rowan

Visibility was high, the cold bearable, the roads truly in good condition, and you made it to Dreadfort with few issues. Leaving Dreadfort was where things had taken a turn for the worse. Now, two days later, you weren’t sure you’d even see the walls of Winterfell before freezing to death. 

The storm had truly come from out of nowhere. That morning, you’d risen from your camp with the reassuring knowledge that you were less than a day’s ride from the northern capital. By that evening, you would be in the comfort of your own bedroom, with a hot bath, a belly full of food, and the wall of warmth that was your lord husband to welcome you home. 

Now, the party was falling apart around you. It had become darker as the short winter day drew to a close. The wind had picked up, visibility had dropped with the same dreadfulness of a falling cup you knew would shatter upon impact. It was snowing sideways. 

“How far are we, ser?” You yelled to one of your guards, voice muffled against the yowling of the storm. You were squinting to keep your eyes as free from falling snow as possible, but it also meant seeing even less than what you could currently see. Your horses were quickly becoming panicked.

“I’d wager less than two hours, Lady Stark,” He answered, “But we must make haste.”

The group of you—consisting of you and about twenty bannermen—tried your damnedest to rally, to push forward. Home was so close, you could make it if you hurried. Everyone was rattled and on edge, men snapping at each other at the slightest provocation. The horses were jittering, put off by the cold. 

You, attempting to use your authority over them all to force them to just go faster. The cold made Winterfell feel even further than it currently was, turning the earth elastic. Pulling it far and taut. 

Cregan, we’re coming, you wanted to call, please, let us come home.

And then the tree fell. 

The wind, already blowing so hard, gave an even stronger gust. With a terrible crack, and a long, loud groan, a dead tree came down on you all. You gripped the reins of your horse with all your remaining strength, barely managing to pull it away as the trunk came crashing down. 

BOOM

The sound echoed across the forest, causing your heart to drop. Even more snow kicked up off of the ground as a result of the impact. You watched at least one man get crushed under the massive tree, his cries silenced by the roar of the wind and the angry crash. 

Startled horses scattered, unable to be calmed by their riders. Yours bucked, once, twice, and for the longest second you’ve ever experienced, you thought she would flip, and crush you beneath her. 

Instead, she squealed in terror, and turned to run. You watched as the party disappeared into the storm, wind biting at your cheeks and pulling the hood of your cloak back.

“No,” You demanded, yanking on the reins to no avail, “Go back, go back, go back—!”

❅ ❅ ❅

The papers on his desk had been abandoned about half an hour ago. Cregan Stark was pacing the length of the room. He hadn’t spoken since someone had answered his questions, and the advisors were growing anxious at the unreadable look on his face.

“Is the storm expected to stop?” Cregan asked from the desk.

“The clouds are dense, my lord,” The maester said, “I would expect this storm to last till the morrow, at least.”

His scowl deepened. “And no one has heard from my wife’s party. My wife’s party, who should have been spotted by now, per the raven they sent this morning.”

The maester looked down, unable to meet those intense gray eyes. “...No, my lord. There has been no word from the scouts.”

No one could hear it, but everyone in the room could see the heaving of his chest, the flaring of his nostrils, the occasional twitching of his fingers. His energy pushed outwards, pressing against everyone like a weight on their chests.

Cregan Stark did not get nervous. No, Cregan Stark inspired nervousness in others. And yet, now, at the concept of his wife disappearing into the snow, he seemed to be doing both. Even Bear, the Warden of the North’s large, frightening direwolf paused from licking at his black and brown coat to track his master’s movements.

He stopped, before turning to face the men in his study. The entire room held its breath. 

“We—”

“Lord Stark, my lord—!”

The door slammed open, and a guard entered the room, panting. He had clearly run from the courtyard, cheeks red, cloak dusted with snow. He was panting heavily, leaning against the doorframe for support. At the interruption, Cregan reared on the young man, angry gaze more wolf than man.

“Erik,” He grunted, “What is the meaning–”

“The party is not f-far,” Erik said quickly, breathless, “But something has gone wrong. One man is presumed dead, two men are missing, and L-Lady Stark—”

All the air seemed to have been sucked out of the room as the man bent over, coughing with overexertion. Suddenly, with a stalking gait, Cregan was crossing the room, almost lunging for him. Some men stood at the sudden movement, but made no attempt to hold him back. Cregan’s arms shot out, gripping him by the shoulders and shaking. Gray eyes flashed with madness, and he paid no mind to the smaller man’s heaving in his face as he got in close.

“What about Lady Stark, boy? Where the fuck is my wife—”

“Her horse–her horse was startled. It ran further into the woods. They—” More coughing, “—they cannot find her.”

The guard fell to the floor as Cregan dropped him. His eyes were wide, his emotions now tangible: heavy, angered panting, matching with the rhythmic rising and falling of his hulking shoulders.

He looked back at his advisors. “Ready my horse and my wolf at once.”

“My lord, you will freeze–”

His tone left no room for discussion. “Prepare a search party at once. And bring me something from her chambers. Bear will need it to track her scent.”

❅ ❅ ❅

The truest darkness lives in the forests of the North. You were living it now, barely able to see anything except for the rough outlines of tree trunks, which went on for miles. Not that you could see them that far.

You couldn’t tell how long had passed. The snow had never let up. 

The panic didn’t set in immediately. First, you called for your bannermen. Shouted their names over and over until their names began to sound foreign. Don’t panic, you tried to tell yourself, conserve your energy.

It had gotten you nowhere, body beginning to shiver as you realized you were alone and couldn’t make out the path your horse had dragged you down. 

Winterfell is north. Just go north. Which way is north?

The shivering turned painful. Shoulder blades locked stiffly as you hunched into yourself. You could hardly feel your fingers gripping the reins of the horse, even under thick lined leather gloves. You tried to orient yourself, but it proved difficult. Dusk had passed. It was now night. You had no torch or means of making a flame to light your way, the falling snow blocking what little you could see. 

Surrounded by trees, with no discernible landmarks or visible light in the distance to guide you further, you wandered the woods with your horse, trying to follow your horse’s tracks back to your party. Even if they were gone, if you could find the fallen trunk, you would know which way to go. If any of them had followed your path, you would run into them, and you could return together. 

