Archive of Our Own ^beta

To the students filtering past the heavy wooden doors of their secondary school, it’s just like any other Monday. Friends who didn’t see each other over Christmas hols catch up as they walk to class, toting backpacks and clutching iPhones. Other students drag themselves in wearily, their uniforms looking as if they haven’t had a proper washing in, well, ever.

Harry stares ahead at the doors with his heart pounding wildly in his chest, each beat sending pulses of worry through his blood.

They’ll be able to tell. It’s so obvious. You aren’t fooling anybody.

Swallowing against the bout of nausea, not wanting to lose what little food he’s been able to keep down so far this morning, Harry slides his hand over the front of his blazer, settling his palm against the slight swell underneath.

“Well,” he says softly, looking down at where his palm shifts with each tremulous breath, “I guess it’s now or never, baby.”

The walk to his homeroom has never felt quite as long as it does today, and it seems more eyes than usual track his progress through the crowded hallways. Harry makes a mental note to check and see if paranoia is a symptom of pregnancy, though he reckons that might be more of a side effect of hiding said pregnancy.

As he settles into his seat, self-consciously adjusting his shirt over his slightly distended stomach, he can’t help but wonder how he got himself into all this. But he knows, of course he knows. It isn’t exactly easy to forget the moment that changed his entire life forever.

It all started with a party.

✧✧✧

Three Months Ago...

“Harry Styles, are you even listening to me?” Lottie slams the book in front of her closed with enough force to jar Harry from his daydreaming.

Smiling sheepishly, Harry nods, turning to his best friend to grace her with all of his attention. “I’m sorry, Lots. What were you saying?”

She rolls her eyes, the frustrated huff from her lips blowing her long, platinum bangs out of her face. It’s the last Friday before half-term, and Harry and Lottie are spending their final free period of the day in the library. They’re supposed to be working on homework, but Harry is already feeling the laziness bound to come with a week out of school.

Lottie’s mind is elsewhere too, it seems, a gleam in her eye that speaks of something far more exciting than her History essay. “I said, what are your plans for Halloween?”

A derisive chuckle escapes Harry’s mouth without pause. He’s never been popular, never been one to have weekends booked full of parties or busy evenings spent with friends. He doesn’t have many friends at all. He has a Lottie, and a Niall, and that’s enough.

“I’m doing what I’ve done every Saturday since you’ve known me,” he answers easily, nudging a wayward curl out of his eyes. His hair’s getting quite long. He thinks he might let it grow just to see if anyone notices. “Sit at home. Do my homework. Fantasise about your brother. Boring stuff.”

The last bit makes Lottie squawk, pushing Harry’s shoulder indignantly. It’s no secret that Harry finds Lottie’s older sibling incredibly fit, but then again, who doesn’t?

Louis Tomlinson is the stuff clichés are made of. He’s fit, and popular, and good at footie. He’s funny and kind, and his laugh makes Harry want to write sonnets or some shit like that.

Basically, he’s desperately out of Harry’s league.

So he jokes about it, teases Lottie about her fit older brother as if his crush isn’t absolutely crippling, and Lottie pretends to be disgusted. She knows, though. He can see it in the way her face softens when Harry turns down her invitations to supper, too frightened to sit across from Louis at the table and pretend that he wouldn’t much rather be snogging his face off.

Yeah, it’s definitely a problem. But Louis is a gorgeous boy, surrounded by gorgeous friends, and Harry’s just that awkward kid who happens to hang out with his little sister. He never stood a chance.

Lottie must know he’s zoned out again, because she’s pinching the bit of pudge over his hip with her perfectly manicured talons. “Ouch! What was that for?” he cries, slapping her hand away.

She scoffs, blue eyes narrowed as she shakes her head fondly. “You had your Louis face on, Styles. Don’t even try to deny it.” He opens his mouth to do just that, but is abruptly cut off by another pinch to his side. “Anyway, what I was going to say is that you’re not sitting at home this Saturday, because it’s Halloween and there’s a party at my house and you’re going to come even if Niall and I have to drag you.”

Harry stares at her in stunned silence as that information sinks in. “There’s a party at your house every year, Lots. What makes you think I’m invited?” The fact of the matter is, it’s Louis’ annual Halloween party, and in the past Lottie hasn’t even rated an invite. Instead, they would watch scary movies together at Harry’s house and hand out candy to trick-or-treaters, anything to pretend that they weren’t at least a little jealous of those in attendance.

A smug smile spreads Lottie’s cheeks, one dark brow lifted high on her forehead. “Because I’m going this year, that’s why. Mum told Louis that since I’m sixteen, I’m old enough to be there if I want to be.”

“So you’re invited on a technicality?”

“It’s my house too! I’m not missing the biggest party of the year just because the twat hosting it happens to be my brother.” She sniffs haughtily, closing her eyes and letting her dark lashes fan over her cheekbones. “Anyway, she said I could bring a friend, and Niall has to work that night so you have to come.”

Harry flicks her arm, mumbling half-heartedly about being second choice, but he understands. After all, Niall is her boyfriend. Still, the thought of being at a party where he isn’t wanted has something unpleasant twisting knots in Harry’s guts. “I don’t know, Lots.”

She twists her lips into a well-practiced pout. “Come on, Harry. You said yourself that you don’t have any other plans.” She can tell his resistance is flagging, can read him like a book after all these years, so it’s with a grin she delivers the final nail in his proverbial coffin: “Besides, you’ll get to spend an entire night hanging ‘round my brother. Don’t pretend you haven’t been dying to come.”

And, well, she’s got a point there.

✧✧✧

So that’s how Harry finds himself the next day, hastily throwing together a costume. He hasn’t dressed up for Halloween since he was, like, ten, and needless to say he isn’t fitting back into that Power Ranger suit anytime soon.

Which is why he ends up scouring the house at half six on Saturday when the party starts at seven. He’s creative, he can wing it. Or something.

By seven he’s managed to find a pair of black and white checked trousers in the back of Gemma’s old closet, sending up a silent prayer of thanks that his older sister always had eccentric taste in clothing. Paired with a white tee and a black blazer, he almost looks the part. He flattens his hair until it’s more wavy than curly, and grabs the face he’s printed out from the printer tray. He cuts out the eyes and pokes a hole in each side, threading a bit of string through, turning it into a homemade mask.

Yeah, not bad at all.

Lottie, however, is less than impressed.

“Mick Jagger, Harry? Really?” she asks, standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips. By the sound of it, the party is already in full swing behind her, music and laughter spilling out onto the porch as if the house isn’t big enough for it.

“Heyyy,” he says, pouting behind the mask even though Lottie can’t see. She’ll be able to tell by his voice, though, and that’s what really counts.

“Oh, come in, then,” she says, shaking her head as she grabs his hand and pulls him inside, the wings of her fairy costume nearly smacking him in the face as they go.

Harry’s been to the Tomlinson house more times than he can count, to birthday parties and movie nights and study sessions, but he’s never seen it quite like this before. Somehow the off-white walls and tasteful décor look different as the backdrop to ghouls and ghosties, Elvis and a cow. There are cups on every surface, large bowls of candy on every table. The bass thrums through the house like a pulse, coursing through the walls and floors and each costumed body swaying in time to the beat.

It’s overwhelming, and Harry finds himself very glad that he’s got a mask to hide behind.

Soon there’s a drink in his hand, something sweet and strong that he’s fairly certain Lottie invented on the spot. She’s sipping something similar, her painted lips leaving stains around the rim of her cup. They’re tucked into a corner of the living room, watching people dance and laugh and make out, occasionally slipping off in search of dark corners or more to drink.

“So,” Harry says, turning his cup in his hands. “This is fun.”

He doesn’t mean it to sound rude, but Lottie glares at him anyway, the thick swirls of eyeliner creeping around her eyes making the look even more severe. It’s quite obvious she hadn’t given much thought to what would happen once they were actually at the party.

“It’s better than sitting at home, innit?” she snaps, pulling her phone out of… Well, somewhere. Harry doesn’t want to know where she’s kept it as her dress doesn’t seem to have any pockets. She’s texting Niall, he’s willing to bet, no doubt complaining about what a drag Harry’s being.

Harry knows he is a drag, which is precisely why he usually stays home.

“I can’t even tell who anyone is,” Harry whines, looking from face to face for familiar blue eyes. “Your brother might not even be here and I wouldn’t know.”

“Maybe you should actually try talking to people, then,” Lottie says, finishing her drink and standing abruptly. “I’m going to get something else to drink.”

She flounces off in a whirlwind of tulle and glitter, the wings strapped to her back bouncing with each step. He knows she’s annoyed, but he can’t help it. There’s a reason he has all of two friends: His idea of a party is hanging out with both of them at the same time. He lifts his mask enough to take another sip of his drink, resolving to apologise to Lottie once she returns.

The chance never comes, however. One minute Lottie is crossing the room back to where Harry’s sitting, and the next she’s squealing as a pair of arms wrap around her from behind, a familiar head of blond hair peeking around to kiss her on the cheek.

“Harry! Look who made it!” she cries, pulling Niall along with her. He sits down first, pulling Lottie into his lap, grinning at Harry all the while.

“Hey, mate,” Niall says easily, Irish accent still clinging stubbornly to his words even though he’s lived in England for years now. “Nice costume.”

Harry chuckles from behind his mask, reaching out to bump Niall’s fist. “You too,” he teases, gesturing to the uniform Niall hadn’t bothered changing out of. “Pizza delivery boy is quite a popular look this year.”

“Fuck off,” Niall laughs, stealing Lottie’s cup and taking a deep swallow. “Came straight from work, didn’t I? They let me go early so I thought I’d surprise ya by dropping in.”

Lottie tuts as she takes her cup back, frowning at how much less is in the glass than when she’d gotten it. “I’m very surprised, love,” she says, pecking him on the lips. They’re so cute it’s disgusting, and Harry wants to paste the cut-out eyes back into his mask so he doesn’t have to be reminded that his two best friends are practically glued together at the hip (or the lips, if they’ve been drinking).

(They’ve been drinking.)

“C’mon, let’s get you a beer so you’ll stop drinking mine,” Lottie suggests, uncurling herself from his lap and climbing to her feet. Even in heels with at least one cocktail in her, she’s steadier on her feet than Harry could ever hope to be.

She helps Niall to his feet and Harry leaps up too, scooting the armchair back enough that it nearly topples the houseplant on the table next to it. “Well, since Niall’s here, I suppose I’ll be going,” he announces, setting his cup on the table and patting the plant in apology. “You kids have fun, be safe, and all that–”

“Please stay,” Lottie begs, dropping Niall’s hand to grab Harry’s. “The three of us haven’t done anything in ages. Besides,” she says, eyes sparkling, “next year Louis will be off to uni and I’ll be hosting the party, so we need to take notes while we can!”

Niall whoops at that, and Harry shakes his head in defeat. He’s no match for a pair of baby blues, a fact that Lottie and Niall both use against him as often as possible. Louis would as well, Harry imagines, if they ever said more than two sentences to each other. Harry would probably hate it.

(Harry would love every sodding minute of it.)

“Okay, okay,” Harry says, holding up his hands. “As long as it’s for a good cause, I’ll stay.” He flops down on the sofa instead of his chair, grabbing a throw pillow and clutching it to his chest. “Don’t take too long, yeah? I’ll be here.”

They promise him they’ll be right back, giggling and kissing as they wind their way through the partygoers to reach the stash of booze waiting in the kitchen.

✧✧✧

That was an hour ago, and Harry is running out of colourful ways to threaten them to get their arses back here. They’re both ignoring his texts, it seems, and when he tries to call Lottie’s phone it goes straight to voicemail.

They’re probably shagging, Harry reasons, locking his phone and stuffing it back into his pocket. It isn’t often he feels like the third wheel, especially since his friendship with both of them predates their relationship (hell, it had been at Harry’s urging that Lottie asked Niall out in the first place), but right now he feels like he isn’t even part of the same carriage.

He should leave. His one drink has long since worn off, and the music is starting to give him a headache. Besides, these trousers are a bit tight and Harry is worried that his sweat is going to make the ink run on his lovely mask.

He’s just about to stand up when a body lands heavily on the cushion next to him, filling the air with the smell of smoke and traces of the glitter Lottie’s wings left behind.

Though, to be fair, he’s plenty glittery by his own right, dressed as David Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust. His light brown hair is tousled and teased, brushed back from his forehead in a tall quiff. A large red and blue lightning bolt is painted over one strikingly blue eye, and he’s wearing a tight, metallic jumpsuit that clings to his curves, drawing Harry’s eyes to places that he really, really shouldn’t be staring at. A blush blooms high on his cheeks, and he finds himself very grateful to have a mask to hide behind, even a shitty homemade one.

“Having fun, mate?” Louis fucking Tomlinson asks casually, as if Harry isn’t having a silent meltdown right next to him. He spreads his legs, knocking a knee against Harry’s, his grin easy and wide.

“Erm, yeah, great party,” Harry replies, picking up the cup that’s been dry for quite some time. “Cheers.” He pretends to take a sip, cursing himself when he forgets to lift the mask and smashes the cup into it instead.

Louis laughs gleefully beside him, all teeth and cheekbones and crinkles around his eyes, and Harry is in so much trouble. He wants to get out his phone, text a frantic SOS to Lottie, because he is not drunk enough to hold a conversation with his crush right now.

At least it helps a little that Louis can’t tell who he is. Harry tucks that away to remind himself of when he eventually puts his foot in his mouth.

“You’re sitting all by yourself,” Louis says, as if Harry isn’t painfully aware that he’s the very stereotype of a wallflower. “No one comes to a Tommo party without having a good time.”

And that’s… really sweet, that Louis saw someone on their own and took the time to check on them. Harry’s already incredibly full heart swells even more. “I’m fine, honestly,” Harry insists, running his hand through his hair, “‘m just a bit of a loner. Parties aren’t really my scene.”

Louis leans closer, pursing his lips and raising his eyebrows in the same way Lottie does when she wants something. “Well then, Mr Jagger, what is your scene?”

Unable to think of a way to say ‘libraries and yoga classes’ without having Louis laugh in his face, Harry shrugs shyly. “I dunno. I like the quiet.”

Something warm spreads across Louis’ features, like honey on a warm piece of bread, and it has Harry dying for a taste. “All right,” he says, barely loud enough to be heard over the music, “then let’s go find somewhere quiet.”

✧✧✧

Somewhere quiet, it turns out, is Louis’ bedroom.

Harry should have seen it coming, as Louis led him up the stairs, past the bathroom and the study and the closed door of Lottie’s room (the traitor). Then they’re at the end of the hallway, and there are only two doors left. One belongs to Louis’ parents, the room behind it empty and quiet while they’re visiting Louis’ nan for the weekend to give the kids their freedom.

And the other room… well. The other has been the setting to many of Harry’s masturbatory fantasies, not that he would ever admit such a thing out loud. Hell, he’s never even been inside, has only peeked through the doorway once when they were much younger and he was looking for Mrs Tomlinson to ask to borrow a shirt since he’d spilt juice all over his.

(She’d lent him one of Louis’. Harry still has it. It may or may not be in a box under his bed.)

Now he’s actually in Louis’ room, sitting on Louis’ bed. The bit of wall peeking through all the posters and shelves is the same off-white as downstairs, accented with dark blue bedding and matching curtains. The duvet used to have Spiderman on it, Harry muses, crossing his ankles nervously as he sits.

Louis skips the overhead light, turning on the lamp next to his bed instead. It floods the room with warm amber light, making the atmosphere far too intimate for two practical strangers. Harry’s buzz wore off long ago, but he still feels a tingle in his blood when Louis joins him on the bed, toeing off his shoes and flicking at a piece of hair that’s fallen from his quiff.

“Did you know that people referred to Jagger and Bowie as Dick Bagger?” Harry blurts out, wincing as soon as the words are out of his mouth. He really needs to work on the whole thinking-before-he-speaks thing.

There’s a moment of silence before Louis busts out laughing, crossing his arms over his stomach and doubling over. “I can’t say I did,” he howls, wiping at his eyes, smudging the lightning bolt in the process. “Like, I can picture the documentary now.” He clears his throat, making his voice as low as possible to say: “Before Brangelina… Before Kimye… There was Dick Bagger.” It’s accompanied by equally dramatic hand gestures, and Harry can’t help falling back on the bed as he giggles along.

The laughter dies in his throat when Louis flops down next to him, rolling to his side and propping himself up on an elbow to regard Harry curiously. It’s almost in slow motion that he reaches out, gently lifting up the mask to see who’s hiding underneath.

Harry’s frozen in place as Louis’ hand draws closer, breath hitching as the mask is slowly lifted from his face. This last quarter hour has been brilliant, but it had to end eventually. Harry steels himself, ready to run as soon as he sees the dismayed look on Louis’ face when he realises he’s wasted his time with his little sister’s dorky friend.

But the dismay never comes. Instead, Louis’ blue eyes widen, the one edged in red paint looking even more striking in the lamplight. “Harry,” he breathes, retracting his hand as he studies Harry’s beet red face. “Why didn’t you tell me it was you?”

A harsh laugh pushes past Harry’s lips as he sits up, angrily pulling the mask from where it rests on his forehead. “Didn’t think you’d want to keep talking to me. I’m only here because Lottie invited me.” He stands quickly, head down so Louis won’t see the tears of embarrassment pricking at the corner of his eyes. “I’m just– I should go,” he says, turning to make a beeline for the door.

Instead, warm fingers curl around his wrist, fitting around the bones and tugging back. “No, don’t go,” he urges, pulling Harry back to the bed. “I don’t want you to.”

Stunned, Harry lets himself be coaxed back onto the bed, sitting down and staring at Louis with wide, inquisitive eyes. He must have had more to drink that he thought, or maybe he’s hallucinating. Anything is more likely than Louis actually choosing to speak to him.

“Why?” Harry’s voice is quiet, yet simultaneously thunderous in the stillness of the room.

Louis sits across from him, cross-legged, with one hand still circling Harry’s wrist. “Maybe I want to get to know you better,” he replies, his usually confident voice small and gentle. “You’ve been coming over for years and we’ve never properly spoken.”

“You want to get to know me?” Harry asks in awe. Now he’s certain he’s hallucinating.

A sly smile curves across Louis’ face, the apples of his cheeks flushing as he ducks his head. “I’d like to do more than that, if I’m honest.”

Harry can feel his jaw drop open like a character in a cheesy film. He takes a breath, swallows, then asks: “Louis?”

“Yeah, Harry?”

“How much have you had to drink tonight?”

The grin is gone, replaced by a frown and something else—hurt, perhaps? He pulls his hand away from Harry’s wrist like he’s been burned. “I’m not drunk, if that’s what you’re implying. I stay sober at my parties to make sure everyone else is safe.” He shakes his head, scowling as he tugs at his wilting fringe in frustration. “Is that the reputation I’ve gotten, then? That I get drunk and throw myself at anyone who’ll have me?” He curses under his breath, glaring down at the duvet with his jaw clenched.

It’s so bizarre to get a glimpse of this side of Louis, something fragile and raw, so different from the perfect veneer Harry sees at school. “No, Louis, I didn’t mean it like that,” Harry says, scooting closer, grabbing for Louis’ hand in a moment of bravery. “What I meant was, you’d have to be drunk to see anything in someone like me.”

The scowl is gone, and the loveliest eyes Harry has ever seen are staring at him in disbelief. Louis’ mouth opens and closes one, twice, before he finally speaks.

“Harry, I need you to believe me when I say that I am perfectly sober, I truly want to get to know you, and if you don’t stop me in the next few seconds, I am going to kiss you.”

Harry doesn’t stop him.

Louis’ lips are warm and dry, thinner than Harry’s but soft all the same. It’s so brief that Harry hasn’t even had time to close his eyes before Louis is pulling away, looking like a child waiting to be scolded.

Screw it, Harry thinks, wrapping his hand around the back of Louis’ neck and bringing their mouths crashing back together. Louis’ arms find their way around Harry’s waist, rucking up his shirt as their lips slide against together. By the time Harry’s blazer hits the floor, lips give way to the insistent press of Louis’ tongue, the room filling with moans and the slick glide of their mouths. Then they’re horizontal, and Louis is kissing down the side of Harry’s neck, nibbling here and there, and Harry is thanking his lucky fucking stars that Lottie convinced him to come to this party.

Louis’ teeth reach Harry’s collarbone, sucking a bruise into the delicate skin there. “Harry,” he says, practically a moan, and Harry has never heard a sweeter sound in his life.

