* 5 and a half months *
He’d woken up to a kick to his shin and a cold feeling flush over his skin, goosebumps forming on his body in an instant as soon as his body became exposed to the cool bedroom air. He heard a grunt leave your mouth as you pushed your body up off of the mattress with flat palms, leaning your upper up with your elbows, the sound of your fingernails scratching against the sheet distinct and the only sound filling the room, a heavy sigh leaving your mouth. He could only imagine what was keeping you awake at this time of the morning; kicking to your insides, a hunger for something you were oddly and weirdly craving for, a nightmare taking over and forcing you awake with panic and fear, the temperature being to warm for you to cope with, or the fact that you had needed the loo but felt too comfortable to leave the relaxing spot of the bed.
“S’the matter?”
His voice came out deep and raspy and it felt foreign and unusual for him to be awake at such an early time on his days off – granted, he was used to them, but, he was only used to them for work and when he had early morning flights to catch or he was arriving home and happened to be awake as the time came around. But now he had been given a year off – which he took and used as his paternity leave, taking no work offers or flights to LA to sign contracts or record and write songs for others – he was looking forward to the nights where he could relax without thinking of work coming to him as soon as he woke up, and he was looking forward to the mornings where he could sleep in for as long as he wanted, under the warmth and the comforts of the duvet as he held your pregnant and clinging figure to his side.
“I need a wee, but, god darn it, I’m pregnant,” he heard you mutter beneath your breath, a smirk lifting at the corner of his mouth before a soft chuckle left his mouth. “Can you stop being lazy and help me before I wet myself? Your daughter is sitting on my bladder an-”
“Oh, stop being so dramatic,” Harry chuckled, reaching up and flicking on the bedside lamp, the room filling with light and stinging your eyes and making Harry’s squint.
It took him time to adjust to the brightly lit room. His fists rubbing at his eyes to rub away the lingering sleep building up in the corners, his eyes crinkling and forming creases upon his skin. Harry knew that now you were awake, and wanting out and up off of the bed, you wouldn’t be going back to sleep and you’d be awake until the sun made its appearance into the sky.
He’d seen you, on a frequent basis, emerging from the balcony doors with his dressing gown around your shoulders and a pair of slippers upon your feet. And it would stun you to see his green eyes watching your every move, awaiting your explanation as to why you were awake at such an early time.
But it had been like that ever since you were young. If you were ever woken suddenly after a needed sleep, and the numbers on the alarm clock were after 3, you’d stay upon the bed with widened eyes and occasional sighs leaving your mouth.
“Can you get up and help me? Otherwise I’ll kick you in the balls,” you hissed, looking over your shoulder and smiling cheekily at his tired features.
“M’really tired, so, I’ll help you up and then m’goin’ back to sleep, alright?” Harry stated, stifling a yawn that followed his words soon after. “You don’t need me to be in the bathroom whilst you wee.”
“V’seen you wee. Not a pretty sight but it happened, did it not?” You grinned, watching as he shuffled around the bed in a pair of skin tight boxers and messed and knotted hair sitting on top of his head. “Still not happy you cut your hair. Baby Styles isn’t going to have the long hair to tug on now, is she? M’not going to see her fists around your hair, tugging as you whine out in pain.”
Anne had spoken numerous times about how Harry had taken a liking to long hair. His small hands would always be found tugging at Gemma’s when she made faces into the pram he was laid in, and he would always be found with his sticking fingers toying with Anne’s when he was feeding and filling his small and plump belly. And, you couldn’t wait for the moment when your daughter was finding her feet – well, more like her hands – in tugging on people’s hair for her entertainment.
You’d dreamily wander off from time to time – whether you were cooking dinner, taking a bath or you just couldn’t sleep – looking to the future when the both of you were parents, in a home that was quiet and filled with the squeals of your small baby.
Coming home from a busy day at work, and he’d be sitting on the sofa and your little girl would be laid against his chest; a chest that was bare and naked and exposed to the cold air of the lower level of the house. Persephone’s babygrow covered body would be flat against his chest and her head would be lifted up and her hands would be tapping and patting and squeezing at the flesh on his face, and he’d be blowing his cheeks up and blowing air onto her face. And it wouldn’t be long, with many protests leaving his mouth, until she’d reach for what she desired – his hair hanging down his cheeks and in a reaching distance for her to grab.
And just picturing it, and wanting it to happen in the future, made your heart want it more than before.
