Archive of Our Own ^beta

Louis glances at the rearview mirror for the hundredth time in ten minutes.

Harry’s in the backseat, curled around their tiny newborn like she’s made of porcelain and starlight. His curls are pushed off his face, cheeks flushed with exhaustion, and his shirt—one of Louis’ softest ones, borrowed last minute from the hospital bag—is clinging to his chest in a crescent of dampness.

Milk, probably.

And still. Gorgeous.

Fucking radiant, actually.

Harry hums something soft and tuneless under his breath, gaze locked on their daughter like she’s some kind of miracle. Which, to be fair, she is. Her name, stitched in Louis’ heart now—Aurelia—still makes him ache every time he hears it. Says it. Thinks it.

“You alright, baby?” Louis asks, soft, like if he speaks too loud he’ll break the moment.

Harry doesn’t look up, just nods, eyes heavy. “Tired.” Then, after a pause, “Leaking.”

Louis smiles a little. “Sexy.”

“Shut up.” But it’s gentle. Fond. The smile that ghosts across Harry’s lips is slow and sleepy. He finally looks up, and Louis’ chest tightens at the sight of him. His entire world, sitting there—beautiful, sore, and stubbornly holding their baby like he’ll never let go.

They pull into the drive and Louis puts the car in park. “Home.”

Harry closes his eyes briefly. “Bed. Please.”

“Gonna carry you both in.”

“You’re not.”

“We’ll see.”

Louis hops out first, grabbing the overnight bag and shoving his phone in his back pocket. He opens Harry’s door next and reaches out instinctively.

“C’mere.”

Harry blinks up at him like he’s forgotten he has legs. “Wait, she—”

“I’ll get the bag, you get her,” Louis reaches for Harry’s hand and gently helps him out, steadying him when he wobbles. “Go slow.”

Harry breathes out through his nose, cradling Aurelia closer to his chest as he climbs out. “We should’ve brought balloons or something. For her first time home.”

“Next baby,” Louis says lightly, closing the door. “We’ll rent a bloody bounce house.”

Harry snorts. “She’s not allowed on a bounce house until she’s, like, twenty.”

They walk up to the door together, Louis shouldering the bag and reaching for his keys—

Wait.

The door’s open.

He stops.

“I locked this.”

Harry, one step behind him, frowns. “What?”

Louis pushes it open carefully. He’s already gearing up for something, though he doesn’t know what, exactly, until—

“Oh, there they are!”

The voice booms from the kitchen. Laughter follows. And then his mum, Carol, in her too-bright cardigan, and Rick, his dad, already halfway to the door like they’ve lived here for years.

“There’s our girl!” Carol sings, arms outstretched, eyes locked on the bundle in Harry’s arms.

Louis freezes. So does Harry.

The shift is subtle. So subtle it might be missed by someone who doesn’t know him. But Louis knows every version of Harry—post-birth Harry, sleep-deprived Harry, proud-new-parent Harry. And this Harry?

This Harry’s face is still and flat. Mouth barely twitching, like he’s trying to smile. But his eyes—

Louis sees it. The flicker of disappointment. The tight line in his jaw. The way his fingers curl just slightly more protectively around Aurelia.

“Hi, Mum,” Louis says, slow. “Hi, Dad.”

His mum is already reaching, already too loud. “We’ve been waiting forever! You boys took your time. Did they keep you overnight again?”

Louis steps slightly in front of Harry without thinking. “Yeah. Recovery was—”

“Who’s she look like?” his dad, in his usual too-tight polo, cuts in, craning his neck. “She better not have your nose, Lou.”

Harry’s eyes flick to him, then down again. Still silent.

“She looks like herself,” Louis says shortly. “And she’s perfect.”

Carol hums. “Let’s see, let’s see—come here, let me—oh, look at her, she’s so tiny! You sure she’s alright? They let you go home with her looking that small?”

Harry shifts back just a fraction, his arms tightening slightly around the baby.

“She’s fine,” Louis says. “The pediatrician said she’s healthy. Everything’s okay.”

“You feeding her properly?” Rick asks, eyes narrowing slightly. “What are you doing—bottle? Breast?”

Louis blinks. “That’s not really—”

“—I’m breastfeeding,” Harry says quietly.

It’s the first thing he’s said since they walked in. His voice is calm, but the kind of calm that comes before a crack.

Carol smiles tightly. “Ah. Well. You’ll need help, then. It’s not as easy as they say, you know.”

Louis sees Harry’s lips part, probably to say I didn’t ask, but he bites it back. Instead, he stares at the floor.

“So what’s her name, then?” Rick demands. “Hope it’s not one of those celebrity-type things. Some of the names these days…”

Harry hesitates.

Louis speaks gently. “You wanna tell them, love?”

Harry swallows, then nods, voice soft but sure. “Her name’s Aurelia.”

There’s a pause.

Carol blinks. “Aurelia?”

Rick raises a brow. “Bit of a mouthful, innit?”

Carol hums like she’s tasting the name again. “Aurelia. Hmm. You’ll be calling her something shorter, though, right? Lia? Ree? Or are we doing full drama every time?”

Harry’s smile fades completely this time. “We’re calling her Aurelia.”

Rick snorts. “Alright, alright. No need to bite our heads off.”

“She’s barely three days old,” Harry mutters. “You’ve known her for four minutes.”

Louis watches it happen in real time—the tension tightening in Harry’s shoulders, the soft curve of protection around the baby getting firmer. He’s trying to keep it together, trying to be polite, but he’s fraying at the edges. And they don’t even see it. They never do.

“Oh, come here, let me hold her.” Carol says brightly, stepping forward with both arms out.

Louis opens his mouth—he’s about to say maybe later, or let’s all sit down first, or even just give them a second—

But Carol doesn’t wait. She’s already reaching, fingers ghosting the edge of the baby’s blanket.

Harry jerks back instantly. “Don’t—”

“Oh, I’m not gonna drop her,” she laughs. “God, you’re so jumpy.”

“She’s not a doll.” Harry says, sharper now, eyes flashing.

Rick folds his arms. “Jesus, calm down.”

“I am calm.” But Harry isn’t. Not anymore. “I just—she’s been in the world for three days. You don’t get to walk in and take her from me and act like—”

“I wasn’t going to take her.” Carol says. But she was—Louis saw it too.

“You were,” Harry snaps, and that’s it. His voice trembles, hands clutching the baby like a shield. “You just—just showed up and started asking things and judging me and—” His throat catches.

“Harry—” Louis starts, softly.

But Harry’s already backing toward the hallway. “No. I’m done. I’m done.”

And then he’s gone, storming off down the hall with Aurelia in his arms, her tiny head resting against his chest, his back rigid as he disappears into their bedroom.

The door clicks shut.

Silence.

Louis turns back slowly.

Rick raises his eyebrows. “Bit of a temper, hasn’t he?”

Carol sighs. “We were only trying to be friendly. Young people these days act like we’re the enemy just for showing some love.”

“You didn’t tell us you were coming,” Louis says, voice low. He’s trying not to snap. Trying. “I locked the front door. And we came home to you already inside.”

“We wanted to surprise you!” Carol throws up her hands. “It’s our grandchild. Back in our day people were grateful for help.”

Louis exhales, sharp. “Yeah, well. Back in your day, people also gave babies whiskey for teething, so forgive us for not keeping up with every tradition.”

Rick glares. “There’s no need to be a smartass.”

“No, but there is a need for you to respect Harry,” Louis snaps. “And our house. And our rules. You don’t get to decide what’s too much or what’s dramatic when you haven’t been here. You haven’t seen him cry at four a.m. in the hospital bed because the baby won’t latch. You haven’t helped him in the delivery room when he was on the edge of passing out. You haven’t done anything.”

That shuts them up for a second. Good.

“Maybe take the hint,” Louis adds tightly, “and go.”

Carol scoffs under her breath. “Unbelievable.”

“Yeah,” Louis mutters. “It is.”

They finally leave. Rick says nothing. Carol gives a tight nod like she’s doing them a favor, then disappears out the front door without looking back.

Louis shuts it behind them and locks it. Double checks it.

Then he leans his forehead against the wood, lets out a breath so deep it scrapes his chest on the way out.

The bedroom door creaks when Louis pushes it open.

It’s quiet inside. Too quiet.

Harry’s curled up on his side of the bed, back to the door, knees pulled up slightly, one arm wrapped protectively around the baby who’s sleeping peacefully on his chest. He’s still wearing Louis’ t-shirt, now wrinkled and damp with milk and sweat and everything else new parenthood is soaked in.

The bedside lamp is on, casting a soft halo of gold across the comforter. It makes Harry’s curls glow. Makes the curve of his shoulder look smaller than it is.

Louis swallows around the lump in his throat.

He steps inside, shuts the door behind him. Doesn’t say anything yet, just moves slow, like approaching something sacred.

Harry doesn’t turn.

“You okay?” Louis asks gently.

Silence. Then:

“No.”

Louis exhales. “Yeah. That’s fair.”

He walks over to the bed and crouches next to it, eye-level with Harry now. “She alright?”

Harry nods, barely. “She’s fine.”

“You?”

Harry’s eyes flick to him finally. Bloodshot. Tired. So full of emotion it makes Louis’ chest physically ache.

“I wanted her first day home to be… quiet,” Harry says. “Just us. Just—safe.”

“I know, love.”

Harry sniffles. “I didn’t want them to touch her.”

“I know.”

“They mocked her name.”

Louis reaches for his hand, slowly, gently. He threads their fingers together, careful not to jostle the baby. “And they shouldn’t have.”

“I’ve had that name in my head since I was seventeen,” Harry whispers. “She was always gonna be Aurelia. Always.”

Louis presses a kiss to his knuckles. “And she is.”

Harry’s bottom lip wobbles, just a little. “I feel like I have to fight for everything.”

Louis’ voice is thick now. “You don’t have to fight with me.”

“You didn’t stop them.”

That hurts. Not because it’s cruel—because it’s true.

“I know.” Louis squeezes his hand. “I should’ve. I will if it ever happens again. I promise.”

Harry’s quiet for a beat. The baby shifts slightly, sighs in her sleep.

“I didn’t mean to storm off,” Harry says, softer now. “I just—she’s mine, Louis.”

Louis leans forward, rests his forehead against Harry’s hand. “She’s ours.”

A pause. Then Harry whispers, “I’m scared they’re gonna ruin this.”

“They won’t.” Louis’ voice is firm now, grounded. “They’re not gonna get the chance. Not if they can’t respect you. Not if they want to keep pulling shit like this.”

Harry finally exhales, long and slow. The air shifts. His shoulders drop just a little. He blinks down at Aurelia, still curled against his chest like a little starfish.

“She’s so small.” he murmurs.

Louis smiles faintly. “She’s got your nose.”

Harry scoffs. “She does not.”

“Wait til she cries. Total drama. 100% you.”

