find it utterly drenched in sweat and grimaced tiredly, wiping the dampness onto the identically damp sheets.

Okay, time to medicate before I coughed myself to death.

I tried to move quickly to the kitchen where the cough medicine was, hoping not to have an attack someplace that was not my bedroom, but I felt like I had just wandered into somebody else's house. The fever was screwing with my head and it was beginning to make me upset no matter how many times I told myself to ignore it.