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to—”

“Yes.”

Harry doesn’t even know what he’s agreeing to, just that he wants whatever Louis is willing to give him. Somewhere between losing their clothes and Louis climbing on top of him, pupils blown wide with desire, Harry thinks he might have a pretty good idea what’s on offer.

When the first slick, lube-coated finger circles his rim, Harry can’t help but whimper. It’s been so long since he’s had anything but his own fingers, and this is Louis , the star of every wet dream for the last several years (well, except that one about Patrick Dempsey, but who can blame him?).

“Relax, love,” Louis whispers, dragging the fingers of his other hand over Harry’s trembling abs. “You’re so tight.” He freezes momentarily, eyes wide. “Jesus, this isn’t your first time, is it?”

“No!” Harry practically shouts, leaning up on his elbows. “No,” he repeats, at a more reasonable volume. “It’s just been awhile, you know?” He can feel the blood rushing to his cheeks, surprised his body has any to spare with how hard he is right now.

Louis exhales, visibly relaxing as he begins stroking Harry’s hole once more. “I’ll go slow, then,” he promises. It isn’t judgmental in the slightest, just tender and sweet, and he opens Harry up so carefully that Harry is all but begging by the time Louis has three fingers inside.

“Please, Lou, please,” Harry pants, writhing on the bed as Louis’ clever fingers brush his prostate. “Please, fuck me.”

Louis’ eyes go even darker at that, his fingers stilling inside Harry as he stares down at him hungrily. “Yeah, okay,” he says, his voice low, and pulls his fingers out to wipe them on the bedspread.

There’s a clatter of a drawer opening and closing, and then Louis has a shiny foil packet in his hand. He fumbles as he tries to open the thing, fingers still slippery with traces of lube, until he finally growls and tears the package open with his teeth.

In one fluid motion, he rolls the condom on and lines himself up, lowering himself over Harry’s body like fog hugs the land, hovering thick and languid. “Are you sure?” Louis asks, voice quivering with the exertion of holding himself back.

“Yes,” Harry says desperately, reaching up to pull Louis closer. Then Louis’ pushing in and Harry is clawing at his back and oh, he feels so full. Louis’ cock is thick inside of him, nudging up against his prostate in a way that has Harry keening. “Fuck me, please,” he begs, and Louis does.

It’s incredible, to say the least. Louis fucks like he was built for it, alternating hard, rough thrusts with slow, torturous ones that leave just the head of his cock inside Harry before he’s slamming back in. Harry hasn’t even touched his own dick, dark and leaking where it rests against his stomach, and he still knows he’s not going to last much longer.

Then Louis gets to his knees, pulling Harry’s arse into his lap. Harry’s legs drape over Louis’ shoulders, and the new angle has them both moaning. Louis’ close too, Harry can tell, can hear it in the way moans slip out between breaths that come in shallow gasps.

All too soon, Louis’ hips are stuttering erratically, and god Harry wants to come but he isn’t ready for this to be over, the white hot coil of his orgasm climbing up his thighs like a flame devours a fuse, and then—

And then Louis just fucking stops.

He’s still buried deep inside Harry, mouth parted and eyes tightly shut, as if someone hit the pause button just before his climax.

“Louis?” Harry rasps, his voice wrecked and throat dry. “Louis, what’s wrong?”

Louis opens his eyes, frowning as he shifts himself. Even the slight movement is enough to coax a whine from Harry’s bitten lips.

“I think it broke.”

“What?”

“The condom. I think it broke.” He growls in frustration, turning his head to nip at the skin of Harry’s calf. “I’m sure I have another one, let me just–”

“No,” Harry pleads, clutching at Louis’ arms to keep him from pulling out. “Fuck, Lou, I’m so close. Please don’t stop.” He’s babbling, he knows he is, but he can’t bring himself to care. “I’m clean, I promise.”

Louis worries at his lip in uncertainty. “I’m clean too, but–”

“But what? I’m not a carrier, it’ll be fine,” Harry promises. “Please, please make me come.”

There’s a moment of hesitation, and then Louis is fucking into him relentlessly. It’s so excruciatingly amazing that Harry feels a tear roll down his cheek, loud sobs falling from his lips with each perfectly aimed thrust.

Then Louis has a hand on him, stripping his cock with quick, devastating flicks of his wrist, and Harry is coming so hard that he can’t hear anything over the sound of blood rushing in his ears. He bears down hard, clenching tightly around Louis, and that’s all it takes for the older boy to reach his own climax. With a few more weak thrusts, he spills into the condom, collapsing onto Harry as he shivers through the aftershocks.

It’s quiet after that, nothing but the sound of their laboured breathing and pounding hearts, joined by the dull throb of the party still going strong down below. Louis is boneless and pliant, placing sleepy kisses to Harry’s sweaty neck, the last of his makeup long since smeared away.

Eventually Louis pulls out, gripping the base of the condom and gently easing his softening cock out of Harry.

Harry knows before he even hears Louis curse, can feel the sticky warmth inside of him. Louis holds up the condom and, sure enough, it’s torn, come spilling from the latex and over his cupped hand.

“Shit,” Louis says, tossing the condom to the bin and grabbing a discarded shirt to wipe his hand on. “I must have nicked it with my teeth or something. Shit. Shit.”

“Hey, hey, it’s all right,” Harry says, sitting up and taking the shirt from Louis, using it to clean his fingers one by one. “Nothing’s gonna happen. We’re both clean, and it’s not like I can get pregnant.” He smiles in what he hopes is a reassuring way, dropping the shirt down to mop his come from Louis’ belly.

Louis relaxes into the touch, leaning his damp forehead against Harry’s shoulder as he allows himself to be cleaned. “Yeah. Yeah.”

They stay like that, curled around each other, and there are so many things Harry wants to say but his mouth doesn’t feel big enough to fit around the words. Instead he kisses them into Louis’ skin, entire paragraphs in the press of his lips, and he hopes that Louis understands.

When Louis pulls away, parting his lips to speak, Harry’s heart pounds at the thought that Louis might be feeling the exact same way.

What Louis says instead is, “I should probably get back downstairs.”

The night comes crashing down around Harry, loud and echoing like a cymbal dropped on a concrete floor. It reverberates through his skull and he feels sick, leaping from the bed and scrambling for his clothes before he has time to think.

“Harry, wait,” Louis tries, placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder, but Harry shrugs it off. He should have known, is the thing, known that this wasn’t something permanent, not for Louis. It was a bit of fun at a party, and now it’s time for Harry to quit playing make-believe and go back to being invisible.

“It was a nice party, Louis,” he says, tugging on his stupidly tight trousers. He doesn’t see his shirt, instead throwing his blazer over his bare torso. “I’ll see you around.” He’s out the door before Louis can see the tears spilling hot and heavy over his flaming cheeks.

Before he can hear Louis say, “I want you to stay.”

✧✧✧

From: Lottie

Where’d u go? Get home OK? I’m so sorry

From: Lottie

Niall wanted 2 change and one thing led 2 another

From: Lottie

Plz don’t be mad at me for not being able 2 resist his Irish charm!

From: Lottie

Niall sent that last one. Srsly tho, let me know ur OK. xxxx

Harry squints at his phone, the brightness of the screen harsh on his tired eyes. The clock reads 10:23 in the morning, and he’d gotten home around midnight. He could use another ten hours of sleep, though even that won’t erase the events of the night prior.

He pulls himself to sitting, arse twinging uncomfortably at the change in position. It’s Sunday, so he has nowhere to be, but if he doesn’t text Lottie back soon then there’s no doubt she’ll be knocking the door down. Possibly accompanied by Niall, and Harry usually needs some caffeine in him before he’s a match for the lad’s seemingly boundless energy.

To: Lottie

yeah, left early. No worries, glad you had fun. Text me later .xx

Tossing his mobile on the rumpled bedding, Harry climbs out of bed, stretching his arms high over his head. His back gives a few satisfying pops , and then he’s padding down the hallway toward a much needed shower.

Memories of the night before wash over him just as steadily as the spray from the shower, though instead of beading off his skin, they soak down to his very core. He had sex. With Louis Tomlinson. It was every one of his teenage fantasies come true, so why does he feel so heartbroken?

He shakes his head, flinging water from his soggy hair. No, you don’t get to be sad about this. He feels like Icarus, flying too close to the sun and burning his wings, but at least he had the chance to fly in the first place.

Stepping out of the shower, scrubbed clean and smiling, he refuses to mourn his melted wings. After all, he got to touch the sun, and it was every bit as brilliant as he’s ever imagined.

✧✧✧

As breaks tend to do, half-term flies by. Harry hangs with Lottie and Niall and binge watches Netflix, while managing to get all of his assignments finished. All too soon, it’s Monday, and Harry has first period free. Like most days, he’s sat in the library, the Common Room a bit too noisy for his liking.

He’s skimming over the reading assignment for Psychology, not putting it past his teacher to give a quiz to see who actually did the reading over break, when a familiar voice catches his attention.

Louis and two of his mates have just walked in, Louis talking animatedly as they make their way to one of the study tables. The librarian, Ms Browne, shushes him as they walk by the reference desk, but follows the reprimand with a fond wink. He makes a show of looking properly chastised, grinning back at her before continuing his story at a more reasonable volume.

They sit at the table, Louis’ mates taking a seat on either side of him. The one with brown hair, Liam, seems like a nice enough bloke. Like Louis, he plays for the school's footie team, and always seems to have a smile on his face. Even now, he’s giggling along with whatever Louis is saying, brown eyes crinkled in mirth.

The other lad, Zayn, is the polar opposite. He doesn’t wear his tie, and tattoos peek out the rolled up sleeves of his blazer. When he isn’t in the art room, he’s usually outside having a smoke. He nods along with something Liam is saying, lips twisted into a half-smile as he doodles in the notebook open in front of him.

They haven’t noticed Harry yet (and why would they?), but being in Louis’ presence has Harry’s stomach twisting unpleasantly. They haven’t seen each other since Harry hightailed it out of Louis’ bedroom, half-dressed with Louis’ come soaking into his pants. Now, it’s impossible to look at those bright blue eyes and not see them half-closed in ecstasy, see his thin lips red and swollen after a bruising kiss, see the fingers he’s drumming on the table wrapped around Harry’s leaking cock, see—

Harry stops himself there, adjusting in his seat to ease the sudden tightness of his trousers. Getting himself hot and bothered in the library, mere metres from the object of his desire, is probably not the best idea. Instead, he tucks his book into his bag, planning to slip out before Louis can spot him. He doesn’t think he can bear to have Louis’ gaze slide over him like another face in the crowd, not after having them see him so clearly, even for a moment.

Of course, nothing ever goes as he plans it, and he’s nearly to the door when he trips over his own fucking feet. Bag going flying, he braces himself for impact, only to be caught instead by strong, steady arms.

No no please no, he thinks frantically as he catches his breath, only to glance up and have it stolen from him anew.

Because of course Louis is the one who caught him, arms wrapping around his torso in a way that isn’t helping Harry’s trouser situation in the slightest. His blue eyes are wide, a hint of smile curving one side of his mouth as he helps Harry to his feet. “All right, Harry?” he asks, his voice so much softer than it had been with his friends.

Probably because he doesn’t want them to hear him talking to you, Harry’s brain supplies helpfully. Reluctantly disentangling himself from Louis’ arms, Harry stands and retrieves his backpack from where it landed near the reference desk. Ms Browne gives him a pitying smile as he collects it, like even she can tell how embarrassing he is.

“Harry?” Louis asks, still standing where Harry left him, arms hanging limply at his sides with no one to hold on to. Liam and Zayn look on curiously, eyes flicking from their friend to Harry, as if trying to figure out why Louis is talking to him at all, let alone calling him by name.

“Thanks, Louis,” Harry says, voice catching on the name as he shoulders his bag. “I’ll see you around.” And with that, he’s out of the library without a backwards glance, sure they’ll be laughing at him the second the door swings closed behind him.

He doesn’t see Louis around.

Well, he sees him, but does his best not to be seen in return. He sees Louis in the halls between lessons, laughing with other beautiful and popular students more deserving of his favour. When Harry needs the toilet, Louis is at the sink washing his hands, giving Harry a confused look as Harry immediately turns around and walks right back out the door. He refuses Lottie’s invitations to come over, instead insisting that they hang out at his or Niall’s.

It’s stupid—childish, really—but it’s all in the name of self-preservation. Harry has wanted Louis for so long, forever stretching his arm out and reaching for a star that seemed impossible to touch. Only now he has touched it, and it burned, and avoiding Louis is the only thing that dulls the pain. Because, the fact of the matter is, Harry Styles will never be as important to Louis as Louis is to him. It’s fine, or will be eventually, it’s just that Harry doesn’t need to be reminded.

So it goes for the rest of the term: Harry dodges Louis as often as necessary (which is a lot, like Louis sleeping with him gave the older boy sat nav programmed to track Harry’s location at all times); wastes countless hours with Niall and Lottie, pretending to be annoyed when they get too couple-y; and throws himself headfirst into his school work. It’s fine. It’s totally fine.

✧✧✧

Except it isn’t.

With only a couple weeks left until the end of term, Harry’s exhausted. Dodging Louis on the daily saps his energy, leaving him weary and irritable by the time he collapses in his bed after school. He has a text from Lottie that he doesn’t feel like answering, and a mountain of homework to do, but a nap seems like a far better idea.

He’s no sooner curled up in his duvet, mobile on silent so as to not disturb his slumber, than a wave of nausea hits. Clapping a hand over his mouth, he only just makes it to the toilet down the hall before retching, holding his fringe back with one hand and clutching the cool porcelain with the other.

He flushes after a few half-hearted dry heaves, his stomach empty and clenching uncomfortably. Of course he’s getting sick, he thinks as he brushes his teeth. He’s stressing himself out, and it’s taking a toll on his body.

When he goes back to his room, he decides to text Lottie back after all. Some friend time might be exactly what he needs.

To: Lottie

Wanna hang out tonight?

From: Lottie

Mum n dad want me 2 go 2 Lous footie match 2nite. Soz xxxxx

He sighs and tosses his phone aside, resigning himself to an evening spent getting cozy with his biology textbook. After a nap, though.

(Well, after a nap and another bout of dry heaving, but who’s counting?)

✧✧✧

“I changed my mind, I’m staying in.” Harry groans, glaring at himself in the full-length mirror on his closet door.

“Haz, quit being dramatic. We haven’t gone out in ages.” Lottie doesn’t even look up from her magazine, lying on Harry’s bed and flipping through the latest Cosmo while she waits for him to get ready. “The Halloween party doesn’t count, since you ditched so early.”

Harry rounds on her, hands flying to his hips indignantly. “Hey! You ditched me first, may I remind you,” he shakes his head, “for sex with Niall.”

“What about sex with Niall?” the aforementioned blond asks, choosing that moment to stroll into Harry’s bedroom with a can of soda and a bag of crisps, clearly straight from raiding the kitchen cupboards. He grins at Harry, who’s still stood there with his jeans half on. “Sorry, H, but I don’t swing that way.”

“Please,” Lottie snorts, tugging Niall closer and stealing his drink. “He’s too hung up on my brother to even look elsewhere, let alone at your pasty arse.”

Harry turns back to his mirror, the tips of his ears going red (and not just because of Niall’s reply of, “Oi, you love my pasty arse”). He still hasn’t told anyone what happened at the party, especially not Lottie. For all she teases him about crushing on her brother, he isn’t sure how keen she would be on anything coming of it. Especially not a one nighter that Harry is far too hung up on for his own good.

Which is precisely why they’re going out. Harry needs a break—from school, from thinking about Louis, all of it—but first he needs to find something to wear that doesn’t make him look like stuffed sausage.

He’s gained a little weight, is all, just enough that the button of his jeans digs into his tummy. “We might need to go shopping instead of to the cinema,” Harry says forlornly, poking at the bit of his stomach poking out over the waistband of his jeans. He’s always been slender, just a little stubborn baby fat clinging to his otherwise lean frame, but then again he has been eating like crap lately, too tired to tired to make something decent on the nights his mum works late and just getting takeaway instead.

“Here,” Lottie offers, tugging the spare hair tie off her wrist and scooting to the edge of the bed. Before Harry can blink, she deftly undoes the button of his fly, hooking the elastic around it and through the buttonhole to give the jeans a bit more room. It’s sort of brilliant, actually.

“Thanks,” he says earnestly, much more comfortable as he turns to pick out a shirt. “How’d you know to do that?”

She smiles, lips painted a bubblegum pink today. “It’s a well-known girl trick,” she says, making a face at the polo he holds up for her approval. “Especially during that time of the month.”

“Gross,” Niall says half-heartedly, none too convincing with his eyes trained on Lottie’s Cosmo, now spread out in his lap.

Lottie punches him anyway, and Niall shrugs, and Harry’s pretty sure he has the greatest friends in the entire world.

✧✧✧

“Louis asked about you last night.”

Harry nearly chokes on his banana at Lottie’s words. Figures, the only thing he’s managed to keep down so far today and it tries to kill him.

“I’m sorry, what?” Harry asks once he’s recovered, looking across the cafeteria table at his best friend. She’s pulling her long, platinum blonde hair up into a messy bun, looking effortlessly beautiful as always. It must run in the family.

Satisfied with her bun, Lottie drops her hands to the table, baby blue nails clicking against the surface. “He said he walked in on you in the toilets the other day, and that you were puking your guts out. Asked me if you’ve been ill lately.” She raises a dark brow. “Funny, it’s the first I’ve heard of you being poorly.”

Harry groans, scrubbing a hand over his face, embarrassed to know Louis had witnessed that. It was yesterday, just before lunch. Someone in the cafeteria brought a curry, and the smell had Harry running for a toilet. He’d had eggs for breakfast, and they might have been a bit close to their expiry date. That’s all. “It’s nothing, Lots, honestly. I’ve just been stressing myself out so much that it’s making me sick.”

Lottie doesn’t look entirely convinced but lets the subject drop with a quick shrug of her shoulders. “Well, at least you know he cares, right?” she says, ever the optimist.

“Yeah,” Harry echoes hollowly, his stomach lurching unpleasantly as she opens the container of sushi she brought for lunch. He doesn’t finish his banana, but he doesn’t vomit either, so he’s counting it as a win.

Well, until he has to run out of English, his half a banana coming back with a vengeance. He can feel Lottie’s worried stare on his back as he flees, hot tears of frustration springing to his eyes.

Later, once he’s cleaned himself up, he frowns at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Whatever is wrong with him, be it stress or the stomach bug from hell, it can’t continue like this. He feels like shit, and he hasn’t eaten properly in weeks, and it’s starting to show in his schoolwork. Exhaustion has him falling asleep in classes, and when he isn’t in the toilets to puke, he’s there because he constantly has to pee.

“I’m dying,” he moans, tilting his head forward to rest against the cool surface of the mirror. All he wants to do is go home, have a cuppa, and burrow under his covers until his body stops trying to kill him. In fact, that’s exactly what he’s going to do. English is his last class of the day and, after texting Lottie to bring his stuff by after school, he heads off to be miserable in the comfort of his own home.

The doorbell rings at half past three, waking Harry from a fitful nap. From the bedside table, his mobile chimes shortly after, one new message waiting for him.

From: Lottie

Im here! Answer the door u wanker xxxxx

Chuckling to himself, Harry eases his body out of bed, pawing around for a t-shirt and joggers to throw on so Lottie isn’t blinded by the sight of him in nothing but his pants. Donning the shirt, he can’t help but hiss at the drag of fabric across his nipples. They’ve been sensitive lately, sometimes painfully so, and he considers ditching the shirt altogether when another insistent press of the doorbell rings through the house.

“I’m coming!” Harry hollers, giving up his battle with the shirt and hurrying to let his best friend inside. The house is quiet, as it often has been since his older sister left for uni and his mum was promoted to a position that means long days at the office. Harry doesn’t mind; he likes having the time to himself, especially after spending every school day surrounded by other people. He’s always needed time to recharge his batteries after social interactions, and now he has it in spades.

By the time he reaches the front door, Lottie has taken to alternating knocks and presses of the doorbell to be obnoxious. “Having fun?” he asks, opening the door to his best friend with one finger on the doorbell and the other hand raised in a fist.

She takes a step back, dropping both hands as she gives Harry a once-over. “Hey. Feeling any better?” she asks, something in her tone that Harry can’t quite place.

He shrugs, holding out a hand to take his bag from Lottie. “Yeah, I s’pose. Must be something going around.” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder toward the empty house. “Want to come in for a bit and let me steal your notes from class?”