“I’ll grow it back out. Just needed a chop off. The ends were getting ruined and I had split ends and it was dry and prone to getting greasier and I just needed a new look,” he explained, holding his hands out and wiggling his fingers. Fingers that, through the day, would be covered in shining gold and encrusted rings with multiple stories behind them.
His silver rings given to him as presents through his teen years from Des; whether they were good luck presents, birthday presents, Christmas presents or given as hand me downs after Des had seen Harry eyeing them up on his fingers.
His golden rings brought by himself; more to spoil himself when he’d see them in the store window on his walks through London.
The intricate patterned rings and the coloured encrusted diamond rings that he only wore on dates with you and occasions that had him colour coordinating his outfit, were brought by you whenever you had seen something that he would like; more when you went shopping with Gemma or his mother rather than when you went out with him to waste the hours of the day away.
“I might need you to help me pull my knickers back up,” you giggled, lacing your fingers through Harry’s and pulling yourself up, his arm muscles flexing beneath his skin as he pulled you towards his body. “Please. Jus’ wait outside the bathroom. I’ll stick my hand out when I’m ready.”
“It’s 4 in the morning, Gorgeous. I don’t care if you come back to bed naked, I’m just going to fall asleep,” Harry smiled, a pout forming on your lips; a look that had him weak at the knees and falling for what you wanted. And right now, you broke the look out to have him help you in something that you could handle on your accord. “Do not give me that look.”
“Jus’ want you to come help me. I’m pregnant and I need your help more than ever now,” you sighed, rolling your head back and releasing a loud groan. “You’re my husband. You should be doing this with me. Don’t you remember when I helped you to the toilet? S’when I saw you wee.”
You didn’t want to see him wee, but, you knew that if you didn’t help him and keep him stable, then you would have wandered in a disgustingly smelling bathroom with wet tiles and his bladder release sprayed upon the toilet seat; a pet hate of yours.
“I was drunk, you donut. I needed your help or I would have pissed all over the bathroom,” he chuckled, sliding his hands down your sides and pressing his fingers under the curves of your bum, resting at the top of your thighs. “Just go and wee and relieve your bladder and then come back for a cuddle. S’cold in here tonight.”
“You left the window open before we fell asleep, so, it’s your fault,” you grinned, pressing up on your toes and puckering your lips, placing your flesh upon his cheek. “I’ll call for you if I need you.”
“Alright, go on. I can see your thighs clenching,” he chuckled, “and we really do not want a puddle on the bedroom floor.”
“Shut up, you knob.”
You pulled yourself from his hold, internally whining when the loss of warmth was long gone, and lead yourself towards the en-suite bathroom. Your finger pushed down the switch just beside the door handle, the white button sitting on the wall and boldly noticeable against the grey wallpaper coating the bedroom walls, the bathroom lighting up brightly in front of you as you stepped upon the tiles and disappeared behind the wooden door. A soft bang sounding around the quiet room, followed by a click as you locked the door out of habit.
Harry occupied himself, his feet taking him around the bed and over towards the balcony doors, pushing aside the curtains and letting his eyes hover over the street below.
The street he’d loved from the moment he stepped onto the pavement with the estate agent, the street he could see his family growing up in, as well as the street he could see himself walking down when it was time to take his children to school or when you had decided on walking to the Underground station that was just a short walk away from the front door, preparing for an impromptu train journey to Manchester to see Anne and Robin. And getting the train relaxed you each time, and, it had the plus side of giving Harry off-time from driving such a long journey with minimal stops that had him out from behind the wheel.
The sound of the toilet flushing brought him back from his future trance, and he’d reached forward and pulled the window to him, stopping the access of cold air filtering into the bedroom.
Harry expected you to walk out of the door any moment, flicking the light off and proceeding to walk to the bed, empty bladder and clean hands and a sleepy-feeling washing through your bones.
But you didn’t come back.
And instead the sound of the faucet running could be heard, followed by your curiosity-laced and questioning voice.
“Harry?”
“Yes, Gorgeous?” Harry hummed, grunting as he fell upon the mattress with a squeak of the springs, disappearing beneath the duvet and groaning happily as his back came flat against the mattress, his head resting against the pillow. “I just got in to bed. Please do not ask me to come and pull your knickers up.”
An almost inaudible snicker left your lips.
“No, I just did that myself. Baby Styles isn’t so big yet, so, I can still bend and pull ‘em up,” you called back through the door, your hands thrusted beneath the water of the faucet. “I want to ask you a question.”