The minutes stretched into hours, a seemingly endless night suffocating you. The feeling in your nose disappeared first. Where once your cheeks burned from the cold, now the sensation bloomed into nothingness. Blowing hot air into your gloves—a constant shaky hah-hah-hah that might have helped this morning—now did next to nothing to relieve your trembling fingers.

You don’t know when your eyelashes froze, but you only noticed when you took note of the foggy white ring encroaching on your peripheral vision. When you blinked, you heard the softest crunch in the way you could hear yourself swallowing or breathing. You could only assume the same was happening with your eyebrows.

And when you realized your horse was taking you in circles, the poor creature also suffering from the cold, you realized you no longer knew what to do. 

The shouts turned to screams. You hadn’t screamed out of fear in years, perhaps not since you were a child. No reason to. This was primal, brewing at your sternum and building up, up, up with every desperate rise and fall of your breath. When the pressure could be held no longer, it escaped you.

Screaming for Cregan, which you knew made no sense. He was even further than your party, but it changed nothing. You screamed and screamed and screamed, until it turned to wailing.

Wailing for your mother, who had died years ago. Who would certainly be of less help than your bannermen or Cregan now, barring divine intervention.  

Mind slowly growing foggy and voice going hoarse, you finally admitted it to yourself. You were lost. Well and truly lost. 

❅ ❅ ❅

The search party assembled and departed with a quickness that would have made Cregan proud of his men under any other circumstances. Now, however, he could only feel anger, concern, determination.

I’m coming, love, he thought, I’ll not let you get away from me.

His men, armed with torches, extra pelts and blankets tucked in their packs, and flasks of hot mulled wine, set off in the direction your bannermen had said they’d last seen you. Your horse, spooked by a fallen tree, had run southwest in the commotion. Before they’d left, a servant had brought him one of your hairbrushes. He’d let Bear sniff some at the hair caught in the bristles, and knew that as long as they found the fallen tree, the shaggy black and brown direwolf would pick up on your scent. 

They rode south. The second they broke into the treeline, Bear sped up. The large creature, at top speed, was faster than the horses, but only in bursts of energy. He seemed to sense Cregan’s desperation. 

He ran so fast he disappeared from Cregan’s line of view. The men around him followed the direwolf, trusting the beast’s instinct. 

Moments later, a howl pierced the air. When they caught up to Bear, there it was: a long, dead tree trunk, pinning a horse and its rider to the now red forest floor.

“Check to see if he’s alive.” He commanded two men. He began to separate his men into small groups. “You lot are to search for the missing Manderly boy. All of you over here, call for Willas Snow. The rest of you, follow Bear! All of you pair up, spread out, call their names. We will find them. I refuse to leave without my wife.”

He felt as though he were watching someone else take command of his being. Someone who knew his men, commanded his men like he did. But Cregan was hardly inside of his own body. Though he cared for his men—present and missing alike—and knew he would grieve the man crushed by the tree, right now he could not bring himself to care about them. His only thoughts were of you, out in the cold, dark wood. 

Somewhere near him, but increasingly far away. There was a pressure growing in his chest, pushing back against the whipping wind, threatening to rise up past his throat and out of his mouth. 

You could be hurt. You could be dead. But he would not rest until he saw you with his own two eyes. 

Around him, the shouting began. Calling for Petyr Manderly. For Willas Snow. For Lady Stark. But Cregan did not call for either of the men, or for the Lady Stark. 

“Y/N! Y/N!”

In the middle of the wood, throat straining as his voice was carried away with the wind, Cregan called for you.

❅ ❅ ❅

When the whispers began, the cold had taken control of your body. The forest seemed to be spinning, the trees duplicating. Even in your delirium, you knew you should not have gotten off of the horse, but at the time you’d thought it was a good idea. You could no longer see her anymore, and you scatteredly wondered if she had gone towards the whispers or succumbed.

Now, you were stumbling through ankle-deep snow, hiking up your stupid gown to trudge through the forest. The cold had passed. 

It almost felt pleasant now. The sensation was similar to the night Queen Rhaenyra had sent a crate of Dornish red wine to Winterfell as a gift for your husband’s 24th name day. The great hall had been filled with more dancing than stumbling, and you spent the entire next day vowing to never drink again. That had been at the end of summer. Summer is kind. Autumn is forgiving. Spring with Cregan is so nice. Winter…

And yet, it was still snowing. Still black. But the whispers were getting louder. You couldn’t make sense of them at first, layered and urgent and pleading. 

Lady Willas Petys Stark Snow Manderly… Snow Lady Manderly Petyr Willas Stark…

That was not your name. Names. The names of your bannermen who were no longer around you. Petyr, Willas, Jon, Ethan, Brandon… Names names names names names think of names—think of lovely names.

In the distance, an orange beacon appeared. How pretty, you thought, pretty. Pret-ty. My husband is pretty. 

You felt drunk, body swaying back and forth as you began to move towards the light—lights? There were two now. Then three. Then a few more.

The whispers grew louder, more urgent. Who were they calling for? He had such a long name, but none of them seemed to know it exactly. Your neck began to sag downwards as you listened to them call for the man with the long name. Petyr Lady Petyr Snow Willas Stark Lady Manderly Snow Lady Lady Stark Lady Lady Lady—

Y/N.

Your neck snapped up, head turning frantically to search for who had whispered your name.

Y/N.

You froze. You knew that voice. The inflection of your name. 

It wasn’t a whisper.

“Y/N!”

“C—”

He was here he was here he was here he was here. And if he was here, then—

You watched, almost entranced, as a large black mass bolted out of the dark, barreling into you, tipping you over. You landed on your back in the snow. The snow, which was warm. Hot, even. 

Forcing yourself onto your elbows, your gaze landed on Bear. You tried your hardest to keep yourself focused on your husband’s direwolf, but the forest was running circles around you, and your body felt like it was on fire. 

When he tilted his snout up, letting loose a howl long and urgent, you barely heard it. This was a dream. This had to be a dream. Any moment now, you would wake, and be in your bed in Winterfell.