Harry lets out the smallest laugh. It’s barely there, but it is there.

Louis nudges his leg. “C’mon. Move over. I want in.”

He climbs in slowly, carefully, wrapping an arm around both of them once he’s settled. Harry melts into it. Just a little.

They lie there in silence for a while. Louis lets it stretch, soft and warm and safe.

Then he says, voice quiet but certain: “They’re not coming back. Not unless you want them to.”

And for the first time all day, Harry closes his eyes.

Aurelia’s finally asleep.

It took them an hour. Maybe more. Louis isn’t even sure what time it is anymore. Somewhere between late evening and total delirium. The nursery lamp is still on in the hallway. It casts a soft glow through the living room where Harry’s sitting, sunk into the middle of the couch like a dropped petal.

His legs are drawn up slightly, his curls messy and damp from sweat. One strap of his tank top is already pushed down. His eyes are half-lidded. Barely there.

“You ready?” Louis asks gently.

Harry blinks slow. “No.”

“Too bad,” Louis murmurs, crouching in front of him with the breast pump. “We said we’d try tonight.”

Harry sighs. “Said a lot of things. Like ‘we’ll nap when the baby naps.’”

Louis grins, hands already moving to help Harry unclip the other side of the tank. “Lies. All lies.”

Harry hums something like a laugh, but he winces when the cool air hits his skin. “Everything hurts.”

“I know,” Louis says. “Let me?”

He’s careful, like he’s handling something breakable. Which, to be fair, he is. Harry’s chest is swollen, sore, red in places that shouldn’t be. Louis hates it. Hates how little he can do to take the edge off.

But Harry doesn’t flinch away. He never does with Louis.

“This one first.” he murmurs, gesturing weakly.

Louis fits the suction cup over the tender skin, hears Harry gasp softly through his teeth.

“Sorry.” Louis says instantly.

“No, you’re fine,” Harry whispers. “It’s just—sharp. At first.”

Louis keeps one hand steady on the pump and the other braced on Harry’s thigh. They’re not even trying to be subtle anymore, with closeness or care. Not after childbirth. Not after cracked nipples and stretch marks and stitches.

Harry’s not modest. He’s just tired. And Louis doesn’t look away.

“I’m so full,” Harry breathes. “Feels like rocks.”

“You’re doing amazing.”

Harry rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitches. “That’s a lie too.”

“No,” Louis says softly. “That one’s true.”

A pause. The rhythmic hum of the pump starts up. Harry flinches again, then settles with a soft groan.

Louis adjusts the suction just slightly, watching Harry’s expression. His lashes flutter. His mouth drops open, tired and slack. Still gorgeous, even now, in this ridiculous moment—shirtless, leaking, one leg twitching from the discomfort.

And yet.

“You’re so beautiful.” Louis says without thinking.

Harry cracks one eye open. “You’re a pervert.”

“I’m serious.”

“I look like I’ve been hit by a car.”

“Still,” Louis shrugs. “Would marry you again right now.”

Harry’s throat works around something that might be emotion. He looks down at his chest, then at the pump,then toward the hallway where the baby monitor glows faintly.

“She’s worth it.” he says quietly.

Louis smiles. “She is.”

“But I think I might need to cry for a second.”

Louis nods. “Okay.”

And Harry does. Just a few tears. Nothing dramatic. Nothing loud. Just soft streaks down his cheeks while the pump clicks and hums and the house is still.

Louis stays right there. Hand on his leg. Eyes on his face. Saying nothing.

Harry sniffles once.

Louis squeezes his knee.

And somewhere in the distance—the front door clicks.

Then opens.

And Louis’ blood runs cold.

He doesn’t even have time to move before voices flood in—bright, too loud, so wrong against the quiet of the house.

“We brought dinner!” Carol calls, like they’re on a fucking sitcom, like she’s got a key to their life now. “Didn’t know what you’d be in the mood for, so we just grabbed a bit of everything—”

Rick follows close behind. “Told you they wouldn’t lock it this time.”

Louis is on his feet instantly, the pump forgotten on the coffee table, still humming.

Harry freezes.

And then, the worst happens.

Carol rounds the corner into the living room with a casserole dish and the audacity of someone who thinks they’re helping.

“Oh, there he is! You feeding her again, love? That’s—oh.”

She stops.

Rick barrels in behind her, sees Harry on the couch—shirtless, strap halfway off, pump still attached to one side of his swollen chest, eyes wide in utter horror.

Harry scrambles. Makes a soft, panicked sound as he reaches for the loose tank top beside him, trying to cover himself, trying to disappear.

“What the fuck.” Louis says.

Harry’s shoulders are hunched, head ducked, already pulling away like he can fold himself into the couch. His hands fumble with the tank. His eyes won’t meet anyone’s.

“Harry, baby—hey,” Louis rushes to him, crouches low again, voice sharp but quiet. “You don’t have to cover up—they shouldn’t be here. Not like this.”

“I didn’t know anyone was coming.” Harry says in a whisper, and it cracks right in the middle.

“Of course you didn’t,” Louis says, standing up again and whirling around, voice rising. “Because you weren’t told. Because we weren’t told. Because apparently the front door means fuck all now.”

Carol blinks. “We just wanted to drop some food off! Jesus, Louis, we’re not strangers—”

“No, you’re not. You’re family. Which makes it worse. You think it’s fine to just barge in here while Harry’s half-dressed, hooked up to a breast pump, exhausted and in pain? What part of that sounds okay to you?”

Rick scoffs. “We knocked.”

“You opened the door. That’s not knocking.”

Carol folds her arms. “Oh, don’t be dramatic. It’s nothing Harry hasn’t shown before, I’m sure.”

Harry flinches.

Louis sees it. Sees the way his shoulders pull tighter, the way his jaw clenches around words he can’t say because he’s humiliated. Again.

“Say that again.” Louis says, deadly quiet.

Carol hesitates. “Oh, come on. We’re all adults—breastfeeding is natural.”

“So is basic respect,” Louis snaps. “And if he wants to be half-naked in his own living room, that’s his right. If he wants to cry from the pain, or leak through three shirts, or sob into my chest because he hasn’t slept in twenty-four hours, he gets to do that without an audience.”

Rick throws up his hands. “You’re blowing this out of proportion.”

“No, you are,” Louis hisses. “You’re walking into our home like you own the place. Like our boundaries are optional. Like Harry’s recovery is your entertainment. He is tired. He is sore. He’s been through something that wrecks your body and your mind, and he deserves a safe fucking space to heal in.”

Carol rolls her eyes. “We were trying to help.”

“Well, congratulations,” Louis says, sharp as glass. “You’ve done the opposite.”

The room goes still.

Harry hasn’t said a word. He’s barely moved. He’s sitting there, covered now, arms curled around his middle like he’s trying to hold himself together by force.

Louis turns back to them, jaw tight. “Leave.”

Rick opens his mouth, but something in Louis’ face must stop him. He closes it.

Carol huffs. “We’ll talk later.”

“No, we won’t,” Louis says. “Not until you learn how to knock and wait.”

They leave. Finally.

The door closes.

Louis locks it. Again. Double-checks it. Again.

When he turns back around—

Harry is crying.

Not soft this time. Not a few tired tears. He’s hunched in on himself, hand braced over his eyes, and he’s sobbing.

“Harry…” Louis is there in an instant, back on the floor, then pulling him down into his arms when Harry leans toward him without hesitation. “I’m here. I’m here, baby.”

“I just wanted—I wanted one day,” Harry gasps. “One fucking day where I didn’t have to—where I didn’t feel disgusting, or embarrassed, or—”

“You’re not,” Louis whispers, holding him tighter. “You’re not, you’re not, you’re not. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Harry sobs harder, clinging now, the pump still sitting there abandoned like the aftermath of a battle.

Louis cups the back of his neck. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve locked the door earlier. I should’ve kicked them out the first time. This won’t happen again. I won’t let them. I swear.”

Harry doesn’t answer. Just breathes wetly into Louis’ neck, curled in like a child, like someone trying not to fall apart all the way.

“I’ll protect this house like a bloody fortress if I have to,” Louis murmurs into his curls. “No one gets in unless we say so. No more surprises. Just us. You, me, and Aurelia.”

Harry’s fingers curl into his shirt.

“I’m so fucking tired.” he whispers.

“I know, baby,” Louis says. “Sleep. I’ve got you.”

And finally, Harry starts to settle, body heavy in Louis’ arms, safe at last in the quiet they should’ve had all along.

It’s quiet in the kitchen. The good kind. The kind where the hum of the fridge feels like background music, and the soft tick of the wall clock doesn’t rush anything. Louis moves carefully, not wanting to make too much noise as he slices the toast into small, manageable triangles.

Harry hasn’t had much of an appetite lately. Too sore, too tired, too wrung out from nights that bleed into mornings without pause. But he said he could probably manage something light, so Louis is making him exactly that. A couple of cucumber slices, toast with a smear of butter and a drizzle of honey, half a peeled pear. Just enough to keep his blood sugar steady while he feeds Aurelia again.

He sets the plate down and reaches for a small glass of water when his phone vibrates against the counter.

Mum. Again.

Louis pauses, staring at the screen. It’s the fourth time today. The texts haven’t stopped either—little check-ins wrapped in guilt-tripping bows. “Hope we haven’t upset you too much, love. Just want to be a part of things.” Or the classic: “Let us know when we’re allowed to meet our granddaughter again.”

He sighs, glancing down the hallway toward the bedroom, then back at the call.

Fuck it.

He answers and taps speaker so he doesn’t have to stop slicing the crusts.

“Hello?”

“Oh, finally,” Carol’s voice crackles through. “Been trying you for days.”

“I’ve seen,” Louis says mildly, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “We’ve been busy.”

A pause. Then her voice softens, too deliberate. “I know, love. That’s why I’m calling. Just wanted to say I’m sorry if we came on a bit strong the other day. It was just excitement, you know? Grandparents and all.”

Louis says nothing for a second. Then, “Right.”

“We just want to be involved,” she continues. “Anyway. I was thinking—we could pop by tomorrow? Just a short visit. Drop off some gifts. Won’t stay long, promise.”

Louis sets the towel down and leans on the counter, jaw already tightening. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” Carol says, too quickly. “We’re family. You act like we’re strangers now.”

“You let yourselves in. You overwhelmed him. You didn’t listen when we asked for space. That’s not excitement, Mum. That’s boundary stomping.”

Another pause. Then her voice shifts again, less sugary, more brittle. “Oh, come off it, Louis. You’re letting him turn you against us.”

He closes his eyes briefly. “No, I’m not.”

“You never used to be like this. So defensive. So—so sensitive.”

Louis’ fingers curl slightly against the countertop. “You don’t get to talk about sensitivity after ambushing us four days postpartum.”

“We were trying to help!”

“You showed up uninvited, made Harry feel unsafe in his own home, insulted him, and tried to take our baby out of his arms without asking. That’s not help.”