“What?”
He was expected a question along the lines of – “can you make me a cup of tea?” or “can you make me some toast?” or something obvious like “just making sure you’re awake.” – or maybe even a question along the lines of “can we have sex?”
What he wasn’t expecting was an early morning drive through the London streets to suffice your pregnancy cravings.
“Can you take me to McDonalds?” You wondered, pulling the door open and standing in the doorway, with a t-shirt of Harry’s covering your upper body, a pair of knickers on your hips and a pair of his white socks pulled up to your calves; however, one was falling down to your ankle with the toe of the piece of clothing hanging off your foot. His eyebrows were furrowed and his eyes wide, his mouth agape as he stared at you. “Please? M’hungry and I didn’t eat much for dinner and I’m really craving a brekkie wrap,” you stated, a smile on your lips.
“It’s almost quarter past 4 in the morning, Gorgeous. How could you possible want a McDonalds now, hm?” He wondered, rolling onto his side as you flicked off the bathroom light and closed the door behind you. “Are your cravings messing up again?”
This was the earliest – and the first – time he’d seen your cravings take over, and quite frankly, he was waiting for this day to come around. He got worried, like the worryguts he is, when you weren’t waking up with the hunger for something weird and disgusting and having him weak at the stomach, and from the research he’d done in the early hours of the morning when he couldn’t sleep, you seemed to be too far ahead for cravings to make an appearance.
Being nearly 6 months, he had expected to be awake at 5 in the morning, every other morning of the week, making something his stomach just couldn’t handle if he ate it – pickles and Nutella, ice-cream and bread, potatoes and a garlic sauce, or just a simple craving for fruit or biscuits.
It was all about the waiting, and he was eager for the day when he would get a poke to his shoulder and beg rolling off of your tongue, a pout following soon after as you politely asked for him to leave the comforts of the bed and make you something that would calm your hungry stomach and would give your baby another bout of nutrients it needed to grow, and with a finger trailing up his chest and a kiss to your forehead, he would be out of the bed and down the stairs before you could finish your sentence.
“A little, I s’pose. I didn’t eat much for dinner,” you sighed, perching on the bed with a leg bent beneath your weight whilst your other leg stretched out along the edge of the mattress.
“Are you jokin’ me, Gorgeous? You ate two plates of spaghetti and you ate the muffin I brought from Starbucks that I was saving for tomorrow. How can you be hungry?” He chuckled, sitting up on the bed and crossing his legs into a pretzel shape, his back leaning against the headboard of the bed.
With that simple statement leaving his lips, something that he’d thought you’d laugh at, he wasn’t ready for a frown to form on your features and your eyes to gloss over.
And it became clear-cut that he had upset you when your eyes began to leak with tears and a soft sniffle came from your scrunched up nose.
“Hey, hey. No. Why are you cryin’, Gorgeous?” He whispered, confusion lacing his words as he shuffled over the bed and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side and letting you nuzzle beneath his bicep. “I didn’t mean to upset you, I promise you. Please, don’t cry, Gorgeous. That was probably the worst thing for me to say, and I feel awful and I know your hormones are increasing with each day and I need to watch my mouth, I know.”
He had made you cry before.
He didn’t mean it, but, he’d given his reason as to that fact that there was only a small amount of ice-cream left in the carton and he took it upon himself to finish the contents before he threw the carton away to make room for another full carton. When you’d asked him where the rest of the ice-cream had gone, and he explained just what he did and why he did it – with the added “you ate all of it, so, I don’t think you’ll miss the last two spoonfuls” – and it was the first time through your pregnancy that he’d seen you cry.
It was the first time through your pregnancy that Harry had made you cry.
And you’d thought he’d have learnt what is best to be said around you and what is worst to be said about you, but he was never clear on what mood you were in when it came to talking and teasing and trying his best to make you laugh.
“You’re a knob sometimes,” you whispered wetly, your cheeks glistening under the lamp-lit room. “It’s not you, though. I know I ate a lot and I can’t help it but I’m so hungry and I’m so pregnant and eugh, this is your fault. If you didn’t have such an attra-”
“You just said it wasn’t me,” Harry whispered cautiously, his eyes widening as you looked to him. “M’sorry. Let’s go, yeah? I’ll just get some clothes on and then we can go and get you some McDonalds and we can take a drive and we’ll see what we feel like doing for the day,” he suggested, his fingers drawing soft patterns on your arms as he looked down at you with a soft smile on his lips. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Can we just go for a McDonalds?” You wondered, his head nodding quickly as he shuffled from the bed and let his feet sit upon the carpet of the bedroom. After a while of silence as he pressed his palms upon the mattress and went to push himself up, your voice sounded again. This time, it was softer and raw and wet and evident to his ears that what he said had hurt you. “Harry?”
