#dadrry

Harry wasn't processing a single word.

His eyes were completely glazed over, staring blankly toward the bright lights of the stage wings. His mind was trapped in a suffocating loop, replaying the look of absolute heartbreak on your face in the dressing room just twenty minutes ago.

The air in the dressing room was thick and humid, the kind of heavy, backstage heat that a single oscillating fan could do nothing to fix.

To your right, the soft, rhythmic puffing of your eight-month-old baby boy was the only sound cutting through the quiet. He was fast asleep in his buggy, stripped down to nothing but a nappy, his little chest rising and falling.

The poor thing had been up since 4:00 AM, teething and restless, which meant you and Harry had been running on fumes before the sun even came up.

You were sitting on the plush velvet sofa, your arms raised over your head, completely immersed in trying to get a neat French braid down the back of your head. Your fingers were tangled in your strands, your focus entirely narrowed down to sections of hair, blindly weaving them together by feel.

The heavy dressing room door clicked open and shut with a sharp thud.

Harry walked in, smelling faintly of sweat and the crisp afternoon air outside. He had just finished a grueling pre-show workout with Brad, and every line of his body screamed pure exhaustion.

He was flushed from the workout, wearing his slouchy white long-sleeve tee, dark athletic shorts, and the grey compression sleeves still pulled up over his knees. His white socks were slipped into his striped slides, dragging slightly against the carpet.

His eyes were bloodshot, heavy-lidded, and desperate. All he wanted—the only thing keeping him going—was the thought of crashing onto the sofa for a thirty-minute nap before the frantic pre-show schedule kicked into high gear.

But as he closed the door, his eyes landed on you. Sprawled out right in the middle of the couch, arms up, taking up the entire space.

Harry’s jaw instantly tightened, his brow furrowing into a hard, agitated line. The sheer fatigue of the 4:00 AM wake-up call, combined with the physical drain of his workout, had left his fuse dangerously short. He was vibrating with irritation, a dark cloud settling over his shoulders.

Your hands froze in your hair, but you didn't drop your arms. You were so hyper-focused on keeping the braid tight that you completely misread the rough edge in his voice, assuming he was just groaning about being tired.

"Oh, good, you’re back," you said, your voice breezy and fast as your fingers kept weaving. "Listen, Brad didn't keep you too long, did he? Because the tour manager was already in here looking for you. Apparently, the schedule got pushed forward by fifteen minutes. And oh, before I forget—the hotel in the next city called back about the crib. They don’t have the one we requested, so we might have to use the travel one from the bus, but the zipper on the travel bag is stuck again. Did you manage to look at it? Harry? Also, we’re almost out of the specific nappies he likes, the ones that don’t give him a rash in this heat, so I was thinking maybe one of the runners could—"

"Can you just shut up for five seconds?"

The words didn't come out as a tired grumble. They cut through the room like a whip, loud, sharp, and dripping with pure venom.

Your hands instantly dropped from your head, the half-finished braid unraveling down your neck. The sudden, violent volume in the quiet room made your heart leap into your throat. You stared at him, stunned.

Before you could even process the shock of him yelling, a sharp, frightened wail pierced the air.

To your right, the buggy rattled. The sudden shout had violently jarred your eight-month-old out of his precious sleep. He kicked his little bare legs, his chest heaving as he burst into a hard, breathless cry, terrified by the loud noise.

"Look what you did," you whispered, your own anger flashing through the shock as you immediately stood up to tend to the baby. "Harry, he’s been teething all day, he barely slept—"

"No, look what you're doing!" Harry snapped, his voice staying dangerously high, completely unravelling from the sheer exhaustion of the 4:00 AM wake-up and the crushing pressure of the tour. He threw his hands up, gesturing wildly at you and the buggy. "I have a two-hour show to give to thousands of people, I’ve been running on three hours of sleep, and I walk in here to a bloody barrage of noise! You’re suffocating me! I just wanted thirty minutes of peace on the couch, but you're taking up the whole room, prattling on about zippers and nappies!"

You froze, your hand hovering over your crying son, staring at your husband as if he were a stranger. "It's our son, Harry. It's our life. If you're stressed about the show, don't take it out on—"

"I wouldn't have to take it out on anyone if I could just get some space!" he roared, the final filter of his exhaustion snapping entirely. He stepped closer, his eyes wild and dark, and delivered the blow that made the room go completely cold. "Honestly? Maybe you shouldn’t have come on the tour if this is what you’re going to be doing every night. You’re just in the way."

The silence that followed was suffocating, save for the heart-wrenching cries of your baby.

The moment the words left his mouth, you saw the instant flash of horror in Harry's eyes. The anger drained out of him so fast it left him looking pale, his jaw going slack. He reached a hand out, his chest heaving. "Wait—no, I didn't—"

"Don't," you choked out, your voice barely a whisper but sharp enough to stop him in his tracks.

Your eyes stung with hot, furious tears, but you refused to let them fall in front of him. Carefully, deliberately, you scooped your crying baby out of the buggy, pressing his warm, nappy-clad body against your chest, bouncing him gently to soothe his whimpers. You didn't look at Harry again. You just grabbed your bag with your free hand, walked right past him—forcing him to step back against that teal wall—and marched straight out into the corridor, leaving him alone in the wreckage of what he’d just said.

His eyes were completely glazed over, staring blankly toward the bright lights of the stage wings. His mind was trapped in a suffocating loop, replaying the look of absolute heartbreak on your face in the dressing room just twenty minutes ago.

Maybe you shouldn’t have come on the tour... You’re just in the way.

The words tasted like poison in his mouth. How could he have said that? To you? To the person who had spent the last eight months sacrificing sleep….comfort.

"...and then we'll transition straight into the encore, mate. Sound good?" his friend asked, clapping him on the shoulder.

Harry just gave a dull, numb nod, not even knowing what he was agreeing to. He felt hollow, stripped of his usual pre-show energy, looking utterly defeated against that stark blue backdrop. He wanted to turn back, run down the corridor, and find you—to beg, to explain that the exhaustion had completely hijacked his brain.

But his feet felt like lead.