Carol huffs. “Well, he’s always been dramatic. And now he’s pulling you away from us. From your own family.”

“He is my family.” Louis’ voice is low and sharp. “He’s the person who carried our daughter for nine months. Who bled through sheets while you were complaining about her name. Who hasn’t slept more than two hours at a time in over a week.”

“Louis—”

“You don’t get to demand access just because you share DNA,” he cuts in. “Respect is earned. And you lost a lot of it that day.”

The silence on the other end feels like a storm pulling back before it crashes.

Before it can, Louis presses the red button.

Call ended.

He turns around with a long sigh, rubbing a hand over his face—

And freezes.

Harry’s standing in the hallway.

Aurelia’s tucked against his chest in her little wrap, her head nestled beneath his chin. Harry’s eyes are wide. Red-rimmed.

He heard everything.

Louis’ breath catches.

Louis swallows, stepping closer, eyes flicking to their daughter—still asleep, blissfully unaware of all of it. “You okay?”

Harry hesitates, then slowly shakes his head. “Not really.”

“Come here.” Louis murmurs.

Harry lets him take the final few steps. Lets Louis guide him to the kitchen chair, helps him sit down gently with the baby still in the sling. Louis kneels next to him without thinking, bracing a hand lightly on Harry’s knee.

“I didn’t know you were there.” Louis says.

“I wasn’t going to eavesdrop,” Harry’s fingers twitch slightly against the wrap. “Just wanted to say the feeding went okay and… then I heard.”

Louis nods, guilt already chewing at the back of his throat. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t—you were right.” Harry says quickly.

Louis bites the inside of his cheek. “I didn’t want you to hear that kind of stuff. Not from them. Not again.”

Harry shrugs one shoulder, tight and brittle. “Wasn’t anything I haven’t already felt.”

Louis frowns. “What do you mean?”

Harry’s eyes are wet, but he doesn’t blink the tears away. “Just… I always wanted them to like me, Lou. Even before we had her. I thought maybe if I did everything right, they’d see me as family. Not… a problem.”

“You’re not a problem.”

Harry huffs a laugh, small and humourless. “Apparently I’m dramatic and manipulative.”

“You are not—” Louis’ voice catches, furious on Harry’s behalf. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Harry finally looks down at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, without hesitation. “You’re the reason we have her,” he reaches up, runs a finger lightly over the edge of Aurelia’s foot where it peeks out from the sling “and this home, and this life. I love you, Harry. I love everything about you.”

Harry sniffs. “Even when I cry every hour and smell like milk and can’t keep toast down?”

Louis smiles, eyes warm. “Especially then.”

Harry manages a small, watery laugh. He leans forward until their foreheads touch, careful not to jostle the baby too much. Louis wraps a hand around the back of his neck, thumb pressing gently into the curls there.

“They hurt me,” Harry whispers. “But I don’t want to hate them.”

Louis sighs, nodding. “I know.”

“I want them to try again. Properly. I want them to meet her. But on our terms.”

Louis blinks. “You sure?”

“No,” Harry admits, lips twitching faintly. “But… I don’t want to be the reason she grows up not knowing her grandparents. I just—if they come, they have to come with respect. That’s non-negotiable.”

Louis exhales through his nose. “Alright.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louis nods, then leans in and kisses Harry’s forehead, gentle and lingering. “We’ll let them come. Tomorrow. They can earn it.”

Harry leans into the kiss, closes his eyes. “You’re gonna be glued to my side, though.”

“Obviously.”

“Like… full guard dog.”

Louis grins. “Baby, I’m gonna bite someone.”

Harry lets out a breathy laugh—shaky, but real. “Okay. Tomorrow.”

They sit there for a moment, still wrapped around each other, with Aurelia breathing softly between them.

There’s a knock.

An actual knock.

Louis pauses in the hallway, eyes flicking toward the front door like it might bite him. He glances down at his hoodie—still stained with god knows what—and quickly wipes his hands on it anyway before opening the door.

His parents are standing there, a little awkward. His mum’s holding a small paper bag with pastel tissue poking out the top. His dad nods once, stiffly polite.

They don’t try to come in.

“Hi.” his mum says.

Louis crosses his arms. “Hi.”

She lifts the bag slightly. “We, um. Picked up some things. Just a few little outfits.”

Louis hesitates, then steps aside.

“Shoes off.” he says flatly.

His mum doesn’t even flinch. She just slips off her flats and passes the bag to Louis before walking in. His dad follows without a word.

Harry’s on the couch, cradling Aurelia in the sling again, a burp cloth draped across his shoulder. He looks up when they enter, lips parting in surprise at how calm they are.

No one’s shouting. No one’s storming out.

Louis passes the bag to Harry without a word and disappears into the kitchen to make tea. He’s not exactly hiding, but he’s not hovering either. He wants to see how this goes, quietly, from just a room away.

He hears murmured hellos.

Then softer, slower talk. Harry’s voice is careful but not cold. His mum’s voice is gentler than it was on the phone. There’s still that old sharpness underneath, but it doesn’t feel like a weapon right now.

Louis watches from the kitchen as Harry slowly pulls out the baby clothes—soft yellow onesies, a knitted bonnet, a tiny cardigan with hand-stitched flowers along the trim.

Harry runs his fingers over the threads like they’re too delicate to touch.

“Did you knit this?” he asks, so quietly Louis almost misses it.

His mum nods. “Took me ages. I forgot how small newborns are.”

Harry’s mouth twitches. It’s not quite a smile, but it’s close.

“You didn’t have to.” he says.

“I wanted to,” she replies. “If that’s alright.”

Harry swallows, but he nods. “Yeah. It is.”

Louis freezes, one hand on the kettle.

Harry’s still touching the little cardigan, his thumb ghosting over the stitches. Aurelia shifts in her sling and lets out a soft, sleepy sound, and Louis sees Harry glance down at her, lips parting with something that almost looks like peace.

Not comfort. Not yet.

But maybe, ease.

And from the kitchen, Louis exhales. His chest loosens just slightly for the first time in days.

It might actually be okay.

Louis brings the tea in carefully, four mugs balanced on a tray. He sets them on the coffee table, then lowers himself beside Harry, arm automatically wrapping around his waist as Aurelia shifts between them.

Harry leans into him without thinking. Like a reflex.

“Still liking peppermint, babe?” Louis murmurs.

Harry nods. “That one doesn’t make me gag.”

“High praise.” Louis says with a soft smile, passing him the mug.

They sit for a moment, sipping. The baby sighs in her sleep.

Carol is the first to break the quiet.

“She looks so peaceful,” she says softly, like she’s trying not to spook a deer. “Is she sleeping through the night yet?”

Harry gives a tired little laugh. “God, no. Not even close.”

Louis grins. “We’re celebrating three straight hours like it’s the second coming.”

Rick chuckles. “That’s babies for you.”

Carol sips her tea. “And feeding? How’s that going?”

Harry shifts slightly. “Better. I’m pumping mostly now, she’s a champ with bottles. I was getting too sore.”

Louis’ hand squeezes gently at Harry’s waist, supportive and silent.

“I still leak through half my shirts.” Harry adds, voice dry.

Carol winces. “Oh. That’s—”

“A joy.” Harry finishes flatly.

There’s a small beat of silence, then Rick clears his throat. “Well, it’ll get easier. Once you’re in a rhythm.”

Harry nods. “Yeah, I think so. Especially once I’m back at work, we’ll need the schedule a bit tighter.”

And just like that—

Silence.

A strange, loaded quiet.

Carol blinks. “Back to work?”

Harry looks up, casual. “Yeah. Just part-time at first. We’ve got money saved for a babysitter, so it should be manageable.”

Rick raises an eyebrow. “Already?”

Carol sets her mug down a little too firmly. “You’re going back already?”

Harry pauses. “Well… yeah? I mean, not tomorrow. But a couple months from now. It’s a flexible setup.”

Carol’s brows pull together. “I just… I thought you’d be home with the baby.”

“I will be,” Harry says calmly. “Plenty. But I also have a job I care about. And bills. And a life.”

Carol makes a face. “You just had a baby, Harry.”

Louis feels the shift instantly—Harry stiffening beside him, shoulders rising with that cold, defensive posture he’s picked up over the years.

“I’m aware,” Harry says tightly. “I was there.”

“It just feels so soon,” Carol presses. “Shouldn’t you be… I don’t know, recovering?”

“I am recovering. And I’ll still be recovering. While also easing back into a career I worked hard for.”

Rick chimes in, tone wary. “Seems like a lot, that’s all.”

Harry’s smile is sharp now. “Everything I do is apparently ‘a lot’.”

“Oh, here we go,” Carol mutters. “I’m the villain again. Can’t say anything without being painted as the enemy.”

“You are saying something,” Harry snaps. “You’re implying I’m a bad mum for wanting to go back to work.”

“I didn’t say that!”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Alright.” Louis says, voice firm but level.

Everyone turns to look at him.

“That’s enough.”

Carol opens her mouth again, but Louis holds up a hand.

“No. Listen. Harry’s body went through hell, and now it’s healing. On top of that, he’s feeding and rocking and waking up six times a night and still managing to string sentences together, which I frankly think deserves a fucking medal.”

Rick shifts uncomfortably.

Louis doesn’t stop.

“If he wants to go back to work, then he goes. Because it’s his life. His choice. And you don’t get to comment on it.”

There’s a pause. Carol swallows, face drawn tight.

“Right,” she says eventually, clearing her throat. “Yes. Of course. Sorry.”

“Didn’t mean to upset anyone.” Rick adds.

Harry doesn’t say anything. He’s staring down at Aurelia, who’s still snoozing quietly, utterly unaware of the grown-up minefield surrounding her.

Louis watches him for a second—still, silent, unreadable—and feels that pang again.

The one that says he deserves better than this.

But for now, he just squeezes Harry’s side and lets the quiet settle.

Aurelia stirs a little in Harry’s arms, tiny hand twitching. Her fingers curl, then uncurl, then curl again, and this time, one of them latches around Harry’s pinky.

He lets out a quiet sound, not quite a laugh, not quite a sob.

“Oh,” he whispers. “She’s holding my finger.”

Everyone leans in a bit to look. Her grip is small, but stubborn.

“Would you look at that.” Carol says gently, voice a little awed.

“That’s a strong grip.” Rick adds, smiling faintly.

“Already knows how to keep you wrapped around her finger.” Louis murmurs into Harry’s hair.

Harry breathes out a small laugh, blinking rapidly.

“Can I…” Carol gestures toward her phone. “Could I take a picture?”

Harry hesitates for a beat. But then he nods, carefully.

“Yeah. That’s okay.”

She snaps one. Then another. “Beautiful,” she says quietly. “She’s perfect.”

There’s a soft pause. They’re all looking at Aurelia now.

