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    Summary

    "Stay." His brain is skipping backwards but his mouth is skipping forward. "Like, in this bed? With me."

    The words hang in the air, somewhere in between their naked chests. Louis licks his lips, and a tiny crinkle appears between his eyebrows. "Why?"

    Does there have to be a reason for everything? Does everything have to be a debate? Why does Louis ask 'why?' and not 'why not?' Harry's already annoyed that he wants him to stay. "I'm ill," he says, sniffling for good measure. "I need supervision."

    Louis hesitates, looking uncertain, and Harry doesn't like that look on him. "It's late," he says eventually. "You need your rest."

    "We'll sleep," Harry promises, and as if on cue, he yawns. He is rather sleepy. "It will be restful."

     

    SPOILER: Styles gets his way. It's not restful.

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