Suddenly, the roaring crowd let out a collective, deafening cheer as the high-energy track Shania was performing faded out. The stadium lights dimmed into a soft, intimate amber glow.

Then, the first tender, unmistakable acoustic chords of a guitar rippled through the monitors.

Harry’s entire body went rigid against the wall. His breath hitched violently in his throat.

It was "You're Still the One."

Your wedding song.

Every defense mechanism he had built up over the last half hour crumbled to dust. That wasn't just a song on Shania's setlist; it was your song.

The song you had slow-danced to at your wedding, your foreheads pressed together, whispering promises that no matter how crazy his career got, you would always be each other's home.

Hearing it right now, with the sting of his venomous words still hanging fresh in the air, felt like a physical blow to his chest.

"Looks like we made it

Look how far we've come, my baby

We mighta took the long way

We knew we'd get there someday..."

Shania’s smooth, emotive vocals soared through the backstage monitors, crisp and crystal clear. Each line felt like a targeted strike. The contrast was agonizing—the song was singing about overcoming the odds, about proving the doubters wrong, but Harry had just become the biggest threat to his own marriage over a petty argument about a stroller zipper.

As the chorus hit, the massive stadium crowd joined in, a stadium of thousands of voices echoing the declaration of enduring love.

"You're still the one I run to

The one that I belong to

You're still the one I want for life..."

Harry dropped his head. His jaw clenched so hard it ached, his eyes burning as a wave of pure, unadulterated regret crashed over him. He felt so far away from being the man you belonged to right now.

He couldn't just stand here anymore. He didn't care about the schedule, the crew, or the impending stage time. He needed you.

Slowly, his head turned, his heavy, guilt-ridden gaze tearing away from the stage and sweeping down the dim, crowded corridor, desperately searching the shadows for the only person who could put him back together.

The crushing weight of everything became too loud to bear, suffocating him. Harry couldn’t stand there for another second. He couldn't just stand against that teal wall and pretend his world wasn't ending.

Abandoning his spot, he broke into a frantic jog, his slides slapping against the concrete as he tore through the backstage corridors. He was a man possessed, his chest heaving as he threw open the heavy door to the green room.

The room was a bright, noisy haven of family life, completely oblivious to his internal agony. Across the carpet, your eight-month-old boy was wide awake, happily babbling and playing with Sarah and Mitch’s kids, alongside Jeff and Glenne’s little one. The tour family was doing what they always did—rallying around, babysitting, keeping the kids entertained.

But as Harry’s eyes frantically swept the room, his heart plummeted. You weren't there.

"Hey, man, you good?" Pauli asked, noticing the pale, frantic look on Harry’s face.

"Where is (Y/N)?" Harry panted, his voice tight and breathless. "Have you seen her?"

Pauli blinked, sensing the gravity in Harry's tone. "She's back in the dressing room, mate. Said she needed a minute."

Harry didn't even say thank you. He turned on his heel and sprinted down the final stretch of the hallway, practically throwing himself against the dressing room door.

When the door swung open, the sight inside made his breath leave him completely. You were there, but you weren't resting. You were frantically moving around the room, packing the baby’s toys, formula, and extra nappies into a travel bag. And right next to the buggy sat your own canvas duffle bag—halfway zipped, stuffed with your clothes.

"What are you doing?" he choked out, his voice cracking.

He didn't wait for an answer. He crossed the room in two large strides, his hands coming down over yours, firmly but gently wresting the baby blanket out of your grip and setting the bags down on the floor out of your reach.

"Don't touch them," you said, your voice dangerously quiet, though you didn't look up at him. You kept your eyes glued to the empty space where the bag had been. "I'm just taking him back to the hotel. It’s better if the little one gets a decent night's sleep. And... like you said. It’s probably better if we aren’t on the tour if we’re just going to be in the way every night."

"No. No, absolutely not. I am not letting you leave," Harry broke out, his voice raw and pleading. He reached for your hands, his fingers trembling as he caught your wrists, forcing you to look at him. "Please, just look at me. Look at me, sweetheart."

You finally raised your eyes, and the sheer devastation in them made him flinch.

You didn't yell.

You didn't pull away.

You just stood there, completely exhausted, as the first silent, hot tear spilled over your eyelashes and tracked down your cheek.

Then another. You were silently sobbing, your chest trembling with the effort to keep from breaking down completely.

"I am so, so sorry," Harry rushed out, the words tumbling over each other as he stared down at you, his own eyes swimming with tears. "I am a bloody idiot. I’m an absolute monster for saying that to you. I was tired, and I was stressed about the set change, and I took it out on the only person in this entire building who doesn't deserve it. The only person who keeps me grounded."

He squeezed your wrists gently, his head dropping for a second before he looked back up, his face pale with desperation.

"I was running on pure adrenaline and exhaustion, and my brain just completely short-circuited. It was a stupid zipper, a stupid schedule change, and I let the pressure of everything turn me into a stranger. I looked at you taking care of our boy, doing everything on your own while I went off to a workout, and instead of thanking you, I snapped. It’s disgusting. I hate myself for how I made you feel just now. I saw the look in your eyes when I said those words, and it's going to haunt me for the rest of my life."

You didn't answer, a choked, silent gasp escaping your lips as you closed your eyes, more tears streaming down your face. Harry’s hands moved up from your wrists to cup your face, his thumbs gently wiping at the wetness on your cheeks, though his own hands were shaking.

"You aren't in the way," he whispered, his voice cracking completely as his forehead came down to rest against yours. "You could never, ever be in the way. You and our baby are the only reasons I do this. This entire tour, the crowds, the music—it means absolutely nothing if I don't have you waiting for me when I walk off that stage. You are my home. I am so sorry I made you feel like a burden when you’re the most precious thing I have. I need you here. I need you beside me. Please don't leave me, sweetheart. I love you so much."

You closed your eyes, a broken, hitching breath tearing out of your chest as his words tore down the final wall of your anger, leaving nothing but pure, aching exhaustion.

Harry didn’t wait.