Rick breaks the quiet. “So, Louis—what’d you end up using for her diaper rash? We never heard back.”

Louis chuckles, leaning back in his seat. “Oh, Harry found some miracle cream online. Took a day to clear up.”

Harry hums proudly. “I called three pharmacies like a man possessed.”

“And it worked.” Louis adds.

Rick nods. “We used to swear by cornstarch.”

“We tried,” Harry sighs. “She screamed like we’d set her on fire.”

And that earns a laugh from everyone.

It’s… nice.

Until Aurelia lets out a little wail. Then another, louder.

Louis shifts forward, already reaching. “Here, babe, I’ll take her, you’ve been holding her for ages—”

But Carol speaks up. “Can I?”

Harry glances at her, surprised. She holds her hands out gently.

“I’ve got her, if that’s alright.”

Harry looks down at the fussy baby, then at Louis, who gives a small, reassuring nod. Still unsure, Harry bites his lip, but finally stands, carefully cradling Aurelia close and handing her over—slow, precise, every movement deliberate.

“Support her head.” he murmurs instinctively.

“Of course,” Carol says softly, settling the baby against her chest. “Hi, sweetheart. Hi there. What’s all the fuss about, hmm?”

She rocks her gently, whispering nonsense in a soothing voice. It works, slowly. The crying quiets. Aurelia’s breathing evens out again.

Harry sits beside Louis, watching, cautious but still.

Louis slips his hand into Harry’s, gives it a small squeeze.

And for a minute, it’s peaceful again.

Carol smiles down at the baby, her voice a hush. “You’re just like your Mummy. Can’t stand a room that’s too loud, huh?”

She brushes her hand over Aurelia’s little curls.

And then—

She leans in to press a kiss to her face.

Harry’s on his feet in an instant.

“No.”

The room freezes.

Carol straightens, startled. “What?”

Harry moves fast, ignoring the flare of pain in his body, stepping forward with his arms out. “Give her back.”

Carol blinks, still holding the baby. “I was just—”

“I said no,” Harry says sharply, eyes flaring. “You don’t kiss her. I didn’t say you could.”

“What on earth—” Rick starts, frowning.

“She’s a newborn!” Harry’s voice trembles. “Her immune system’s nothing! You don’t kiss a baby’s face—God!”

Carol hands the baby over reluctantly, visibly offended. “I’m not sick, Harry.”

“That’s not the point!”

Louis is up now too, trying to stay calm as Harry cradles Aurelia close, rocking her gently as her fussing starts up again.

“You think I’d hurt her?” Carol’s voice is rising.

“I think you’re not listening to me! I said no! That’s enough!”

Rick throws up his hands. “We try to be involved, we ask, and it’s never good enough—”

“She was asleep!” Harry cries. “Why would you wake her up to kiss her?!”

“I didn’t know she’d wake up!”

“You didn’t ask!”

The baby’s crying now, full throttle, loud and distressed.

“Okay,” Louis says, louder this time. “Okay, everyone stop.”

They don’t.

So he steps in, gently takes Aurelia from Harry, holds her close, and starts to rock her slowly.

“Shhh,” he whispers. “It’s alright, baby. You’re alright. Shhh.”

Harry’s breathing hard, arms shaking.

Carol scoffs. “Fine. You want us gone, we’ll go.”

Rick stands. “We wanted to be nice. But apparently everything is wrong for you.”

They gather their things in frosty silence.

Neither Louis nor Harry responds.

The door shuts hard behind them.

Harry stares at it for a long moment. Then turns silently and walks to the bedroom without a word.

Louis doesn’t follow. Gives him space.

He just holds the baby tighter, rocks her in the quiet, and whispers, “It’s okay now. It’s just us.”

The nursery is quiet, finally.

Louis lowers Aurelia gently into her bassinet, her little fists still curled tight near her face. She fusses once, lets out a breathy sigh, then goes still, sleep claiming her fast.

Louis waits a minute, just to be sure. One hand hovering over her chest, watching for the soft, even rise and fall. When he’s sure she’s down for real, he straightens with a soft exhale.

He closes the nursery door behind him and pads toward their bedroom.

Harry’s curled up at the far edge of the bed, back turned to the room, small in the way only he gets when he’s breaking and trying not to show it. His shoulders are trembling. Quiet sobs shaking his frame, muffled by the pillow.

Louis’ chest cracks wide.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just kneels by the bed, presses his palm to Harry’s back, right between his shoulder blades.

“Hey,” he whispers. “It’s okay.”

“I’m so tired,” Harry breathes out, voice wrecked and raw. “And I feel so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” Louis murmurs. “You’re a new parent who just wants to protect his baby. That’s never stupid.”

Harry turns his head slightly, just enough that Louis can see the wet tracks on his cheeks.

“I hate that I care what they think,” he says. “I hate that I wanted them to like me.”

“I know, love. I know,” Louis leans in, presses a kiss to his temple. “They were out of line. Again. And you shouldn’t have to keep absorbing it.”

Harry nods slightly, then winces, his body protesting even the smallest movement.

That’s all it takes.

Louis stands up, gently brushing Harry’s hair back. “Alright. Bath. Let’s go.”

Harry frowns. “I don’t—”

“No,” Louis says, soft but firm. “You need it. You’re sore. You’ve been hunched all day. Let me do this for you, yeah?”

Harry doesn’t argue. Just lets Louis help him sit up, peel off the oversized tee clinging to his skin. Louis kisses his shoulder before stepping into the bathroom.

He runs the water warm and steady, adds a little lavender oil from the shelf. Bubbles foam slow around the edges. He dims the lights, sets out a soft towel, then walks back to the bedroom.

“Alright.” he says, holding out a hand.

Harry takes it.

Getting him into the bath takes time. Louis moves slow, helps him lower into the water inch by inch, careful not to aggravate anything sore. Once he’s settled, Louis kneels beside the tub and rolls up his sleeves.

“Let me take care of you.” he says, dipping his hands in.

Harry closes his eyes. Doesn’t speak. Just nods.

Louis pours a cup of warm water over his hair, watching the curls flatten, watching Harry melt. He reaches for the shampoo, works it into Harry’s scalp with soft circles, thumbs behind his ears, fingers in his hair. Harry sighs.

“This alright?” Louis asks quietly.

“Feels amazing.” Harry mumbles.

Louis rinses the suds, then smooths his hands down Harry’s arms, down his shoulders, across the tight muscles in his back. “You shouldn’t have had to hold so much today.”

“I just—” Harry swallows hard. “I didn’t want her first week of life to be like this.”

Louis cups his jaw gently, tilts his head back just a bit. “It’s not ruined, H. She’s still got us. And we’re good. We’re so good.”

Harry’s eyes flutter open, red-rimmed and wet. “Yeah?”

Louis smiles, eyes shining. “Yeah, baby. We’re the best bit.”

He rinses him one more time, then reaches for the towel and helps him out, drying him off gently, patting the sore spots instead of rubbing. Harry leans on him like muscle memory, like gravity.

Louis leads him back to the bedroom and helps him lie down. Then he grabs the lotion from the dresser—the one the doctor recommended, the one that’s been helping.

“Tell me if it’s too much.” he murmurs, squeezing some onto his palms.

He starts at Harry’s hips, rubbing slow, gentle circles into his aching skin. Up his sides. Across his belly. Over the stretch marks that are healing in silver lines and fading purples.

“You’re beautiful.” Louis says, half under his breath.

Harry lets out a soft, broken sound. He doesn’t argue.

When Louis finishes, he pulls the covers up and kisses his forehead.

“Sleep,” he says. “I’ve got everything else.”

Harry reaches for his hand, threads their fingers together under the sheets.

“I love you.” he whispers, voice still hoarse.

Louis squeezes gently. “I love you more.”

And this time, when Harry closes his eyes, he falls asleep.

For real.

“Push, push, push your head, up and off the floor.” Louis sings off-key.

Aurelia kicks once, wobbles her head up off the mat, then face-plants gently into the blanket again.

“Good effort, babe!” Louis cheers. “Ten outta ten! Judges are in awe!”

She lets out a determined grunt, kicks again, one leg flailing like a drunken frog. Louis gasps theatrically.

“Ohhh! Did you see that extension?! Aurelia Tomlinson, future Olympic wiggler!”

Aurelia blinks up at him, wide-eyed and vaguely unimpressed.

From the couch, Harry lets out a tired little laugh. He’s curled into the corner with his phone, hoodie loose around his frame, a half-drunk peppermint tea on the armrest.

Louis glances over, warmth blooming in his chest. Harry looks better today—less pale, less sunken around the eyes. The new meds and all the hot baths seem to be helping, and the tension in his body isn’t so constant anymore. His shoulders are soft where they used to be locked.

“You look good today,” Louis says softly, still bouncing his hands beside Aurelia like she’s front-row at a rave. “Like, proper good. Sexy mum vibes. Might make you crawl into my lap later and make out.”

Harry snorts, eyes on his phone. “God, please. Only one person in this house should be crawling.”

Louis grins. “Oi, she’s trying her best—”

But then Harry gasps.

Sharp. Sudden.

Louis goes still. “What? What is it? What hurts?”

Harry doesn’t answer right away. He just turns the phone toward Louis, mouth parted in disbelief.

Louis squints. And there it is.

A photo.

The photo.

The one Carol took—Harry on the couch, Aurelia’s tiny hand wrapped around his pinky, his expression soft and stunned. And it’s on Facebook. With a caption in cursive font overlaid on top:

Three generations of love. Welcome to the world, Aurelia Tomlinson!

Louis sees red.

“Are you kidding me?” he breathes.

Harry’s staring at the screen like it betrayed him.

“She didn’t ask?” Louis asks, even though he knows the answer.

“No,” Harry says bitterly. “Didn’t ask, didn’t check. Just… posted it.“

Louis stands, heart pounding. “You want me to call her? I’ll call her.”

Harry shakes his head, eyes glassy. “It’s not just that. It’s—it’s always something, Lou.”

Louis picks up Aurelia gently, tucks her against his chest. “What d’you mean, love?”

Harry swipes at his eyes quickly, like he’s mad at them for being wet. “It’s just always me adjusting. Me being the bigger person. Me having to let things slide or smile through it because I’m the sensitive one, or whatever.”

Louis sits beside him, arm protective around his shoulders.

Harry keeps going, quieter now. “I didn’t even want a picture. I was exhausted. But I agreed, cause I didn’t wanna argue. And now it’s online, with a sparkly filter, and people I’ve never met are commenting how sweet and precious she is, like everything’s perfect.”

He laughs once, bitter and tired.

“And it’s not. It’s not perfect. I was so excited to be a mum, Lou. I couldn’t wait. I wanted to give her the best life. And now I feel like it’s already getting messed up in the beginning.”

Louis’ throat tightens. “You haven’t messed anything up.”

“I just wanted it to feel safe,” Harry says, voice breaking. “And it doesn’t.”