As you moved onto your knees, you pulled your gloves off. Your fingers were ablaze and you wanted to pet the beast. Stumbling onto your feet, you held up a hand, mouth gaping as you tried to ensure you weren’t melting from the heat. When you saw you weren’t, you reached for Bear. 

“Here! My lord, she’s over here!” 

Time slowed to a glacial pace. Your movements dragged as if you were underwater, all sounds muffled and scrambled. If you were underwater, they were above the surface.

You didn’t touch Bear. He moved to the side. A horse skidded to a stop in front of you, the movement lasting years. It took so long that it didn’t even frighten you. All you could do was look up at the angel mounted on the stallion, face lit by an army of torches suddenly surrounding you.

Him.

He unmounted the horse, barking unintelligible orders to the men around him. Something about a missing horse. 

Then his eyes landed on you, and you damn near fell over again. When he spoke, you understood what he said. How could you not? It was one of your favorite words, one of your favorite things he called you. 

Always with the gentlest tone, no matter the time or place. Against your hair early in the morning, in your ear at your side at supper, against your throat in the middle of the night. The first word to break through the noise, bring you back. To pull you out of the water and allow you to gasp for air.

“Wife.”

You would answer. Yes, of course you would answer. You would always answer when he called. Cregan. Husband. My love.

“C—“ 

The harsh sound punched out of you, a shaky, croaky kuhhh of a dead woman newly reawakened. His eyes, already alert at the state of you, grew even wider. Immediately, he engulfed you, having to bite back the shock at just how cold your body was. He smoothed a hand over your hair, chest deflating at the reassurance of having him in your arms.

“Y/N,” He rasped, “What happened?”

You couldn’t say. You were just happy he was here. Again, you tried to say his name. “Cuhhh—C-Cre—“

“Yes, yes, sweet girl, I’m here,” He insisted, grabbing you by the wrist and tugging, “We need to get you home now.”

He had never seen you like this. And by the grace of the Old Gods, he would never see you like this again. Slurring your speech, lips and fingers—where were your gloves?—a blueish gray, frost clinging to your brow, your hair, your lashes. 

You were manhandled onto the stallion. Quickly, you were growing agitated. A pelt was draped over your shoulders, much to your dismay. He mounted it behind you, before trying to hand you a flask.

“Drink,” He commanded, “‘S warm.”

Deliriously, you shook your head, weakly pushing it away. “S…”

His stern tone dropped lower, now a pleading undertone to it. “Please, love. You must drink this now.”

“Summer.”

He immediately knew what you meant. “No. No, it’s not summer. Byron! Sylas! Sean! On me! We’re returning to the castle. Now.”

His poor wife, delirium turning into distress. You shook your head, brow furrowing. As long as you were upset, you were awake. He swallowed the lump in his throat and uncapped the flask.

“Forgive me.”

A large hand gripped your jaw. The wine was forced down your throat in a manner that had you spluttering with tears running down your face. Cregan grimaced the entire time, mumbling soft apologies and stroking your jaw with his thumb. He tried his hardest to ignore the clench in his chest as your hand weakly trying to tug his own away from your mouth.

You needed warmth. You were already feeling so hot you had removed your gloves. He knew this was one of the final symptoms, had seen naked corpses emerge from melting snow that had gone through similar. That if Bear had found you minutes later, this conversation would not be happening. The hot wine would help. It had to, because he didn’t know what he would do if it didn’t.

In a way, it did help. Upon contact with actual heat, the false blaze in your body evaporated. The pain returned, more intense than ever. When you finished coughing, you felt again the aching in your jaw from your chattering teeth. Your shoulders and upper arms were cramping from how tightly you had drawn in on yourself.

“C-Cregan,” You finally managed, “Hurts.”

He breathed a small sigh of relief. “Good,” He bit out, “As long as it hurts, you’re alive. We’ll deal with the rest later.”

The breakaway party departed. You sagged against Cregan, who did his damnedest to hold you up. You weren’t speaking, but he could feel you shivering through the pelt. Shivering didn’t even feel the proper term. Your body was thrumming, vibrating in a manner he could only call disturbing.

As he watched his direwolf speed up, he wondered briefly if he should have allowed you to ride Bear instead of the horse. Bear would have likely been able to get you to Winterfell faster. 

Cregan had ridden Bear. You had ridden Bear. But never for very long. Direwolves were hardly pets, and Bear would let you both ride only for as long as he allowed it, which he wasn’t sure would be long enough to get you back home. And he wasn’t sure how well you’d be able to hold on. 

No, the horse was better, he realized as you broke through the treeline. He shook his head, forcing himself to focus. Your small group carried on, and he began to allow himself to feel calmer. You were here. You were alive. You would recover.

Until a few minutes later, when your head started to tilt back against him, lolling back and forth in sync with the horse’s gallop.

“Y/N,” He shouted over the wind, “Y/N!”

Your eyes, unfocused, searched for him. You could vaguely make him out, features dimly lit by the torches of two of the men riding at his side.

Your hand gripped his forearm weakly. “You...”

“Me, what about me,” He said, “You need to stay awake.”

Your face twisted, before sluggishly shaking your head. “Tired, Cregan.”

His heart sank. Any moment now, Winterfell would appear on the horizon. His voice dripped with a rough desperation that pierced through the howl of the wind. “You—Gods, woman, you need to fucking stay awake.”

“I can’t… Want…”

“What do you need? Tell me,” He pleaded, “Think about what you need. Tell me. I’ll get it. Think, Y/N, think! Do not fall asleep.”

He looked up from your face to check the path. In the distance, he could see lights. A sound fell from his mouth, an unintelligible groan of relief, of fear, of rare powerlessness. 

“My lord!” One of the men called, “I’ll ride ahead and notify the maester. We must do everything in our power to warm her back up.”

Cregan nodded furiously, nodding his head. “Go!”

The man sped up, and Cregan found himself tugging on the reins to beckon his horse to go faster as well. Full speed in this weather would not do the horses good, especially when they’d been riding in the cold for so long already. But he needed to push. Every second out here was a second too long.

“Almost there, pet,” He cooed, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, “Home soon.”