“Hmm?”
“I was going to say if you didn’t have such an attractive dick, we wouldn’t be in the situation. Y’ didn’t let me finish,” you whispered, looking down at your lap as you picked at your fingernails.
“You’re so cheeky. Pregnancy makes you awfully cheeky, Gorgeous. I love it,” he chuckled.
He stepped over and stood in front of the chest of drawers, beneath the mirror he’d installed one afternoon after being fed up with sharing the bathroom mirror in the mornings. Crouching down, he pulled open his underwear drawer and pulled a clean pair of black boxers out from the variety of pairs stuffed – because he couldn’t be bothered to fold them – and the variety of pairs that were folded and neatly placed in piles – because you liked to open drawers and have them organised. He stood up straight, wincing softly as his back sent a dull ache through his bones, and pushed his fingers into the waistband of his sticking-and-dirty boxers already upon his hips. He looked down, shuffling his legs as the material of his boxers fell to his ankles and pooled into a black pile of cotton, the room engulfed into a comfortable silence. Your head rolled back against the headboard, your finger tapping your thigh as you kept one eye on his changing figure.
And, for a third time that night, his name rolled off of your tongue, just as he stepped foot into the wardrobe.
“Harry?”
“Y’full of questions tonight, hm?” His humoured voice came from inside his walk-in wardrobe, the sound of the metal hangers scraping against the rails sounding and drowning his voice out as he looked for an appropriate outfit to wear this early in the morning. “What’s up?”
“Can I wear some of your loose boxers out? They look like gym shorts on me, and, I don’t want to wear tight jeans around my bump because they leave funny marks on my skin,” you wondered, your voice nervous and ashamed as he poked his head around the door, a smile on his lips. “Your pink ones. Y’know the ones I mean.”
“The Tommy Hilfiger ones?”
You gave him a soft and quick nod.
They were your favourite on his body because pink was a good colour on his tanned and toned figure.
“I guess so,” he smiled curtly, stepping foot from inside the wardrobe dressed in his grey tracksuit bottoms, his black jumper held tightly in his hand. “Do you want a jumper of mine or are you alright in that t-shirt?”
“Can I borrow that Packers one?” You asked shyly, your finger and thumb pinching at your bottom lip – something you’d picked up on after spending the majority of your time with Harry. He set the black jumper on the edge of the bed, before his feet took his across the bedroom and to where the chest of drawers were located. “The green one?”
“Of course,” he smiled, bending over and rummaging through his boxers drawer, pulling out the pink material that looked ever so familiar in his hands. “Y’know, I’ve not worn these in a while. Might crack ‘em out when we have sex.”
“I like you in the spotted ones that your mum brought you for Christmas,” you giggled, as he threw the material over to you and watching as they landed gracefully against the edge of the bed. You leant over, reaching forward for the pink boxers and hooking them around your ankles, covering your knickers and pinging them against your waist, the band around the top of the boxers settling comfortably around your bump, just below your belly button. “Did I tell you that I tried your jeans on the other day? Before I went out with Gemma? And I spent an hour in the pantry, just proper ugly crying because I thought my legs were too fat and thick for my jeans.”
You were in a rush to get out the house and meet Gemma at the coffee house you’d taken regular trips out too; on your own, or, with Harry when he felt like spending time with you as well as showing you off to those who were eager to catch a glimpse of the two of you, or, Gemma when she wanted to steal you from Harry. Even Anne made trips there when she decided on surprising you with a visit from Manchester, a cardboard holder of warm drinks and a bag full of goodies.
You’d grabbed what you presumed were your jeans, and without checking the label and the name of shop they were brought from printed in the back, you stuck your legs into the material and gawked with wide eyes when they would go past your thighs. The worst went through your mind as the legs hung over your feet and became hazardous if you wanted to move from the cold step of the pantry to the warmth and the comfy cushion of the stool at the breakfast bar.
If it wasn’t for Gemma coming over to check whether you were in any danger, you’d have sat there until you were dry of tears and forcing crocodile dribbles to leave the corners of your eyes.