Louis doesn’t hesitate.

He kisses the top of Harry’s head, then shifts Aurelia carefully in his arms, reaching for his phone with his free hand.

Harry blinks. “What are you doing?”

Louis unlocks it, opens Contacts. “I’m calling her.”

“Louis—”

“No.” His voice is calm, but lethal underneath. “She doesn’t get to keep doing this. You set a boundary. She stomped on it. I’m not letting that slide.”

Harry’s silent.

Louis presses the call button.

The dial tone rings once.

Twice.

“Hello?” comes Carol’s voice through the speaker.

Louis looks at Harry, jaw set.

“You posted our baby’s face on the internet.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“Oh, that’s what this is about?”

Louis exhales through his nose, slow. “You didn’t ask. Again.”

“Oh, come on, Louis. It was just Facebook. It’s not like you two are famous. No one’s stalking your profiles.”

Louis lets out a sharp, shocked laugh. “Are you serious right now?”

“Dead serious,” she says flatly. “It’s just a cute picture. Family and friends loved it. That’s what Facebook’s for.”

“No,” Louis says. “Facebook is for you. It’s not for her. She didn’t consent to that.”

“She’s a baby,” Carol replies, annoyed. “She doesn’t know the difference.”

“Exactly,” Louis snaps. “Which is why it’s our job, Harry’s and mine, to protect her until she can.”

Harry’s head drops against Louis’ shoulder, lips pressed tight, eyes glassy again.

Carol sighs, dramatic. “You’re acting like I put her on a billboard.”

“You basically did,” Louis says coolly. “Public post. No privacy settings. Anyone can see it. Anyone. Strangers. Weirdos. People who save baby pictures for God knows what. Jesus, you’re a grown person, that’s common sense!”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous—”

“I’m not,” Louis cuts in, voice low now. Dangerous. “I know how bad it can get. You think it’s paranoid? Fine. But we don’t get to take chances with her safety just to keep your Facebook feed cute.”

Carol scoffs. “This is so dramatic.”

“And this is what always happens,” Louis says, ignoring her tone. “You do what you want. You say sorry after. If that. Meanwhile, Harry’s up all night crying over it.”

“He cries over everything.” Carol says, exasperated.

Louis goes still.

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, he’s sensitive,” she says quickly. “You just said it yourself.”

“No, I said he’s exhausted. I said he’s trying to raise a baby with a body still healing and hormones all over the place. And I said he’s tired of being disrespected in his own house.”

Carol is quiet for a beat. “You’re making a big deal out of nothing.”

Louis’ grip on the phone tightens. “You don’t live here. You don’t hold him when he can’t move because he’s in so much pain. You don’t sit up with him when he thinks he’s failing as a parent because someone made a snide comment and he took it to heart. You come in, make noise, take pictures, and leave. We stay. We clean up the mess.”

Harry swallows thickly, wiping at his face. Louis presses a soft kiss to the crown of his curls.

“We’re not asking for much,” Louis says. “Just some damn respect. Some patience. Some listening.”

Carol’s voice sharpens. “And what about our side, huh? We’re the grandparents. You keep pushing us out—”

“No,” Louis interrupts. “We set boundaries. That’s not pushing you out. That’s saying, ‘Hey, here’s what we need.’”

“Oh, so everyone else gets it right and we’re the bad ones?”

Louis doesn’t miss the bitterness.

“You wanna know why Harry’s parents haven’t visited yet?” he asks, calm now. Deadly calm. “Because they asked. And we said next week. And you know what they said? ‘Okay.’ That’s it. No drama. No guilt. Just respect. It’s possible. You’re just choosing not to.”

Carol doesn’t reply right away.

Louis sighs. “You don’t have to agree with every rule. But you do have to follow them. That’s the deal.”

“Or what?” she says, voice cold.

Louis stares at Harry, at the ache in his eyes, at Aurelia’s little fists curling near his chest.

“Or you don’t see her anymore.”

There’s a stunned silence.

“You’ve got one last chance,” Louis says. “To show us you can be part of her life our way. That you can put her first. That you can put us first, for once.”

Carol still doesn’t speak.

Louis doesn’t wait.

He hangs up.

For a second, the room is silent except for the soft gurgle from Aurelia, whose face is squished adorably into Louis’ shoulder.

Harry’s voice is small. “You really meant that?”

Louis kisses the top of his head. “Every word.”

Harry exhales. “She’s gonna lose it.”

“Probably,” Louis murmurs. “But she needed to hear it. And I needed to say it. For you.”

Harry leans into him. “Thank you.”

“Always.”

Aurelia lets out a loud, sudden raspberry against Louis’ collarbone.

Both of them freeze, then burst out laughing.

“Was that… deliberate?” Harry grins.

“Think that was her take on the situation,” Louis smirks. “She said pfffft to grandma, clearly.”

They cuddle in tighter, the three of them in a warm, quiet pile on the couch.

“She’s kind of a little genius.” Harry says softly.

“Just like her mama.”

And in that moment, the rest of it fades. Just a baby, two tired parents, and the sound of safe, earned laughter.

The sun filters gently through the nursery curtains, casting soft light over the pastel walls. The little mobile above the bassinet spins lazily—clouds, stars, and moons dancing in slow, rhythmic turns.

Aurelia lies on her soft mat, swaddled in pale green, blinking up at the ceiling like she’s considering writing a novel about it. She lets out a soft, content sigh, the kind that makes Louis’ chest ache in the best way.

Louis kneels nearby, straightening a folded blanket, and Harry leans in the doorway, holding his tea with both hands, watching them.

“She looks like she’s thinking about the purpose of life.” Harry says with a soft smile.

Louis grins, glancing back at him. “She’s clearly the intellectual of the family.”

The doorbell rings.

Louis straightens. “That’ll be them.”

Harry nods, exhales once, steadying himself. “Okay.”

Louis opens the front door a moment later, finding his mum and dad standing there with a tray of coffees and a brown paper bag from the bakery. His mum’s hair is pinned back neatly, her coat done up all the way despite the weather. His dad gives a polite, almost too-casual smile.

“Hi, love,” his mum says. “We weren’t sure if you’d eaten. Brought the good pastries.”

Louis takes the tray and bag with a small smile. “Cheers. Harry’ll love this.”

“We brought decaf,” his dad adds, nodding toward the cup tray. “You know. Since he’s breastfeeding and all.”

Louis raises an eyebrow, a bit surprised, but not displeased. “Thoughtful.”

They step inside, carefully wiping their feet, and glance around. Things are quiet. Peaceful. It feels new, this particular kind of stillness. Respectful.

“Can we see her?” his mum asks after a pause, voice low.

Louis nods. “She’s in her room. Come on.”

Harry steps aside as they approach the nursery, tea still in hand. His posture is tense, just slightly, but it’s clear he’s trying.

The moment they step into the nursery, his mum pauses.

“Oh…” she murmurs, eyes drifting around the room.

Louis watches her carefully as she takes it in—the soft colors, the photos on the shelf, the carefully folded muslins, the cozy rocker in the corner. Harry’s touch is everywhere here: the fairy lights strung up above the changing table, the book collection, the little framed quote near the crib that reads You are so loved.

“It’s really sweet in here,” she says softly. “You’ve made it… cozy.”

Harry’s voice is quiet but sincere. “Thanks.”

She gives him a small smile, something warmer than her usual tight-lipped version. “I mean it. It’s lovely.”

Rick leans over the crib rail a little. “There she is.”

Aurelia blinks slowly at the new arrivals, her mouth forming a soft O. Her eyes are wide, curious.

“Hi, sweetheart.” his mum whispers, crouching down a bit.

She doesn’t reach out, just looks at her like she’s some rare museum piece, and for once, Louis feels like maybe she actually understands the weight of this.

Rick grins. “Can I try peekaboo?”

Louis smirks. “Doubt she knows what’s going on yet, but go on.”

Rick crouches and hides behind the rocker dramatically, then pops up with a silly face. “Boo!”

Aurelia startles slightly, but then lets out a tiny delighted noise, half-giggle, half-gurgle.

Everyone freezes for a beat, then Louis chuckles.

“Alright, old man. You’re a hit.”

Rick beams proudly, already prepping his next round. “Told you I’ve still got it.”

Harry watches from the doorway, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. He’s wary, sure, but he can’t deny that, for once, it all feels… calm. Not perfect. Not healed. But calm.

Louis glances back at him. They meet eyes.

And just for a second, it’s like: maybe we’re getting somewhere.

The living room floor becomes the stage.

Aurelia lies on her tummy again atop her favourite cushioned mat, a bright rainbow of plush patterns beneath her. Her little legs kick, arms flailing in slow, determined movements. Louis sits beside her cross-legged, gently cheering her on.

“Go on, little bean,” he coos, tapping her foot lightly. “Show off those muscles.”

“C’mon, love,” Harry adds, his voice all warmth, chin resting in his palm as he watches her. “You’ve been practicing.”

Carol and Rick are seated on the floor nearby. Carol’s legs are tucked neatly beneath her, and she’s not hovering, just watching. Observing. Her hands folded in her lap like she knows she needs to keep them there.

“Look at her go,” Rick says with a smile, leaning forward just slightly. “That’s one determined little girl.”

And then, slowly, shakily, Aurelia lifts her head and keeps it there.

Just for a few seconds. A small, wobbly lift, her chin pulling up, eyes blinking hard against the effort.

“Oh my God!” Harry gasps, sitting forward instinctively.

Louis’ grin explodes across his face. “There it is! Yes, baby girl!”

Carol claps softly, beaming. “Look at her!”

“She’s doing it,” Louis says, awed. “That’s the first time she’s done it that long.”

Aurelia lets out a triumphant little grunt, then flops her head back down with a soft pff. Louis helps her roll onto her side, brushing her curls gently from her forehead.

Everyone exhales. The moment settles sweet and soft around them.

“…You want some tea?” Louis asks, pushing himself up off the floor.

Carol blinks. “Oh. Um… sure. If it’s no trouble.”

Rick lifts a hand. “I’ll take one too, if you’re offering.”

Louis disappears into the kitchen, leaving Harry alone with them.

Carol looks at Aurelia again, her expression softer now. “She really is lovely, you know.”

Harry nods. “She is.”

“Like him?” she asks, glancing toward the kitchen.

Harry smiles, just a little. “And me.”

Carol’s gaze lingers on the baby. “We’ll do better. I mean that.”

Harry doesn’t reply right away. But he gives a quiet nod.

Louis returns a moment later with two mugs, setting them down carefully.

They all stay a little longer.

There’s laughter, a few more rounds of peekaboo. Rick tells a story from when Louis was three and demanded to wear only rainboots for a month straight. Louis groans, but he’s smiling.

Louis is at the stove, sleeves pushed up, stirring a pan with the easy rhythm of someone who knows his way around a pot of pasta. Something simple. Comforting. Familiar. Harry is leaned in the doorway, watching with a soft half-smile.