“Home,” You murmured in agreement. Your voice sounded so quiet.

He could see the gates. They were opened, a small mass of people huddled together. Anxiously waiting for their lord and lady to come home.

You looked up at Cregan again, and your vision blurred, black spots dancing around you. You needed to tell him. Your eyes fluttered open and fluttered shut. 

“Need to tell you—“

His stomach twisted, half expecting he’d need to reject a weak goodbye. When your eyes rolled up in your head, his heart splintered, gray eyes wide as he watched your every fading movement. “Tell me! Tell me anything, everything, Y/N, please.”

As you crossed through the gate, your head lolled to the side, and Cregan’s screaming faded into nothing.

❅ ❅ ❅

How soft everything was.

How cold.

“…Now a matter of when, not if.”

“So she’ll live?”

“Yes, my lord. I consider it nothing short of a miracle that she survived and kept all of her limbs.”

“Gods be good.”

The disembodied voices sounded muffled and far away. Your body remained still as you woke. Your eyes remained closed, your limbs still curled into a ball. You were wearing one of your wool nightgowns. The fabric was lighter than what you’d been wearing earlier, yet your body felt so heavy. Like you were anchored to the bed.

Your muscles ached. Like you had been wound up so tight it would take centuries to unwind you.

The maester’s voice, somewhere in the room, turned worried, then quiet. “There is another matter I came upon during my examination, my lord…”

You couldn’t make out what was said after. You did, however, hear Cregan’s steady exhale. A sharp sound of unexpectedness, a reveal he had not seen coming. 

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, my lord. I did not realize until after I was sure she was warm enough, but I am positive.”

Your eyes cracked open. The pair was faced away from you, but you could make out Cregan running a hand down his face. The maester had a hand on your husband’s shoulder, squeezing in reassurance.

When Cregan finally spoke, he had hardened his tone again. “Thank you again, Maester Cromwell. You may go.”

“I suspect Lady Stark will be awake before the end of the day. Come find me when she stirs.”

“Aye,” Cregan agreed, “I will do everything in my power to ensure my wife’s recovery.”

He closed the door behind the old man, and turned back to the room. When he saw your eyes, cracked open, tracking his movements, he froze.

You said nothing—there was hardly any energy in you to do otherwise.

“Y/N,” He sighed. He crossed the room, removing his gloves and kneeling at your bedside. A large hand swept atop the crest of your head, before running down to your cheek. You whispered his name at his warmth, trying to press into his rough fingertips.

Here, close to you, you could make out his features. The circles under his eyes were dark, and put quite plainly, he looked as close to death as you were. His long hair was messy, and you could make out a gentle shadow across his jaw and chin. He always preferred to be clean shaven—he had skipped his morning shave.

“I thought you were going to die,” He murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “What the fuck happened?”

You opened your mouth, trying to find your voice. After inhaling deeply and trying to clear your throat, it came to you. When you spoke, it hurt.

“Storm caught us off guard…” You winced. “Truly.”

He shook his head, before pressing his forehead to yours. He grabbed one of your hands and clasped it with both of his, grasped as if in prayer, utter devotion. “I have half a mind to lock you in this room and never let you outside again. We thought you were dead, Y/N. We brought you in and nothing we did was warming you up. It took hours.”

“I’m still cold,” You agreed weakly. 

Cregan frowned, noting the temperature of your fingers. “Maester Cromwell said that would happen. Your nerves are shot. You’ll feel cold for the next day or so. We’ll run you a hot bath, the servants will stoke the fire, and I’ll have some broth brought up.”

“Thank you,” You mumbled, “You saved me.”

For the first time in hours, maybe even days, he smiled. It was small, but it was for you, and it was all you needed. “I promised to keep you safe, did I not?”

“You did.” You managed to lift your head, pressing your lips to his. The kiss was gentle, reverent, and one of his hands cradled the back of your neck, the other moving down to your stomach.

“Why didn’t you write and tell me,” He urged when you broke apart. 

“Tell you…?”

His grip on your stomach tightened. Not enough to hurt—never to hurt. But his fingers splayed enough to reclaim, to show possession. “You’re pregnant.”

Your eyes snapped open, finally moving to place your hand over his. You sighed, the moment stolen away.

“I realized when I was at Karhold. My sister’s maester confirmed it as well. I wanted to tell you myself,” You explained, “See your face when I told you.”

He lowered his head, pressing a kiss to your stomach where his hand had just been, knowing that soon it would swell, that soon everyone would know he’d done his duty as your husband.

He pursed his lips. “I’m trying very hard not to be mad at you right now,” He confessed softly, “All of you should have known better. Should have turned around the second the wind picked up.”

“Turn around to where?” You asked gently, not angry at his sudden outburst. “We were closer to Winterfell than we were anywhere else. We had no choice, Cregan.”

He shook his head again, brow furrowed as he kissed you again. He moved his kisses from your lips, to your cheeks, nose, forehead, and ears. Finally, he buried his face in your neck. You shivered at his hot breath against your jugular.

When he spoke, his voice sounded harder than usual. He only got like this when he was holding back the full weight of his emotions. “Never scare me like that again.”

“I won’t,” You promised, “It’s over now. I’m here, with you.”

Now it was your turn to stroke his hair. “There were others that went missing,” You remembered, “What of them? My horse?”

He pulled away to look at you. His face had returned to the sternness you always expected of him. “She’s resting. Petyr Manderly and Willas Snow are safe. Ser Petyr has lost two fingers from the cold. Ser Willas is still asleep, as far as I’ve heard.”

You nodded. “Thank the Gods,” You whispered, “One death was too many.”

“He’ll be given a proper funeral tomorrow,” Cregan said.

You looked down, moving to rise. “I want to go—“

Cregan grabbed your shoulders gently, trying to press you back into the mattress. “Absolutely not. You are on strict orders to remain abed.”

You raised an eyebrow. “From the maester?”

“From me,” He insisted, “Your lord husband.”

Finally, you smiled. “Ah,” You managed, “ A good thing I never listen to him anyway.”