The second he felt your posture soften, he pulled you into him, his arms wrapping around your waist like a vise, burying his face into the crook of your neck. He was trembling, his chest heaving against yours as he held you so tightly it was almost hard to breathe, anchoring you to him as if he were terrified you might still vanish if he let go.

"I've got you. I'm so sorry, I've got you," he muttered frantically into your skin, his voice thick and rough.

When he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes were dark, dilated, and swimming with a volatile mix of leftover adrenaline and sheer desperation. He looked down at your wet cheeks, his gaze dropping to your trembling lips, and the restraint in him snapped completely.

He leaned down and crashed his mouth against yours.

The kiss was heavy, raw, and completely unraveled—an explosive release of all the suffocating tension that had been building since he walked through the door. It wasn't gentle; it was a bruising, breathless apology, a silent plea for forgiveness translated through the hard, demanding press of his lips.

He tasted like the salty sweat of his workout and the sharp sting of regret, his tongue tangling with yours in a chaotic, bruising rhythm that made your knees instantly buckle.

You let out a soft, muffled sob against his mouth, your hands flying up to grip the fabric of his baggy white long-sleeve tee, fistfuls of the cotton bunching in your fingers as you pulled him closer.

The sudden, intense heat of his body washed over you, melting away the cold isolation of the last hour in a single, devastating second.

"Harry," you gasped out when he parted your lips, your voice catching in your throat.

He didn't let you speak.

He caught your lower lip between his teeth, biting down just hard enough to make you whimper before his tongue swept back into your mouth, deeper and hungrier this time. He backed you up blindly until your spine hit the edge of the dressing room vanity, the jars of makeup and water bottles rattling behind you.

He crowded into your space, his heavy thighs pinning yours against the wood, completely trapping you beneath him.

His hands left your face, sliding down the column of your neck to your shoulders, before his large, warm palms slipped entirely under the hem of your shirt. His fingers were slightly damp and burning hot against the bare skin of your waist.

He gripped your hips with a possessive, unhinged tightness, his thumbs digging into your skin to lift you up onto the edge of the counter.

You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, the friction of your bodies rubbing together through your clothes sending a sharp, electric jolt straight to your core.

Harry let out a low, wrecked growl at the contact, burying his face in your neck.

His mouth traveled down your jawline, biting and kissing a feverish path down to the sensitive spot where your neck met your shoulder, sucking deeply until he knew it would leave a mark.

"Tell me we're okay," he breathed against your heated skin, his chest heaving violently against yours as his hands slid up to frame your ribcage, his thumbs stroking the underside of your breasts. "Tell me I didn't break us. Please."

"We're okay," you whispered, your fingers tangling into his short, damp curls, pulling his head back up so you could look into his blown-out eyes.

Your own breath was coming in ragged shorts. "We're okay, Baby. Just kiss me."

He didn't need to be told twice. He captured your mouth again with a desperate, sweeping hunger that stole the remaining air from your lungs. It was an angsty, tangled mess of teeth and tongue, both of you fighting to get closer, trying to erase the cruel words he’d spoken with the sheer, bruising force of your bodies pressed together.

His hands moved frantically over your back, mapping the curve of your spine, pulling you so flush against his chest that you could feel the frantic, hammering rhythm of his heart beating in perfect sync with your own.

He ground his hips into yours, a heavy, agonizingly slow rub that made you arch your back and cry out into his mouth. The sound only drove him wilder; his kisses grew faster, sloppier, his breathing completely ruined as he devoured your lips over and over again, cementing the fact that you were his, that he was yours, and that neither of you was going anywhere.

"I want you," you breathed against his lips, the words a jagged confession that broke through the last of the frantic chaos between you. "H, I want you. So much."

The desperation in his movements instantly shifted, a profound, heavy silence settling over him at your words. He pulled back just an inch, his dark eyes searching yours, looking at the honesty in your tear-stained face. The frantic, bruising energy melted away, replaced by something deeply reverent and achingly tender.

"Yeah?" he whispered, his voice incredibly thick as his thumbs gently brushed a final tear from your cheek. "You've got me. Always, sweetheart. I'm not going anywhere."

"Promise me," you whispered, your fingers tightening in his shirt.

"I promise you," he murmured, his lips pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. "I promise. Look at me... I am so sorry for what I said. Let me show you how much I need you."

Slowly, deliberately, he reached down to guide your legs down from his waist so you could stand on your own feet, though he kept his body pressed completely flush against yours.

With slow, trembling hands, he reached for the hem of his baggy white long-sleeve tee and pulled it over his head, tossing it onto the floor beside your duffle bags. He looked exactly as he had against the teal wall in image.png, but the defensive shield was entirely gone.

"You're so beautiful," he breathed, his eyes traveling over your face as he reached down, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your pants. Slowly, gently, he pushed them down past your hips, helping you step out of them until there was nothing left between you but bare skin and raw emotion. "Just... stay with me. Please."

"I'm here," you replied softly, your voice trembling. "I'm not leaving."

He lifted you back onto the edge of the vanity, and this time, when you wrapped your legs around his waist, he stepped into you with a quiet, agonizing slowness. His eyes never left yours as his hands anchored underneath your thighs, supporting your weight.

When he slid inside you, it wasn't a sudden rush. It was a slow, deep, and unyielding push that made you both let out a long, shaky sigh.

He filled you completely, his chest rising and falling heavily against yours as he froze, letting the absolute perfect fit of your bodies sink in.

"Oh, God," he groaned quietly, closing his eyes for a brief second as he pressed his forehead against yours. "You feel so good. You have no idea how much I missed you today."

"Then don't stop," you whispered, your hands tracing the line of his bare shoulders. "Harry, please."

He began to move, and it was the furthest thing from the frantic pacing of before. It was a slow, rhythmic, agonizingly beautiful tempo.

He withdrew almost entirely, pulling himself out until the very tip of his length brushed against your entrance, making you gasp and arch into him, before he plunged back in, slow and deep, pressing his hips firmly against yours.

"Harry..." you whimpered, your fingers burying into the short curls at the nape of his neck, your forehead dropping against his shoulder as the intense, slow friction began to build a deep coil of heat in your stomach.