She rolls her eyes but agrees, heading straight to Harry’s bedroom and sitting on the mattress with a bounce. Harry sits beside her, playfully nudging her over with his hip to make room, before pulling his bag into his lap and digging for his English notebook.

He opens it to where his notes abruptly cut off, uncapping a pen and turning to Lottie expectantly. “Okay, I’m ready–” His words die out when he catches sight of the object in Lottie’s hand. “What the fuck is that?”

“Just hear me out,” she says in a soothing voice, setting the pregnancy test on his notebook and grabbing for his hands. “You’ve had some funny symptoms lately. I just think you should make sure.”

He snatches his hands away, glaring down at the test like he’s waiting for it to burst into flame. “I can’t get pregnant, Lots. You know that.”

She shakes her head, the messy bun wobbling with the movement. “No, I know you think you can’t get pregnant. You’ve never been tested, Haz, so you can’t be sure.”

“I’ve never had any symptoms of being a carrier!” he shoots back, feeling his cheeks going red.

“Maybe not,” Lottie replies coolly, remarkably calm despite Harry’s reaction, “but you’re sure as hell having symptoms of a pregnancy.”

He snaps his mouth shut, looking away from her to glare at his bedside table instead. She’s being ridiculous, and he should just take the stupid test to prove her wrong, but on the other hand…

What if she isn’t wrong?

His eyes go wide, a traitorous little voice in the back of his head reminding him about the last time he had sex, about the broken condom. Fear trickles cold and heavy down his spine as he thinks of the strange symptoms he’s been experiencing the past few weeks, the pissing and the nausea and sleeping ten hours a day and still wanting a nap.

“Oh my god,” he breathes, voice coming out in a panicked whisper.

Lottie scoots closer and snakes an arm around his shoulders, gently pushing the pregnancy test into his hand. “Just take it and we’ll know, yeah?” she says softly, lightly scratching his back with her nails.

“Yeah, okay.” His mouth is dry around the words. He stands on wobbly legs, a fresh wave of nausea washing over him, though this time it’s from the fear clenching at his stomach like a vice.

It’s just… he can’t be pregnant. He’s not even seventeen yet, for crying out loud. He’s still got a year and a half of schooling left, not to mention uni. How on earth will he be able to do any of that with a baby?

Trembling fingers extract the test from its box, his eyes flicking over the instructions printed on the label. Pee and wait; seems simple enough.

“I’ll be right outside,” Lottie says encouragingly, pulling the bathroom door shut and leaving him alone.

She knocks once the toilet flushes, poking her head inside. Harry is washing his hands, the test sitting innocently on the counter beside him. “How long do we have to wait?”

“Three minutes,” he says, closing the toilet lid and sitting down. His leg jiggles nervously, counting out the seconds in the anxious tap of his heel against the tile floor.

Lottie leans against the counter, crossing her arms over her chest. Her features are twisted in worry, teeth digging into her bottom lip. “Do you want me to go?” she asks quietly.

“No.” His voice cracks pitifully, dry throat clicking as he tries to swallow. “No,” he repeats louder, “I don’t want to be alone.”

She nods, offering a reassuring smile. They sit in silence, Harry fidgeting impatiently. He’s shredding his fourth square of toilet roll when the timer on his mobile sounds, announcing the end to his three-minute wait.

Neither of them move, though both sets of eyes stare at the test sitting on the counter. “Are you going to look?” Lottie asks carefully, as if she might spook Harry by speaking too loud. Too late; he’s already spooked.

“I can’t,” he whispers, “I’m so scared, Lots.”

“There might not even be anything to be scared of,” she tries, but Harry knows, deep down, that there is. He looks down at his stomach, the bloated skin forming a small curve underneath his clothes. Could there really be a baby inside him? Wouldn’t he have been able to tell?

“Do you want me to look?” she offers, stepping closer to him and running a hand through his messy curls.

He shakes his head, eyes squeezed tightly closed against the tears threatening to fall. “No, no, I need to do it.” Eyes still closed, he holds out a hand, palm up. “Here, pass it over.”

Lottie places the test in his open hand and he takes a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever the result might be. But before he can handle it, he has to look, so he slowly counts down from three and opens his eyes.

There, in the little window of the test, is a clearly formed plus sign.

“I’m pregnant,” he breathes, the tears finally spilling over his cheeks. He hears Lottie gasp beside him, dropping to her knees and gathering him up into a hug.

She’s crying too, he can feel it in the way her breath shudders against the skin of his neck. “It’ll be okay, Haz. I promise, I’m here for you no matter what.” She pulls away, eyes red and watery, eyeliner running from the corners. “Are you okay?”

“I’m pregnant,” he repeats, the test still clutched tightly in one hand. He looks down at his stomach in awe, cupping it in his palm. “There’s a baby inside me.”

Warmth he wasn’t expecting floods his veins, starting at his belly and radiating outwards. He can feel it from the tips of his toes to the top of his spine, waves of calm washing over him like being wrapped in a blanket fresh from the dryer.

He’s carrying a child. His body has created life, and now there’s a baby inside of him. His baby. He never thought it was possible, and now that it is, he realises exactly how much he wants it. He wants to see his body grow and change, feel the baby move inside of him for the first time. He wants to buy onesies and tiny little shoes, and hold a child in his arms that he brought into the world. He wants it, all of it, and it scares him shitless.

“I’m going to have a baby,” he says, swiping at his eyes. “Lottie, I’m going to be a dad.” He pulls her in for a hug, burying his face against her. Tears soak her t-shirt, more happy ones than sad at this point, but she hugs him back and cries right along with him.

“You’re going to be a great dad, Haz,” she sniffles. “And I’ll be here every step of the way, whatever you need.”

Eventually they retreat to his bedroom, curling up together on his bed. Harry places the test, the thing he hated at first sight, reverently on his bedside table as a reminder that this is real.

Lottie walks her fingers across his stomach, the muscles contracting as she brushes a ticklish spot. “Harry, can I ask you something?” she asks softly, as if she’s afraid her voice might disturb the magical atmosphere settling around them like a cocoon.

“Yeah.”

“Who’s the other father?”

Harry’s mood pops like a balloon because, right, it takes two people to make a baby. There’s only one person he’s slept with recently, only one person who it could possibly be.

He’s carrying Louis Tomlinson’s baby.

A fresh surge of fear has Harry’s heart hammering away. If he’s pregnant, people are going to find out eventually, and they’ll all ask the exact same thing. How the hell is he supposed to look Louis in the eyes and tell him it’s his, after Harry swore he couldn’t get pregnant in the first place?

And how is Lottie going to feel, knowing that Harry slept with her brother behind her back, and was stupid enough about it to get knocked up? He can’t face that reality, not yet, not when he’s only just found out that the baby exists.

“A guy I slept with at half-term,” he says, settling on a half-truth and hoping she doesn’t question him further.

She hums in acknowledgement, going back to petting Harry’s tummy, even if the baby is too small to make a bump. He closes his eyes and lets it lull him to sleep, pushing his worries to the back of his mind and just focusing on the life growing inside him.

He dreams of babies with big blue eyes and dimples, and sleeps better than he has in weeks.

✧✧✧

That’s how Harry finds himself nervously hiding his stomach at the start of the new term. At nearly twelve weeks pregnant, there’s barely anything there, but he can’t shake the feeling that his classmates are going to catch wise at any moment.

He isn’t ready, is the thing.

He wasn’t ready when he took the test five weeks ago, and he isn’t ready now. Being pregnant in sixth form isn’t exactly something he wants to announce from the rooftops, especially given that he hasn’t told the father yet. He will, soon enough, but right now he’s still trying to wrap his head around his situation without inviting other people into the equation.

The break after second period can’t come fast enough, Harry dashing straight to the bathroom to relieve himself. The constant peeing is the most annoying symptom by far now that his morning sickness has backed off a bit.

Lottie is waiting at their usual table in the library, her eyes lighting up when Harry slides into the seat next to hers. “Hey, Haz, how’s the first day back going?”

“I’ve been to the toilet four times in the last two hours,” he groans, crossing his arms on the table and dropping his head onto them wearily. “All my teachers are going to think I have a UTI.”

She snorts, tugging on one of his curls until he lifts his head. “But your first scan is today, isn’t it? Aren’t you excited?”

He can’t help the grin that splits his face at the thought. Today he is going to get to see his baby for the very first time. His first doctor appointment had been a barrage of pamphlets and testing, checking his blood and urine and giving him vitamins, but no scan. The idea of seeing the baby on the screen, hearing the tiny flutter of its little heart, is partly what is getting him through this terrifying day.

“I’m so excited,” he says, one hand unconsciously falling to his stomach. “You’re still coming, right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she promises, squeezing his hand. “When it’s older, I’m going to be sure to tell it that Auntie Lottie was the very first person to know about it and get to see it,” she says smugly.

Harry swallows hard, the moniker hitting a bit close to home, though Lottie has no idea how close. She’s asked about the baby’s dad a few times, and if Harry wouldn’t rather invite him along to his appointments, but he vehemently insisted that he wasn’t ready for the other dad to be in the picture.

“It just has to be difficult doing this alone,” she’d said, looking at him with pitying blue eyes.

“I’m not alone,” he’d told her, “I’ve got you.” She’d started crying, so he started crying, and then they curled up together in front of Harry’s laptop to look at baby clothes.

“When are you going to tell people?” Lottie asks, drawing him back to the present. She’s twisting a lock of hair around her finger, looking nervous to have asked at all. “I mean, you’re only going to be able to hide it for so long.”

Harry’s jaw clenches. “I don’t know. I think I need to tell the father first,” he says, picking at the hem of his blazer sleeve. “I need to know whether he wants to be involved or not, and he needs to hear it from me rather than through the grapevine.”

“You think he’s not going to want it?” she asks, eyebrows furrowing. “I mean, it’s his baby too. How could he not?”

Harry has to bite his tongue. He knows from Lottie that Louis’ own father had walked out on him as a baby, that the man he and Lottie call Dad is actually Louis’ stepfather. People make mistakes all the time that they don’t want to own up to, and Louis’ future is so, so bright. If he doesn’t want to be involved, then Harry isn’t going to force him. Not that Harry thinks Louis is anything like his biological father, but still—given the choice, being a parent at eighteen might not be something he’s ready to handle.

“Guess we’ll see,” Harry says eventually, hoping he doesn’t sound as worried as he feels. Free period is nearly over, so he excuses himself to the bathroom one more time before his next class.

If he has a bit of a cry while he’s in there, well, nobody has to know.

✧✧✧

“All right, Mr Styles, I just need you to lie back for me.”

The paper of the exam table crinkles under his back as he does, his shirt riding up on his stomach. He and Lottie are both still in uniform, having come straight from school, but if the sonographer, Julie, judged them for their age, she’s at least professional enough not to show it.

He pulls his shirt up more and rolls down the top of his trousers, allowing Julie to spread a thick, cold jelly over his abdomen. He sucks in a breath through his teeth at the sensation, sending Lottie into a fit of giggles in the chair next to him. It wouldn’t be so bad if he wasn’t dying to go for a wee, but they’d asked him to come in with a full bladder for the scan.

“Sorry,” Julie says, offering a kind smile. “I should have warned you about that part.” She holds up a long, white instrument in her hand. “I’m going to look at everything first, and then I’ll turn the screen so you can see your baby. You should get to hear the heartbeat as well.”

Harry can’t keep the grin off his face as the lights go dim and the probe presses into his belly. The entire ride here, he’d been panicking about something being wrong with the baby, but now that he’s actually about to see it for the first time, his excitement quashes any remaining nerves.

The sonographer smiles as the screen in front of her lights up. “All right, Mr Styles, I’ve located your baby. This will only take a moment.” While she’s taking measurements, moving the probe around his slippery stomach, Harry reaches for Lottie’s hand and holds it tightly in his.

“I’m proud of you,” she murmurs, giving his fingers a squeeze. “You’re already an amazing dad.”

He’s too happy to reply, just grins madly at her until Julie speaks up again.

“You’re right on track for twelve weeks,” Julie says, typing a few things into the computer. “I didn’t see any abnormalities, and everything is right where it should be.” She pauses, a hand on the monitor. “Are you ready to see?”

“Yes, please!” Harry practically shouts, clutching Lottie’s hand even tighter.

At first it’s just a mass of black and white, strange shapes and movement that his eyes can’t decipher. But then the probe shifts, and there, on the screen, is his baby.

Even this small, it’s clear to see the tiny human inside of him. The baby is in profile view, nose and mouth visible from this angle. Its arms are curled around its face, legs tucked to its chest. As if it can sense its audience, the baby stretches, tiny arms and legs shooting out before curving back against its body.

“H, can you feel that?” Lottie asks in awe.

Harry can’t tear his eyes away to look at her. “No, I don’t feel anything,” he murmurs, watching his child move inside of him.

“In due time, Mr Styles,” Julie laughs. “Your baby is only a little over five centimetres long. You won’t be feeling anything for a while yet.” She zooms in the image on a particular spot moving at a different speed from the rest of the picture. “See that fluttering? That’s baby’s heart.”

She moves the probe around, letting him see the baby from different angles, from the top of its head to between its spindly legs. “I can’t quite see what the sex is yet, so you’re just going to have to wait,” she explains apologetically, pulling the wand away.

The screen goes dark and Harry’s heart sinks, already missing watching the baby move inside him. “Can I… Can I have a picture?” he asks, voice choked with so many emotions he feels he might burst, though that might just be his bladder.

“I’ll print some out for you,” she promises, making a few more notes as Harry cleans himself up. “I’m projecting a due date of 23 July, and I’ll want to see you again by twenty weeks to make sure everything is progressing normally.” She hands him the pictures, shaking his hand and thanking him for coming in, and reminds him to stop by reception to make his next appointment.

“Wow,” is all Harry can say later, once Lottie is driving him home. He hasn’t been able to stop staring at the picture, following the curve of the spine with his fingertips, staring at the tiny bump of a nose. It’s probably too early to tell, but he likes to think the baby got Louis’ nose.

“Makes it seem even more real, doesn’t it?” Lottie says, pulling up to the kerb and putting the car in park, leaning over the centre console to look at the picture. “I can’t believe that’s your baby, Haz,” she coos. Once she found out Harry planned to keep the baby, she’s been nearly as excited as he is. At least once a day he gets a text about baby names or nursery themes, and he wouldn’t be surprised at all if she already has a ‘World’s Best Aunt’ shirt somewhere in the back of her wardrobe.

He couldn’t ask for a more supportive best friend, but at the same time the guilt of keeping the father’s identity secret is slowly eating away at him. He’ll tell her, he has to, but he needs to figure out how to tell Louis first.

“Here, I got you something,” she says, reaching into the backseat and grabbing a gift bag from the floorboard.

“Lots, you didn’t have to do that,” he gasps, taking the bag gingerly. It’s yellow with pale green stripes, stuffed with glittery white tissue paper. “What is it?”

Lottie laughs, flicking his arm. “Open it and see, dummy.”

Peering inside, he pulls out the tissue paper in a wad to unearth the gift beneath. His eyes go round as he slides it from the bag, running his fingers over the cover. “You got me a baby book,” he says, opening it to flip through a couple pages.

“Figured you’d need somewhere to put the first sonogram,” she smirks, reaching over and turning the pages to find the right one. Sure enough, there’s a spot to paste the sonogram, along with a box to write about the experience. “It’s made for male pregnancies, even,” she explains, pointing the caption. “See? It says, ‘Inside Daddy’s Tummy!’”

“I love it. I’m going to start filling it out the second I get upstairs,” he gushes, closing the book and holding it tightly to his chest. “Thank you, for everything.”

She leans over and smacks a kiss to his cheek, no doubt leaving a smear of lipstick behind. “I’m happy to, Haz. You’d do it for me.”

“After I punched Niall in the penis,” he says sagely, and both of them giggle at the mental image.

Harry glances down at his mobile to check the time. “All right, I have some homework to do, but I’ll see you at school tomorrow.” He hugs her one more time before slipping the book and papers into his bag so his mum doesn’t see.

“Get some rest. I’ll see you and that precious little peanut in the morning.” With that, she blows a kiss and pulls away, and Harry nearly runs upstairs to start working on his book. Homework can wait a little longer.

✧✧✧

Two weeks later, Harry still hasn’t managed to find a way to spill the beans. It’s just—how do you drop a bomb like that on someone you barely speak to?

The bump is getting harder and harder to hide as the days go by. At his first appointment, his doctor warned him that male pregnancies tended to show sooner than female ones, owing to the lack of the extra layer of abdominal fat women have, but it feels like his stomach has doubled in size since his scan.

Before, it looked like he’d put on a little weight, just a hint of pudge peeking over the top of his trousers.

Now, it looks like he swallowed a cantaloupe. His belly is round and firm, pushing out his shirt no matter how many layers he tries to hide it with. Of course, it doesn’t help that he can’t keep his hands off of it, like his palms are drawn to hovering protectively over the baby nestled inside.

Still, if anyone’s noticed, they haven’t said anything. His mum has a big project at work that keeps her out late, too bone-tired by the time she comes home to remark on his changing figure. The other students’ eyes slide over him unseeingly, just as they always have. In fact, the only person who comments on his growing belly is Lottie, cooing at it every time she sees him.

She claims that he’s glowing. He thinks he’s just sweaty from wearing, like, four shirts.

He can tell something is different when he sits down at the lunch table across from Lottie and Niall, the former ducking her head and the latter leering across the table like the menace he is.

Glancing between his two best friends, Harry twists the cap off his water bottle with a sigh. “You told him didn’t you?”

“Please don’t be mad,” Lottie bursts out, looking close to tears. “He found the copy of the sonogram you gave me and thought it was mine.”

“Yeah, nearly pissed myself, too,” Niall says, reaching over the table and stealing a chicken nugget from Harry’s plate. “Can you imagine, me as a dad?”

Harry chuckles, slapping Niall’s hand away when he makes another grab at Harry’s lunch. “Mate, I can barely picture myself as a dad, and I’m going to be one in sixth months.”

Niall lets out a low whistle, resigning himself to stealing from Lottie’s meal instead. “I don’t know how you’re being so calm about it.”

“Panicking isn’t going to do me any good, is it?” Harry shrugs, hand slipping down to cup his belly, as if he’s making sure it’s still there (and hasn’t doubled in size since the last time he checked). “Besides, stress isn’t good for the baby.”

That has Niall squealing, clutching his hands together in front of his chest. “I can’t believe our baby is having a baby,” he says dreamily, dropping his head against Lottie’s shoulder, only to have her shrug him off with a laugh. “Niall Junior has a nice ring to it, I think.”

Harry throws a grape at him with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. Still, having someone else know and accept his situation without a hint of judgment feels like a weight lifted from his shoulders. Now, if only the rest of the people he has to tell take it so well.

As it happens, he doesn’t have to wait long to find out. He’s in the toilets for what seems like the hundredth time today, pulling up his trousers when the hair tie he’s been using decides to snap. He’s left staring morosely down at his flies, because there’s no way in hell he’s getting them closed around his distended stomach.

Ah, well. He just has to make it through another hour, and he can go home. It looks like he’s going to have to give in and let Lottie take him shopping for paternity clothes after all.

Lifting his shirt to assess the situation, Harry rolls down the waistband of his trousers as best he can, hoping to make them snug enough around his hips to stay put for the rest of the day. He’s just checking the result in the mirror when the bathroom door swings open.

Harry doesn’t have time to react, turning toward the sound with his shirt still bunched up over his belly and trousers barely hanging on to his arse. His eyes meet familiar, startled blue ones, holding each other’s gaze for a moment before Louis’ eyes drop to Harry’s stomach.

“Oh,” he breathes, licking his lips as he drags his eyes back up Harry’s torso. “You’re… Oh.”

It’s too much, and Harry isn’t telling Louis that he fathered a child in the fucking toilets of their secondary school. “I can’t do this right now,” he sobs as an apology, shoving his shirt back down and pushing past Louis as fast as his legs will carry him.

“Harry, wait!” Louis calls, the barest brush of fingertips against his arm, but Harry just keeps on, not stopping until he’s sitting in his car, hot tears spilling over his cheeks as he rests his head against the steering wheel.

The drive home passes in a blur, and before Harry knows it he’s kicking his shoes off and falling into bed, arms cradled protectively around his stomach. He lies there and sobs, ignoring his mobile buzzing incessantly in his pocket. It’s just that he wants this baby so much, wants to give it the world and watch it grow, but at the same time he can’t help but think he’s being selfish, that his baby deserves better than the life he’ll be able to give it.

