; adjective; delicately small and pretty.

Louis knows something is wrong when he wakes up and he can't breathe through his nose. He thinks it's Zayn again, having a habit of plugging Louis' nose while he's sleeping until he wakes up breathless and unhappy. Big meanie Zayn. Come to think of it, Louis only likes Zayn because sometimes he buys little cupcakes with sweet, pink icing for Louis to munch on. No sprinkles, though. Sprinkles are evil and hard and not soft and get stuck in Louis' teeth. That's why Louis hates hard candy because--

He still can't breathe through his nose.

Sitting up in bed, Louis lets his jaw fall slack to allow him to breathe through his mouth. He rubs his eyes with his little, closed fists before popping them open. His black curtains are closed (He wanted pink but pink isn't dark enough to prevent the sneaky sun from lighting his room but he made up for it by decorating the drab color in pastel stickers and strings and beads and all things pretty), blocking out the sun so Louis' room was never bright in the mornings.

He pulls on the first pair of socks he sees, which happen to be the light blue ones with little slices of pizza littered all around them that reach half way up his calves, to keep his feet from getting cold as he travels to the kitchen to find medicine. He's a cute sight. Long, purple sweater that reaches his thighs and gives him sweater paws, hair messy and fluffed, jaw slacked and mouth open. Yeah, he probably looks like a zombie.

Louis hasn't made it two steps out of his bedroom before there's a sharp pain in his lower abdomen and a barely audible hiccup escapes through his lips. He groans and wraps his arms around his tummy, no more cupcakes, and limps down the hall to Zayn's room. Of course, the one time Louis needs him, he's not in his room when Louis pushes his bedroom door open. His bed is messy and unmade, clothes on the floor and a shoe hanging from the bar that holds up his white curtains ("Don't fear the sun, Louis. He is your friend.")

"Please be in the kitchen, please be in the kitchen, please be in the kitchen," the smaller lad whispers, using the wall as a guide as he continues to walk to the kitchen.

He should really invest in buying a medicine cabinet for his bedroom. In all honesty, the walk from his bedroom to the kitchen is a very strenuous task. And because of his tendency to get sick often, at least twice a month, he should have a medicine cabinet in his room. It would save him time and energy.

Zayn's not in the kitchen when Louis gets there. Instead, there's a yellow sticky note on the shiny counter top.

"Morning, Lou. Went out with Li. Be back possibly late tonight or tomorrow (Or not at all - Liam). There's food in the fridge and mini cupcakes in the pantry. They're on the top shelf so you have to work to get them. Don't burn down the flat and remember to feed Floyd. Love ya!"

He doesn't even squeal when he reads the part about mini cupcakes. That's how sick he is.

Grumbling, Louis trudges over to the medicine cabinet (that should be in his bedroom) to look for the Advil and cough drops and other medicines. He really doesn't need the cough drops but they taste yummy and might unclog his nose. And they taste yummy.

The tips of his toes start to ache after awhile of rifling through the cupboard. The pink basket labeled 'Louis' Meds' is empty but Louis swears it wasn't empty yesterday when he grabbed his little packet of cough drops. Huffing, he walks back to his room, arms crossed over his chest, grumbling indignantly something along the lines of, thinks he can leave me here alone with no sick pills and cough suckers.

It's not even Zayn's fault. Louis remembers distinctly what happened the last time he was sick. ("Louis, these are the last of your sick day medicines. Use them wisely.", "Don't worry, Zaynie. We can buy more.", "We'll buy more. Just remember to write them down on the grocery list, okay bud?") Louis didn't respond, already sucking on a cherry cough drop but obviously he didn't write them down on the grocery list. Oops.

And anyway, psh, Louis doesn't even recall that conversation. In his mind, it never happened. Nope. Never ever, ever happened. Plus, in his defense if anyone wanted to know, Zayn knows that Louis has a bad memory and a minor case of ADD. Or maybe it was ADHD. He doesn't remember what his doctor said. The little Betta Fish sitting on the counter behind him was so much more interesting than his dull voice dragging on and on about health.

Okay, maybe it was Louis' fault, but he'd never admit that.

When he gets to his room, the first thing he does is find his phone. He sits on the edge of his bed and dials Zayn's number, swinging his legs back and forth. His nails look a bit plain. He should paint them soon, a mint blue this time. Or maybe a lavender. He'd have to ask Zayn for his opinion.

"Hello?"

"Mint or lavender?"

Something shifts on the other side of the phone, "What?"

"Should I paint my nails mint blue or lavender?"

"Really, Louis? Can't this wa-"

"Zaynie," Louis drawls out, wincing at the sound of his low, raspy voice. Stupid sickness.

"Alright, um. Mint."

"Thanks, mon amour."

Louis giggles as he lays back on his bed, tossing his phone somewhere beside him. He's ready to fall back asleep, until he sneezes then hiccups and nearly coughs up his lungs all within the span of 3.84 seconds. Right, he's sick. The whole purpose of calling Zayn was to convince him and Liam to buy and bring medicine to him. Oh, peanut butter.