"I'm right here," he murmured, his breath warm and steady against your skin. "I've got you. Tell me what you need."

"More," you gasped, tightening your legs around his waist as he pulled out again, agonizingly slow, before sinking all the way back inside. "Just like that. Don't hurry."

"I'm taking my time," he whispered against your ear, his voice rough and laced with a quiet intensity. "We have all the time in the world right now. I'm right here with you. Every single part of me is yours."

He repeated the motion, pulling almost completely out, teasing the sensitive opening of your core until you were silently begging, before sinking all the way back inside you with a heavy, grounding weight.

Every single thrust was deliberate, an unspoken vow, a physical manifestation of the apology he had spoken earlier. He was taking his time, making love to you with a quiet intensity that healed the ache in your chest with every stroke.

"I love you," he murmured between shallow, heavy breaths, his lips grazing your jaw. "I love you so much. Say it."

"I love you, Harry," you cried out softly, your hands gripping his back as the pleasure started to overwhelm you. "I love you."

The room was silent save for the soft, rhythmic sound of skin against skin, your ragged, synchronized breathing, and the quiet declarations whispered between kisses.

He held you like you were the most fragile, precious thing in his world, his lips constantly pressed to your temple, your jawline, your shoulder, whispering quiet assurances between deep, slow pulses.

The tension in your core coiled tighter and tighter, driven by the torturous, beautiful slowness of his movements. You gripped his shoulders, your muscles clamping around him as the edge of your release drew closer.

"Harry, I'm close," you breathed, your voice breaking. "I can't—"

"Go ahead, sweetheart," he whispered fiercely, his pace gathering just a fraction of momentum, his deep thrusts becoming a steady, relentless rhythm that pushed you completely over the precipice. "I'm right here with you. Let go."

You let out a choked, breathless cry, your body trembling with the waves of your orgasm. The tight contraction of your walls tore the last of his restraint away. With a low, guttural groan that vibrated against your chest, Harry drove into you one last time, burying himself as deeply as possible as he came, his muscles locking tight as he poured himself into you.

"You're mine," he panted against your neck, his voice fading into a ragged whisper. "Always mine."

“Your still the one.”

“I usually try,” I tell her, leaning against the dresser like I’m not feeling my pulse in my throat.

“No,” she corrects, and I swear she got that razor-sharp certainty from me. “You have to look like this.” She lifts her chin, widens her eyes to an exaggerated seriousness, and gives me a slow nod like she’s granting me permission to exist. You bite your lip, shoulders shaking with a laugh you’re trying to keep gentle. Lily notices, brightening because laughter is the closest thing to applause she’s ever needed.

“And you have to wave,” she continues, raising her hand and doing what I can only describe as a queen’s wave. Tiny wrist, precise little movement, as if she’s been practicing it in a mirror.

I glance at you. “Been watching telly again, have we?”

Lily points at me like she’s caught me being stupid. “No. I’m teaching you.”

“Right,” I say solemnly. “Thank you. Could’ve been a disaster otherwise.”

“It would be,” she agrees earnestly, then slides off the bed and plants herself right in front of me, looking up. “Don’t be scared.”

It lands in my chest like a soft punch. I swallow. “I’m not scared.”

Lily narrows her eyes in a way that’s pure you, pure observation. “Your mouth is doing the thing.”

“My mouth?” I repeat, because it’s easier than admitting anything.

“You do this.” She presses her lips together, then pulls one side in a little. It’s an alarmingly accurate impression. “When you’re think-y.”

You stand, smoothing Lily’s dress. Simple, neat, not fussy. You didn’t want her to look like a prop. You wanted her to look like herself. “Your dad’s just concentrating, love.”

Lily immediately brightens again, satisfied with the explanation like it’s a sticker you’ve given her. “Okay. Then concentrate on me and mummy, Daddy. Because we’re the important ones.”

I laugh, breathy. “Are you?”

“Yes.” She turns to you, as if to include you in the briefing. “Mummy, we have to stand where Daddy can see us. If we stand behind someone tall, it will be bad.”

You nod seriously. “Got it.”

“And Mummy has to hold my hand. But not too tight. Because I have to wave.”

“Not too tight,” you repeat, gentle.

Lily looks at you, then at me, like she’s checking we’re both taking notes. “And after Daddy sings, everyone claps and then we go home.”

I tilt my head. “Is that the order?”

“That’s the order.” She pats my leg, affectionate and firm. “Also, Daddy, don’t forget your words.”

“I won’t,” I promise.

She leans in as if she’s sharing a secret. “If you do, just sing different ones.”

It’s so simple, so full of faith, I feel something in my ribs loosen. The room is still noisy, hairbrushes, zips, the muted hum of phones and schedules and someone outside the door, but Lily’s logic makes it all feel like play. You cross the room and rest your hand on my arm, thumb brushing there, grounding. It’s a small touch. It always is. You’ve never needed to anchor me by force. “You’re alright,” you say softly, not a question.

I look at you and the words I want to say pile up behind my teeth. That I haven’t done this in so long that the shape of it feels wrong. That the thought of standing under lights again makes my skin prickle. That I’m confident, yes, and I know how to be Harry Styles in a suit, but I’ve been Harry-at-home in socks and it’s been good. Instead, I do what I always do with you. I tell the truth, just smaller. “I’m alright,” I say. “Just feels like the first day of school.”

You smile, a quiet, knowing thing. “You’ve done first days before.”

“I’ve done them,” I agree. “But I didn’t use to have my whole heart waiting at the side of the playground.”

Lily interrupts by tugging my sleeve. “Daddy, can I see the stripey pyjama?”

I look down at her, baffled. “The what?”

She points at my suit hanging on the wardrobe door, black with thin white pinstripes. “That. It looks like a stripey pyjama.”

“It’s a suit,” I tell her, failing to hide my amusement.

“A stripey pyjama suit,” she decides. Then, beaming, she adds, “You will look like you’re going to a wedding.”

I glance at you, brows lifting, smug grin. “Been there.”

You roll your eyes fondly. “Don’t start.”

Lily’s face scrunches like she’s thinking hard. “Is the Brit Awards for you?”