“I’ll do the best I can,” he whispers to his belly, closing his eyes as he cries himself to sleep.

It’s dark when he wakes up to a gentle tapping on his door, turning his face toward the sound with a grunt. His mother is stood in the doorway, light spilling around her silhouette. She’s just come home from work, by the look of her outfit, heels clicking on the floor as she leans into the room to flick on the light.

“Mummmm,” Harry groans, hiding his face in the pillow. “‘S bright.”

He hears her chuckle, wrenching an eye open as she leans against the door frame. “Sorry, love. Just wanted to check on you. Feeling all right?” She smiles at him, dark locks falling out of her bun and framing her face.

Thanking his lucky stars that he’d pulled the duvet over himself in his sleep, Harry sits up, keeping the cover draped over his abdomen as he rubs his gritty eyes. “Yeah, just tired,” he says, swallowing the pang of guilt at the secret he’s keeping from her.

She studies him for a moment, but seems to accept his answer. “All right, love. I just wanted to let you know that you have a visitor, if you feel up to it.”

Harry smiles, glad he can count on his friends to know when he needs a pick me up. He nods to his mother, listening to her footsteps as she heads to the front door, waiting for either Lottie or Niall to poke their head into his room, ready to cuddle him to within an inch of his life.

His face falls when Louis appears at the door, eyes on the ground and hands clasped nervously in front of him. “Louis? What are you doing here?”

Louis’ eyes flick upwards, eyebrows furrowed and a downward twist pulling at his mouth. “Listen, Harry, I’m so sorry for bothering you at home, and I’ll leave right away if you want me to, but I was really hoping we could talk.” He says it all in one breath, concentrating like he’s rehearsed what to say.

Swallowing hard, Harry pats the mattress next to him, taking note of the relieved sag of Louis’ shoulders as he comes into the room. “Yeah, ‘course,” he says, tongue feeling too thick and heavy for his mouth. “Erm, how did you know where I lived?”

“Oh,” Louis says sheepishly, settling onto the bed and turning his body toward Harry. “I, erm, made Lottie tell me. Please don’t be angry with her. I made her give me your mobile number too, but you didn’t answer.”

Ah. That explains the buzzing earlier. “I’m not mad,” he says, and leaves it there. He tries to prepare himself for what’s coming, for Louis to ask about the elephant in the room. There’s no turning back now.

“So,” Louis says carefully, running his fingers up and down his own arm, “you’re pregnant, aren’t you?”

Harry’s eyes flutter closed, anxiety clutching at his chest and making his breaths come fast and shallow. “Yeah, I am.”

It’s silent for just a beat too long, nothing but the sound of their breathing and Harry’s heart pounding in his ears. Then, quiet and unsure, he hears Louis ask:

“Is it mine?”

All the walls Harry’s carefully built up around himself come crashing down. He slumps forward, pulling his knees to his chest as he sobs and sobs. It’s simultaneous relief, because Louis knows, and suffocating fear, because oh shit , Louis knows. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he chokes out, eyes clenched tightly closed.

A warm pair of arms encircle him, Louis pulling their bodies close together. He murmurs nonsense into Harry’s hair, rocking their bodies gently together, and Harry swears he feels the older boy’s lips brush his temple. “It’s okay, Harry. It’s going to be okay.”

It’s soothing, and Harry feels himself relaxing into Louis’ embrace. He pulls away to meet Louis’ eyes, surprised to see that he’s been crying as well. “Louis, I swear on my life that I didn’t know I could get pregnant. I would never be so irresponsible if I thought there was even the slightest chance.” Louis opens his mouth to speak, but Harry barrels on. “No, I need to get this out. I know I should have told you when I first found out, but I thought you’d hate me. I’m not going to ask you for anything, okay? I don’t want a one night stand to ruin your life.” He blinks at the fresh tears streaming from Louis’ eyes. “Why are you crying?”

Louis’ mouth hangs open in shock. “Harry, I can’t believe you’ve been going through all this alone. Of course I’m going to be there, for you and the baby both.” He laughs hollowly, swiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Holy shit, we’re having a baby.” His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “I have to admit, I’m fucking terrified.”

“Me too, believe me,” Harry laughs in return, hardly able to believe what he’s hearing. Louis isn’t mad. He wants the baby. Their baby gets to have both daddies in its life. Which… “Erm, I don’t want you to think I’m expecting you to like, marry me or anything like that,” he says, colour flooding his cheeks. “Just because we’re having a baby together doesn’t mean I’m going to tie you down.”

Louis hums thoughtfully. “Why don’t we start off by being friends, then? See where it goes.” His eyes fall to Harry’s belly, still hidden under the duvet. “Can I… Do you think I can touch it?”

It’s so sweet to hear the shyness in Louis’ voice, to see the way his eyes light up when Harry nods and lifts the cover from his rounded belly. Louis leans in close, letting his fingers splay over the bump, his breath brushing Harry’s skin as he whispers, “Hey, baby. I’m your daddy.”

The rush of affection swells inside Harry so much that he thinks he may burst with it. “Do you want to see it? I had my first scan a couple weeks ago.”

Louis nods emphatically, sitting up attentively as Harry reaches for the book stowed safely under his bed. Louis’ hand doesn’t leave his stomach for a moment.

Harry opens the book to the sonogram page, handing it over for Louis to see. He watches the way his lips move as he reads, fingers of his other hand almost unconsciously tracing over the photo carefully pasted to the page. “Lottie went with you?” he asks, furrowing his brows. “Does she–”

“She knows I’m pregnant, not that it’s yours,” Harry assures him. “Knew before I did, actually. She’s a really great friend, Louis. I couldn’t have done this without her.”

Louis smiles so wide that his eyes crinkle into happy little slits. He carefully sets the book aside, pulling Harry in for another hug. “Well, I’m going to be here every step of the way from here on out. Doctor appointments, scans, anything you need.”

“You don’t have to–”

“I want to,” Louis insists, dropping his hand to Harry’s stomach once more. “My mum had me when she was young, and my dad fucked off and left her alone. I’m going to be a better man than he was. Our baby deserves two parents who love it.”

Every time Louis says ‘our baby,’ Harry thinks he might start crying all over again. “Thank you,” he whispers, throat tight around the words.

“No need to thank me,” Louis assures him, pressing his lips to Harry’s temple. “If it’s not too much to ask, do you think that I could be the one to talk to Lottie? I mean, she’s your best friend, so I understand if you want to tell her.”

Harry shakes his head. “No, it’s all right. It might be better coming from you anyway. I’m sure she’ll be mad that I’ve kept it from her for so long.”

Louis nods gratefully, offering Harry a smile before picking up the book to look at the picture again. “So how far along are you? The caption here says twelve weeks.”

“Fourteen, nearly,” Harry says. “I’m due 23 July, over summer hols.”

“Good timing,” Louis muses, reluctantly closing the book and handing it over. “When is your next scan?”

Harry settles back against his pillows with the book, lower back aching from sitting upright for too long. “March. I’d really like for you to be there with me.” He sets the book aside, gesturing at it. “I can give you a copy of that photo as well. Lottie has one too.”

“I’d love that,” Louis says earnestly. He crawls up the bed and fits himself around Harry’s body, walking his fingers over the swell of his tummy. “We’ll be okay, won’t we? All three of us?”

Harry smiles, savouring the feel of Louis’ touch on his skin, at the relief of having his secret out in the open. “Yeah, Lou. We’re going to be just fine.”

✧✧✧

The next day, Harry has a spring in his step and a smile on his face. Louis knowing about the baby has given Harry a new outlook on everything, bolstering him like wind beneath his proverbial wings. He isn’t alone in this anymore, and they’re going to figure out a way to make it work.

His cheerful little bubble bursts the second he sees Lottie’s face.

She looks positively murderous, waiting for him in the hallway with her arms crossed over her chest. Her lined blue eyes are cold, narrowing once she spots him.

“Hey, Lots,” he says cautiously, taking in her rigid posture, her arms uncrossing to settle on her hips instead. “I’m guessing Louis talked to you–"

“My own brother, Harry,” Lottie cuts him off, seething. “You fucked my own brother and didn’t think to tell me about it. It’s not like I didn’t know you liked him!”

Harry swallows, gripping the straps of his backpack for something to do with his hands. He had expected her to be upset, sure, but this was something else entirely. “I didn’t want to make things weird, Lottie. I thought it was a one-time thing–”

She scoffs. “You made it weird the second you decided not to tell me he fathered your child. Jesus, Harry, I knew you wanted him to like you, but isn’t that a bit much?”

Her words cut through Harry like knives. “You can’t think I did this on purpose.”

“I don’t know what to think!” she yells, flipping her long braid over her shoulder. More than a few students are curiously eavesdropping, but Lottie doesn’t pay them any mind. “All I know is that you’re going to ruin Louis’ future because of your mistake.”

Harry gasps, arms flying to cover his stomach as if the baby could hear Lottie’s cruel words. “Our baby is not a mistake,” he grinds out, not caring who hears, ignoring the tears gathering in his eyes. “Funny, you weren’t concerned at all when it was just my future on the line.”

“Whatever, Harry,” she spits, picking up her bag from where it rests near her feet. “I hope you’re happy with yourself, I truly do.” She spares a glance to his stomach before turning away from him, looking back over her shoulder to say, “That baby and my brother both deserve better.”

Then she’s gone, and Harry is left standing in the hallway with tears pouring down his cheeks, arms a shield around his belly. He feels like the eye of the storm, still and quiet while people move in a wide berth around him, some whispering and staring at his rounded stomach. All of sixth form will know by the end of the day.

A warm pair of hands settles on his shoulders. “C’mon, love,” a smooth voice whispers in his ear. “I’ve got you.”

Harry doesn’t say anything, just nods and lets Louis steer him through the hallway toward the toilets. He guides Harry to the sink, leaving him just long enough to wet a paper towel and press it to Harry’s forehead.

The cool towel feels nice against Harry’s overheated skin, and he finds himself slowly relaxing into Louis’ touch, the older boy murmuring reassurances as he strokes Harry’s hair. “Thank you,” Harry whispers, once he’s calmed down a bit.

Louis shakes his head. “I swear to you I didn’t know she was going to do that,” he says, chucking the now crumpled paper towel into the bin. “She seemed so normal when I told her. Bit stunned, perhaps, but certainly not angry.” He squeezes his eyes shut in frustration. “I didn’t think she’d let it slip to the entire student body. I wasn’t ready for that.”

“Me neither,” Harry says, voice coming out a harsh whisper. “I need to tell my mum soon, before she hears it from someone else’s parents.” Fresh tears spring to his eyes. “I’m so scared.”

“Hey, hey, it’ll be okay. We’ll tell our parents together, okay? Tonight, if you want.” Louis traps Harry’s hands in his smaller ones, pulling them close and brushing a kiss over his knuckles. “We’re in this together, right?”

Sniffling, Harry pulls his hands away to scrub at his face. “Yeah, you’re stuck with the person who ruined your future. Lucky you,” he says around a bitter laugh.

“Harry, stop that,” Louis commands, a hand on either of Harry’s trembling shoulders. “I don’t look at it that way at all. You’re the person who’s giving me a child, and even if it’s sooner than I planned, I do feel incredibly lucky.” He leans in, pressing a chaste kiss to Harry’s forehead. “And I’m really happy that I’m doing this with you.”

“You can’t mean that,” Harry says ruefully, looking down at the scratched linoleum flooring. “You wouldn’t have even talked to me if I wasn’t in costume at the time.”

Slender fingers lift Harry’s chin so that he and Louis are eye to eye once more. “I knew it was you the whole time,” Louis admits, mouth widening into a sly smile. “I’d recognise these curls anywhere.” He tugs at one of the curls around Harry’s ear, the hair springing back into place when it’s released.

Harry’s eyes are wide as he tries to process what Louis is telling him. “You knew?” he rasps, gulping at Louis’ nod in affirmation. “That doesn’t make sense. Why me?”

Louis’ laugh is soft and breathy, his fingers threading through Harry’s locks without abandon now. “Been proper mad about you for ages, haven’t I? Ever since Lottie brought you over for the first time, all big eyes and those dozens of bracelets you used to wear.” He blushes, looking at Harry sheepishly through long lashes. “I was too scared to say anything. Felt like you were off-limits, being Lottie’s friend.”

“She has given me so much shit over the years, threatening to tell you I liked you, and now I wish I would have let her,” Harry says, leaning into Louis’ touch. “I had no idea it was mutual.”

“Completely mutual,” Louis agrees, kissing the tip of Harry’s nose. “I was going to tell you after the party, but you kept avoiding me.”

Harry ducks his head, embarrassed. “Oh, right. I sort of thought you just wanted to have fun, and I didn’t want to hear you let me down easy. Figured I’d save you the trouble. Then once I knew about the baby, I was scared of telling you.”

Louis chuckles, pulling Harry in for a hug. “Nothing to be scared of, love. Ask Zayn and Liam, I’ve been pining over you for ages.” His eyes light up in excitement. “You’ll have to meet them, they’re great, and I know they’re going to love you.” Harry lets himself melt into the embrace.

By the time they emerge from the toilets, first period is nearly over. Louis had a free, so he didn’t miss anything, and Harry wouldn’t have been able to concentrate in the desk next to Lottie’s after their argument. He knows she’s upset, that she didn’t mean the things she said, but it still hurts. They’ve never had a fight like this before, and he knows he’s going to need his best friend in the months ahead.

Second period is Biology, though, and Lottie isn’t in it. Louis walks him to his classroom anyway, giving his hand a squeeze before heading off to his own lesson. It’s such a simple gesture, but it gives Harry the strength he needs to step into the classroom with his head held high, refusing to wilt under the judgmental gazes of his peers.

✧✧✧

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

They’re sat outside the Tomlinson house in Louis’ car, Harry wringing his hands nervously in the passenger seat. It had been a long day of people asking him about the rumours, about Louis and the baby. He’s officially gone from a nobody to ‘that kid Tommo knocked up,’ and the extra attention feels suffocating.

Now, because Harry is apparently a masochist, he’s about to waltz into Louis’ house and announce to Louis’ parents that he’s with child. “Yeah, I don’t want you to tell them on your own.” Harry says, sounding more certain than he feels. “Like you said, we’re in this together.”

For as much as he’s assured Harry that he can do it on his own, Louis looks rather relieved that Harry is coming with him. He smiles gratefully, nodding toward the house ahead. “Well, let’s get it over with, then. Don’t worry, they already love you.”

That part is true, at least. Jay has been like a second mother to Harry, especially after his own mom started working longer hours. She’s warm and loving, always greeting Harry with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Harry hopes she’ll still love him after what he has to say.

The house is warm and bright when Louis unlocks the door, a welcome contrast to the cool, hazy day outside. There’s a quiet humming coming from the kitchen, the clatter of dishes being put away. “Mum?” Louis calls toward the sound, taking off his shoes and coat and gesturing for Harry to do the same.

“In here, Boo!” Jay’s voice calls. She’s at the worktop when they reach the kitchen, filling the kettle without turning around to look at them. “I was just about to make some tea. Care for a cuppa?”

“Make that two, actually,” Louis says, taking a seat at the breakfast bar, Harry sliding into the chair beside him.

Jay turns around with her eyebrows raised, clearly curious to see whom Louis’ brought with him. Her face relaxes into a smile when she recognises Harry. “Oh, Harry, dear, lovely to see you. I’m afraid Lottie won’t be home for a bit, she’s out with Niall.”

“Actually, Mum, he’s here with me,” Louis says, sliding an arm around Harry’s waist. “We were hoping we could talk to you about something.”

Lines crease Jay’s forehead in surprised concern, but then she’s back to smiling. “Of course, dear. Let me finish up the tea and we’ll go make ourselves comfortable.”

They make their way to the lounge, each holding a steaming mug. Harry blushes a bit when he and Louis take a seat on the same couch they’d sat on that night at the party, Jay sinking into the armchair next to it. The plant still occupies its space on the end table, apparently having survived a house full of drunken teenagers.

Jay sets her tea down next to the plant before folding her hands in her lap. “Now, what is it that you two wanted to talk about?”

Harry and Louis share a nervous glance between them. Quirking his lips into what he hopes is an encouraging smile rather than a grimace, Harry inclines his head the tiniest amount.

Taking a sip of his tea and letting out a breath he must have been holding, Louis turns to face his mother.

“Before you say anything,” Louis begins, his voice coming out soft and scratchy, like the sound beneath the music on a record. “I want you to know that I’m going to take full responsibility for my actions, and I’m not going to burden you or Dad with anything, and–"

“How far along?” Jay interrupts, eyes sliding from her son to Harry, then down to his stomach.

The way Louis’ eyes bulge out of his head would be funny in almost any other situation. For now, though, all Harry can do is swallow the mouthful of tea cooling on his tongue. “Fourteen weeks,” he answers, voice warbling.

She closes her eyes and inhales, long and deep through her nose. When she opens them again, they’re a bit glassy, but she’s still smiling. “Well, then, I suppose congratulations are in order.”

Louis looks like he might be choking on his tongue. “You’re not angry? How did you know?”

She leans forward to pat Louis’ knee. “I’m a midwife, love. I’m insulted you thought I wouldn’t be able to tell.” She tilts her head at Harry. “Look at him, he’s radiant. You look lovely, Harry.”

Harry mumbles a shy thank you in reply, staring down into his mug with flaming cheeks.

“Secondly, I am a bit upset.” Jay pauses to take a sip of her tea. “I was your age when you were born, Lou, and I remember how hard it was for me. But I also know that you were the greatest thing to ever happen to me, and I can only hope that this baby is the same for you.” Her eyes are wet now, and she dabs at them with the sleeve of her jumper. “I do wish you’d waited, but don’t you think for a minute that I’m going to love my grandchild any less because you didn’t.”

She opens her arms and Louis barrels into them, clinging tightly to his mother and sniffling into her neck. Harry’s pulled in as well, and the three of them hold each other and cry until their tea has long gone cold.

✧✧✧

By the time Harry’s filled Jay in on all his doctor visits and listened to Jay’s stories from both of her pregnancies as well as work, it’s nearly dark outside. They’re talking so animatedly that they don’t hear the door open and close.

Jay’s eyes widen as she looks over Harry’s shoulder to the hallway. “Hey, love! Look who’s here,” she says, patting Harry’s knee. “Your brother’s just told me their big news.”

“Cheers,” Lottie says, rolling her eyes and not even bothering to look at Harry. She stomps up the stairs without a backwards glance, her exit followed by the loud slam of her bedroom door.

“Don’t worry, she’ll come around,” Jay promises, giving Harry’s knee a squeeze. “Would you like to stay for dinner, Harry? Mark should be home soon and it would be nice for you to be here when he finds out.”

Harry is still staring forlornly after Lottie, but he manages a smile as he turns to Jay. “That sounds lovely, Mrs Tomlinson,” he says, remembering all the times he’d turned down dinner invitations to avoid Louis. How much things have changed.

She titters, flapping a hand at him. “Please, love, you’re practically family now. You can call me Jay.”

Heart swelling at the word ‘family,’ Harry’s smile grows into one that shows off his dimples. “That sounds lovely, Jay,” he amends, pleased at the nod of approval she gives him.

The boys are left alone while Jay starts on dinner, steadfastly refusing Harry’s offer of help (“You relax now, darling. In a few months you might not have the luxury.”). They retreat to Louis’ room, Harry skirting around Lottie’s closed door as if feeling his presence might make her even more angry with him.

The room looks much the same as it did on Halloween, not that Harry had much time to look around. Louis’ textbooks are scattered over a desk next to his laptop. There’s a bulletin board above the desk with concert tickets and festival wristbands, a picture of the school’s footie team and one of Louis’ family. In the very corner is the copy of the sonogram Harry had given him.

Louis follows Harry’s gaze as he takes a seat on the bed. “I want to be reminded of what I have to look forward to,” he explains, pulling Harry close so he can nuzzle at his tummy. “I don’t just have myself to succeed for, not anymore.”

It’s so intimate, having Louis this close, pressing kisses to his stomach meant for the baby hidden inside. He wants this, Harry realises. He wants a future with Louis and their baby, not one with separate houses and visitation, but a family.

But he promised he wasn’t going to tie Louis down, and he meant it. The fact that they both like each other doesn’t mean Louis wants to settle for him for the rest of his life. Like this, though, it’s so easy to pretend that Louis wants this just as badly as he does.