“I forgot how good that smells.” Harry murmurs.

“That’s cause the last time I made it, we were halfway through moving and you were running off zero sleep and a granola bar.”

Harry laughs quietly. “Yeah, and you made me eat it out of a cereal bowl with a spoon.”

“It still slapped though.” Louis grins.

Behind them, Carol’s voice floats in gently. “Need a hand with anything?”

Louis glances over his shoulder. “Nah, all good. Thanks though.”

And—miracle of miracles—she nods. “Alright. Smells amazing.”

He finishes plating just a few minutes later—bowls of pasta with roasted veg, bread warm in a basket, and a little salad thrown together last-minute. He sets everything on the table, brushes his hands off on a tea towel, and calls out, “Food’s up!”

They gather around the table.

It’s quiet at first, just the sounds of chairs scraping, forks clinking, a baby monitor softly buzzing on the windowsill.

Then Rick clears his throat. “D’you remember that summer at the lake when Louis tried to build a zipline?”

Louis groans. “Oh, God. Please don’t.”

Harry perks up immediately. “No, no, go on. I need this.”

Rick grins, full of mischief. “He tied a rope from the treehouse to the old shed. Had his cousin push him off with a broom.”

“It was gonna be epic,” Louis says dryly. “Until I slammed into the fence and cried for three hours.”

“Still the most committed I’ve ever seen you,” Rick chuckles. “Said, ‘Don’t bury me until you try it again and make it work.’”

Even Harry’s laughing now—really laughing, full and surprised.

“Oh my God,” he wheezes. “You were a tiny maniac.”

“Still am.” Louis mutters into his pasta.

Carol smiles around the rim of her glass. “He always had ideas. Never waited for permission.”

“That part hasn’t changed.” Harry murmurs with a smile, nudging Louis with his knee under the table.

It’s soft for a while.

There’s seconds passed around. Aurelia fusses once through the monitor, but then goes quiet again. Louis gets up to check anyway, just a peek, and comes back saying, “Out cold. Little gremlin wore herself out with that neck workout.”

Carol laughs lightly. “She’s a fighter. Just like you.”

Louis gives her a look, unreadable, but not cold. Just curious. And he says nothing.

Plates are scraped clean. Bread disappears. The sun shifts through the curtains in soft stripes of gold.

Lunch has long been cleared away. Well—supposed to have been left, actually.

“Really,” Louis had said as he stacked the plates himself, “We’ve got it, don’t worry.”

But five minutes later, Carol is elbow-deep at the sink, muttering about spots on the glasses.

Louis watches from the corner of his eye, baby in one arm, drying cloth in the other. “We said not to, Mum.”

“I know, I just… look at these. Water streaks. You’re supposed to rinse vinegar after detergent.”

“We’re not running a restaurant.”

She huffs softly but doesn’t stop. Rick stands nearby, pretending to examine a coaster like it’s the most fascinating object in the room. He doesn’t stop her either.

Louis swallows the sigh at the back of his throat and turns away.

In the living room, Harry’s curled up on the couch, legs tucked under him. He’s pale, but not the kind of pale that worries Louis anymore. Just the soft kind. Tired. Still sore, maybe. But comfortable.

His eyes track Louis as he walks past, bouncing Aurelia gently on his hip.

“You alright, love?” Louis asks softly.

Harry nods, eyes warm and a little droopy. “Just resting. She looks happy.”

“She is happy.“

Behind them, Carol emerges from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a tea towel. She glances over at the two of them, eyes pausing on Harry for a beat longer than Louis likes .

“You still sore, Harry?”

Harry blinks, caught. “A bit. Not awful.”

“You should really try to get moving more. It helps, you know.”

Louis doesn’t even glance at her. “He’s doing exactly what he needs to do.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I know.” Louis says, too flat.

Carol clears her throat and changes the subject. “So. When are you getting her ears pierced?”

Harry furrows his brow. “We’re not.”

“Oh? But most babies get it done early, don’t they? Less traumatic.”

“She’s two weeks old.”

“Well, just something to think about.”

“We did, though,” Louis says, sharper now. “We talked about it. And we said no.”

Carol holds her hands up in that faux-playful way, like she’s joking but also not. “Okay, okay. You’re the parents.”

“Exactly,” Louis says. “We are.”

Rick, from the armchair, jumps in, probably trying to ease the tension. “Speaking of parenting, I remember when Lou was her age, he had this little cry that would shake the walls. We used to call it the banshee scream.”

Carol smiles, glancing over. “Wonder where she gets it.”

Louis raises an eyebrow. “She’s not even colicky.”

“No, of course not, I just meant—”

“Maybe don’t compare her crying to banshees?”

“Wasn’t serious, Louis.” Rick offers, chuckling.

Harry doesn’t say anything. He’s quiet, still watching Louis with tired eyes. His knuckles are tucked under his chin now, thumb pressed to his mouth. It’s something he does when he’s overwhelmed—an unconscious flicker of self-soothing.

Louis bounces Aurelia a little firmer. She gurgles softly, entirely unbothered.

It’s subtle, all of it. Nothing overtly cruel. No shouting, no swearing, no big standoff.

But still, everything feels slightly off-kilter.

Like standing on a boat that’s barely started to drift.

Like a balance that’s threatening to tip.

Louis shifts his weight, holding Aurelia closer. “You want to lie down, baby?” he asks Harry.

Harry blinks out of his haze and nods slowly. “Yeah. Just twenty minutes or so.”

“Go on, love. I’ll come get you if she gets hungry.”

Harry stretches carefully, gives Carol and Rick a soft smile—courteous, tired, almost too careful—and heads to the bedroom.

Louis watches him go,jaw tight.

Carol sits on the edge of the armchair. “He really is very delicate, isn’t he?”

Rick chuckles under his breath. “Always looks like he’s about to cry.”

Louis turns to them, slow and deliberate. “You don’t have to comment on everything.”

Carol blinks. “We’re just saying. He seems… emotional.”

“Well,” Louis says calmly, “he carried a whole human and delivered it just two weeks ago. You’d be emotional too.”

They say nothing.

The silence grows heavy.

Aurelia lets out a soft coo. Louis kisses her forehead and breathes deep, like he’s grounding himself with the scent of her.

It’s quieter now.

Not peaceful, just quiet. That strained sort of stillness, like a room after someone says something wrong and no one corrects it, but no one lets it go either.

Aurelia starts fussing softly in Louis’ arms. She wriggles, nose scrunching up like she’s tasting something sour in her dreams.

“She’s probably hungry,” Louis murmurs, bouncing her gently. “I’ll take her up.”

“She’s feeding again?” Carol asks, brow lifting. “Didn’t she just eat?”

Louia just runs a palm down her tiny back, voice low. “Sometimes she cluster feeds, Mum. Especially in the evenings.”

Carol hums, like she doesn’t quite believe him, like she’s already filing it away as indulgence. But she doesn’t argue.

Instead, she says, “I mean, when I had you and the girls, I kept a schedule. You have to train them.”

Rick chuckles. “She’s got Louis wrapped around her little finger already.”

Louis doesn’t even blink. “And I’m fine with that.”

Harry’s already up when Louis steps into the bedroom, tousled and sleepy but holding himself upright in bed. He rubs at one eye with the sleeve of his sweatshirt, reaching instinctively for the baby.

“She hungry?”

“Think so. She’s starting to grumble.”

Louis helps pass her over carefully, then sits beside Harry on the bed. Aurelia’s rooting already, fists kneading against his chest.

Sometimes she latches perfectly. Sometimes she doesn’t.

Today she doesn’t.

Harry shifts her gently, trying again. She fusses harder, snuffling, growing frustrated.

“Here,” Louis murmurs, adjusting a pillow under Harry’s arm. “Try this side.”

Harry tries one side. Then the other. Switches positions. Cradles her. Holds her upright. Tries skin-to-skin, voice low and soothing, but Aurelia is not having it. She roots, she fusses, she lets out a frustrated, hiccupping cry that goes straight through him.

“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong,” Harry murmurs, eyes glassy now with exhaustion and the quiet sting of helplessness. “She’s trying, I can feel her trying—”

“You’re not doing anything wrong.” Louis keeps one hand steady on Harry’s thigh, the other gently rubbing Aurelia’s tiny back. “She’s just being stubborn. She gets that from you.”

Harry snorts, though it’s more breath than sound. He adjusts the latch again. Aurelia shakes her head, mouth slipping off. She wails.

Louis leans close, pressing his forehead to Harry’s temple. “We’ve got time, baby. No rush.”

It takes twenty minutes. Twenty long, tense, breath-held minutes. Harry’s arms are aching, his nerves are frayed, and Aurelia is worked up to a sweaty pink glow—

But then, finally.

A latch.

A slow, steady rhythm of swallowing.

The silence that follows feels so loud, it rings.

Harry slumps against Louis’ shoulder, shaky laugh escaping his chest. “God. She hates me.”

“She literally just curled her hand around your nipple like it was a long-lost friend.”

Harry wheezes a laugh. “I love her so much it’s stupid.”

Louis presses a kiss to his forehead. “She loves you back. Also stupidly.”

They stay like that until she’s full, milk-drunk and boneless in Louis’ arms. Only then do they head back downstairs.

Carol looks up from the couch, a cushion fluffed on her lap. “Everything okay? Took a while.”

“She wouldn’t latch,” Louis says simply, rocking Aurelia gently. “Took a bit to calm her.”

Rick, from the armchair, chuckles low. “Y’know, your mum never had a problem with that. You guys were greedy from the start.”

Louis blinks. “What?”

Rick shrugs like it’s harmless. “Just saying, some mums have the touch.”

There’s a pause.

A long, cold one.

Harry stands completely still.

Louis’ presses his lips into a thin line. “You comparing my partner to your wife now?”

Rick’s still got that same grin on. “Wasn’t a criticism. Just saying.”

“No,” Louis says, sharper now, “you weren’t just saying. You were implying. That maybe Harry’s not doing something right. That maybe if he were more like mum, our daughter wouldn’t be so fussy.”

Carol looks up, startled. “Louis, come on, he didn’t mean—”

“He never means anything, does he?” Louis says. His voice isn’t loud, but it cuts.

Harry swallows hard, eyes down, jaw tight.

Louis rocks Aurelia a little more firmly in his arms, turns slightly toward Harry, protective now. “Let’s just sit for a bit.”

The air is thick. Tense.

Rick leans back, hands up. “Didn’t mean to start anything.”

“Too late.” Louis mutters.

But he sits. Harry follows.

They stay.

But it’s one more mark on the tally.

And Louis is keeping count.

Aurelia’s finally down after all the fussing, tucked against Harry’s chest as he sits cross-legged on the floor, her tiny fingers curled in his sweatshirt. Louis is beside them, legs stretched out, head resting against the sofa. He watches Harry rock gently, instinctive and soft, and can’t help the way his heart stretches.