I pause, because I’ve never had to explain an awards ceremony to someone who still thinks the moon follows our car at night. “It’s, uhm, kind of for everyone. Lots of people are there. They’re celebrating music.”

She nods like she understands. “So they’re celebrating you?”

I laugh, caught. “Not just me.”

“But you’re going to sing,” she insists. “So they have to watch you. Because you’re the singer.”

“You’re my singer,” she corrects, as if that’s the only category worth noting. “And I’m going to watch you. So you have to look at me.”

You lean down, kissing the top of her head. “You can’t distract him while he’s on stage.”

Lily gasps, offended. “I’m not distracting. I’m supporting.”

I look at you and feel warmth spread through me, because yes, that is exactly what she’s doing. Supporting like it’s a job, like it’s a responsibility she’s proud of.

There’s a knock at the door. Time. The part where real life presses in and the room’s little bubble has to stretch around it. You pick up your keys. Lily, already ready, bounces on the balls of her feet. “We go now?”

“We go now,” you confirm.

My chest feels heavy, unexpectedly. Not because you’re leaving. Because you’re going without me. Because I’m about to step out alone into something I used to do like breathing, and it suddenly feels like I’m walking away from the only air I’ve been using. I crouch in front of Lily, level with her, and she immediately cups my cheeks in both hands. Her palms are warm, soft, unapologetic. “Daddy,” she says, like I’m a small child and she’s the parent. “Wave properly.”

“Properly,” I repeat, smiling.

“And smile,” she adds. “Not your think-y smile. Your nice smile.”

“My nice smile.”

“Yes.”

I kiss her forehead. “I’ll do my best.”

You come closer, and I stand. There’s a second where we’re just looking at each other,years compressed into a glance. The quiet work of loving someone in a way that makes them braver. You reach up, caressing my cheek. “You’ve got this.”

I lean down, press my lips to yours. Not long. Not for show. For me. For you. For us. When I pull back, you’re looking at me like you always do, like you’re not waiting for me to be someone else, like you already know who I am. “See you in there,” you say.

Lily waves at me immediately, both arms now, excessive. “BYE DADDY! DON’T FORGET ME!”

I laugh, hand over my heart. “Never.”

You take her hand and lead her out, Lily still chattering about where you’re going to stand and how you have to make sure Daddy sees you, and the door clicks shut behind you.

The room goes quieter. Not empty. Just quieter. I stare at the closed door for a beat too long, then exhale and roll my shoulders back like I’m putting on armour.

Alright, then. First day of school. Let's go.

The car the Brits sent is nicer than it needs to be, of course. Dark windows. Clean leather. The driver polite in that professional, invisible way. There’s something about sitting in the backseat that makes it feel more official, like my body can’t pretend I’m just heading out to dinner. Manchester is dark outside, soft, damp, familiar in a way that makes me feel thirteen and fifty at the same time. We pull up near the Co-op Live, and the closer we get, the more the sound begins to seep through the glass: shouting, cheering, the constant flash-pop-pop of cameras like distant fireworks. It’s been a while since I’ve heard my name like that. Harry! Harry! Harry! It hits a nerve I’d forgotten I had. My stomach flips once, then steadies. You can do this, I tell myself. You’ve done this before. But I haven’t done this with Lily being in the same room.

The car door opens. Cool air rushes in. A handler says something. My feet touch the ground. And the noise becomes a wall. The carpet stretches ahead, lights strung above like a sky made of bulbs, gleaming white against the dark. Fans pressed behind barriers on one side. Phones up like a field of small moons. Press clustered in their designated zones, their cameras angled like weapons. Everything moves fast around me, but time inside my body slows down like syrup. I step forward, smile already in place—trained and practiced. My hand lifts automatically, a wave to the general crowd. My shoulders square. The suit sits well, stripey pyjama or not. I can do this version of me. I know how.

Then something sharp and tiny cuts through the noise. “DADDY!” It’s not my name. It’s a claim.

For a second my brain doesn’t believe it. My eyes keep scanning the crowd, skimming faces, trying to locate it. Another shout, higher this time, like joy physically can’t be contained. “DADDYYYY! HARRYYYY!”

My entire body turns before I decide to. And there you are. You’re at the barrier, just far enough back that you’re not in the thick of it, but close enough that Lily can see everything. You’ve got your arms around her waist, holding her steady while she bounces like a firecracker in your arms. Lily’s eyes are huge, shining, her mouth open in a grin so wide it makes her cheeks round. When she sees me look, she makes a sound that isn’t a word, just pure thrilled noise, and throws her arms up like she’s signalling a plane. My chest does something odd, like it’s been held in a fist and suddenly released.

The screaming crowd blurs. The lights above soften. The carpet under my feet becomes irrelevant. There’s only Lily, waving both hands like she’s trying to scoop the whole world towards her. Only you, watching me with that quiet steadiness, amused and proud all at once. I lift my hand again, but this wave is different. Slower. Smaller. Not for the cameras. Not for the strangers. For her. For you. Lily squeals—actually squeals—and her whole body shudders with it. She points at me urgently, turning her head to the strangers beside her as if to inform them of something they should’ve already known. “That’s my Daddy! That’s him!”

The people around you look at her, then up at me, and their faces melt into those soft expressions adults get when something is unexpectedly tender in a place that’s usually all sharp angles and flashbulbs.

I can feel cameras turning towards you. The tiniest shift in the press line. But you don’t flinch. You just keep Lily’s body against yours, letting her bounce, letting her have her moment. And I think, suddenly, with strange clarity, that this is what I’ve been afraid of. Not the attention. The part where the private version of my life becomes visible. Because once people see the soft thing, they want to take it.

But then Lily catches my eye again and does her serious queen-wave like she taught me, solemn and precise, and I absolutely cannot find it in myself to care. I smile properly. Nice smile. The think-y tightness in my mouth dissolves. I nod at her, just a little, like I’m accepting her instructions. Lily’s face lights up even more, as if she’s proud I’m following her plan. I turn back toward the carpet and start walking again, but my heart is no longer lodged in my throat. It’s with you. At the barrier. In Lily’s waving hands.