He was almost relieved at your defiance. You were the most stubborn woman he’d ever met, the spitting image of every southerner’s mental preconception of a bull-headed northern woman.

“You want to pay your respects, wife, I understand. But you are both recovering from near freezing to death and now in delicate condition, carrying our babe. I cannot have you overexerting yourself like this.”

You sat up. He let you, though it looked almost painful to not push you back.

“I will go, but not for long,” You told him. Not requesting, nor commanding. Informing. “The man died escorting me, in our service. I will not miss his funeral. He gave his life—the least I can do is spare a few moments of mine to give his widow my condolences.”

“Fucking hells, woman.” Cregan closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. You did not look away, hardening your gaze.

At last, he relented. “Very well. But you are to stay less than an hour. I will accompany you and carry you back to this room myself if I have to.”

You grabbed his face, cradling his jaw in your cold hands. “Thank you for understanding, Cregan.”

He hummed, kissing the pad of your thumb. “I’ll send for the maester.”

You smiled, glad to finally be home. “Send for some food, too, please. Your son is starving.”

“Or daughter,” Cregan suggested.

Your smile grew wide. “As stubborn as I?”

He gave you another kiss, hands cradling slowly warming fingers. “I would have it no other way.”

Although he’s busy, he tries his hardest to make that time for you. He adores you, he worships the ground you walk on, you are his everything and more (if that’s even possible). Even if they’re small things or just staying at home, he finds a way to spend alone time with you. He loves going on long walks with you, laying in bed together with some dumb flick on just so he can hold you in his arms, and he will always cook for you.

One of his favorite things recently has been finding new recipes and trying them out with you. He’s actually quite the chef and you absolutely adore this about him.

But, as of recently, you can tell he has been very stressed out. He is much busier these days with the upcoming Thailand trip and the constant prerecording for every single Sidemen channel as well as side plus. Hell, the charity match was just about the straw that broke the camel's back. Now you find him up most nights planning and even recording at least some kind of content.

At this point, he's barely living. The reality is, the only thing grounding him back to some sense of normalcy is you.

So when your friends invited you out for drinks, you begged him to go. Eventually he agreed but that wasn’t without putting up a fight and for you to agree to some other kind of alone time activities later (which you had no problem with at all).

The night had been going along well, you were having a great time- laughing with friends, drinking delicious, fruity drinks, dancing and singing your little heart out.

It was all great until you noticed just how much the stress had gotten to Harry. You noticed how much he had been drinking all night. Of course, he loves a good bev every now and then but he was throwing them back like nothing along with random shots all night.

His cheeks were red, his messy hair was even messier, his shirt was sopping wet somehow- he was absolutely battered. You were getting worried, you didn't want to boss him around and you know he deserves a night out but this was going to get out of hand really fast.

He just finished his eighth pint, his eyes were bloodshot red, his speech was slurred, he could barely stand upright.

“I think that's enough now bog.” Ethan began, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder which he shoved off aggressively.

“Nah mate, I've just started to relax. Get off my back.” He responded with a tone of annoyance and anger. Ethan exchanged a look with you, one filled with concern. You nodded knowing that you were going to have to do something.

“Honey, I think we should go back home now.” You said delicately snaking an arm around his neck.

“Darling, come here.” Harry slurred patting his lap. You hesitated for a moment but sat down anyways. He rested his head in the crook of your neck wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you back into him.

“You're the most precious thing in the world to me, my sweet. I don't think I could do this without you.” He drunkenly whispered in your ear. “Please let me have just one more pint my love.” His tone was soft, delicate. The way he talks to only you as if you were a dandelion that would blow away with one swift gust of wind.

You dropped your shoulders in defeat as you nodded.

“Okay Harry, just one.”

The night dragged on, at some point you grew distracted by the enjoyment of being out with good company that you forgot to ‘watch’ Harry.

“Mate I'm not gonna lie, you need to act your age and settle down already.” You overheard Harry say. You looked over to see a not so happy Chris and a blabbering Harry.

“Bog.” You heard Ethan warn.

“What!? It's the truth. At least you've settled down, she's a bit-”

“Harry, don't.” Ethan warned again, trying to stop Harry from saying something he'd regret, this time with a more authoritative and threatening tone.

You knew he was about to say something negative about Ethan's relationship. You knew this was the time to end the night here.

Harry was wasted and when he gets like this, he gets mean, he will say things that cut deep. You've only seen him like this once before but you've been warned about a hundred times.

You walked up next to him lightly tugging at the side of his jumper. His cocky, determined expression dropped quickly at the sight of you. His eyes softened and you saw his body relax.

“You alright princess?” He asked quietly wrapping a protective arm around you. “Can we go home please, I'm tired.” You lied.

“Of course love, whatever you need.” He said placing a soft kiss on the top of your head. He smelled of beer and vodka and you could tell he was clammy under his hoodie.

“Right lads, we're heading out. Let's do this again soon!” He announced to your party. Everyone said bye to him enthusiastically but gave you a look of gratitude. You threw them a warm, apologetic smile as you walked out of the pub with Harry's arm still wrapped around your shoulder.

The ride home was quiet. He was falling asleep, his head dipping down then up when he would startle awake. Finally you reached around and placed his head on your shoulder, immediately making him comfortable.

He wasn't fully asleep but he was a few seconds from it.

“I love you darling. You're my everything.” He mumbled sleepily, your delightful scent making him snuggle deeper into your body.

“I love you too bog. I wouldn't trade you for anything.” You replied quietly, placing the palm of your hand on his cheek.

The flat was quiet, the soft sound of dragging footsteps and the light hum of the fridge were the only noises heard.

You pulled Harry into bed, pulling off his trousers and hoodie, getting him as comfortable as you can. You placed a fluffy pillow under his head and pulled the duvet partially over his body.

You did your own nighttime routine before joining him.

You looked over at him as you slipped under the covers. He looked so peaceful now, a stark contrast from an hour and a half ago.

His mouth was slightly open, his cheeks were still flushed red, his hair was matted down against his forehead.

He wasn't perfect but neither were you. You absolutely would never trade him for anything else in the world.

Chaos had well and truly commenced.