“Pregnancy brain is really taking a toll upon you, eh?” Harry chuckled, walking out of the wardrobe with the green hoodie thrown over his shoulder. “We really should start putting names in our jeans, don’t you think?”
“No, you knob. Gemma had to bring our coffees here because I spent too long crying. She pointed out that they were yours and I felt so stupid,” you sighed, smiling as he handed you the hoodie and pressed his lips to your forehead. “Thank you.”
“I’ll go down and warm the car up. It’s cold out there,” he smiled.
He grabbed the closest pair of trainers – his bright and luminous Nike exercise trainers – and slid them over his bare feet, leaving the laces loose and ready to be tied when he found comfort in the drivers seat of his Range Rover.
“I love you,” you grinned, a smirk forming on his lips.
“I love you too. Hurry up, alright? And then we’ll get some food. It’s almost half past 4 and it’ll take some time to find an open McDonalds. We might have to drive a while so, we won’t have food until late,” Harry explained, his hand wrapping around the doorknob. “Don’t go stealing anymore of my clothes.”
You gave him a sarcastic and forced laugh.
“Just go and warm the car up,” you ordered, sliding the hoodie over your head.
* *
“I thought I said don’t go stealing anymore of my clothes, you bugger,” Harry smirked as you opened the door, your trainers scuffing along the tarmac. The house keys hanging from your fingers as you placed a palm inside the pocket visible where your hoodie-covered bump was, and tapped your fingers against the material. “You look like your set for winter, Gorgeous,” he chuckled, watching as you shuffled into the seat and closed the behind you. His blue beanie upon your head as you felt annoyance towards you untamed and knotted and uncooperable hair.
“My ears are cold and my hair won’t cooperate with me. And it was sitting on the hallway table. Took my chance and decided to wear it considering you won’t let me wear it any other time,” you grinned, tugging it further of your ears and dropping your arms to your side. “Can I plug my music in?”
“Can’t we just have a simple car ride with no music? We need to talk more about Baby Styles and whatnot,” he smiled. A smile that always made an appearance when he spoke about his daughter – she hadn’t even been born yet and he was already the gushing father people knew he would be.
And if he was this happy through the pregnancy, then, there was no guessing as to what he would be like when your little girl was here, in person, as a bumbling mixture of you and Harry.
“We still need to talk about the nursery and what room we’re going to have it in and we need to start talking about a birth plan and-”
“Harry, calm down. We have 3 months left. We don’t need to talk about it all in one night,” you smiled, reaching across the console between the two of you and relaxing your hand on his thigh, the material of his joggers soft beneath your touch. “We will sit down one evening this week and talk about a birth plan. I know you like to be organised,” you stated, his thigh tensing as he pushed gently down on the pedal and moved the car into reverse. The gravel and stones of the driveway crunching beneath the wheels of the heavy car.
“I googled birth plans and everything the other day. I was on the phone to mum about it,” Harry explained, his cheeks flushing as he changed gear and set the car do drive forwards, the engine whirring and setting the car off at a gentle speed. “We could have a water birth in the hospital, a birth from home, a water birth in our own tub, or we could just go natural and go right ahead with it,” he explained, his memory jogging with the information he’d googled one night when he couldn’t sleep.
“Your mum went natural with you, didn’t she?”
“She did, indeed. Dad didn’t waste anytime in recording her with the camera,” he chuckled, “missing out the gruesome details, of course. She was forever scolding him and pushing the camera away from her face. Next time we see mum, or when she comes down from Cheshire, we’ll get her to bring it and we can watch it.”
“Maybe we can consider natural. No epidural or drugs or anything,” you considered – verbal consideration more for yourself than for Harry’s peace of mind. “I don’t know yet though. I don’t want to set in stone anything and then change my mind, and, I don’t want to stress right now with planning the birth when we’re 3 months away from the day she’s born. All I need is you there,” you smiled, squeezing his thigh softly.
You had no worries that he wouldn’t be there with you.
“I’ll be there every step of the way, I promise you. Right from the first contraction to when your waters break to when you push to when we have our baby,” he took a minute to look at you before focusing his eyes back on the road, “you will not be on your own. I promise. Gemma will kick me in the balls if I’m not there and I can’t risk her breaking my dick or anything.”
“Breaking your dick,” you snickered, brushing your fingers across his crotch, “we can’t have that now, can we?”