As I move forward, fans shout my name, reaching out. I wave, I nod, I do the thing. I stop where I’m supposed to stop, pose where I’m supposed to pose. The lights flash. But every few steps, my eyes tug back to you like a magnet. And Lily is still there, still bouncing, still telling anyone who’ll listen that I am hers. “Daddy’s going to sing,” she announces loudly, chin high. “He’s the singer.”

Someone laughs kindly. “He is.”

“He waved at me,” she adds, very pleased, as if she’s personally approved me. “Because I’m his girl.”

“You are,” you say, and I see the way you press a kiss to her hair, the way your eyes flick up to me when you think I won’t notice, like you’re checking I’m alright. I am. I am, because you’re there.

I reach the section of carpet where the photographers are clustered. This part is always the strangest; standing in front of a row of lenses, being asked to turn, to look left, to look right, to give them something they can sell. I do it. I can do it in my sleep.

“Harry! Up here!”

“Harry, smile!”

“Harry, one more!”

I smile. I turn. I angle my body. And then I hear Lily again, clearer now because the photographers’ shouts leave gaps. “Daddy!” she calls, like she’s reminding me not to forget my job. “Look at me!”

I shouldn’t. Not really. This is the part where you keep your focus on the press. The part where you don’t break the rhythm. The part where you don’t offer anyone evidence that you can be pulled off course. But Lily isn’t “anyone.” I glance over, quick, and catch her eyes. She beams like I’ve handed her an award and her hand shoots up into another wild wave.

A photographer notices my gaze and follows it. The line of cameras subtly shifts. For a second, a flicker of instinctive protectiveness rises in me—sharp, old, immediate. Then I look at you. You’re still holding Lily, watching me, your posture calm. Your face says: We’re okay. We’re here. We’re not breakable. And the protectiveness turns into something warmer. A thought I wasn’t expecting: This isn’t the life I had before. This is better.

I turn back to the cameras and finish the poses. I give them what they want, my face, my suit, my return. I’m polite. I’m present. I’m professional. But inside, something has shifted. I used to measure moments like this by how loud the crowd was, how many flashes popped, how many headlines I might make. Now the only measurement that matters is whether Lily saw me wave.

Backstage is a different kind of chaos. People move with purpose, clipboards and headsets and last-minute adjustments. My band’s already gathered, faces I’ve known so long they feel like parts of my own history. We’ve been through everything together. When they grin at me, it’s not the public smile, it’s the private kind. “You ready?” Sarah asks.

“Yeah,” I say, and it’s half true.

My dancers stretch nearby, rolling shoulders, shaking out limbs. Someone hands me a bottle of water. Another person checks my mic pack. And under all of it is that familiar, vibrating pre-show feeling, adrenaline that lives in the bones. It’s been two and a half years. I’ve played with the idea of returning in my mind so many times it started to feel imaginary. Like a past life. Like something I’d dreamed. Now I’m standing in it. My hands flex. I shake them out, trying to keep them loose.

“Your first time back and you’re opening the Brits,” Mitch says, half joking, half impressed.

“Piece of cake,” I reply, because I know how to sound like I’m not about to step into a roaring sea.

But my heart is thudding like it wants out. I lean against a wall for a second and close my eyes. I listen to the muffled sound of the arena beyond, thousands of people settling, the buzz like electricity. Then my phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out and see your name. A photo. You’ve sent a selfie of you and Lily standing at the back of the pit area with my mum. Anne is smiling into the camera, warm and proud, Lily perched beside her like a little queen, waving at the lens. Lily’s grin is huge. Her cheeks are flushed. She looks like she’s holding excitement in her whole body, like she might float. You’re behind her, one hand on her shoulder, your eyes crinkled with a smile that makes my heart so full.

Underneath, you’ve typed:

We’re here. We can see the stage. Lily’s doing her supportive job very loudly.

I laugh under my breath, and the tightness in my throat eases. I zoom in on Lily’s face, on the bright certainty in her expression. She thinks I’m doing this for her. In a way, she’s not wrong.

I type back quickly:

Tell her I’ll wave properly. Love you.

Then, because I can’t help myself:

Also tell her my suit is not a stripey pyjama.

A reply comes almost immediately:

Too late. She’s already told Anne. Anne agrees.

I chuckle, shaking my head. My mum. Traitor.

One of my musicians claps me gently on the shoulder. “Five minutes.”

“Right,” I murmur, slipping my phone away. I breathe in. I think of Lily’s hands flapping like wings. I think of your thumb rubbing my arm. I think of my mum’s proud eyes. And suddenly the arena doesn’t feel like a threat. It feels like a room full of people I’m about to share something with, carefully, on purpose.

The stage manager gives the signal. “Places!”

I step into position on the stairs. The lights dim. The crowd roars, a sound that rises up through the floor like a wave. It slams into me and I almost stagger with it, not physically, but inside, because I remember. My body remembers what it’s like to be held up by sound.

I lift my chin and the first notes of Aperture begin. And then I’m moving. The stage lights are blinding at first, white, hot, like stepping into the sun. For a split second, I can’t see beyond them. There’s only brightness and noise and the pulse of the music under my feet. Then my eyes adjust. And the arena comes into focus like a photograph developing. I take the mic, and my voice slides into the first line like it’s been waiting for this. The beat hits. My body moves with it, automatic, familiar, like muscle memory returning home. My dancers fall into formation. My band is steady in front of me, a spine I trust. I sing and it doesn’t feel like being exposed. It feels like being opened.

Aperture. The word itself has been sitting in my head for months, the idea of letting light in again without letting it burn you. Letting yourself be seen without losing yourself.

I scan the crowd, not looking for cameras, not looking for approval, looking for you. And then I see you. Back of the pit area, just like the photo. Mum beside you, her hands clasped under her chin, beaming like she’s watching her son in a school play. Lily in front of you, on her toes, arms already up.

When Lily catches my eye, she loses her mind. She starts dancing, full-body, absolutely unselfconscious. Her little hands are in the air, fingers spread, waving like she’s trying to conduct the music. She’s shouting something, probably my name, probably “Daddy,” probably both. I can’t hear it over the sound of my in-ears, but I can see it. Joy, pure and unfiltered.

