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It's when he's in the shower that it happens; an epiphany, almost, when he swallows hard and feels this odd grittiness in the back of his throat like sand is caught there, and when he stretches his arms up to sink his fingers into his sopping hair and rinse the shampoo from it and a sharp ache springs down his shoulder-blades in protest that Luke realizes it: he's getting sick.
Which is, you know, just fucking brilliant. When he climbs out of the shower, gulping several times as if it'll get rid of the annoying sensation, he heaves a heavy sigh, towels himself off, and goes to get dressed, slumping into the living room when he's ready to leave for their interview. It's a big one, supposedly, on some talk show. They're supposed to be on TV tonight, but there's preparation before, and as he fixes a weak smile on his lips it's probably way too apparent that he's not looking forward to facing today.
"Looking hot," Calum offers cheerfully and Luke rolls his eyes at him, chucks his sock in the general direction of his head. And then trudges over to gather it up and pull it on.
"Go away." His response is clipped but teasing, a little, and Calum looks playfully offended, curling into Michael and sniffing dramatically into his shoulder. Luke thinks it's just an excuse to get close to him, but whatever. Their weird relationship troubles are not his problem. His problem is that now that he seems to be aware of being sick, he just feels shittier as the seconds crawl by.
"Ready, lads?" Ashton asks, shuffling out from his own room, and Luke's heart trips just as always. The grin is apparent just in Ash's voice; it's one of Luke's favorite things, that he can hear how happy he is.
"Yeah," Luke replies, but the word cracks in the middle and everyone giggles a bit. He scowls.
As the day progresses everything seems to go downhill, the world goes hazy and sluggish around him and by the time he collapses back in his own bed he feels like all his muscles are on fire and his head and brain have gone to mush and he just fucking hates being sick. Luke sighs to himself, rubs at his burning eyes and pulls all his clothes off because it's too hot under the covers, but then it's too cold over them so what does he do now? He sighs and turns over restlessly, and then turns over again when he hears the slight squeak of his door's hinges. Ashton's form looms, a dark silhouette against the brightness of everything outside.
Maybe Luke had gone to bed a little early. Ash pads in, his brow kinked in concern and his arms folded across his bare chest. Luke sighs and stretches his arms out in a 'come hither' kind of way, pushing out his lower lip in a pout and he doesn't even have to say anything before Ashton laughs and leans in to give him a long hug. That's the best thing about them - they hardly interact, but they don't have to because they're just that in tune.
"You okay?" Ashton murmurs into Luke's sweat-sticky neck after a moment, still sounding kind of worried, and Luke nods.
"I think I'm coming down with something?"
"Shit." Immediately, Ash pulls back, elicits a loud whine from Luke, who collapses back and stares resolutely at the ceiling. That's the second worst thing about getting sick - hypochondriac Ashton never cuddles him. Everything is looking a little dimmer right now, but that could also just be because Luke is bitter. Except now, Ash just shakes his head and laughs a little bit, patting Luke softly on the head and then that turns into petting him a little, making him want to purr like he's a goddamn cat.
Luke sighs and rests his head against Ashton's hip. "I'm just gonna go get you some soup? And a paracetamol. Maybe you'll feel a bit better in the morning."
"Yeah?" That's worth a smile. Luke's always loved being nurtured but he likes it best when it comes from Ashton. "I doubt it. But. Get me soup anyway. Thanks, babe."
Ashton smiles, big and unbridled like he does every time Luke tacks one of those cute endearments onto the end of a sentence and turns around to get what he needs. Luke may or may not watch the way the muscles in his back ripple and also maybe the sway of his butt. Ash has a fairly cute butt.
By the time the smell of chicken noodle drifts through the air, Luke's already half-asleep, dozing off with one leg thrown outside of the covers and his arms slung haphazardly to the sides, and he smiles a little through cracked lips when he feels a small tap on his forehead and then a soft brush of lips on his. So yeah, maybe he and Ashton are friends who sometimes kiss and do other boyfriend-like things. "Gonna get sick too," he mumbles, craning his head up to boop their noses together before he actually opens his eyes. He's surprised to see Ashton, who normally, like, makes it a point to quarantine himself when anyone's sick, just shrug and inch closer until he can sink down onto the edge of Luke's bed.
"Want you to feel better," he says, propping pillows underneath Luke's back and frowning at the responding moan of protest. "You might have the flu."
"Who the fuck gets the flu now?" Luke pouts, deep and almost comical. Ashton smiles again.
"You do." But mostly he still looks sad because Luke is sad and that makes Luke happy. In, you know, a morbid sort of way. "It's not nice to see you moping."
"I'm not moping."
"You've been moping all day, okay." Ashton gives Luke's sad-day-boxers a pointed look. Luke curls back under his blanket, no matter how hot it is.
"Just take care of me. Asshole," he sighs, opening his mouth for a spoonful of soup that nearly scalds his tongue but soothes his throat. They're quiet for several long moments as Ash just feeds Luke like he's an infant and Luke's perfectly fine with that, curls closer to Ash's warmth and Ash's safe presence and Ash in general.
"Love you," he murmurs quietly once they're done, nearly under his breath, feels Ashton stiffen briefly before he smiles and pushes Luke's for-once floppy hair off his forehead, climbs to his feet and gives him another small kiss.
"You too, Lukey."