Dinner is a joyful affair, Mark just as receptive to the news of his first grandchild as Jay had been. Lottie stays up in her room, which stings, but when Jay and Mark raise their glasses, toasting him and the baby, Harry can’t be too sad.

After, he’s pulled into a crushing hug by Jay, planting kisses to both his cheeks. “You ring me if you need anything, all right? Take good care of my grandbaby.”

“I will, I promise,” Harry says, hugging back just as tight before heading outside to let Louis drive him home.

The drive isn’t that long, just a few miles to Harry’s neighbourhood, and Harry chatters excitedly the whole way. “That went so well!” he whoops, doing a victory dance in his seat.

Louis laughs from the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel and the other reaching over to rest on Harry’s thigh. “It really did,” he agrees, smiling almost as big as Harry is. “With them on our side, I feel like we can actually do this.”

“We can do this,” Harry insists, resting his hand on top of Louis’. “Hopefully my mum takes it even half as well.”

Bolstered by his evening with the Tomlinsons, Harry practically pulls Louis up the walk and into the house. It’s late enough that his mum is home from work, curled up in front of the telly with a cup of coffee in her hands and slippers on her feet. She grins when she catches sight of them. “You’re in an awful good mood, H,” she says, putting her feet on the floor and motioning for her son to sit next to her.

“Just had a really great day,” he says, eyes bright and eager. He plops down next to his mother, scooting over far enough for Louis to squeeze in as well. “You remember Louis, right? Lottie’s brother?”

The wrinkles at the edges of Anne’s eyes deepen as she smiles at Louis. “How could I forget? How have you been, dear?”

Louis settles down next to Harry, their legs pressed together from knee to thigh. The warmth is comforting, grounding Harry when he feels like his head is trying to float away.

“I’ve been good, thanks,” Louis replies politely, hands twined nervously together in his lap. “Keeping busy with footie practice and A levels, nothing exciting.”

Harry can’t stop from beaming as he listens to Louis and Anne chat about Louis’ plans for uni, his desire to teach drama or maybe play football professionally. He can’t help but insert snippets of himself into those dreams: Louis coming home to him and their child after a long day at work, scripts and essays tucked under his arm; a miniature version of a footie jersey with ‘Tomlinson’ on the back, Harry with one to match as they cheer from the sidelines. He’s so lost in all of it that takes a gentle squeeze to his knee to break the spell.

“Harry? Louis says you have something to tell me,” Anne prods, keeping her hand on Harry’s knee. There’s a flash of worry behind her eyes, but her smile is still warm and inviting enough to give Harry courage.

Turning to Louis for one last encouraging smile, Harry takes a deep breath, bringing both hands to his stomach, hidden by the hoodie he’d borrowed at Louis’. “I’m pregnant.”

It’s quiet after that, like all the air has been sucked out of the room, the fragile atmosphere filling the space ready to collapse at any moment. Anne’s face is stony, her jaw set as she stares down at where Harry is cradling his stomach. Beside him, Louis doesn’t even seem to be breathing, sitting perfectly still as they wait for Anne to speak, cry, anything.

“You’re pregnant,” is what she eventually says, voice flat.

“Yeah,” Harry says, chuckling nervously. “Fourteen weeks.” He chances a look at his mum’s face, the trepidatious smile melting off the second he sees her stormy expression. Nothing in the world could have prepared him for what she says next.

“I’m so disappointed in you, Harry. I thought I raised you better than this.”

It’s a fucking punch to the gut, Harry’s heart pounding uncomfortably hard against his ribs. Her words play on a cruel loop in his head, bouncing off the walls of his skull until it’s a chorus of dismay, building to a crescendo so loud he’s surprised Louis isn’t able to hear it.

I’m so disappointed in you.

He feels Louis shift beside him. “Ms Cox, please, I can explain–”

“I think you’ve done enough, Louis,” she snaps, venom in her tone. “I can’t believe the two of you would be so irresponsible. Harry has another year of schooling left, not to mention uni. What happens then?” She shakes her head forcefully. “Don’t expect me to raise it for you.”

Tears are spilling hot and fast down Harry’s face, dripping steadily onto the navy blue fabric of the hoodie. “Mum, we’ll figure it out. I can do this, and I’m so sorry. I swear I didn’t know it was even possible.” He reaches for her, wanting the comfort of her arms, for the rocky exterior to fall away as she scoops him up and comforts him.

Instead, she holds up a hand, palm flat toward Harry. “I don’t want to hear it. It’s your life, Harry. I just wish you had made better choices.” She stands abruptly. “I think you should sleep somewhere else for a little while.” With that, she disappears down the hallway without a backwards glance, the click of her bedroom door shutting the only sound to disrupt the ensuing silence.

Louis is in Harry’s space before he can react, strong arms cuddling him close, warm lips pressing soothing words into Harry’s scalp. He lets Harry shake apart in his arms, the sobs wracking his body so hard that it hurts. Harry tries to focus on Louis’ voice, begging him to please breathe, love, but he feels as if his entire world has just collapsed and he’s buried in the rubble.

Well, not his entire world.

Harry doubles over, hugging his own midsection and trying to slow his breathing. Stress isn’t good for the baby, he reminds himself. Even if he can’t be strong for himself, he has to for his child. It didn’t ask to be born to a clueless teenage parent, but Harry is going to do everything he can to give it the best life possible.

His face is wet when he lifts it to look at Louis, but no new tears fall. “Can I–”

“Yeah, love,” Louis says, rubbing figure eights into Harry’s back. “C’mon, let’s go pack you a bag.”

After Harry mechanically stuffs a few things into his backpack—pyjamas and toiletries, his laptop and the baby book—Louis leads him back to the car and helps him into the passenger seat. They don’t say a word for the whole drive back to the Tomlinsons’, and when they arrive and Jay sees their tear-stained faces, she makes them tea without question before setting off to make up the guest bed for Harry.

Warm from the tea and exhausted from the rollercoaster of emotions the day has been, Harry struggles to keep his eyes open as Louis tucks him into bed. Not for the first time since this all started, Harry is so, so glad that Louis is the one at his side. He’s just as kind and wonderful as Harry always thought, and their baby is going to be lucky to have him as a dad.

Harry barely registers the soft, gentle kiss pressed to his forehead, and then the world goes dark and quiet.

✧✧✧

Good news does, it seems, travel quite fast.

He and Louis show up to school together on Monday morning, a united front against the whispers and stares. Harry doesn’t even try to cover his stomach anymore, though each pair of eyes zeroing in on his bump feels more invasive than the last.

“Ignore them,” Louis whispers, knocking his hip against Harry’s. “They don’t matter. No one has any say in this except the two of us.” He sounds so confident, so brave, and Harry wishes he could bottle that to keep with him while he and Louis are apart. At least they both have first period free today.

They retreat to the library, Louis’ friends already waiting for him at the same table they’d been sat at when Harry tripped all those weeks ago. He hadn’t even known he was pregnant yet, he muses, as he shyly peers across the table at two of the most gorgeous boys in sixth form.

“Hey mate,” Zayn says when they slide into their seats. His smile is lopsided and easy, angled brown eyes warm as he gives Harry a nod. “You holding up okay?”

Louis had texted them over the weekend, explaining what had happened and announcing his impending fatherhood. They had taken it well, shocked but supportive, and for Harry it just feels like a relief to have someone else on his side.

“Yeah, thanks,” Harry replies, pulling out the Psychology reading he’d been too preoccupied to get to the last couple days. Even now, the words swim in front of his eyes, staring at the same sentence for ages as Louis and his friends chat quietly in the background. He closes the book with a huff, collapsing forward on the table like a child having a tantrum.

“Harry? Is something wrong?” Liam’s soft, concerned voice asks from across the table. When Harry glances up, he sees the lad’s thick eyebrows knit together with worry, full lips tugged down in concern. Harry’s the one upset, yet even still he finds himself wanting to comfort Liam.

“I can’t concentrate,” Harry whines. “I don’t want to go sit in class while everyone stares at me and talks about me behind my back.” The worst part is, this is just the beginning. How much worse is it going to get in the coming months, when his belly is huge and obvious?

Zayn rests a hand on Harry’s clenched fist, paint speckling the skin of his fingers. “We’ve got you, mate. If anyone so much as looks at you funny, just say the word.” He smiles as he withdraws his hand. “No one fucks with our friends, especially not ones carrying precious cargo.”

Harry can’t help blushing as Liam fervently agrees, and by the end of free period he has two new contacts in his mobile and an invitation to lads’ night at Zayn’s come Friday.

It helps to keep him bolstered when people intentionally block his path in the hallways, knocking into his shoulder when they pass, flicking bits of paper at him in class. It’s juvenile, but it stills hurts. These kids don’t know a damn thing about him except that he’s pregnant, and suddenly he as good as has a target painted on his back.

By lunchtime he’s exhausted. His ankles are swollen and his back hurts, and he prays that he’ll be left alone to eat his lunch in peace. When a shadow falls over the table, he barely manages to suppress a groan.

His eyes go round when Lottie slides into her usual seat across from him, her heavily made-up eyes narrowed. Niall sits down next to her, an apologetic grin spread across his face.

“Erm. What’s this, then?” Harry asks, glancing between them nervously. He isn’t sure he can handle another row with Lottie after the day he’s had.

Lottie sighs, tugging at a strand of her long, blonde hair, today parted to the side and hanging in front of her shoulders. “Basically, I’m still mad at you, but I also realise that announcing it to the school was a shit thing to do, and I feel completely awful that you’re getting harassed because of it.” She offers a slight smile, not completely friendly, but something of an olive branch over the lunch table trenches. “Truce?”

“Of course,” Harry replies, emotion sitting thick in his throat. “I’ve missed you so much, Lots.”

She shrugs, trying to act nonchalant, but the slight blush tingeing her cheeks gives away how pleased she is at his admission. “Yeah, well. You’re living at my house, so I suppose I can’t avoid you forever.”

They pick at their lunches after that, a companionable silence overtaking them, but it’s a start. He and Lottie walk to English together like nothing had ever happened, sliding into their adjacent desks and ignoring everyone else around them.

✧✧✧

Eventually, Harry has to leave the protective bubble of the Tomlinson household and go home. He’s been there for a week, accepted and loved, Jay constantly checking in on his symptoms and offering advice. She’d cooed over the scan Harry showed her, and gift bags of baby things keep finding their way onto the guest bed. It’s sweet, but Harry can’t help but feel a little bitter about the whole situation. Louis’ mum is wonderful, but he needs his own mum right now.

Louis had offered to go with him, but this is something Harry needs to do alone. Since the divorce, Anne and Harry and Gemma had always leaned on each other, a stronger family despite one of the pillars crumbling away. Then when Gemma moved off to uni, it was just Harry and Anne. They didn’t see much of each other, Anne busy at work and Harry focusing on school, but they never went a week without speaking to each other.

It’s eating Harry up inside, and he can’t take it any longer.

His mum is home, but the lounge and kitchen are both suspiciously empty. He decides to check her bedroom, thinking perhaps she’s decided to have a nap after a long day at work, but something catches his eye when he passes the open door to his own room.

Anne is sat on the edge of his bed, a bundle in her lap. She looks up at Harry’s timid knock at the door, no trace of surprise in her features. She looks tired, and sad, but she still pats the bed beside her in invitation.

The thing in her lap is Harry’s old baby blanket, he sees once he joins her. It’s yellow and faded, stripes of pink and blue crisscrossing the soft fabric. One corner of the silk edging is frayed from where he used to rub at it as a child, the softness between his fingers soothing. He had no idea she still had it.

“I’m so incredibly sorry, Harry,” she says on a shaky exhale, before pulling her son into her arms. The bubble of tension between them bursts spectacularly, both of them crying and holding each other. Anne strokes his hair and kisses his forehead, shushing him like she used to when he’d fall and scrape his knee, when there was no wound she couldn’t kiss better.

“I’m sorry, Mum. I didn’t know I was a carrier, I swear!” he sobs, clutching at her blouse, not caring about the wet mess he’s making of it.

“I know, baby, I know. This is all my fault.”

Harry jerks back in surprise, looking at her with incredulous, red-rimmed eyes. “What?”

She sighs, worrying the silk edge of the blanket between her fingers the same way Harry used to as a toddler. “I never took you to get the test. Everyone told me the symptoms would have presented themselves by the time you hit puberty, and when they didn’t… I should have made certain,” she scolds herself. “I feel like I let you down.”

Harry shakes his head, curls flying every which way. “Please don’t blame yourself, Mum, and please don’t blame this baby for my mistakes. I’m so scared, and I need you to be there for me. We both do.”

Anne’s eyes are still red and watery, but her lips quirk up into the beginnings of a smile. “Oh, love, I could never do anything but love that baby with all my heart, and I’m so sorry I ever let you think otherwise.” She pulls him in close again, this time reaching down to feel the swell of his stomach. “Of course I’ll be there for you. I’m your mum, I’m here no matter what you get yourself into.”

New tears of relief emerge, the reassuring weight of his mum’s hand on his belly erasing the pain of the last week almost entirely. Fuck the kids at school, and the glares from their parents, and the teachers who didn’t bother to hide their disdain. Harry has his family on his side, and that’s what truly matters.

Speaking of… “Mum, you haven’t told Gemma yet, have you?”

She laughs, dabbing at her eyes with the corner of the blanket. “No, love, it wasn’t my place. She’ll be home for your birthday next weekend, though, if you’d like to do the honours.” She pauses, looking thoughtful. “She might try to neuter your boyfriend, though.”

“Mum!” Harry exclaims with a shocked laugh. “She wouldn’t dare! Besides, Louis isn’t my boyfriend.” At her quizzical eyebrow raise, Harry adds: “We’re, erm, taking it slow?”

Anne just shakes her head. “Doing things backwards, as usual. You always get it right in the end, though.” She kisses his temple, handing over the now slightly soggy blanket. “Here, for the baby. I thought you might like to pass it on.”

“I’d love that,” Harry breathes, clutching the familiar fabric close. It smells a bit musty, too many years spent in storage, and the frayed corner needs fixing, but he can’t think of anything he’d love more than seeing his child wrapped in the same blanket that gave him so much comfort. “This is really happening,” he says shakily.

“It really is,” Anne agrees, standing up and offering a hand to help Harry up as well. “Now come on, I’ll make a pot of tea and you can tell me all about it.”

✧✧✧

Of all the ways Harry envisioned spending his seventeenth birthday, being fifteen weeks pregnant certainly wasn’t one of them.

Still, he’s not going to let it stop him celebrating. His sister is home from Sheffield for the weekend, arriving in a whirlwind on Friday evening and chatting animatedly about her lectures and friends, as if they hadn’t heard it all just a few weeks ago over Christmas hols.

It takes her approximately an hour and forty-seven minutes to notice Harry’s belly. She’s pulling down wine glasses from the cabinet, popping open a bottle of red to share between them. Harry places a hand over the top of his glass before she can fill it. “None for me,” he says apologetically.

She raises an eyebrow, setting down the bottle and picking up the glasses she’d filled for herself and Anne. “Since when do you turn down wine?” she asks incredulously.

Harry gulps. Now is just as good a time as any. “Drinking isn’t good for the baby,” he replies calmly, proud of himself for keeping his voice steady and even.

He doesn’t expect Gemma to burst out laughing, having to lean against the work surface to support herself. It’s a wonder she doesn’t spill any of the wine with the way her body shakes when she laughs. “Oh my god, H, you’re such a strange one,” she says, giggling.

But then she sees the solemn tilt to Harry’s mouth, the way he slides a hand down over his belly, smoothing his shirt to make the bump go more pronounced. She lifts one glass of wine to her lips, tossing it back with a few quick swallows, before starting in on the one intended for Anne.

“Gem, maybe you should slow down a bit?” Harry suggests, watching her polish off a second glass of wine before refilling both.

Cheeks rosy from the alcohol, Gemma picks up both glasses once again and nods toward the lounge where Anne is waiting for them. “I’m all right, Harry,” she says, offering him a wink. “Just securing my place as the wine aunt.”

“I think it’s vodka aunt, actually,” Harry laughs, following after her.

“Oh, good. We’ll try that next.”

His birthday isn’t until Monday, but they have the party the Saturday prior, while Gemma is still home and no one has to take off work or school. Anne invites her new boyfriend, a really nice bloke called Robin, and Harry invites all of the Tomlinsons, along with Niall, Liam, and Zayn.

It’s half an hour ‘til the party and Harry is flitting around excitedly—not because it’s his birthday, but because so many people he loves will all be in the same place. He’s wearing a loose, flowy button down and a pair of paternity trousers; both are gifts Anne surprised him with first thing this morning. It’s so refreshing to be wearing clothing that fits, his bump looking even more round without being constrained by tight garments. He read in the pregnancy book Jay gave him that his baby was the size of an orange now, yet it looks like he’s swallowed a much larger fruit whole.

“H, you’re hovering,” Gemma scolds, grabbing his shoulders and steering him away from where she is setting out plates and silverware. “Go sit down. This is your day, remember?”

Harry pouts but allows himself to be led to the sofa. He has to admit, his family has taken care of every detail: Streamers and balloons adorn the walls, and there’s a veritable mountain of food being placed out on the breakfast bar. Soon, his guests will arrive, different facets of his life coming together to celebrate, and he can’t help but imagine what his baby’s first birthday might look like—all the same people coming together, plus one more that Harry is getting more and more excited to meet.

Everyone seems to arrive at once, their cozy house suddenly packed with bodies. Jay and Anne latch onto each other immediately. They’ve been friendly for ages, what with Harry and Lottie being in the same year and so close, but the excitement of being first time grandmothers has them hugging each other close and whispering conspiratorially.

Louis seeks out Harry right away, a messily wrapped present in his arms. “Happy almost birthday, love,” he says, proudly holding out the gift. “Sorry, I’m shit at wrapping.”

Harry takes the present happily, turning the box over in his hands. “Thanks, Lou. You know you didn’t have to get me anything.” He pulls Louis in for a hug, careful not to crush the box between them. “Should I open it now?”

“No, save it,” Louis insists, patting Harry’s back before they break apart. “Open it with me later, okay?”

Curiosity gnawing away at Harry’s insides, he agrees nevertheless and allows Louis to steer him toward the food waiting in the kitchen.

There are tea sandwiches and crisps, a veggie tray with homemade dip, salad and bread rolls. There’s even a plate of freshly baked blueberry muffins, because Harry has been craving them nonstop for the past week. All of his favourite people slot together seamlessly: Niall chatting animatedly with Liam and Zayn; Lottie and Gemma showing each other something on their respective mobile screens; his mum and Robin standing with Louis’ parents, laughing over glasses of wine like old friends.

In the midst of it all is Louis, flitting from group to group, always the life of the party. Harry watches in amusement when he joins the sisters sitting on the sofa and Gemma grabs hold of his shoulder, whispering something in his ear that has Louis going rather pale and squeezing his knees together. Whatever it was has Lottie snorting into her cup of punch and a satisfied smirk on Gemma’s face when Louis hastily excuses himself.

Once they’ve cut the cake and everyone has a portion, Anne loops an arm through Harry’s and guides him to the armchair in the lounge. “All right, you lot, H is going to open presents now!” she announces, grabbing hold of Niall and dragging him along to help carry all the gifts.

First are the cards from family members who couldn’t make it, stuffed with cheques and gift cards. He reads them out loud, grinning cheekily after each silly poem and awful pun. Then Niall is shoving larger packages into his hands, announcing whom each one is from in a ridiculous announcer voice as he does. Harry thinks Niall should absolutely host his baby shower.

Soon Harry is buried under scraps of colourful paper, grinning around the room and thanking everyone for their thoughtful gifts. His lap is filled with gifts: some gender-neutral onesies from Jay and Mark; a bag of beauty products from Lottie, including something called ‘belly butter’ meant to help with stretch marks; Niall got him one of those ‘baby on board’ signs for his car; there are more paternity outfits from Anne and Gemma; and Liam and Zayn went together to get the smallest football kit Harry has ever seen, complete with a tiny football. Everything is thoughtful and lovely, and will certainly be put to good use, but at the same time Harry can’t help but be a little disappointed that all of the gifts revolve around the baby. Isn’t that what baby showers are for? Still, everything he received is something useful (barring the car sign), even if it’s a far cry from the CDs and video games he’d unwrapped for his sixteenth.

Eventually the guests start to trickle out, each one wishing Harry a happy birthday on their way past him. Jay smothers him in kisses before hugging Anne close (the two of them already have lunch plans for next week). Mark shakes his hand, and the boys pull him in for a group hug. Then, after a pinch on the arm and a kiss on the cheek from Lottie, Louis is the only guest left.