I feel my mouth crack into a real smile, not the one I give the cameras. I give her a tiny wave mid-lyric, quick, subtle, like a secret. Lily’s entire face lights up like I’ve turned her on. You laugh, head tipping back, and even from here I can feel the warmth of it. The nerves that have been living in my chest since this morning unravel, thread by thread. Because there you are. Because the thing I’m most afraid of losing is now in the crowd. It’s right there, waving back.

I sing the chorus, and the people sing with me, and it’s huge, it’s loud, it’s everything it used to be. But now there’s a smaller, steadier thing underneath it all. A little girl dancing like the world is safe. A woman looking at me like I’m already enough.

I finish the song with my lungs burning and my heart full. The last note fades. The crowd erupts in standing ovations. I take a breath, hand on my chest for a second, feeling all of it. Then a quick, breathy Thank you and I step back as the lights shift, moving me offstage into darkness again. The cheers follow, muffled but still there, vibrating through the walls.

Back in the backstage hall, people clap me on the back, hands grabbing my shoulders, laughing, shouting “You did it!” like we’re all kids again, like we’ve just pulled off something impossible. My band surrounds me, grinning. I hug them, quick and tight, because I can’t help it. I thank my dancers, palms to their shoulders, murmuring “You were brilliant,” because they were. Because everyone was. Because it all held.

And then, through the bustle, through the noise and voices and footsteps, I hear it. High and clear and furious with love. "DADDYYYY!”

My head snaps up. Lily comes barreling down the hall like a tiny comet, hair slightly messy now, cheeks flushed, eyes shining like she’s carrying a secret sun inside her. “Whoa—” I start, and then she hits me, arms wrapping around my legs with surprising strength.

I bend down immediately, scooping her up, and she clings to me like she’s been waiting for this exact moment all night. “Daddy!” she squeals into my neck. “You did it! You sang! You danced! You waved at me!”

“I did,” I laugh, voice rough, because something in my throat is tight again. “I waved properly.”

“You did wave properly,” she agrees with the gravity of a professional reviewer. Then she pulls back just enough to look at my face, hands on my cheeks like earlier. “But next time, wave longer.”

I burst out laughing, forehead pressing to hers. “Next time I’ll wave longer.”

Behind her, you appear, smiling so wide it makes my chest ache all over again. Mum is with you, eyes shining like she’s trying not to cry. She steps forward and kisses my cheek gently. “You did so well,” she says, voice thick with pride. “I’m so proud of you, love.”

I kiss her cheek back, quick. “Thanks, Mum.” She pats my face like I’m fifteen and back from my first gig in return.

Then I look at you. You step closer, and Lily immediately twists in my arms to look at you too, like she’s making sure you’re witnessing everything. Like you’re part of the ceremony. You reach up, fingers brushing my jaw, and your touch is the same as it was in the hotel, quiet, steady, real. “I’m proud of you,” you say softly. “You looked so happy.”

I swallow and nod. “I was.”

Lily interrupts, because of course she does. “Mummy, did you see? Everyone clapped so much. So I think Daddy is good at it.”

“I saw,” you tell her, smiling. “He’s very good at it.”

Lily nods, satisfied. Then she turns back to me, serious again. “Daddy, are you famous?”

I blink, caught off guard, then glance at you as if you might rescue me. You just tilt your head, amused, letting me handle it. “I… I suppose,” I say carefully.

Lily considers this for a moment, then says, “Okay. But you’re famous because you’re my Daddy.”

I kiss her cheek, then her other cheek, until she giggles and squirms. “That’s the best reason I’ve ever heard.”

She wraps her arms around my neck, satisfied. “Good. Now we go home?”

I laugh softly. “Yeah. We go home.”

You thread your hand into mine like it belongs there—which it does—and mum moves in on my other side, still smiling, still glowing. Lily sits on my hip, one arm around my neck, waving at absolutely no one now because she’s still in wave-mode.

As we walk toward the back exit together, away from the lights and the noise, I look down at you and feel something settle in my bones. It’s not relief, exactly. It’s alignment. This is who I am. This is the life I chose. This is the thing I protect, the thing I return to, the thing that makes the rest of it make sense.

Lily yawns dramatically into my shoulder, then murmurs, “Daddy?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Your stripey pyjama was very good.”

You snort, and mum laughs outright, and Lily smiles sleepily like she’s pleased with herself. I press my lips to her hair, then look ahead at the dark doorway that leads out into the night. And I know it with a certainty that feels like breathing: I came back for the music but stayed for a small hand waving like it could hold the whole world.

Taglist: @lizsogolden @harrysredshortshorts @avensgreenvans @maudie-duan @carolinaastyles @sparklejumpropequeen1113 @pops234 @lomlcamy

“I read something today,” Harry announced proudly when he entered the living room. His hair was still wet from his shower and a towel hung around his neck, he padded across the room closer to you. He came home from lunch with his friends not so long ago, and given the heatwave going on outside, he was desperate to wash all the sweat away. You were really sensitive to smells lately, and he didn’t want to upset your nose even more.

“Oh no,” You whimpered dramatically, but soon a wide grin spread on your lips. You put your phone down to give your husband all your attention and sat up more upright against the pillows, one hand coming automatically up on your pregnant belly in a protective gesture.

You were 26 weeks pregnant with your first baby. Your belly was growing big and round, the skin stretched, and the first marks Harry loved to rub body oil all over before bed started to show. You had this ‘mama glow’ as Harry liked to call it.

After spending the first trimester throwing up almost every single morning and crying over everything, including the ads on the telly, you were glowing by the end of the second one. Happy, with a healthy baby and an overprotective husband.

“Mitch brought me a baby book,” Harry grinned and leaned down to press a soft kiss on your temple, cupping your cheek with his big palm before he stole another kiss from your lips.

“You’ve read like ten of these already!” Giggling, you slid your fingers in his hair, trying to give the short strands some shape. It wasn’t too long since you helped him cut it.