--
Morning comes, too-bright and too-happy and Luke is in that state where his upper lip is drenched in snot and sweat and he generally just feels disgusting, hot and hurting all over. Not even in a horny way. Just. Gross. He tries to groan, but it sticks in his throat and comes out weak, a noise he barely even hears. But apparently Ashton does, because he literally races into the room, eyes all wide and wild as if he thinks Luke's fucking died or something. Which, okay, he feels like he's about to. But that's irrelevant.
"You okay?" He asks, not even hesitating before he swoops in close and then wrinkles his nose at Luke's crusty face.
"No. Feel like Satan crawled up my arse and-"
"Yeah, right. Not okay. Got it," Ashton says quickly, offering a short smile. "Morning, babe."
"Hi, Irwie." Luke grins weakly, and then heaves himself up out of bed, rolling his eyes when Ashton jolts forward to give his shoulder in support. Luke is not an invalid. He can walk to the bathroom. He has the flu, not the plague. Ash doesn't seem to understand the difference, because he wraps an arm around Luke's waist and guides him to the bathroom.
"Why are you so needy when I'm the sick one?" Luke asks as Ashton's running a hot shower for him, ten minutes later when the gunk is off of his nose and his eyes and he's sitting on the toilet mostly naked, still in his sad-day-boxers. Ashton shoots him a look.
"Influenza kills people. Okay. I don't want you to die."
"Aw, you do care."
"Only because you're useful, kind of."
"Yeah, okay." Luke rolls his eyes like he does a lot now, apparently, and then puckers his lips. Ashton rolls his eyes too, and doesn't let go of the opportunity he's presented with because he gives Luke a careful little peck and then goes back to fiddling with their temperamental shower until it's the perfect temperature, steam rising and settling heavy.
"You good?" Ashton asks, stepping back and wiping his hands off on his shorts. Luke smiles, sliding off the counter.
"You're not gonna wash me off, too?"
"Do you want me to?"
"I was kidding. You're an idiot. Go away, leave me with my germs." Ashton actually hesitates. Luke hates him a little, and he sighs as he steps beneath the spray of water, poking his head out. "Unless you really want to."
There might actually be one of those cartoonish dust clouds forming behind Ash as he pushes his shorts and boxers down and goes to join Luke in the shower, and Luke doesn't regret inviting him in once he starts pressing and rolling his knuckles into the tight knots of muscle in Luke's back and shoulders and neck. If there's a handjob involved, no one's going to tell.
(Ashton admits that Luke is really not totally a waste of time.)
It's when Ashton actually goes and gets his clothes for him that Luke draws the line. He literally has to shove Ash out of his room and then emerges to him waving his arms at a very unimpressed looking Calum, spewing off about the dangers of illness in the home, the whole epidemic effect, etcetera. Luke snorts, even though it sends pain spiking through his chest, and shoves a shoulder into Ashton's unceremoniously as he stumbles over and collapses on the couch, whines for someone to get him a blanket.
Of course, Ashton goes racing to get it and tucks him in and whatnot, and he can't say no when Luke stretches out and allows him enough room to slip in for a cuddle. So they cuddle for a while, until Luke has a coughing fit, literally folds into himself and holds his chest. Ashton might actually have a goddamn heart attack.
"I'm not gonna die, babe, okay?" He reassures hoarsely after it stops, but gladly accepts the glass of water that Ashton hands him.
"Anything could happen!" Ashton protests.
"Just come cuddle again." The best thing about this is knowing that Ash isn't even worried for his own health like he usually is. That's, like, real love and devotion.
They curl up, this time with Ashton being the big spoon, tucked against the back of the sofa with one leg twined over Luke's and his face pressed into the nape of Luke's neck, arms banded tightly around him. It's comfortable enough that for a bit, Luke can forget he feels like - yeah, Satan crawled up his arse and did some weird demonic shit to his insides. He swallows hard and hates himself for it afterwards, but Ash is pressing little kisses against the back of his shoulders and that's nice.
"What're you doing?" He mumbles sleepily, eyes drooping shut, hands sliding down to cover Ashton's bigger ones.
"Trying to kiss the yucky stuff out of you."
"That's weird. You're so weird, Irwie."
"You love me."
"Yeah. So much." He's feverish, probably. He's been running a temperature all day, but it hasn't been too bad.
"Try to sleep." Ashton kisses him a last time, this time just beneath his ear, making him squirm, and then shifts around to get up. Luke whines loudly in protest. "Chill. I just gotta piss."
"Come back soon, okay."
Luke's shivering by the time Ashton comes back two minutes later because he'd kicked his blankets off but then that had turned out to be a bad idea, and they're too tangled around his legs for Luke to want to bother with them. But also he's cold. And sad. And sick. And Ashton's not cuddling him which is a huge problem in itself. He can practically visualize Ashton's deep frown when he feels hands feeling along his legs to pull the blankets out, and then they're draped neatly back over his shoulders and things are not so cold but Ashton isn't there and that automatically makes it not matter anymore.
--
When he finally falls out of bed, nearly steps on Ashton in the process two days later, finally doesn't feel his muscles respond angrily and can breathe through his nose again, Luke cracks a bright grin for what feels like the first time in days. He goes to brush his teeth, gets showered, and is sitting pretty on the edge of his bed where Ashton's slowly coming awake, eyes squinted and hair a total mess. Luke lunges forward and wraps his confused self up in a giant hug. "Thanks for taking care of me," he says, and pulls back to kiss him - once for every time Ashton checked on him at night, hoping he was still alive.