“Want to open my gift now?” Louis suggests, reaching out to rub Harry’s lower back as if he can tell it’s aching without Harry saying a word.

“Yeah, sure,” Harry replies, trying to muster the energy for enthusiasm. He thanks his mum for the party and, with Louis’ help, carries his haul to his bedroom. He has a basket on his desk for the baby items he’s collected so far, clothes he couldn’t pass up and a tiny pair of Converse. His baby blanket is folded at the bottom, newly washed and repaired. As he adds the new items to the pile, he can’t help the tears that start to roll down his cheeks.

“Haz?” Louis asks from where he’s sat at the edge of the bed. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” Harry replies, his voice shaking. “Stupid hormones, is all.”

There are warm hands on his shoulders, smoothing down his arms and pulling him back against a solid chest. “Let it out, love. I’m here.”

Harry turns around and tucks his head under Louis’ chin, letting go the emotions that have been building all evening. “It’s stupid, I’m being such a brat,” he cries, hands fisting in the soft blue fabric of Louis’ jumper. “It’s just… this is my last birthday before the baby is born, and I feel so selfish, but I sort of wanted it to be about me, you know?” He sniffles loudly, leaning into the hand stroking his curls. “Nothing is going to be just about me ever again.”

“Harry, babe, it’s okay to be a little selfish,” Louis murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of Harry’s head. “You’re seventeen, love. It’s okay to be sad that all you got for your birthday was baby stuff.”

Harry laughs bitterly, pulling away in search of a tissue to blow his nose into. “I’m jealous of my unborn child. Doesn’t that make me a terrible father?”

Smiling at the loud, honking noise Harry makes into the tissue, Louis shakes his head. “Not at all, love. It makes you a normal teenager who is preparing to deal with something he isn’t quite ready for.” He reaches out to tug at the hem of Harry’s shirt. “Once the baby comes, I have no doubt you are going to be the best dad in the entire world. Until then, it’s okay to focus on yourself while you can.”

“How do you always know exactly what to say to make me feel better?” Harry asks, letting out a shaky exhale and catching Louis’ hand with his own.

“Because I can’t stand to see you sad,” Louis replies, giving Harry’s hand a squeeze before plucking his poorly wrapped gift from where it waits on the bed. “Now, I believe you have one more present to open.”

Underneath the creased and uneven wrapping is a small box, held closed with an excessive amount of cello tape. Harry can’t help but giggle as he tries to peel it away, Louis finally having to use his car keys to rip through the mess. Once the box is open, Harry pulls out the small booklet hiding inside.

It’s clearly homemade, the edges crooked from where each page had been cut out. Two staples hold the stack of papers together, and Harry’s eyes get wider and wetter with each one he flips past.

Louis made him a coupon book. There’s one for a trip to the cinema, and another for a home-cooked meal (at your own risk !!). One offers a foot massage, and the next is a trip to the store for whatever Harry is craving, any time of the day.

There are a few vouchers meant for after the baby is born, too—a night of being solely on diaper duty, and a promise to stay home with the baby so Harry can have a night out. Each one is specifically tailored to Harry, so much love and thoughtfulness poured into those few printed pages.

“This is the sweetest thing I’ve ever gotten,” Harry whispers, flipping through the book one more time. He stops on one page in particular, carefully tearing it out and presenting it to Louis. It reads, ‘Good for One Cuddle.’ “Will you stay with me tonight? Just to sleep,” he clarifies, not wanting Louis to get the wrong impression. “I just don’t want to be alone right now.”

Louis smiles warmly, taking the coupon but tucking it right back into Harry’s book. “Save that,” he says, tossing the booklet aside and pulling Harry into a hug. “Birthday cuddles are free.”

They climb into bed and twine their bodies together, Louis’ chest pressed close to Harry’s back. “Night, Hazza,” Louis whispers, pressing a kiss to Harry’s shoulder and draping an arm over his waist, hand splayed over Harry’s belly. “Happy birthday.”

“Night, Lou,” Harry whispers back, placing a hand over the top of Louis’. He feels so warm and safe and loved, his earlier tears forgotten thanks to the boy next to him. Soon enough, Louis’ breaths slow and slip from his lips in small snuffles, his hand protectively gripping Harry’s belly even in his sleep. Being held like this, like he’s something precious and desired, is a heady feeling, and something Harry thinks he’d like to get used to.

Because he’s proper in love with Louis, isn’t he? His crush has blossomed into something fuller, more mature, feeding off the life growing inside of Harry like symbiosis. It’s as if loving the child inside him taught Harry what true love looks like, and now he wants nothing more than to share that love with the man who helped create it.

“Love you,” Harry whispers into the darkness. The only response from Louis is a quiet snore.

✧✧✧

They sleep in the next morning, until the patch of sunlight on the floor spreads like a stain. Harry can hear the low murmur of the telly out in the lounge, intermingled with Gemma and Anne’s voices. Next to him, Louis is resting peacefully, his face lax and smooth, eyelashes fluttering against his cheekbones. God, but Harry hopes their baby gets Louis’ eyelashes (along with every other feature, but definitely those).

They’ve changed position in the night. Now Louis is sprawled on his back, Harry curled around him and using his shoulder as a pillow. It’s so warm and comfortable, and if Harry could freeze any moment in time he thinks it might be this right here: waking up next to Louis, the pair of them on the precipice of parenthood, grasping these quiet moments while they still have the chance.

I want this, he thinks, snuggling closer to the solid body beside him.

“Want what?” Louis’ sleepy voice replies, the boy in question nuzzling into Harry’s messy hair. And, oops, Harry hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

A thousand butterflies take flight in Harry’s stomach, his mouth dry and reluctant to part with the words, but he manages to get them out anyhow. “This. Us. Together.”

Louis’ breath hitches, his chest going momentarily still under Harry’s ear. “You want to be with me?” he asks, voice soft and rasping.

“Yeah,” Harry replies, lifting himself up so he can look Louis in the eye. He’s breathtaking all the time, with his golden skin and carefully sculpted features, but in the pale light of a new day he’s something else entirely. His hair is messy and sticking up, eyes as bright as ever despite only being partially open.

It’s a sight Harry would very much like to get used to, if such a thing is even possible.

Louis’ lips curl into a catlike grin, his arms coming to wrap around Harry and press their chests together. “Then I’m all yours,” he replies, pressing a kiss to Harry’s temple.

Letting out a happy sigh, Harry relaxes into the embrace. Louis’ lips continue to trail along Harry’s face, as if he’s memorising every contour. “I’d like that,” Harry whispers, shuddering as a kiss lands at the corner of his mouth. “And not just because of the baby. Like, I want this for me.”

“Me too, Haz,” Louis agrees, planting a gentle peck right on Harry’s mouth. “I think you’re an amazing guy, and I’d be honoured to call you my boyfriend. That fact that you’re carrying our child is just a bonus.” He kisses Harry again, longer this time.

“Mmm, say it again.”

“Boyfriend.” Kiss.

They stay in bed, cuddling and kissing, reveling in each other’s company until Gemma threatens to break down the door and drag them out herself.

✧✧✧

Having a boyfriend doesn’t make being pregnant at seventeen any physically easier, but Louis seems to find new ways to make Harry smile every step of the way. They fall into an easy routine the next few weeks: Louis comes over after football practice every day, or sometimes Harry tags along to practice and they go to Louis’. Either way, they spend most of their evenings getting to know each other and making up for lost time.

On Fridays, Louis usually sleeps over at Harry’s, since Anne will let them share a bed while Jay refuses (despite Louis’ rock solid argument of, “but Mum, he’s already pregnant, what more trouble can we get into?”). Louis plays big spoon, holding Harry close, rubbing his tummy until the gentle motion puts both of them to sleep. It isn’t sexual—in fact, they haven’t done much more than kissing and cuddling since Halloween—but Louis isn’t complaining, and Harry doesn’t much feel like getting naked anyway, what with looking like he’s smuggled a football home underneath his shirt. He’s long since given up being able to button his blazer.

This Friday, though, is a special occasion. It’s the day of Harry’s twenty-week scan, and afterwards Louis is taking him out on their first real date. Harry can’t help but giggle that they’re still doing everything in their relationship out of order, having their first date months after sleeping together, weeks after becoming exclusive. Still, it’s what works best for their strange little family, so fuck what everyone else thinks.

“Our family,” Harry mumbles happily, leaning his head against Louis’ shoulder while they wait for the sonographer. “I’m so glad you came with me.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, love,” Louis replies, smacking a kiss to his temple. “Would have been here for the first one if I’d known, and I’m never missing anything ever again.”

Something twists in Harry’s stomach at that. Yes, you will, he thinks reproachfully, because in less than a year, Louis will be going off to uni somewhere. He’ll be gone for sleepless nights and teething, growth spurts and milestones. What if he misses their baby’s first step? First word?

Harry burrows further into Louis’ shoulder, closing his eyes tightly to shut out the intrusive thoughts. Right now, he has Louis by his side, and that’s what matters. He promised Louis from the get-go that he wouldn’t ask Louis for anything, and he certainly isn’t going to stand in the way of Louis’ education. They may be boyfriends, but their relationship is still fragile and new, and Harry isn’t about to go and rattle the foundation to see if it’s solid.

The sonographer comes in before Harry can get too lost in his own head. It’s the same woman as last time, Julie, and she grins at Harry as she shuts the door behind her. “Mr Styles, lovely to see you again,” she says warmly. “Who do you have with you today?”

Harry turns to Louis with blinding smile, holding his boyfriend’s hand tight in his own. “This is Louis Tomlinson,” he says proudly. “He’s the baby’s father.”

Julie’s gaze softens as she greets Louis, and then it’s down to business. “Now, let’s take a look at your baby.”

When Julie finally turns the screen for Harry and Louis to see, Harry feels his eyes well with tears immediately.

The baby has grown in the past eight weeks, quite a bit actually. Thin limbs have fattened and curved, the body thicker and more substantial. Harry can’t help but look down at his gel-coated stomach, still amazed that there’s a little human inside of him, already depending on him to nourish and protect it.

“Harry,” he hears Louis breathe beside him. Harry turns his head toward the sound, startled to find Louis openly weeping, his eyes trained on the screen like he’s never seen anything better in his entire life.

“I know,” Harry whispers back. “Incredible, isn’t it?”

Louis only nods soundlessly, watching the baby move, his hand growing sweaty in Harry’s but neither of them caring enough to let go.

“Would you like to know the baby’s sex?” Julie asks, after letting them watch for just a bit longer. “It’s completely your decision, but I have a clear view if you do.”

“What do you want, Haz?” Louis asks, reaching up with his other hand to brush a curl off of Harry’s forehead. “I’m fine with whatever you decide.”

Harry chews his lip as he thinks it over. On the one hand, people have already been tirelessly asking what he’s having, and his mum desperately wants to start buying little dresses or waistcoats. On the other, Harry’s going to love the baby either way, and everything else about it has been a surprise so far, so why spoil this one?

“I want it to be a surprise,” he decides, looking to Louis for confirmation. Louis just beams right back, and then Julie sends them on their way with new pictures of the baby to show off to their families and friends.

Later that night, Harry posts the picture on Instagram, captioning it with “It’s a… surprise!” Louis is the first person to ‘like’ it.

✧✧✧

The other students seem to have two very different reactions to Harry’s growing belly.

One half is curious and excited, girls asking to touch his belly and cooing over how cute he looks pregnant. The other half looks down at him, disgusted curls to their lips. The more aggressive students purposefully knock into him in the hallways, laughing when he drops something and has to struggle to pick it up.

He’s been bullied before, is the thing. It’s nothing new, and while he’d settled comfortably into invisibility, it hasn’t been that long since he was last picked on. Now, though, each cruel word and hateful stare isn’t directed only at him, but at his baby, and that hurts more than any other teasing he’s ever had.

It always the worst when he’s alone, when Lottie or Niall or Louis can’t walk him to class, and he has to navigate the crowded halls with his head down and arms hugging his middle. The words are easy enough to tune out; the shoves can be explained away as people accidentally bumping into him as they pass.

Then one day someone sticks out a foot, and Harry falls, and there’s no one there to catch him.

It feels as if Harry is frozen in place while the world spins madly on without him. He’s on his hands and knees in the middle of the hallway, people whispering and murmuring as they skirt around him. The sounds reach his ears as if through layers of cotton, faded and distorted by the ringing in his ears.

The baby. His breaths come in gasps as tears spring to his eyes, because oh my god what if the fall hurt the baby?

And then there’s a voice he recognises, and warm hands are pulling Harry to his feet and wiping his streaming eyes. “You’re okay, love. I’ve got you,” Louis promises, before whirling on the hallway at large.

“Who did this?” he demands coolly to the gathered students, eyes narrowed as he looks at each of their faces in turn. “I saw someone trip him. Now who was it?”

The voice that speaks up belongs to Jason, a boy in Year 13 with sandy hair and too many freckles. He’s at least a head taller than Harry, but he cowers in the path of Louis’ hard gaze.

“’S just havin’ a bit of fun, Tommo. Didn’t mean nothin’ by it,” the kid grumbles, kicking at the tiles.

If falling happened in slow motion, this happens in fast forward. In a blink, Louis has the kid backed up against the wall, one hand fisted in his shirt. “Are you fucking stupid? He’s pregnant!” Louis seethes, angrier than Harry has ever seen him.

Jason tries to say something, but Louis cuts him off with another slam against the wall. “If anything is wrong with him or the baby, I’m not going to be responsible for what I do to you,” he says. “Now apologise to Harry and don’t you ever come near him again.”

“Sorry,” Jason croaks, twisting out of Louis’ grasp as soon as he’s able. “’M sorry.”

He doesn’t get far, a hand clamping down on both Louis’ and Jason’ shoulders. “I think you both need to come with me,” Mr Hartley, the Geography teacher, growls at them before addressing the hallway at large. “And you lot need to get to class.”

The crowd disperses, and Louis breaks out of Hartley’s grasp just long enough to cup Harry’s face in his hands. “Go see my mum, yeah? Tell her what happened and ask her what to do.”

“Move it, Mr Tomlinson,” Hartley orders, and Louis has time to give Harry’s hand one more squeeze before being marched to the headmaster’s office.

Harry doesn’t need to be told twice. Knees still throbbing from where he’d hit the floor, he grabs his things and dashes outside without telling anyone where he’s going. The drive to the Tomlinsons’ happens in a blur of tears and panic, a steady soundtrack of the baby the baby the baby running through his mind.

Jay answers on the third knock, her eyebrows shooting up her forehead when she sees the state Harry is in. “Harry, what’s wrong? Did something happen to the baby?”

“I fell,” he sobs, launching himself into her arms. “Louis told me to come to you.”

She wastes no time in getting him bundled on the couch, curling up beside him and stroking his hair. “It’s okay, love. You’re okay. I just need to ask you a couple questions, all right?”

“Okay,” Harry gasps, trying to slow his breathing to a more normal pace.

“Tell me how you fell.”

Harry describes being tripped, of landing on his hands and knees on the hard tile. The look of murder in Jay’s eyes is exactly like her son’s.

“But you didn’t land on your belly?” she prompts, stroking over the back of his shaking hand. “And it’s not hurting now?”

“No, just m’ knees,” he says.

She nods. “Everything should be just fine, then. As long as you aren’t in pain, and there’s no bleeding, then there shouldn’t be any cause for alarm.” She presses a kiss to his forehead. “You’re doing such a good job, Harry. I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you,” he whispers, pulling her in for another hug. “I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to her.”

Jay pulls back, a smile quirking her lips. “Her, eh? Thought it was going to be a surprise.”

Harry’s cheeks flush at that. He’s been having dreams, lately, and all of them seemed to involve a little girl, but he hasn’t even shared that bit of information with Louis. “Oh, erm, it’s just a feeling I have,” he admits.

She clucks her tongue. “I had the same feeling with Lou and Lottie both,” she tells him. “Plenty of expectant parents do. If you think it’s going to be a girl, I have no doubt that’s what she’ll be.”

“Do you think we can keep that between us?” Harry asks shyly, rubbing his hand over his belly. “I really want it to be a surprise.”

“Sure thing, love. Where is Louis, anyway?” she asks.

Harry ducks his head. “Erm, last I saw he was getting told off for threatening the boy who tripped me.”

Jay doesn’t say anything, but there’s a flash of pride in her eyes, and then she’s asking Harry if he’d like to help bake a batch of Louis’ favourite cookies, ‘just because.’

By the time Louis and Lottie get home from school, the house smells like a bakery. Two trays of cookies are cooling on the worktop, and Harry is frosting a platter of cupcakes while Jay puts away the wide variety of ingredients they’d used.

Twin expressions of blue-eyed surprise take in the scene before them. “What’s all this, then?” Louis asks, stepping into the kitchen and snatching a cookie from the closest pan.

“Louis!” Harry cheers, dropping his icing bag and rounding the breakfast bar to burrow into Louis’ arms. “Your mum said the baby will be okay,” he says, squeezing Louis tightly around the middle. “Did you get in trouble?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Louis says around a mouthful of chocolate chip cookie. “I’m glad you’re both okay.” He kisses Harry’s forehead with crumb-covered lips before grabbing the icing bag. “Right now I want to decorate some cupcakes.”

Louis’ decorating skills are amateur at best, his cupcakes looking a bit sad next to Harry’s neatly done ones, but Lottie covers each one with a mound of sprinkles and then it doesn’t matter quite so much what the frosting looks like.

Later, Harry and Louis curl up on the couch, a crumb-speckled plate and sticky fingers the only evidence left of the baked goods. Lottie retreated to her room, and Jay ran to the store to grab a few things for dinner, leaving the boys on their own. Food Network reruns are on the telly, but Harry isn’t paying much attention, choosing instead to doze against Louis’ shoulder.

“Lou? Will you tell me what happened?” Harry asks sleepily.

“Yeah, okay,” Louis says, putting an arm around Harry and pulling him close. “I didn’t get in trouble or anything, but you know Hartley. He’s always a bit of a dick, and he’s never liked me much.”

Harry giggles. “Probably because you tried to glue him to his chair once.”

“Exactly. Tried. I didn’t succeed,” Louis scoffs, rolling his eyes. “But yeah, that might have something to do with it. Anyway, he said something that sort of got to me, that’s all.”

“What did he say?”

Louis sighs, dropping his head to rest against Harry’s, one hand creeping around to stroke his stomach. “He said I was never going to amount to anything. He’s written me off, just because I used to be a bit of a troublemaker and because I’m having a kid.” His eyes are tightly shut in frustration, his breath hot against Harry’s cheek. “I know he’s wrong, but it still hurt to basically be called a failure before my adult life even begins.”

“You aren’t a failure,” Harry promises, turning to place a kiss on his nose. “You’re young, yeah, but that doesn’t mean that you aren’t going to be an amazing dad. The whole reason you got told off today was for standing up for our baby.” He rests his hand over the top of Louis’ on his stomach. “I’d say that means you’ve already amounted to something.”

Both Harry and Louis startle at the same time, eyes wide. “Did you feel that?” Harry asks, a bit breathless.

“Yeah,” Louis replies, pressing his palm tighter against Harry’s belly. He feels it again, a jab of pressure coming from inside. “The baby’s kicking,” he says, awestruck.

“I think Baby agrees with me,” Harry says, marveling at the sensation of being kicked from the inside. “Though I can’t say I’m ever going to get used to this feeling.”

Louis laughs, moving his hand to rest his cheek against Harry’s bump instead. “Gonna be a football player, aren’t you?” he coos, pressing kisses to the stretched skin. “Or kick boxer. Whatever you want to be, just don’t beat your dad up too much practicing.”

“Practicing what?” Jay asks, coming from the entryway with shopping bags in either hand.

“Mum, the baby kicked!” Louis tells her excitedly, scooting over to make room for her to come sit next to Harry.

The baby kicks for a while longer, and the groceries sit forgotten in the doorway, and Louis doesn’t say another word about Mr Hartley.

✧✧✧

Easter hols finds Harry tired and achy. He’s twenty-two weeks along, and already the added weight is pulling uncomfortably at his lower back. He’d cashed in Louis’ coupon for a back rub almost immediately, and the older boy felt so bad for Harry that he made a couple extra and snuck them into the coupon book. Harry might be in love with him.

He’s tired because once the baby started moving, it doesn’t seem to stop, kicking late into the night. The two weeks off school stretching ahead of him feel full of promise—and naps. Mostly naps.