“Stop it, you bugger. We can’t have me getting a hard-on in the car because we won’t make it out to get food. I’ll just want to have sex with you right here, in the car park of McDonalds,” he grinned, a breathy laugh escaping his nose. “Where do you think will be open? We can go into the centre of London and have a look there, but, I can’t assure you that anything will be open. Or we can drive the half hour and go to the services on the motorway which are open 24-hours?”
“Can we go to the services? We get a longer drive then and I feel like going for a ride.”
“Of course we can. Had plenty of nights there, hm?” Harry chuckled, flicking the indication lever with the sound of the clicking filling the quiet car. “I remember coming back from Surrey. You know when we went to visit my aunt and uncle down there for her birthday? We stopped off here and you were so drunk off the wine that my aunt kept offering you and you swore you were going to be sick in the footwell of my old car but you ended up drooling over your lap,” he smirked, “and we stopped off in the car park of this service station and you went to the bushes and rather than be sick, you wet yourself and just laughed to yourself a-”
“Let’s stop right there, shall we? Baby Styles can hear us; you know?”
“I know, and she’s going to know what a drunken mess her mother is when she’s had a few,” Harry smirked.
“Piss off,” you muttered, waving your hand in the air.
“Oi, she can hear you and your foul mouth,” he retorted mockingly, his hand reaching over the console and patting your knee. “I’m joking. She hears a lot when I go down on you.”
“Harry!”
* *
The sound of the engine came to a slow and almost sudden jolt as he flicked the indication switch on and let the ticking sound drown out the soft music playing through the speakers, the AUX connected to your phone giving you power over what you played and what playlist was chosen for the long drive. You’d gone to your favourite playlist – much to Harry’s displeasure – which was the playlist you’d created when you missed his presence beside you. Whether he was at the pub for the evening to catch up with his friends, or, whether he went to shops for the afternoon to buy the groceries and the food for the cupboards, or, whether he was on tour and you couldn’t sleep at night. It was a playlist that you had whenever you missed him.
And it contained just purely One Direction songs.
And as Walking In The Wind began to play through his car speakers, and constant kicks were given to your insides – confirmation that Persephone was a born fan of her fathers music – as the sound of Harry’s voice filled the car, the service station came into view and your tummy instantly began to rumble and your mouth began to water.
“Oh, my god. They’ve updated this place. They have a KFC rather than just a McDonalds and a Starbucks now,” you gasped, your hand pressed against the dashboard as you shuffled forward on the front passenger seat and looked out of the windscreen window. “Can we have a KFC? I really fancy something chicken-y.”
“But KFC is really greasy, Gorgeous. Are you sure you can handle that?” Harry questioned, his elbow resting upon the ledge of the car door, his hand up by his mouth as he held a finger of his lips. “Last time we had something greasy, your belly went mad for hours.”
“Only because you gave me coke and it didn’t mix well,” you snapped back, pushing at his arm teasingly as he changed gears and rounded the corner to the almost empty car park. “Please, can we have KFC? Your daughter wants chicken at 5 in the morning and we can’t let her go hungry now.”
“She’s definitely your child,” Harry muttered beneath his breath as he pulled into a parking space which was just a short walk away from the entrance of the large services building. “No coffee. I see a Starbucks and you’ll be bouncing off the walls if you have anything.”
“You’re no fun, Peaches. You need to let me live a little because when we have Persephone, we’ll be tied with family stuff and we won’t be able to have as much fun as we do. We won’t be able to have these early morning drives and we won’t be able to go out in the evenings to watch a show or go to a concert or go to LA as much as we want,” you reasoned, the car coming to a stop as Harry shut the engine down. “I mean, when she’s old enough then we can take her with us but when she’s so tiny and cute and chubby, I just want to spend every waking moment with her.”
“As do I,” Harry smiled, and pulled the keys from the ignition. “C’mon, let’s go and get something for you.”
He pushed the keys into his pocket and curled his fingers around the handle of the door, pulling it to him and opening the door. He swung his legs out from the car and stepped foot on the tarmac, reaching for his wallet and his phone, and holding them in his hand as he straightened up and bumped the door with his hip. The lights of the car upon the ceiling turning off as you stayed trained on his figure jogging around the bonnet of the car and proceeding to pull open your car door, helping you as best as he could with one free hand.