Round after round, drink after drink, mystery challenge after mystery challenge, nobody seemed capable of staying quiet for longer than five minutes.

Every few moments, another table would erupt into cheers or groans, followed almost immediately by someone insisting the game was rigged in their favour or against it.

Your team, somehow, was doing well.

Mostly because Tobi seemed to have developed an unnatural ability to spot numbers before they even properly registered on the screen.

The moment one appeared, he was already leaning forward.

“We’ve got that.”

“Tobi, this is getting ridiculous,” Becky laughed as she marked another square.

“I’m just efficient.”

“Of course, it’s literally thee TobJZL,” Pie added, though he was smiling into his drink.

Tobi sat back like he’d just been crowned champion of something far more important than bingo.

Across the room, another team erupted into cheers, followed instantly by loud, dramatic protests from somewhere else. The entire venue never really settled; it just shifted between different bursts of noise...

You found yourself smiling at it all without really thinking, resting your chin in your hand.

The drinks didn’t help.

Not in a way that made anything unclear or blurry.

Just in a way that made everything feel slightly softer at the edges. Easier to drift through. The loud voices around you started to blend into a warm, comfortable background track.

You took another slow sip of your drink, feeling the cool liquid hit your throat, and leaned back slightly in your chair.

Across the room, Harry’s table was in its usual state of controlled chaos.

George and Bach were deep in yet another argument about whether the system was “emotionally biased,” while Arthur looked like he had accepted that logic was no longer required for participation.

Harry was laughing through all of it.

He wasn't trying to steer the conversation. He wasn't really contributing to the argument.

He was just enjoying it—properly enjoying it—throwing his head back like the whole thing was the absolute best part of being there.

It made you smile before you even realised you were doing it, your gaze lingering on the way his eyes crinkled.

“Got it.”

Becky’s voice pulled you back as the sharp clack of the marker hit the table.

You blinked, shaking yourself out of the daze, and glanced down. “Already?”

“You were looking elsewhere,” she said simply, her eyes tracking the screen as she spoke, a knowing smirk playing on her lips.

“I was multitasking.”

“Sure you were.”

Tobi didn’t even look up from the card, his finger tracing the grid. “We’re two numbers away.”

That pulled your attention back in properly. The competitive spark finally nudged its way through the alcohol.

For a while, you actually tried.

You followed the screen. The calls. The reactions around the table.

You leaned forward when everyone else did.

You marked things when Becky told you to.

It almost worked.

Almost.

But the room was too loud, too vibrant, to fully settle into. There were too many things happening at once, pulling at your senses.

A sudden shout from another table pulled your attention sideways.

A loud cheer from somewhere else followed it a second later.

Then laughter — Harry’s distinct, wheezing laugh echoing over the music. His table was briefly visible between people moving around the venue, a pocket of bright energy in the crowded room.

You didn’t turn fully this time.

Just caught it in passing.

Enough to register the sound.

Not enough to completely lose track of everything else on your own table.

Still, Becky noticed the half-second delay.

She didn’t comment immediately.

She just slid the pen back across the table, her fingers tapping a quiet rhythm against the wood, and continued watching the screen.

A few beats later, she glanced side-long at you again.

Not annoyed.

Just… noting it.

Like she’d quietly started keeping count of something else entirely.

Tobi marked another number off the card with a flourish.

“We’re actually flying through this,” he said, leaning back slightly in his chair like he was inspecting his own masterpiece.

 You laughed quietly, the sound muffled by the ambient noise of the room, your eyes still half-focused on the board.

For a moment, it almost felt like you were fully back in it.

Almost.

“Got it,” Becky said again, already reaching for the marker before Tobi even had a chance to react.

You blinked, looking between the card and her. “Wait—how are you both seeing these so fast?”

“We’re paying attention,” Tobi said, throwing a playful look your way.

“I am paying attention.”

Becky gave you a look, her eyebrows raised, without actually looking away from the screen.

“That’s not what I’m seeing.”

You frowned, shifting in your seat. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” Tobi added lightly, his tone teasing, “you’ve got a delay.”

“I don’t have a delay.”

“You do,” Becky said simply.

“I don’t.”

A beat.

The neon lights pulsed overhead, casting long shadows across the table. Becky finally turned her head slightly toward you, letting her marker rest.

“You do a thing.”

“I don’t do a thing.”

“You do,” Tobi nodded, chiming in seamlessly. “It’s consistent.”

You narrowed your eyes at them, trying to look serious. “What thing?”

Becky didn’t answer straight away.

Instead, another number boomed through the speakers, and both of them reacted instantly, their eyes darting to the card.

You were a fraction slower.

Not enough to lose the point entirely.

Just enough for Becky to notice the hesitation again.

“There,” she said, marking it with a definitive click.

“I was literally right behind you.”

“Emotionally behind us too,” Tobi added with a grin.

You let out a laugh, shaking your head. “That’s not a thing.”

“It is now,” Becky said.

You shook your head again, but you were smiling, the warmth of the room catching up to you.

Across the room, another massive burst of noise went up from the far tables.

Your head instinctively turned—

You caught yourself halfway.

Stopped.

Looked straight back at the card like you had just narrowly avoided a crime, staring hard at the little printed squares.

Too late.

Becky had already seen the movement out of the corner of her eye.

Tobi had too.

There was a long, deliberate pause at the table.

Then Tobi leaned back in his chair slightly, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“I think we should start charging her for every time she looks over there.”

You gasped, your jaw dropping slightly. “Excuse me?”

Becky hummed in agreement, tapping her chin. “We could increase team funding. Buy another round.”

“I am right here,” you protested, looking between the two of them.

“You are,” Tobi agreed, his smile widening. “Just… intermittently.”

“I am fully present.”

Becky finally turned to look at you properly now, leaning her elbow on the table and resting her chin in her hand.

“Are you though?”

“Yes.”

A beat.

Another number was called out by the announcer.

You didn’t look this time. You kept your eyes glued to the center of the table.

You were proud of that.

Genuinely.

Until Tobi spoke again, his voice dropping to a casual, conversational whisper.

“Harry’s laughing again.”

Immediately, your head turned.

Instantly.

Without permission from your brain.