The first few days of the break are largely spent in bed, catching up on as much sleep as possible. He wakes up Monday morning with Louis plastered to his back, one hand resting on Harry’s hip. Louis’ fingers graze Harry’s skin where his pyjama bottoms have slipped down, and the sensation sends a jolt of heat straight to Harry’s groin.

He bites back a moan, trying to will his morning wood to subside even as he arches his back. It’s stupid, Louis is literally only touching his hip, but Harry is so desperately turned on that it’s nearly painful.

They haven’t done anything since Halloween, really. There have been a few hot and heavy make out sessions since becoming boyfriends, and lazy hand jobs on Saturday mornings when the world was still quiet except for their gasping breaths. But Harry wasn’t in any hurry to take it further, and Louis never pushed, and that was that.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to. The night he slept with Louis was the best sex of his life, and now that they’re dating he could be having that same amazing sex as often as he wanted. But Harry doesn’t look the same as he did back then, his skin stretched and bloated, stretch marks marring the surface no matter how much belly butter he uses. What if Louis isn’t attracted to him anymore? He can have anyone he wants, why settle for huge, scarred Harry?

Harry pauses to chide himself. He’s gained weight because he’s growing a human inside of him, and Louis knows that. Besides, Louis has seen Harry’s bare tummy, and didn’t seem too revolted. But is he still turned on by Harry?

Sometime during Harry’s internal monologue, Louis shifted closer, hips now jutting forward and— oh, pressing the hard line of his cock against Harry’s bum. Harry rocks back experimentally, nearly whining at the feeling of Louis’ erection against him, and is rewarded with a sharp intake of breath close to his ear.

“Mmm, morning,” Louis rasps, digging the pads of his fingers into the sensitive skin around Harry’s hip. “This is a nice way to wake up.”

Harry’s cheeks flame at being caught grinding against his sleeping boyfriend like a horny teenager. Which, well, he is, but that’s beside the point. “I’m sorry, we don’t have to do anything,” he rambles, putting some space between his arse and Louis. “Pregnancy hormones, or something.”

There’s a shuddery breath, then a pause, then—

“Do you want to do something?”

And fuck, it shouldn’t sound sexy, but it does. Hearing Louis’ morning voice, low and scratchy, feeling the hot breath licking over his ear, has lightning running through Harry’s veins.

He rolls over to look at Louis face to face. Louis’ eyes are half-open, hair wild and one side of his face still squished against his pillow. Even like this, unkempt and sleep rumpled, he’s still the most beautiful thing Harry’s ever seen. “I’ve wanted to for a while,” Harry admits, chewing at his lip.

Louis’ forehead fills with creases as he frowns. “You’ve never said anything, Haz. We could have. Fuck, babe, did you think I wouldn’t want to?”

The groan Harry lets out is muffled as he hides his face in his pillow, as is his response.

“What, love? I didn’t catch that,” Louis says softly, rubbing at Harry’s shoulder. “C’mon, talk to me.”

Turning enough that he can fix one eye on Louis, Harry blows out a breath and answers. “Didn’t think you’d find me attractive anymore.”

The shock on Louis’ face would be comical if Harry wasn’t so nervous. “Of course I’m attracted to you,” Louis assures him, leaning in close to pepper the exposed skin of Harry’s face with kisses, moving to his shoulder when he runs out of space. “Harry, you’re carrying my child. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Harry can’t help the tear that slips down his cheek. Fucking hormones, honestly. “What about after the baby comes? When I’m still pudgy and covered in stretch marks?”

“If that means that our baby is outside of you, alive and healthy because of how amazing you’re doing now, then I will love every single mark.” Louis wipes away the stray tear with his thumb. “You’re gorgeous to me no matter what, Harry. The fact that you’re an incredible father is just the icing on the cake.”

Each word falling from Louis’ lips is more and more perfect, and finally Harry can’t resist closing the gap and sealing their mouths together. Louis relaxes into the kiss, pulling Harry as close as humanly possible, his lips parting eagerly when Harry licks at the seam.

Louis swallows each groan that Harry breathes into his mouth, responding with soft little sighs of his own as they map each other’s bodies with their hands until Harry decides there are too many clothes in the way. He pulls back with a gasp, cheeks flushed and lips puffy, to pull off his shirt and toss it away. Louis mirrors the motion, watching Harry with hooded eyes as the younger man reveals his bare torso in its entirety.

Harry should feel self-conscious, his rounded belly on display for Louis, but the way Louis’ blue eyes rake over him hungrily only makes Harry want him that much more. They lock eyes for an instant, and then Louis is laying him back on the bed, hovering over his body and licking his lips.

“So beautiful, baby,” he breathes, running a hand down Harry’s chest, over one sensitive nipple and stopping on the swell of Harry’s stomach. “Can I take care of you?”

“Yes,” Harry sighs, groaning in anticipation as Louis settles down between his legs. He can feel Louis’ hot breath through the fabric of his pyjama pants, his erection straining against the flannel. “Please, Louis,” he whines, letting his head drop back against the pillow.

Gentle hands coax his hips upwards, dipping into the waistband of his pyjama bottoms and tugging them down. Harry’s cock smacks against his big belly as soon as it’s freed, and he doesn’t have to look to know he’s already leaking precome at the mere thought of having Louis’ mouth on him.

“Fucking gorgeous, Haz,” Louis breathes, nuzzling at Harry’s bare thigh. “You’re so perfect for me, can’t wait to taste you.” One hand wraps around Harry’s base, giving him a slow stroke that has his eyes rolling back in his head.

The feeling is nothing compared to what happens next, when Louis finally closes his mouth over the head of Harry’s cock. It’s all he can do not to come right then, shoot his load into the wet, perfect heat of Louis’ mouth. “Oh my god,” he gasps, clenching his hands tightly in the sheets.

There’s a vibration as Louis hums around his dick before sinking down, taking Harry as far as he can and covering the rest with his hand to completely encase Harry’s erection in heat. It’s been a long time since anyone had their mouth on him, but he’s almost certain that none of them could hold a candle to Louis.

Harry props himself up on his elbows to watch, his stomach clenching at what he sees: Louis’ mouth stretched around his cock, lips wet and messy with spit and precome. His eyes are closed, those long lashes that Harry loves so much resting on his hollowed cheeks. If sucking dick could be art, then Louis would be a masterpiece.

Cursing himself, Harry cups Louis’ cheeks and pulls him off of his cock. “I don’t want to come yet,” he gasps. “Want you inside me.”

That has Louis crawling back up Harry’s body with a growl, pressing their mouths together once more. Harry can taste himself on Louis’ tongue, just a hint of bitterness that Harry chases with his own tongue. The way Louis’ lying has the tip of his cock just brushing at the cleft of Harry’s arse, and he wants it, so badly, wants Louis to take him and stretch him out, remind him exactly how they made a baby in the first place.

“Louis, please,” Harry begs, digging his short nails into Louis’ shoulders.

“Okay, baby, okay. Where’re your supplies, love?” Louis asks softly, stroking Harry’s sweat damp hair.

Harry can’t even form the words, simply twisting his body to grab his bottle of lube and a condom from the drawer in his bedside table. Louis takes both items, kissing Harry’s fingers as he does, before settling between Harry’s spread thighs once more.

It’s agonizing moments later when a finger is finally pressing against Harry’s rim, the lube cold against the hot ring of muscle. “You ready, love?” Louis asks, applying the barest hint of pressure, just enough to have Harry clenching in anticipation.

“Please, Lou,” Harry pants in response, rocking his hips downward in an attempt to get Louis’ finger to breach his rim. He lets out an unbridled moan as Louis obliges, finger burying itself deep in his arse.

Louis slowly works the digit in and out, like he’s memorising the way Harry’s body feels around him. It feels so good but it’s not enough, and soon Harry is whimpering for Louis to add another.

When Louis has two fingers inside, he spreads them apart, light exploding in bursts behind Harry’s eyelids from the stretch. It’s like nothing he’s ever felt before, as if every sensation is magnified tenfold. “Please, Lou, I’m ready,” he whines, tears forming at how badly he needs this. “I can take it, please.”

Louis studies Harry for a moment, spreading his fingers once more before sliding them out of Harry’s slick hole. “All right, love, I’ve got you,” Louis murmurs, dipping to place a kiss on Harry’s trembling belly. One hand is slowly tugging at his own cock, hard and almost painfully red against the tan skin of his fingers. He wipes his lubed fingers on the sheet before reaching for the condom lying next to him.

“Wait,” Harry says, pushing himself up to sitting. His cheeks are hot, a combination of being incredibly turned on and embarrassed by what he’s about to ask.

“What’s wrong?” Louis asks, hand falling to Harry’s thigh instead. “Do you want to stop? It’s okay if you do.”

Harry shakes his head fervently; stopping is the furthest thing from his mind. “No, it’s just…” Deep breath. “Do you think wecoulddoitwithoutthecondom?”

The last bit comes out in a rush, and Louis just blinks at him slowly as he tries to decipher the jumble of words. “Huh?” he asks, tilting his head.

Drawing in a lungful of air, Harry tries again, slower this time. “Can we do it without the condom?” He barrels on before Louis has a chance to respond. “It’s just, you don’t have anything, and I got tested at my first antenatal appointment, and it’s not like I can get more pregnant, so I just thought–”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Louis says, interrupting Harry’s rambling by cupping his cheeks. “If that’s what you want, then I would love to.” He leans forward to claim Harry’s lips in a sweet kiss. “I’ve never done that before.”

“Me neither,” Harry replies, chest fluttering at the thought of having Louis inside of him with nothing in between. “But I want to. With you.”

If Louis’ smile were any bigger it would probably burn Harry up, a supernova of white teeth and bitten lips, entire galaxies lost to the crinkles by his eyes. “I want everything with you,” he replies, and Harry was wrong to think of Louis as the sun, because he’s something bigger and brighter still.

Abandoning the condom, Louis grabs for the lube instead, slicking up his dick in long, steady strokes. “How do you want it, love? Want you to be comfortable.”

Harry runs his hands over his belly, considering. He can’t lie comfortably on his stomach, and he doesn’t want Louis to worry about hurting him if he’s on his back, so…

“Can I be on my side? Like, spooning?” Harry asks timidly, pulling his knees up and rolling to one side to illustrate.

Louis just smiles, walking on his knees until his thighs are flush against Harry’s arse, dick nudging against his hip. He curls himself around Harry, pressing his dewy chest against Harry’s back, fitting his knees in the crook of Harry’s. “Like this, love?”

It feels so intimate, how closely they’re pressed together, Louis’ lips ghosting at the nape of Harry’s neck. Harry can only nod as he shudders, pressing his bum back against Louis’ hardness. “Yeah, ‘s good,” he murmurs, skin prickling in anticipation as he feels Louis reaching down to guide himself inside.

With Anne at work and Gemma staying in Sheffield a few more days, Harry doesn’t bother trying to be quiet as Louis sinks into him. The stretch has him moaning without abandon, the slick glide of skin on skin sending fire crackling through Harry’s veins. Behind him, Louis grunts softly once he’s fully inside, pressing kiss after kiss to the bare skin of Harry’s upper back. “Feel so good, Haz. Tell me how you want it.”

It’s cruel, making Harry try to think when he’s so overwhelmed, both desperate and relieved at the same time. “Just want you,” he gasps, not sure if it even makes any sense, not caring.

Louis must understand, because he slowly pulls out before slamming all the way back in. It’s not particularly deep, this position, but it has Louis’ cock dragging against Harry’s prostate at a delicious angle. Louis alternates between shallow thrusts and burying himself to the hilt, shifting from fast to slow and back again in a way that has Harry almost in tears from how incredible he feels. He’s not going to last long, not with the way his body is taking Louis like it was fucking made for it, so full and stretched around his boyfriend’s dick. If Harry were a bit more cliché, he’d say that it’s almost like he feels complete with Louis inside of him.

(And yeah, okay, maybe he is that cliché.)

“Close,” Harry warns, even though he hasn’t so much as touched his cock. Precome drips out against his belly, leaving sticky streaks as his erection bobs with each of Louis’ thrusts.

“Me too, love. God, you feel so good,” Louis groans, picking up the pace. “Where do you want me to come?”

“Inside, please, want to feel it,” he gasps in reply.

With a moan, Louis slams into Harry forcefully, nudging a knee between Harry’s legs and wrapping an arm around Harry’s chest for better leverage. Harry clings to the arm around him with both hands, rocking his hips back to meet Louis thrust for thrust.

“Haz, fuck, Harry,” Louis cries, and then he’s pushing himself deep as he shoots his load, trembling as he releases hot spurts of come inside Harry.

He reaches down to get a hand around Harry, and all it takes are a few quick strokes for Harry to follow him over the edge, spilling over Louis’ fist and his own belly. The room feels warmer and brighter around them, the air filled with their heaving breaths as they come down from their climaxes.

Louis stays cuddled close, his softening dick still tucked inside Harry, his mouth whispering nonsense into Harry’s neck. It’s the closest he’s ever felt to another person, Louis wrapped around him like a second skin.

When Louis finally pulls out, there’s a strange sensation as the come inside him begins leaking out as well. It’s not altogether unpleasant—kind of hot, actually, a reminder of what they just shared. The sheets will definitely need a washing, though, if there’s even half as much mess as he thinks there is.

But there will be plenty of time for messes later. For now, Harry rolls over so he’s facing Louis, their legs tangled together. Louis looks sated and tired, his eyelids hanging low over his eyes.

“Hi,” Harry whispers shyly. What is it about Louis that has him blushing like a virgin? He feels new all over again, something shiny to be coveted.

Maybe it’s the way Louis looks at him, like he is right now. Like he’s the lucky one, when Harry knows it’s the other way around.

“Hey,” Louis whispers back. “You okay?”

Harry wiggles closer, tucking his head under Louis’ chin. “Better than,” he replies. “The best.”

“The very best,” Louis agrees, and together they drift off to sleep once more, come spots be damned.

✧✧✧

After what Louis and Harry refer to as ‘the Jason Incident,’ Harry is never left to walk to class on his own. When Louis can’t be there, Lottie or Niall is. When neither of them is free, it’s Liam or Zayn. Sometimes Harry will step out of class to find a football player he’s never spoken to waiting for him with a smile on his face.

It’s incredibly sweet, how protective Louis is being, and no one has so much as looked at Harry the wrong way with seemingly the entire footie team at his disposal. If Louis is this defensive of the baby before it’s even born, Harry can’t wait to see what he’s like after.

Louis, Zayn, and Liam start sitting with Harry at lunch too, turning what used to be a quiet mealtime into a fun social hour. The lads and Niall get on from the word go, arguing playfully over football and music and, one lunchtime, who Harry and Louis are going to name the baby after.

(Niall insists he called dibs. Harry doesn’t think you can call dibs on a baby. Louis agrees with Niall because he thinks Harry’s cute when he pouts.)

Lottie and Louis have grown closer too, it seems, spending more time together outside of home. Lottie always has some article or Pinterest link she wants to show Harry and Louis, and Harry knows she and Niall are already planning his baby shower, even if it’s weeks away yet.

It’s hard to believe he’s already over halfway there, exciting and terrifying all at the same time. Harry’s so excited to be a dad, can hardly wait to meet his baby. But he’s scared, too; he can barely care for himself, let alone another human. The birth itself is daunting, too—at Harry’s last antenatal appointment, his doctor had confirmed that his hips are too narrow for anything other than a cesarean section, and being cut open while still awake is not something Harry’s looking forward to at all.

Even so, the excitement outweighs the fear, for Harry at least. Louis, on the other hand, seems to fluctuate between being upbeat and thrilled to withdrawn and stressed. Some days he comes to school with dark bruises under his eyes like he hasn’t slept at all, tired and irritable. Still, even on the bad days, he always greets Harry with a hug and a kiss before bending low to kiss Harry’s belly good morning as well.

It’s one bad day in particular that Liam is walking Harry to his Biology class. Liam always seems to have something to smile about, and today is no different as he greets Harry with kind brown eyes crinkled into half moons.

“Hey, Harry. How are you feeling?” he asks, taking Harry’s backpack and shouldering it alongside his own. Harry’s already aching back really appreciates it.

Harry sighs, running a hand through his curls. “I’m just worried about Lou. He seems so unhappy some days, and I can’t help but feel responsible.” He frowns, resting one hand on top of his prominent stomach. “I don’t want either of us to be a burden on him.”

A hand wraps around Harry’s bicep as Liam pulls him out of the way of passers-by and up against a bank of lockers. “Harry, listen to me. You and that baby are the farthest things from a burden on Louis.” Liam holds up a hand, cutting off Harry mid-scoff. “I mean it. Louis’ tired, yeah. He has school and uni applications, and exams are coming up, but he’d have all that stuff without you, wouldn’t he?”

Harry kicks at a scuff mark on the linoleum. “Yeah, but he got that job at the cinema to help save up, which means he has less time to revise and do homework and see you guys. I know he’s so worried about doing well on his A levels so he can get into a good university, but at the same time he’s dreading leaving us at all.” He looks up at Liam with wide, sad eyes. “I feel like he’s getting the short end of all this, Liam. He never asked for any of it.”

“Neither did you, and this isn’t any easier for you.” Liam bites his lip, deliberating, before reaching into his trousers and pulling out his wallet. He opens it to a photo sleeve and passes it to Harry.

The top photo is of a little boy, maybe a year old. He has chubby cheeks and messy brown hair, grinning at the camera from where he’s perched in a tiny wooden rocking chair.

Harry stares at the photo, mouth hanging open. “Liam, is this…”

“My son, yeah,” Liam replies softly, taking the wallet back and smiling at the photo before tucking it back away. “His name’s Micah. His mum goes to a different college, she had him when we were both in year twelve.”

Harry’s mind is reeling. Liam has a son. “Does anyone else know?” he asks, aware that they’re going to be late for their next lessons but not caring at the moment.

“Lou and Zayn do, yeah. No one else though.” Liam’s face grows serious, more than Harry’s ever seen him look before. “But Harry, please believe me when I tell you that no matter how hard it gets, it’s worth it. It is for me, and it will be for Louis too.”

“Thank you for telling me about him,” Harry whispers, pulling Liam in for a hug. “He’s beautiful, and I hope I get to meet him someday.”

Liam hugs back, ruffling Harry’s curls when they part. “You will. Seeing how brave you’ve been, I’m not scared of people knowing I’m a teenage dad anymore. I have you to thank for that.”

Harry’s cheeks go pink with delight, and he allows Liam to walk him the rest of the way to class in a far better mood.

✧✧✧

Registering for baby showers is, it turns out, a lot of fun.

They go after school to the shops one day, Harry and Louis and Lottie and Niall. There are so many things—bottles and dummies and tiny little nail clippers, toys and nappies and car seats—that it’s more than a little overwhelming.

“How can one little person need so much stuff?” Louis asks in awe, holding the registration scanner loosely in one hand as he stares at shelf after shelf of baby items.

“They don’t need a lot of it,” Harry replies, already scanning a baby monitor that had good reviews online. “But some of it makes things easier.”

Louis doesn’t look convinced, but he shrugs and joins in scanning things as well. Every now and again Lottie or Niall will come bounding over with something ridiculous, and more often than not it gets scanned as well (though Harry draws the line at a tin of bacon flavoured baby formula).

“I wish you knew what you were having,” Lottie sighs, flipping through a rack of frilly dresses. “I want to buy some cute little outfits. Look at these shoes!” she coos, holding up a tiny pair of Mary Janes.

“We’re having a baby,” Harry replies, carefully inspecting the model cribs. “It’s going to grow out of everything too fast to buy anything fancy now, right?”

“That or get sick on it,” Louis replies helpfully from where he’s walking Niall around with one of those toddler leashes.

Lottie huffs, putting the shoes down and moving to a display of more gender neutral clothing. “You guys take all the fun out of it, I swear.”

Harry pats her on the back, having selected a crib and joining her at the clothes. “You’ll have years and years to spoil your niece or nephew,” he reminds her. “I promise, I’ll dress them in any outfit you buy, no matter how ridiculous.”

She grins evilly, pulling out a garish pink and purple thing covered in ribbons and frills, some kind of poofy headband with what looks like feathers on it to match. “Even this?”

Harry laughs, taking the outfit away and putting it back on the rack. “Even that. Now come on, I think Niall’s managed to get himself stuck in a pram.”