You stepped onto the tarmac, a regrettable feeling coursing through your body as the cold air whisped and blew around your exposed skin, goosebumps forming on your legs as you closed the door with your phone in your hand, and followed Harry across the road. A hand lodged into his, his fingers free from rings, your own squeezing through the digits as he looked down and gave you a smile.
As the door to the near-empty services building opened, whispers surrounded the two of you and Harry adjusted the hood connected to his jumper, uncovering his head and trying to cover himself, with his head ducked down, until he reached the counter in whatever restaurant you took a liking to wanting. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be noticed; he just wanted to have time with his pregnant wife without being interrupted or taken away from a while to please a large crowd who desired a photo and an autograph.
“You’re going to get swamped. I think you should come with me whilst I order and then we can find a seat together,” he ordered, his arm tense as his pressed a palm to the small of your back, his other cupping the top of your bump. His thumb rubbing softly over the material stretching over the bump that was now very prominent in no matter what outfit you had chosen to wear. “You definitely want KFC?”
“Hmm,” you hummed, looking around at the small restaurants surrounding you, “I want McDonalds now. Fancy a brekkie wrap.”
“You’ll have me tearing my hair out sooner in life,” Harry grumbled, as he gave a warm yet tired smile to those fans staring from their seats and trying to sneak photos of the two of you. “I forget that people come here on their long journeys. Probably should have stayed in London, or went through to a drive-through one.”
“Just, stop worrying. Suffice my cravings please, like the good husband you are,” you smiled up at him, giving his bum a tap before you pulled away from him, “now, I’m going to find a seat because my feet and my back ache but if it gets too hectic I’ll call for you. I promise.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want you to have another scare like we did before,” Harry warned, the day imprinted on his brain like a bad memory.
* *
And as Harry tried to keep his focus on the selfies he was taking, he couldn’t help but keep looking over at you as you tried your hardest to be as perky as you could with the fans who had chosen to try and make you feel welcomed into the group and where curious to know how you were feeling as well as how Baby Styles was. But he found the uncomfortable feeling in your face, and he knew you were struggling in the crowd.
“Right, let’s back up a little, shall we? It’s getting a bit of a tight squeeze in here,” Harry smiled softly, his eyes looking down protectively at you as you tried your hardest to stay beside him as best as possible. With fans wanting to take photos with you, it was becoming tough to stay close to him and it was tough to grab a hold on him to stay balanced as well as secure. “Guys, come on. It’s a bit tough to move and (Y/N) needs some spac- Hey, no. No, don’t push her please. She’s not in the condition to be pushed. She’s pregnant,” Harry warned, sternness and anger in his voice.
“Harry, can we get a few more selfies? And can we hug?”
“Harry, come here!”
“Harry, Harry, we haven’t had a photo yet.”
“Guys, I’m going to have to cut this short. It’s getting a bit too rough for (Y/N). We can take a group shot, but me and (Y/N) need to leave soon. Let’s all get it,” Harry stated, waving his arms above the group to coax them into the frame of the camera someone was using to capture the group shot for them. “Please, don’t push (Y/N). Be careful ar- Fuck, (Y/N), are you okay? Where are you?” Harry questioned, standing up on his toes to look amongst the small mob in front of him, his eyes darting around to find any sudden dips and gaps in the group in case you’d fallen.
“She’s here. She’s over here, Harry! She’s having trouble breathing, I think she’s panicking,” someone called out, his head whipping around to where the panic-stricken voice sounded. “Harry!”
“M’coming. M’coming, guys. Let me through please. I need to get going. It’s been a pleasure to meet you, thank you. Thank you for stopping. But we really need to go,” Harry reasoned, making his way through the parted group and seeing you hunched over and with your forearms leaning against the wall. A fan standing beside you, a bottle of water in her hands as she rubbed your back soothingly. “(Y/N), sweetheart, hey. It’s okay. I’m here. Come on, let’s go,” Harry cooed, smiling at the fan as she nervously smiled back. “Thank you for looking after her, love. I appreciate that.”
“That’s okay. I hope everything is okay. Good luck at the appointment today,” the fan smiled, handing her water bottle to you. “It’s a new water bottle. I’ve only just brought it. I wouldn’t give it if it was open and everything,” she panicked, as Harry chuckled softly and took it from her, unscrewing the cap.
“Thank you, love. That’s greatly appreciated. It’s been great to meet you,” Harry smiled, holding the open water bottle out to you as you took it with a shaky hand. “What happened, hm? I told you to stay close to me.”