Carol and Rick sit across from them, teacups in hand, glancing over now and then. It’s not tense. Not yet. Just quiet.

“So,” Carol says lightly, turning to Harry. “Are your stitches all healed now?”

Harry blinks. “Um… mostly. They’re still a bit sore.”

Carol hums. “Do they itch? That’s what I remember. Itching like mad when everything started shrinking back.”

Harry swallows, shifting a bit. “Sometimes, yeah.”

“And you’re still wearing the… belly band, is it?”

Louis feels Harry tense beside him.

“Yeah,” Harry says carefully. “It helps. With the pressure.”

Carol nods like she knows everything. “Right. Well, just don’t wear it too long, love. You don’t want to get dependent on it. You’ll bounce back soon.”

Harry doesn’t answer. Louis’ jaw clenches.

Rick adds, offhandedly, “You’re still not sleeping much, huh?”

“No,” Harry says. “She’s been fussy at night.”

Carol lifts her brows. “You could try laying her on her tummy to sleep. Worked for us.”

“She’s two weeks old,” Louis says, voice flat. “That’s not safe.”

“Well, just a little. Babies need strong necks.”

“She does tummy time. Supervised. Every day.”

“Of course,” Carol says, as if she hasn’t just been corrected. “You know, like I said, once you’re moving more, things will feel easier. I remember once I got back into my clothes, I started feeling human again.”

Louis tenses. “He is human.”

Carol smiles, oblivious. “Oh, I didn’t mean… just that, you know. You’ll feel better once the baby weight starts to drop. You’re still holding onto a bit, yeah?”

Harry stills.

He doesn’t even blink. Just… stills.

Louis doesn’t need to look to know how that landed. He can feel it in the way Harry’s breathing shallows, in the way his shoulders pull tight, in the way his arms subtly reposition—more coverage, more hiding.

Louis straightens up. “Excuse me?”

Carol blinks. “What?”

“Did you just comment on his weight?”

“No—well, not like that,” she laughs lightly. “It’s just baby weight. It comes off.”

Louis’ voice drops dangerously low. “Don’t.”

Rick chuckles like he’s trying to cut the tension. “You know your mum lost all the baby weight in two weeks. I don’t know how she did it. Probably all the running around after you.”

There’s a silence so loud it buzzes in Louis’ ears.

Harry doesn’t move. He’s just staring down at the top of Aurelia’s head, jaw clenched.

Louis stands up slowly. “Get out.”

Rick frowns. “What?”

Louis doesn’t raise his voice. Doesn’t need to. “You heard me. Get out.”

Carol’s eyes widen. “Louis, come on, we didn’t mean—”

“No. You never mean it. That’s the problem. You just say things. You push and prod and pretend it’s love. But it’s not. It’s judgement.”

“We’re trying to help,” Rick says firmly. “You’re overreacting.”

“Help?” Louis laughs, bitter. “You don’t help. You undermine. You dig and poke and then act shocked when we bleed.”

Carol stands, flustered. “We are your parents. You can’t just—”

“I can. And I am.”

“Louis—”

“You don’t comment on his body. Not ever. He’s healing. He carried our child. He’s literally stitched together and standing here, feeding her, loving her, surviving—and you want to talk about his waistline?”

“Lou—” Harry tries, quiet.

“No,” Louis says, turning to him, gentle now. “You don’t have to defend them.”

He turns back. “You had one more chance. That was it. You’re done.”

Rick shakes his head, angry now. “This is ridiculous. We’re not the enemy.”

Louis lifts his chin. “No. But you’re not safe, either.”

He walks to the door and opens it wide.

They stare for a moment too long, but he doesn’t flinch.

They leave.

The door closes. Final. Solid.

Silence blooms.

Harry exhales shakily.

Louis turns back, eyes softening. “Come here, baby.”

Harry lets him pull him close, lets himself be held, kissed.

Aurelia makes a soft noise, completely unbothered. A baby sigh.

Louis presses a kiss to her hair too. “We’re okay.”

Harry nods slowly, pressing his face into Louis’ shoulder.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “We are.”

The nursery is dim, quiet except for the soft whir of the white noise machine. Moonlight filters in faintly through the gauzy curtains, silvering the edges of the mobile that spins gently above the crib. A soft hum of lullaby chimes now and then when the breeze hits it just right.

Aurelia’s asleep.

Not just asleep—properly out, warm and pink-cheeked in her crib, breathing even and safe. Louis hovers anyway. Adjusts her onesies, runs a finger along her tiny arm to feel the steady rise and fall of her breath. Checks again that the crib is clear. Then checks again.

Behind him, Harry leans on the edge of the changing table, watching.

“You think she’s okay?” Louis whispers, even though he knows.

Harry nods. “She’s perfect.”

Louis glances at him, smiles.

For a minute, they just… stand there. Side by side. Watching the miracle they made sleep like she didn’t just witness the emotional explosion of the century hours ago.

“Do you…” Harry starts, then stops.

Louis turns to him gently. “What is it, love?”

Harry’s eyes stay on the crib. “Are you sure? About what you said earlier.”

Louis frowns softly. “To my parents?”

Harry nods. “I mean. I know they were awful. But… they’re still your mum and dad. I don’t want to be the reason you stop seeing them.”

Louis is quiet for a beat. Then he moves, closes the space between them, slides his arms around Harry’s waist and pulls him close, slow and sure. He presses a kiss to Harry’s temple, his cheek, his jaw.

“You’re not the reason,” he murmurs. “They are.”

Harry swallows. Doesn’t answer.

Louis holds him tighter. “They had chances. So many. We were clear, and they didn’t care. They didn’t just disrespect you, they disrespected us. Our family. Our home.”

“I know,” Harry says quietly. “I just… I don’t want to be the person who drove a wedge.”

Louis leans back enough to look him in the eye. “You didn’t drive anything, Harry. They made choices. Over and over again.”

Harry still doesn’t look entirely convinced. His hands stay at Louis’s waist, but they feel loose, tentative.

Louis lifts one of his own and cups Harry’s cheek. “If they want to come back into our lives, into her life, they can figure that out. But not like this. Not until they’ve changed. For real.”

Harry nods slowly. Then exhales.

Louis’ hands drift a little lower—instinctive, just tracing Harry’s sides, sliding down to settle over his hips. He leans in for another kiss. But just as his palms brush lower, Harry stiffens slightly and sinks in his belly.

Louis stills.

“Hey,” he says gently. “Don’t.”

Harry blinks. “What?”

Louis meets his eyes. “Don’t do that.”

Harry tries to smile, tries to brush it off. “It’s not a big deal.”

But Louis doesn’t let go. He keeps his hands there, warm and steady, and ducks his head a little so Harry has to meet his eyes.

“I love your body,” Louis says, quiet but sure. “This belly carried our daughter. It stretched for her, held her safe, grew her from nothing.”

Harry’s mouth parts like he’s going to argue, but nothing comes out.

“You made her, Harry,” Louis whispers. “You gave her life. This body is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Harry’s eyes glisten. “You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not,” Louis says. “I mean it. I mean every word. You’re—fuck, you’re gorgeous. Always have been. But right now? You’ve never been more beautiful to me than you are here, holding her. With this belly, with these hips, with your tired eyes and your soft hands and everything.”

Harry makes a tiny noise, breath catching. Louis kisses it away, slow and careful, lips brushing his cheek, his temple, his jaw.

“You’re perfect,” Louis murmurs. “Exactly like this.”

And after a long, trembling pause, Harry throws his arms around him. Wraps them tight around Louis’ neck and buries his face in his shoulder.

Louis holds him, one hand at the small of his back, the other tracing little shapes on the hem of his pyjama shirt.

Aurelia stirs softly in her crib, but doesn’t wake.

They stay there a while, wrapped around each other like the only two people on Earth.

It’s somewhere around 3 a.m. when the soft crackle of the baby monitor pulls Louis out of sleep.

Harry’s curled around him like always—one leg slung over Louis’, face tucked into his chest, hand resting over Louis’ heart like it belongs there. Which, Louis thinks sleepily, it sort of does.

The soft whimper from the monitor crackles again.

Louis shifts slightly and Harry stirs, blinking heavy-lidded and bleary. “Is she okay?”

“Think she’s just fussy,” Louis whispers, already sliding a hand through Harry’s curls. “You stay. I’ve got her.”

“I can—”

“You’re knackered, baby,” Louis says gently, brushing a kiss to Harry’s forehead. “I’ll go. Sleep.”

Harry lets out a soft hum of protest but he’s already melting into the mattress again, curling around Louis’s pillow instead. Louis pauses a moment to watch him, cheeks soft with sleep, lips parted, curls a mess, and he feels something warm bloom in his chest.

He pads softly into the nursery, where Aurelia is wriggling in her cot, not quite crying, but not exactly content either.

“Hey, hey,” Louis whispers, scooping her up. She’s warm and wiggly against his chest, fists curled, face scrunched. “There you are, my little starfish.”

He doesn’t turn on the light. Just settles into the chair by the window, Aurelia cradled in his arms, cheek resting against his shoulder.

“Moon’s out,” he murmurs to her. “You see that? I used to wish on that, you know. And now look.”

She snuffles a little, fists unclenching. Her eyes are big and shiny in the dark.

He exhales, barely more than a whisper. “You won’t remember this, bug,” he says, voice low, “but I will. Every second of it.”

She stirs a little in his arms, one tiny hand curled against his chest.

“My parents… they couldn’t do it,” he murmurs, eyes fixed somewhere just above her head. “They couldn’t see what we built and just let us have it. Had to poke holes in it, chip at it.”

He swallows, jaw tight.

“But that’s not your problem. That’s mine.” He looks down at her, softening. “Because I’ll never let you feel like that. Never let you wonder if you’re too much or not enough.”

His thumb brushes gently over her temple.

“You’ll always know. Me and your mum—we’ve got you. Every time. No matter who else shows up. Or doesn’t.”

She shifts again, mouth falling open a little in sleep.

Louis leans down and kisses her forehead.

“I’m not gonna be like them,” he promises, quiet but sure. “You’ll never have to earn our love. It’s already yours.”

She’s quiet now. Breathing even, tiny hand curled in the fabric of his T-shirt.

They stay there a while longer, swaying slowly by the window, watching the world sleep.

Louis presses a kiss to her fuzzy head and whispers, “Yeah. We’ll give you the world.”

He doesn’t even notice when the sky starts to lighten.

He rocks gently, eyes half-lidded. “Y’know,” he murmurs, “I thought I’d be more useful in the middle of the night. Big strong dad, sweeping in to save the day.”

Aurelia squeaks softly in response.

“But here I am, talking to a baby who couldn’t give less of a shit about my pep talk.”

Another squeak.

“…Was that a grunt?”

A pause.

And then, the unmistakable sound.