✧✧✧

The weeks seem to slide by, a flurry of preparing for the baby as well as their exams. The weather grows warmer, the days longer, and Harry’s stomach feels like it swells with each passing day. He’s got near constant heartburn, which everyone assures him means his baby will have a lot of hair, and his ankles are swollen to twice their size by the end of the school day. Sitting through lessons is a nightmare, the baby seeming to wait until he’s sat at his desk to start turning somersaults or kicking him square in the bladder.

The last Saturday in May finds everyone piling into the Tomlinson residence for the baby shower. The off-white walls are covered in pastel decorations, greens and yellow balloons and streamers attached to anything that will stand still. Lottie has really outdone herself, refusing to let Harry lift a finger to help. Louis, on the other hand, she gleefully put to work rearranging the furniture in the lounge so all the guests could sit in a circle.

Each guest is given a handout, blanks to be filled in with well wishes and predictions for the baby, and Lottie will compile them all into a little book to give to Harry after. She has games and food, and the folding table set up against the wall is already covered with gifts.

“This is incredible, Lots,” Harry sniffles, touched by his friend’s hard work. “You’re the best, you know that?”

She smacks a kiss to his cheek. “I know. Now go sit down while I round everyone up. We have games to play!”

Harry hasn’t ever been to a baby shower, but he’s sure that his is especially wonderful. All of his friends are there, and the family members who could make it. Liam even brought along his girlfriend, Sophia, as well as their son Micah (who is even cuter in person).

Lottie deposits Harry in an armchair at the front of the room, everyone else finding seats on the sofas or the folding chairs Louis had dragged in earlier that morning. Louis takes the chair on Harry’s right, draping an arm over Harry’s chair to tangle their fingers and bring them to rest on Harry’s stomach. At thirty-two weeks, Harry’s properly round now, the silky black fabric of his paternity top draped over his large belly. He’s gained weight, sure, but it all seems concentrated in his abdomen. Louis likes to tease him that he doesn’t even look pregnant from behind.

The games Lottie and Niall came up with are actually a lot of fun. One involves everyone passing around a ball of wool, cutting a length of thread they think will wrap around Harry’s stomach. The one with the closest guess wins one of the prizes Lottie put together. No one is surprised when Louis’ mum wins that one. “Years as a midwife,” she laughs, taking her prize bag from Lottie. “I’ve seen more than my share of pregnant bellies.”

Niall wins the next game, where the goal is to extract tiny plastic babies from ice cubes. He just chomps down on the thing, nearly biting the toy baby in half in the process. “I hope it’s a long time before you reproduce,” Louis tells him, giving Lottie a stern look even as Niall waggles his eyebrows at her.

After a few more games and refreshments, Lottie begins piling gifts into Harry’s lap, handing Louis a notebook to keep track of everything they receive. And goodness, is there a lot— little socks and bibs and onesies, slings and bottles and nappies in every size imaginable. Their mothers had gone together to buy a matching crib and changing table, and Sophia and Liam gifted them with some of the things Micah has outgrown. There are toys and books and even a gift certificate for a newborn photo shoot at a local studio.

By the end of the party, it seems there’s very little Harry and Louis have left to buy themselves. Harry clutches the last present, a beautiful black and white diaper bag from Gemma, and doesn’t bother to hide the grateful tears streaming from his eyes. “I can’t thank you all enough,” he cries, smiling blearily around the room. “I know that no one planned for this to happen, least of all me, but I am so lucky to have such a wonderful support network.” He pushes the diaper bag aside, hands cradling his stomach. “This is already the luckiest baby in the entire world.”

His mother scoops him up, hugging him close and covering his face with kisses. “We’re all very lucky too, love,” she tells him, smoothing his curls back into place. “You’re giving us a pretty amazing gift.” She pulls one arm away to grasp at Louis’ hand. “I’m so proud of both of you for how well you’re doing. I’m so sorry for how I reacted at the start.”

Louis stands, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “You’ve done so much for us, Anne. Thank you for everything.”

One by one the guests come up to give Harry and Louis hugs and kisses, wishing them well before they depart. Louis’ nan cheekily tucks a folded bill into Louis’ pocket, even though there had already been a cheque in the card she’d given them. Before long, only their mums and Lottie and Niall remain, the latter pair already getting started cleaning up the mess.

Harry is gathering up all the gifts, putting them all in one place to make them easier to transport to his house. They’ve slowly started turning the guest room at the Styles house into a nursery, and Harry is looking forward to putting the new furniture into it.

He’s just stuffing a few things into the diaper bag when a pair of arms wraps around him from behind. “Hey, you,” Louis says, resting his cheek between Harry’s shoulders. “Did you have fun today?”

Harry leans back into the embrace, covering Louis’ arms with his own. “I did, yeah. I can’t believe we got nearly everything we needed. Maybe it means you won’t have to work quite as much before uni starts.” Louis’ been working so hard, and while Harry knows that they have a lot more expenses coming up, he doesn’t want his boyfriend to completely miss his last summer before university.

“About that,” Louis says, gently spinning Harry around to face him. “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asks, searching Louis’ face.

Louis places a gentle peck on Harry’s lips. “I’ve decided to take a gap year,” he explains, keeping his forehead against Harry’s, sharing the air between them. “Uni will still be there. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself for missing the first year of my child’s life.”

“But Lou,” Harry protests, eyes brimming with tears. As much as he was dreading juggling school and a newborn on his own, holding Louis back is the very last thing he wants to do.

“No buts,” Louis says firmly, kissing Harry again. “I can take care of the baby while you finish sixth form, and then we’ll figure out uni together.”

Sobbing, Harry throws his arms around Louis’ neck, his large belly making it difficult to get too close. “Thank you, Lou, thank you so much.”

Louis holds him tightly, nuzzling his face into Harry’s neck. “I meant it when I said I wanted this,” he whispers, his lips brushing Harry’s skin. “That means all of it: the diaper changes and doctor visits and teething. I don’t want to miss a single thing.”

Harry is about to reply when a sharp ‘oi’ interrupts him, Lottie standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips. “This is disgustingly cute and all,” she says, a half filled bin bag at her feet, “but could you make yourselves useful and go eat the rest of the cupcakes in the kitchen so I can finish up in here?”

Laughing wetly, Harry and Louis do as she commands and head off in search of said cupcakes. Louis smears frosting on Harry’s nose, and Harry smashes one over Louis’ head, and they giggle and kiss until Lottie chases them out of the house with a broom.

✧✧✧

If Harry thought getting through his lessons was difficult, it’s nothing compared to trying to focus on his exams with a tiny foot kicking him square in the ribs. During his Psychology exam, his baby apparently has a rather persistent case of hiccups, the rhythmic flutter shattering Harry’s concentration.

Somehow, though, he makes it through all of his exams and is fairly confident in his results, feeling quite lucky that he didn’t go into premature labour halfway through one of them.

Louis finishes his as well, exhausted and anxious, though Harry suspects some of those nerves are due to the fact they’ll be parents in just over a month.

“Are you scared?” Harry asks one night, the two of them sat on the floor of the nursery and folding tiny little outfits to be put into drawers.

Louis drops the shirt he’s holding to grab Harry’s hands. “Terrified,” he admits, though he still manages to smile for Harry. “How about you? Think you’re ready to give birth?”

“Can’t exactly back out now, can I?” Harry laughs, leaning into Louis’ shoulder, not caring that he messes up some of the folding in the process. “I’m scared too,” he confesses, “but I’m also ready to meet our baby.”

“Me too,” Louis agrees, resting a palm just under Harry’s naval. Already seeming to love the attention, the baby pushes back. “I think someone’s ready to meet us as well.”

“Five more weeks,” Harry sighs happily, content to cuddle up with Louis until a well-placed kick sends him running for the toilet.

✧✧✧

In the end, they don’t have five weeks; they have three.

School is winding down for the term, most days spent listening to guest speakers or going on trips. The year thirteens are already out for summer hols, off to start their travels or find jobs. Next year, it’ll be Harry’s turn, though he already knows how he’ll be spending his summers for a long time to come. At the very least, who he’ll be spending them with.

Today they’re watching a film in English, some adaptation of a play that has half the class snickering and the other half asleep. Harry is barely paying attention, too uncomfortable to do much more than squirm in his seat. His lower back hurts worse than it has in the last few weeks combined, and he can’t seem to find a position to sit in that doesn’t leave him breathless from the pain.

“Haz, sit still,” Lottie commands in a whisper, the constant creaking of Harry’s chair grating on her nerves. “This film is bad enough without your sound effects.”

“I can’t help it,” he moans, reaching around to press at the base of his spine. “It hurts so bad.”

She scoots closer to him, eyebrows furrowed as she takes in the anguish twisting his face. “Harry, are you all right? Do you need me to get someone?”

Harry wants to tell her no, that he’ll be fine in a moment, but there’s a strong pinch in his pelvis, pain radiating from his stomach and down his legs. It leaves him doubled over in his seat, clutching his stomach and struggling to get his breath.

“Harry?” Lottie asks again, clearly frightened now. “Is something wrong with the baby?”

He tries to straighten up, gingerly adjusting his position to ease the pain. It doesn’t let up, though, his muscles clenching harder the more he moves. He can’t help but let out a cry, the students nearby turning to see what the commotion is.

“Mr Styles? Is something the matter?” the teacher asks from her desk, pausing the film.

The pain slowly ebbs, like a stretched rubber band being slowly returned to its normal shape. “I think that was a contraction,” he says to Lottie, ignoring the teacher entirely. “It’s early.”

Lottie is out of her desk in an instant. “I’m taking you home. We need to get my mum and Louis.” She wraps an arm around Harry’s waist, helping him to his feet.

“Miss Tomlinson,” the teacher tries again, standing up from her own chair. “Where exactly do you think you’re going?”

“We’re going to have a baby!” Lottie hollers, leading Harry out of the classroom without a backwards glance.

(Admittedly, it would have been a far more dramatic exit if Harry weren’t waddling quite so prominently).

The car trip stretches on for ages, Harry’s abdomen trying to fold in on itself. Another contraction hits hard just as Lottie pulls into the drive, Harry trying his best to breathe through it like Jay taught him.

“Haz, I love you to pieces, but please don’t let your water break in my car,” Lottie says, only half joking.

Harry musters up a smile, even through the pain. “I’ll do my best,” he grits out.

The front door flies open before Lottie even gets out of the car. She’d texted her mum and brother before they left the school, and they’re both at Harry’s side in a second flat.

Louis is pale and quiet, trailing behind his mother as she opens Harry’s door to help him out of the car. “Hey, love, can you tell me what’s going on?” Jay asks in a calming voice, helping Harry to his feet and keeping him steady when the pain threatens to pitch him to the ground.

He grips her arm, reaching for Louis with his other hand, clasping the clammy palm in his own. “I had a contraction at school, I think,” he gasps, breathing as deeply as he can manage. “I think that was another one, just then.”

“How far apart?” Jay asks, guiding him into the house and to the sofa.

“Fifteen minutes or so,” Lottie chimes in, sitting on the arm of the sofa and stroking Harry’s sweaty forehead. Beside him, Louis just holds his hand.

Jay nods. “Well, I say we wait just a bit longer to see if this is the real deal, and if it is we need to get to the hospital.” She kisses Harry on the forehead before pulling out her phone. “I’m going to ring your mum, all right? You just try and stay comfortable.” She disappears down the hallway, mobile pressed to her ear as she waits for Anne to answer.

Glancing between a grimacing Harry and a shaken Louis, Lottie hops to her feet. “Right, I’m going to get Harry some water,” she announces, making a beeline to the kitchen and leaving the couple alone.

“Hey,” Harry says softly, nudging his knee against Louis’.

“Hey,” Louis croaks out, sounding more in need of water than Harry is.

“We’re going to have a baby.”

Louis swallows hard. “I’m scared. I don’t think I’m ready.”

Harry leans over, resting his cheek against his boyfriend’s shoulder. “I’m not either,” he admits, “but we have to be.”

“Yeah,” Louis replies, nodding slowly. “Yeah, we do.” He scrubs a hand over his face, some of the colour returning to his skin as he turns to look at Harry. “How are you doing, love?”

“It hurts,” Harry says, feeling the tight coil of another contraction coming on. He breathes through it, a death grip on Louis’ hand until the pain subsides.

An hour later, the contractions are still coming regularly, and Jay declares that Harry is in labour. “Your mum has your hospital bag, she’ll meet us there,” she tells Harry, joining her son in helping Harry off the couch. “Just keep breathing, love. Just a few more hours and you’ll have a baby!”

The thought is as thrilling as it is terrifying. They’re going to be parents. There will be a little person in the world who depends on him and Louis for food, and clean nappies, and guidance. “Oh my god,” Harry groans, head spinning at the thought. “We don’t even have a name picked out.” He allows Louis to help him into the car, choosing to sit in the back so that he can hold his boyfriend’s hand the whole way there.

Jay laughs as she buckles herself in, waiting for Lottie to do the same before starting the car. “You’ll have plenty of time for that, love. Let’s just focus on getting them here for the time being.”

Louis spends the entire ride to the hospital distracting Harry with the most outlandish names he can come up with. Somewhere between ‘Cornelius Styles’ and ‘Lady Gaga Tomlinson,’ Harry decides he wouldn’t rather be having this baby with anyone else in the world.

✧✧✧

The next hour passes in a blur, only broken up by ever more frequent contractions. Once the doctor determines that Harry is indeed in labour, he’s hooked up to an IV and prepped for surgery. As soon as a theatre opens up, he’s going to have a baby.

“Will you come with me?” he asks Louis quietly. The older boy has been at his side the entire time, only letting go of Harry’s hand when he was in the doctor’s way, and taking hold of it again immediately after. They haven’t talked about it, though, whether Louis wants to be in the room with him for the actual surgery. As disappointed as he’ll be, Harry understands if Louis doesn’t have the stomach for it.

Louis goes a bit green, squeezing Harry’s hand even more tightly. “Will, um. Will I have to watch?” he asks, looking moments away from being sick.

“You won’t see a thing, love,” Jay assures him, moving closer to rub Louis’ back. “They put up a screen, and all you have to do is hold Harry’s hand. But if you can’t, you know Anne or I will go instead.” Anne nods in agreement, appearing on Louis’ other side.

He’s silent for a moment, considering. “I felt bad enough knowing I missed the first scan,” he replies slowly. “I don’t think I’d ever forgive myself for missing the birth.” Louis gives Harry a pointed look. “I doubt you’d forgive me, either.”

“Probably not,” Harry agrees jokingly. “And neither will Cornelius.”

They all laugh at that, but then a nurse announces that it’s time, and the room goes deathly still.

“You’ll be fine, baby,” Anne assures him, stroking back Harry’s curls to kiss his forehead. “I’m so proud of you.”

Harry can’t speak, just nods woodenly, and then he’s being wheeled away, his life on the cusp of changing forever.

✧✧✧

Sadie Joanne Tomlinson-Styles is born a half hour later, at 2:47 in the afternoon. She has ten fingers and ten toes, and full head of dark hair.

Her name is Sadie, from a song Harry likes, and her middle name is their mothers’ first names combined. She’s so impossibly small, cuddled in Harry’s arms, and he’s certain he’s never seen anything more beautiful.

So many people come to see her in her first day of life, grandmothers and aunts and her honorary uncles, yet she sleeps peacefully through it all, almost like the last several months of kicking Harry’s organs tired her out.

Eventually, Harry and Louis are left alone in their room with their little girl. “Hey, baby,” he coos, letting her tiny fingers curl around his finger. She squints up at him with big blue eyes, seeking out her father’s voice.

“She’s perfect,” Louis says in awe. It’s the same thing he said the first time he saw her, when the doctor had held her over the screen covering Harry’s abdomen. She hadn’t even been cleaned off, red and wrinkly as the doctor announced, “It’s a girl!” Yet Harry had watched Louis fall in love in the passage of a second, his breath catching in his throat when he saw his daughter for the first time. “She’s perfect,” he’d said, and Harry couldn’t agree more.

“Want to hold her?” Harry offers, scooting her further up his chest.

Louis nods, scooping the newborn up and cradling her close. Harry watches on, content, as the two loves of his life get to know each other a little better. There are tears in Louis’ eyes as he marvels at his daughter, his fingers reverently stroking over her hair as if the lightest touch might break her. He doesn’t speak, just stares into her eyes like she holds the secrets to the universe—and for all they know, she might.

“Move in with me.” Louis blurts out, looking over Sadie’s head at Harry.

Harry blinks slowly at him, adjusting himself in the bed and wincing at the discomfort from his incision. “Sorry?”

“I got a flat,” Louis explains, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. Sadie’s eyes are closed once more as she nuzzles against Louis’ chest. “It’s not much, but it’s mine, and I want you to move in with me.” He looks down at the tiny baby in his arms. “I can’t imagine the two of you going home anywhere else. I want to be proper family, us and Sade.”

Harry doesn’t know if it’s exhaustion or hormones, but he’s sobbing and pulling Louis in for a hug the best he can without jostling Sadie. “I’d like that,” Harry sniffles. “But I wish you would have asked me before we decorated the nursery.”

Louis laughs, pressing a kiss to Harry’s wet cheek. “I’ll redo it meself if I have to. I’ll have everything taken care of by the time you come home, I promise.” He hands Sadie back to Harry, careful to avoid his stomach. “I meant it when I told you I didn’t want to miss anything.”

When Harry goes home a few days later, Louis has kept his word. The flat is small but cozy, with a bedroom for them and one for Sadie’s nursery. There’s a tiny kitchen and lounge, and one bathroom, and a little balcony that Harry can see playing with Sadie on when she gets a bit bigger. There’s even a small garden out back, and Harry can’t help but imagine picnic lunches on sunny days, blowing bubbles and finger painting and finding shapes in the clouds overhead.

Louis even has the nursery mostly finished, though he admits to roping Niall, Zayn, and Liam in for backup. Still, Sadie’s crib is put together, and all the essentials are in place. It’s the first place Harry goes when he gets home, settling into the rocker with Sadie in his arms. She’s hungry and fussy, and all too happy to let Harry rock her as she takes her bottle.

“Welcome home, Sadie Jo,” he whispers, kissing her forehead. He raises his eyes to find blue ones watching him, identical to their daughter’s.

“Welcome home,” Louis echoes, pushing off the door frame and crossing the room. He bends to press a kiss first to Harry’s forehead, then Sadie’s. He looks so soft, hair unstyled and loose joggers hanging low on his hips. Even looking as tired as he does from his moving and his first few nights as a new dad, he’s still so gorgeous to Harry. Even more like this, perhaps, since not many people get to see this unguarded side of him.

“We can do this, can’t we?” Harry asks, watching Louis straighten one of the pictures on the wall. It’s Harry favourite from his paternity shoot, a close-up of his belly with Louis’ hands over it in the shape of a heart.

Louis steps away from the photo, satisfied, before returning to Harry’s side. He plucks the now-sleeping Sadie from Harry’s arms, settling her down in her cot so that he can have Harry to himself for a moment. “We already are, love,” he says, pulling Harry to his feet and into a careful hug.

It won’t be easy, Harry knows, but the things worth doing rarely are. And raising a beautiful little girl with the boy of his dreams? Yeah, that’s worth every moment.

It’s worth it six months later, when Harry is exhausted from school and a teething baby keeping him up at night, only to come home to see his daughter roll over for the first time by herself.

It’s worth it a year later when he manages to pass his A-levels and Louis gets Jay to watch Sadie so they can have a night to themselves to celebrate.

It’s worth it three years later when they finish uni and, at dinner that night, Louis prompts Sadie to give Harry a card. Inside, underneath her messy crayon scribbles, is a message in Louis’ handwriting: ‘Will you marry my other daddy?’

(Harry says yes, of course, on one condition—that they wait for a while to get married. Louis looks hurt, until Harry explains: “It’s just, I probably won’t fit into a tuxedo in a few months,” all the while rubbing his stomach.)

It’s worth it when Harry walks down the aisle with Sadie’s hand wrapped tightly in his, her other spreading flower petals carelessly down the path. Everyone they love is looking on: Zayn and his latest girlfriend; Niall and a heavily pregnant Lottie; Liam and Sophia, newlyweds themselves, with Micah sat between them; and, of course, Louis and Harry’s families, all squished together in a pew with Gemma holding the newest addition to the Tomlinson-Styles clan in her arms, sleeping soundly while his daddies complete their little family.

Harry never meant for it any of it to happen, sleeping with his best friend’s brother or having a baby at seventeen. But now, six years, three flats, and a new baby later, he knows that he wouldn’t change a single thing.