* *
“I’ll call for you, I promise,” you whispered.
“Alright, alright. Go and sit down and I’ll be back with some water, orange juice and a cup oft tea,” he listed, watching as you pressed up onto your tiptoes and kissed his lips softly.
Aws and coos and camera shutters sounding from those that had noticed the two of you standing there outside McDonalds, giving them some public affection – something that Harry wasn’t ever so keen on doing, but, you looked so cute in his clothes and he couldn’t turn you away when you wanted to show your love to him.
“That’ll give ‘em something to talk about,” you grinned, his lips curving into a wide smile, showing his bright and white teeth hiding behind his plump flesh. “Now, go and get me my brekkie wrap. M’hungry.”
* *
“So, I was thinking, maybe today, we could go to the nursery store we saw in London? We could go and look at some cots and some wardrobes, maybe do some actual girl clothes shopping rather than buying neutral coloured clothing,” Harry grinned, bringing the bacon ciabatta up to his mouth and tearing a part off with his teeth. “We don’t have to get anything for the nursery, but, we can just have a look, can’t we?”
“Of course we can,” you muttered through a mouthful of food, “this is so good. Isn’t this what Niall and Louis buy when we go to the airports? They had it at Gatwick that one time we went to Portugal. I remember. Niall spilt his orange juice over Liam’s white shoes and he sat with orange splattered trainers the whole flight,” you giggled behind your hand, swallowing the food and closing your eyes in contentment.
“Gemma did that once before. When we were kids and we went off on our holidays with mum and Robin, she had a cup of tea and she split it all over Robin’s lap and he was sat there the whole flight, just, scolding her and teasing her,” Harry chuckled, popping the last bit of his breakfast into his mouth, licking his fingers as he finished off his food, chewing softly on the bacon in his mouth. “I think we’ve done quite well for a 4 in the morning start, don’t you? We had a nice drive, a good breakfast, some good tea and now we’re going to drive back in the sunrise.”
“You know what I’ve always wanted to do?”
“S’that?” He wondered, curiosity and eagerness lacing his words.
“Drive somewhere in the early morning, with full bellies of breakfast, and just sit on a hill or in a field and cuddle up with a significant other and watch the sun rise for the day,” you smirked behind the paper cup in your hand, the smell of tea wafting through your nose and sending a warm feeling into your belly.
“Are you hinting that we drive to a hill or a field and cuddle and watch the sun rise?” Harry wondered, pressing the lock screen on his phone and checking the time. “It’s almost half past 5. You reckon we’ll get to one in time? It’s alright getting light out.”
“We can cuddle in the car, can’t we? Maybe we can just watch it from here? In the car park,” you shrugged, tilting the cup up and gulping the last quarter of the tea left in the paper. “I mean, driving off towards the sunset could be quite romantic. It’ll be like being in the movies. Except I’ve already met my husband and I’m not driving off with another man because he saved me from some douche.”
“You’re just describing that episode of How I Met Your Mother now. We need to stop binge watching that before we go to sleep. You get crazy ideas,” Harry grinned, reaching across the table for your hand. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, a loving gesture that he considered his public affection towards you. He didn’t want to put on a show, because the airport was beginning to get much more crowded with those heading off to work or to early morning flights at the airport or they’d heard the word of the both of you being there and wanted to see for themselves. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” you whispered, squeezing his fingers tightly before kicking your legs up onto the chair of the booth you were occupying. “I’ll love you even more if you get me a McFlurry. I’m craving ice-cream. Are you done with that hash brown?” You wondered, pointing to the hash brown still in the napkin beside his cup of tea. “Might eat that with the ice-cream.”
“They don’t do McFlurrys at 5 in the morning, Gorgeous. And that sounds absolutely disgusting,” he grimaced, his face contorting into a displeased look. His nose scrunching, his lips pursing together and his eyebrows dipping down and forming a crease at the top of his nose. “That really does sound disgusting.”
“Do you want your daughter to eat and be healthy or not?” You questioned sternly, “I do not care if it sounds disgusting. You are Harry Styles. So, charm them with your beauty and your very sexy and very deep and very beautiful and very sexy voice, and then make them give me one,” you stated, his eyes rolling.
“You said sexy twice,” he hummed.
“I know. Your voice is very sexy and it deserves to be described with two ‘sexy’s, alright? Now, ice-cream or I’ll throw a tantrum.”
“You’re unbelievable.”

Notes