There was a sudden, heavy silence at your table.

You froze, your eyes locking onto Harry's table for a split second before you realized what you'd done.

Slowly, you turned your head back around.

Becky was already smiling, holding back a laugh.

Tobi was biting his lip, trying desperately not to break.

You stared at them, your cheeks warming up under the pink lights.

“…That doesn’t count.”

Becky tilted her head, her smile spreading. “It absolutely counts.”

“It was informational,” Tobi added helpfully.

“I hate both of you.”

Becky reached for her drink, finally letting the full smile show now as she lifted the glass to her lips.

“We’re just saying,” she said lightly, the ice clinking softly against the glass, “you’ve got very fast reaction times…”

Another number flashed up on the big screens.

Becky marked it instantly, her hand moving without hesitation. Tobi followed a second later with a nod, checking it off his own mental tracker.

You leaned forward slightly, resting your hands on the sticky wood of the table, already trying to refocus your attention when the loud announcement suddenly cut through the room.

“Right — mystery challenge!”

The entire venue shifted at once, a collective wave of movement and chatter rising as the neon lights began to pulse a deeper shade of purple.

Becky turned to you immediately. Her expression changed, turning less focused on the card and more on you as a slow grin spread across her face.

“Ooo, go on then.”

You blinked, pointing a finger at your own chest. “Me?”

“Yes,” she said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Tobi nodded from across the table, leaning back in his chair. “You should go.”

“I should?”

“Yeah,” Becky said, already smiling. “You’ll be good at it.”

You hesitated, looking at the marker still in your hand. “Based on what exactly?”

“Vibes,” Tobi replied.

“That’s not a qualification.”

“It is here,” Becky said, shifting in her seat and standing slightly now to give you room.

Across the table, Pie gave a lazy thumbs up, his eyes crinkling as he took a sip of his drink. “Go on. Represent us.”

You looked between all of them, completely outnumbered. “You’re all just sending me up there?”

Becky laughed softly, the sound almost lost to the bass of the room. “We’re not sending you. We’re encouraging you.”

“That is the same thing.”

“No it isn’t,” Tobi said.

“It is emotionally,” you muttered.

Becky leaned in slightly, lowering her voice like she was letting you in on a secret over the roar of the crowd. “Honestly, it’s perfect timing. You’ve been way too locked in on the wrong things anyway.”

“I have not.”

“You have,” she said gently, her eyes darting briefly toward the other side of the room before she smiled back at you. “Go. Have fun with it.”

Tobi pointed a finger toward the front of the venue where a small crowd of people was already starting to line up by the stage. “Plus it’ll be chaos. You’ll like it.”

You hesitated for a second longer, the pink neon light catching the edge of your glass. Then the noise of the room rose again — laughter, movement, chairs shifting against the floorboards, people calling out to each other as they got up. And somehow, that decided it.

“…Fine.”

Becky immediately lit up. “Yes.”

Tobi nodded approvingly, crossing his arms. “Good choice.”

Pie clapped once, a short, sharp sound. “Proud of you.”

You stood up, still half-protesting under your breath, but already being gently waved forward by the encouraging hands of your own table.

“I hate you all.”

But you were already walking forward, joining the rest of the selected players weaving through the crowded gaps between the tables. And as you moved through the shifting crowd toward the front—

Your attention flickered, just for a second, across the room.

Harry was already right there among the rest of the group on stage — just another person caught up in the same chaos, like this was completely normal.

And somehow, that made it easier.

“Hi,” you said, almost under your breath as you stepped closer.

Harry turned immediately. A grin appeared on his face the second he saw you, looking like nothing about this was unusual at all. “Hello.”

You didn’t even think about it before closing the small gap between you. The hug was quick — natural, easy. One arm each, a brief squeeze, like it was just something that happened without needing permission.

“Well look who decided to participate,” he said as you pulled back slightly, his hand lingering for a fraction of a second.

“I didn’t choose to,” you replied immediately.

“Sure.”

“I didn’t.”

“I believe you,” he said, not sounding like he did at all.

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. Around you, the rest of the group was shifting into place, laughing, talking, settling into that familiar pre-challenge chaos. Before either of you could add anything else, Simon’s voice cut through the room.

“Right — listen up everyone!”

Neither of you fully let go straight away. You stayed in that half-second of contact, still half-facing each other, while the room slowly shifted into attention around you. Simon continued explaining the rules, gesturing as he spoke about a rock paper scissors tournament. Fast rounds. Immediate elimination. Simple enough that everyone was already nodding along.

Still half in the hug, Harry glanced toward the front. “This is going to be chaos.”

“It always is,” you said.

A small laugh left him. Only then did the two of you properly separate — not abruptly, just naturally as attention tightened across the stage.

You barely had time to settle before Simon was already speaking again. “Right — everyone pick someone. Rock paper scissors. Winners move on.”

The stage erupted instantly. Fast rounds, loud reactions, and people dropping out almost as quickly as they stepped forward. It stopped feeling like separate matches after a while, narrowing down exactly how everyone expected it to until it was obvious, even before Simon said it over the microphone.

“Right,” Simon sighed, looking between the two of you. “Of course it’s you two.”

The room erupted immediately. You let out a small laugh, turning slightly to find Harry already looking at you, still smiling.

“Yeah, that makes sense,” he said.

You rolled your eyes. “Unfortunately.”

Simon raised a hand, and the noise dipped just slightly — enough for the moment to land. You stepped forward, Harry did too, and the rest of the stage blurred into background noise. Just the two of you now.

"Rock. Paper. Scissors."

Instant. You played. A beat.

Then—"I win!"

The room exploded. Harry immediately laughed, shaking his head as he stepped back. "Course you do," he said, the defeat fading into a proud, effortless smile as he looked at you.

You blinked, staring down at your own hand like the reality hadn't fully caught up yet. "...I actually won that."

"Yeah," he nodded, stepping closer to nudge your shoulder playfully. "You did."

Simon pointed a finger toward you through the roaring noise, his voice booming over the microphone. "Right—your team gets to pick a number!"

You caught Becky’s frantic signaling from across the room and called out, "Number Fifty-eight!"