“Oh, brilliant.”

Louis stills, lifts her a bit to peek beneath her sleep suit with the practiced horror of a man who’s seen things—things you can’t unsee.

“Mate. That is foul,” he whispers, trying not to laugh as he gets up. “You couldn’t have done this, I dunno, before I sat down?”

Aurelia blinks up at him, suspiciously calm for someone who just destroyed the very concept of a clean nappy.

Louis lays her on the changing table, muttering softly to himself. “I swear, you lot don’t prepare people enough for the violence of a four a.m. poo. This should be a health hazard.”

He’s halfway through wiping when the door creaks open.

Harry peeks in, hair a mess, hoodie sleeves too long over his hands, eyes heavy with sleep. “What’s taking you so long?”

Louis looks up and immediately softens. “Go back to bed, love.”

Harry steps in anyway, bare feet padding across the floor. “She okay?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, working fast with the wipes, “just decided to ruin my life real quick, that’s all.”

Harry giggles quietly and leans his head against Louis’ shoulder. “M’sorry. I’d’ve helped if you woke me.”

“You were shattered. I got it.”

Louis finishes, redresses her, and lifts her back into his arms. She’s sleepier now, little head bobbing as she blinks slowly.

“Let’s get you back down, yeah?” he whispers, kissing the top of her soft head.

He tucks her into the crib, adjusting the mattress just right, then stands there a beat too long.

Harry watches him. “You staying?”

“Just for a bit. Wanna make sure she settles.”

Harry hums. “M’coming too, then.”

Louis turns to tell him he doesn’t have to, but Harry’s already lowering himself to the floor with a groan and a yawn, curling onto his side like a cat. Louis sighs and sinks down next to him.

They end up tangled together, Harry fully sprawled on top of Louis like a weighted blanket, head tucked under his chin, breath warm on his throat.

They fall asleep like that—cramped, a bit cold, with Louis’ back protesting by the minute.

And in the morning, he’ll stretch and groan and probably complain to every living soul.

But right now, with Harry soft and heavy in his arms, and their daughter sleeping safe and sound just a few feet away?

Yeah.

Worth it.

Every time.

The knock comes midmorning—soft, careful. Like they practiced it on the walk over.

Harry’s halfway through making tea when he freezes, glancing toward the door with his brows drawn in something like nerves. Louis catches the look and nudges him gently toward the sink.

“I’ll get it.” he says.

He opens the door to find Anne and Robin standing side by side, hands tucked neatly in front of them. Anne is holding a pale yellow gift bag and blinking up at him like she’s afraid she’s too early.

“Hi, love,” she says, her voice instantly trembling. “We didn’t know if today was still alright.”

Louis smiles, wide and real. “It’s alright. Come in.”

Anne steps inside first, eyes scanning the house with a strange sort of reverence, like she’s walking into a museum she’s waited years to visit. Robin follows behind her, hand briefly clasping Louis’ shoulder.

“You holding up okay, son?”

The word sticks in Louis’ chest for a second before it sinks in. He nods. “Yeah. Thanks for asking.”

Harry steps out from the kitchen just as they enter the living room, hair still damp from the shower, soft socks sliding slightly on the hardwood. He’s wearing Louis’ old hoodie, the sleeves swallowed over his knuckles.

Anne’s face crumples the second she sees him.

“Oh—oh, sweetheart.”

“Hi.” Harry says shyly, voice barely above a whisper.

He crosses the room and Anne meets him halfway, her arms open before he even fully reaches her. He lets her fold him in. It’s careful and warm, her palm gently pressing against the back of his head like she’s still trying to protect him from the world.

Robin smiles, quiet and steady. “Been counting the days to this.”

Harry lets out a quiet, shaky laugh. “Me too.”

“Where is she?” Anne asks, eyes already misty.

“She’s just napping,” Louis says, already turning toward the nursery. “You wanna come in?”

Anne clutches the yellow bag a little tighter. “I think I might cry.”

“That’s alright,” Harry says softly. “She’s used to it.”

Louis opens the door to the nursery first, holding it quietly for them with his shoulder. The room smells like baby lotion and clean linen, dimly lit with soft morning light through the curtains.

Aurelia’s nestled against his chest, heavy-limbed and warm from sleep. Her cheek is pressed to his collarbone, mouth slack, one tiny fist curled at the collar of his shirt. She’s awake, just barely, blinking slow and drowsy and blinking again.

Anne steps in behind him—and stops.

“Oh,” she breathes. Her hand covers her mouth, her shoulders trembling before she even speaks again. “Oh my god.”

Louis watches her for a second, watches the way her chest rises with a sharp breath she tries not to take.

“Here,” he murmurs, cradling Aurelia gently and turning toward her. “You can hold her.”

Anne’s hands come up instinctively, as though she’s done it a million times before—but her fingers tremble and her eyes are already wet. Louis transfers the baby gently into her arms, guiding her hands under the head, over the back.

“There you go,” he says softly. “She’s just a bit sleepy.”

Aurelia lets out a soft little sound, like a hum. Anne gasps again, eyes wide with wonder, tears sliding down her cheeks unchecked.

“She’s real,” she whispers, barely able to believe it. “I mean—I know she’s real, I just…”

“She’s perfect.” Robin says from the doorway, voice quiet and steady.

Harry slips in beside him, breath catching the moment he sees his mum holding his daughter. He moves almost on instinct, leaning against Louis’ side, and Louis curls an arm around him.

Anne looks up, eyes shining, and she’s smiling through it. “Hi, baby,” she says, barely able to get it out. “Look what you made.”

Harry’s mouth wobbles. “We made her.”

Anne turns slightly so he can see more of Aurelia’s face. “She looks just like you when you were small. That same little furrow between the brows.”

Harry’s already halfway to crying. “Oh god.”

Louis squeezes his waist. “She’s working her way through the family expressions already.”

Robin clears his throat gently. “We brought something for her,” he says, lifting a medium-sized box wrapped in brown paper and tied with soft cream ribbon. “Nothing fancy.”

Anne, still holding Aurelia like something sacred, nods toward it. “We thought—something for all of you, really.”

Louis takes it, sits carefully at the edge of the armchair. Harry settles beside him as he unties the ribbon.

Inside the box: a photo album. But not just any. Hand-bound linen cover. Beautiful parchment pages. The first few filled in already, with a copy of her birth certificate, hand-written details about the day she was born, and little prompts for “first laugh” and “first step” and “first time she calls you dada.”

There’s a note taped to the inside cover.

This is your story to tell. But we wanted to give you the pages. Love, Nana & Grandad.

Harry’s hand flies to his mouth.

Louis swallows hard. “Bloody hell.”

Anne laughs through her tears. “We thought maybe… you’d want to keep the bits that matter.”

“I do,” Harry says instantly. “We do.”

“It’s beautiful,” Louis murmurs. “Proper thoughtful, that.”

Robin shrugs a little. “She’s the organised one.”

Anne laughs. “He stayed up till one helping me sort the pages.”

Louis looks up at them, then at Harry—his eyes bright, lips parted, clinging to him like he’s anchoring himself. He kisses his temple and feels Harry melt.

Aurelia gurgles softly, tucked still in Anne’s arms, the side of her face warm and red and sleepy.

“You lot are gonna make us cry all day.” Louis mutters, wiping under his eye before it even gets the chance.

Anne leans down, brushing her lips to Aurelia’s soft hair. “She’s so loved. You know that, right?”

Harry nods. “Yeah. I think she does too.”

Robin claps a warm hand to Louis’s shoulder again. “You’re doing a brilliant job, son.”

Louis doesn’t have to hide how much it means.

He stands slowly from the armchair, brushing his hands on his thighs, the album tucked safely under one arm.

“I’ll go make tea,” he says, voice a little hoarse from all the emotion. “Should’ve done it ages ago.”

Robin glances up, smiling. “I’ll give you a hand.”

Louis doesn’t argue. Just nods and gestures toward the kitchen.

They move quietly through the flat, the echo of Aurelia’s soft gurgles trailing behind them. The kitchen’s still warm from earlier, sunlight through the window brightening the counters. Louis reaches for the kettle, filling it from the tap, setting it down to boil.

Robin opens a cupboard instinctively—finds mugs without asking, sets them down.

There’s a beat of silence before Louis exhales slowly.

“She cried before she even held her.”

Robin’s brow lifts gently. “She was already crying in the hallway.”

Louis lets out a small, fond huff. “Yeah. Thought so.”

He opens the tea tin, lets the clink of mugs and the faint bubbling from the kettle fill the room a moment longer. And then—

“Thank you.”

Robin looks over, eyes warm and kind.

Louis shrugs, busies his hands with the mugs. “I just— I appreciate you. More than I know how to say.”

Robin doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t press. Just waits.

Louis bites his lip, then admits, “My parents haven’t made things easy.”

A pause. He shrugs. “We asked them for space, and they came anyway. Said things they shouldn’t’ve. About Harry. About… all of it.”

Robin’s jaw tightens slightly, but his voice stays gentle. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

“I know,” Louis says softly. “Just… it’s nice. Having someone who listens.”

Robin walks over slowly, not looming, just… steady. Present. He puts a warm, sure hand on Louis’ shoulder.

“You and Harry are building a family that’s full of love. That’s all we ever wanted for him. And now, for you.”

Louis blinks fast. His throat gets a bit tight.

“We’re not perfect,” Robin says, voice low and honest. “But we know how to follow your lead. That’s how it should be. We’ll always show up when you say it’s alright to. And we’ll always, always have your back.”

Louis lets out a small breath, chest loosening like something painful’s finally unclenched.

“Thanks,” he whispers. “Really.”

Robin nods. Then, with no big fuss, he pulls Louis into a hug.

And Louis lets himself sink into it.

Not because he’s breaking. But because it’s safe to.

Robin pulls back just enough to smile. “Now go find the good biscuits, lad. You’ve got guests.”

Louis snorts, wiping under one eye. “They’re behind the cereal. But if you take the last chocolate one, you’re not getting invited back.”

Robin grins. “Noted.”

They return a few minutes later, hands full with tea and biscuits balanced on mismatched saucers.

And what they walk into nearly knocks Louis flat.

Anne and Harry are curled up on the nursery rug, sitting with their backs against the wall. Aurelia’s nestled in Harry’s lap, wide awake now, her little legs kicking slow and happy. Harry’s holding her gently under the arms, nose brushing hers every so often, soft giggles escaping him.

Anne’s leaning into his shoulder, one arm wrapped behind him, cheek resting near his curls.

They’re smiling. All three of them. Quiet and golden and glowing.

Louis stops in the doorway and just watches.

Robin steps up beside him, quiet too, then murmurs, “Looks like our work here is done.”

Louis huffs out a laugh, full of fondness and awe. “She really loves them.”

“She loves you,” Robin says. “You let the right people in.”

And yeah, Louis might cry again.

But that’s alright.