The venue reacted immediately with a massive wave of cheers, groans, and shouts of disbelief. And then—

"HIJINGO!"

Your table erupted into absolute madness. Becky's voice sliced clean through the ambient noise even from a distance, screaming, "I KNEW SHE'D GET IT!" while Tobi threw his hands up, laughing hysterically at the sheer luck of it all.

On stage, Harry looked down at you, his eyes crinkling. "Not bad."

You gave him a small, satisfied look, soaking in the high. "Obviously."

Before heading back down, Harry gave your arm a quick, affectionate squeeze—a private beat of warmth amidst the loud chaos—before you both parted ways to return to your respective sides. You practically floated back to your table, met with high-fives from Pie and triumphant cheering from Becky and Tobi. For a couple of rounds, the adrenaline kept you completely locked into the cards, matching Tobi's hyper-focus number for number.

But the peak of the excitement eventually began to cool.

As the next few rounds ticked by, the game slowly settled back into its usual, rhythmic chaos. Numbers continued to be called, teams celebrated, and George—predictably—resumed his ongoing, passionate argument that the entire venue had a personal vendetta against him.

And that was when your attention, warm and slightly fuzzy from the drinks, began to drift across the room again.

Somewhere along the way, you completely stopped making a conscious effort to stay at your own table.

At first, Becky had been strict about it. She had marched over, physically guided you back by the shoulders, and reminded you that they still had a game to win. You had sat down, taken an obedient sip of your drink, and stared hard at the card. But the alcohol was making the room feel too warm, and Harry's table had a gravitational pull you couldn't fight. Less than ten minutes later, you had drifted right back.

This time, Becky didn't follow. Across the room, you caught her catching Tobi’s eye, pointing a finger at your empty chair, and dramatically dropping her head into her hands. They had officially given up on you.

Completely liberated, you stepped up right behind Harry’s chair, letting one hand settle absent-mindedly onto his shoulder.

Harry didn’t even look up, completely unfazed by your sudden reappearance. Arthur was in the middle of a sentence, George was still complaining, and the game roared on around you, but Harry’s hand instantly lifted from the table. Without a word, his fingers slipped between yours, locking your hands together like muscle memory.

To be fair, the boys had seen this happen countless times. Whenever the group went out drinking, there always came a point in the night where you became significantly more attached to Harry’s side than your own.

You stood there for a few minutes, contentedly swaying to the music, before gently nudging his shoulder. "Harry."

He finally looked up, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. "Hm?"

You looked at him, then eyed the crowded, occupied chairs around the table, and then looked back down at him with a sleepy pout. "Can I sit here?"

A soft smile immediately tugged at his lips. "Yeah, sure baby."

Harry gave your hand a small tug, guiding you down until you settled comfortably onto his lap. His free arm wrapped naturally around your waist, your legs sideways across his lap. 

"Comfortable?" he murmured against your hair.

You hummed happily, resting your head on his chest. "Very."

"Good."

And that was that. Across the venue, Becky slowly lowered her glass, watching you completely dissolve into George's latest dramatic story. She nudged Tobi, pointing with her chin, before gesturing to Pie—who was currently engaged in a very passionate conversation that seemed to be making perfect sense to him and absolutely nobody else.

"Yeah," Tobi laughed, taking a sip of his own drink as Pie joined in on a random cheer across the room. "She's gone, and he's completely tuned out. We're the only two left."

Across the room, the game had officially become background noise—at least for you. George was already in the middle of another joke, fully committed to a bit that seemed to get more ridiculous every time he opened his mouth. Arthur was laughing, Bach was laughing, and unfortunately, so were you.

“You cannot seriously think that’s true,” Arthur said through a laugh.

“It is true.”

“It’s literally not.”

“It absolutely is.”

George looked around the table like he was expecting support. Your hand immediately shot up. “I agree with George.”

“Thank you,” George said instantly.

Harry looked up briefly. “You don’t even know what he’s talking about.”

“Don’t need to.”

“That’s concerning.”

You pointed at George. “He’s got conviction.”

“Exactly!” George said.

Arthur laughed harder. Harry just shook his head before looking back down at the card in front of him.

One hand resting on the table. The other still loosely wrapped around your waist. Not because he was paying particular attention to it. Just because at some point you’d ended up there and neither of you had thought to move.

“You are encouraging him,” Harry informed you.

“I think he’s funny.”

“He already knows that.”

“Good.”

George looked delighted. Harry looked significantly less delighted. You grinned before settling further against his chest.

For a moment, Harry glanced down at you. Then at the nearly forgotten card in front of him. Then back at you.

“You’re supposed to be helping your own team, you know.”

You tilted your head. “My team seems fine.”

Harry snorted. “Right.”

And despite the fact that George was still talking, Arthur was still laughing, and numbers were still being called somewhere in the background—

Neither of you moved.

A few moments later, another drink appeared on the table.

Your eyes immediately lit up.

Harry noticed.

Unfortunately.

The second your hand reached for it, his got there first. His fingers closed around the glass before you could even touch it.

"Harry."

"No."

You stared at him. "You don't even know what I was going to say."

"I do."

"You don't."

"I absolutely do."

You frowned. He looked entirely unconvinced.

Without another word, he slid the drink slightly further away, out of your reach, before reaching for the glass of water beside him. The one that had been sitting there mostly untouched for the last hour.

"Drink."

You looked down at it. Then back at him. Then back at the water.

"You're no fun."

"Drink."

Arthur laughed. George pointed at Harry immediately. "He's doing that thing."

"What thing?" you asked.

"The protective boyfriend thing."

"I am not," Harry said.

"You are."

"I'm literally not."

Bach was already laughing. Meanwhile, Harry simply continued holding the glass of water out towards you. Waiting. Patiently. Like he already knew how this was ending.

With a dramatic sigh, you finally took it from his hand.

"There we go."

You narrowed your eyes, taking a slow sip. Harry looked entirely too pleased with himself.

Satisfied, he returned his attention back to the card in front of him. One hand resting on the table. The other found its way back around your waist without a second thought.

The game carried on around you. Numbers continued being called. Teams continued celebrating and complaining in equal measure.