After you’d found out you’re having a baby, Harry’s been nose-deep in books, researching something every single day. When you left the doctor’s office, first ultrasound in hand, he was immediately downloading the app that tracks your pregnancy, barely able to fill out everything with how much his fingers shook from excitement.

He loved to update you about the baby. What size they were in comparison to fruits and which of their organs started to develop.

“And I’m planning on reading ten more,”

“What did you read now, H? Wait- what are you hiding?” Your brows furrowed when you noticed Harry had his left hand hidden behind his back, holding something.

“Baby’s hearing is developed between the 24th and 28th week,” He started and sank down on his knees by the couch, his free hand moving to join yours on your bump. “So we have to start training our little ones ears,”

“Harry,” You laughed loudly.

“How’s my boy? Is he good to our mommy?” Harry ignored your fit of laughter and instead leaned down to kiss the stretched skin on your stomach.

You were sure he cried more when you found out your baby’s gender than when you showed him the pregnancy test with two prominent lines. He was ecstatic about having a son.

“He is. Didn’t even disturb my nap with his little kicks,” You rubbed your bump happily, tugging the fabric of the oversized shirt you stole from Harry higher to give him better access.

The baby was kicking like crazy, especially when Harry was around and smothered you with rubs and kisses. You were actually pleased with having the whole morning and noon to yourself, getting some rest and peace without having a squished bladder.

Harry was by your side most of the time lately. His fourth album was just in the finishing phase, and he had more time to spoil his growing family rotten.

“Daddy’s good boy. Daddy loves you so much, peanut” As if on cue, the baby kicked, right into the place where Harry was moving his hand in gentle circles.

You propped yourself up on your forearms against the pillow and leaned slightly to the side to peek over his shoulder. “What’s with the headphones? Are you finally going to play me the album? Say yes! Say yes!”

When it came to the album, Harry was very secretive about it. He shared with you his thoughts and words during the songwriting process, but you’ve never heard the real sound of it, no matter how much you begged him. Nothing worked on him. No promises of long nights full of sex or his favourite dinner dish. He knew he would get that even without playing you the demos.

“I’m gonna play the album… to our baby boy,” He said with a straight face and put the headphones over your belly, arranging the ear pads and headband to make it comfortable for you with focused precision.

“What? He gets to hear it before me?!” You whimpered, your bottom lip jutting out in a pout that Harry immediately kissed away.

“We just started the 26th week, love. Our boy needs to know his daddy’s a big big singer from the very first second he can recognise his voice,” Harry murmured in the kiss.

He got up from his place on the floor, smiling like a fool, and with a quiet “scooch up” slid in between you and the couch cushions, cradling you close to his bare chest.

“This is the latest version,” He said softly, to himself, to the baby, as he scrolled through the files app on his phone before he came across a folder named ‘KATTDO’. A list of names you recognised very well because Harry mentioned them countless times unfolded in front of your eyes, and you watched his thumb hover over track one.

“This is ridiculous,” You shook your head in amusement at the sight of your bump with headphones.

“Sweetheart! I’m doing something very serious here,” Harry pouted like a small child that couldn’t have their toy and without any more discussions pressed play on the first track.

You both were lying there in silence, watching your stomach as if something miraculous should happen. You heard the clock ticking, it’s been a few minutes of quiet watchfulness for sure. Harry rubbed his palm over the exposed skin, thumbing lightly at your belly button, pressing gently around with his fingers to get a reaction from his son.

About twenty seconds in the second track, you felt a subtle movement inside. It wasn’t something big, something Harry could notice, but you felt your baby moving. It didn’t take long before a strong kick hit your lower tummy, just where Harry’s hand rested.

“He likes the track! He likes American Girls!” Harry gasped, making you snicker.

“How do you know he likes it? What if he’s kicking in protest?” You teased him, knowing it'd get a reaction out of him, and rested your hand over his before intertwining your fingers.

“How can you say this? That’s so rude! You haven’t even heard the track! He likes it, I just know that,” He said, the pout reappearing on his lips. You loved seeing him this giddy and smiley, with so much confidence in himself and love for your baby. Eventually he nuzzled his head in under your chin, his hair still lightly wet, tickling, but he didn’t seem to really care, as he focused his eyes on your bump.

“Daddy’s boy, of course,” You chuckled.

Suddenly another kick stretched the skin of your stomach, still while the second track was playing, and you heard Harry gasp again.

“Are we really just gonna watch my stomach for what? An hour?”

“42 minutes. But go ahead, sweetheart, don't be bothered by me and go scroll on your phone. I have my own fun right here,” Harry huffed, and to prove his point, he gave your bump a little squeeze.

Every other minute, you felt your baby move or kick, followed by a whimper, a gasp, or an excited giggle from Harry, as well as a commentary of the current song playing that didn’t tell you much anyway.

“So far Ready, Steady, Go! seems like a favourite one!”

“Are You Listening Yet? Oh he’s definitely listening.”

“Look! He’s having a bloody party in your tummy! Pop is also his favourite!”

“Do you feel the kicks? Of course you do! So many! He’s an active one,”

“He recognises his heartbeat! I knew he’s gonna kick the most to Carla’s Song.”

“So what’s the baby verdict then?” You asked him with a smile when he pulled the headphones away from your stomach and massaged the spots where the ear pads sat for the last 45 minutes.

“That you’re gonna love it. And he as well,”

messages.

so many messages.

you squint, trying to make sense of it.

your friend. another friend. someone you barely talk to anymore. even a number you don’t recognize.

your stomach twists.

you sit up slightly, the movement shifting harry behind you. his arm tightens immediately, like his body reacts before his mind does.

“mm,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep. “what’s wrong?”

“i don’t know,” you say quietly, scrolling through the notifications.

have you seen this?

call me.

are you okay?

what the hell???

your chest tightens.

you open one.

a link.

instagram.

you hesitate for a second, like you already know this isn’t going to be good.

then you tap it.

the page loads.

and there it is.

a post from deuxmoi.

a blurry photo. grainy, taken from too far away. you recognize the street immediately. it’s near your place. you remember that day, the way the air felt, the way harry insisted on walking instead of taking the car because you said you needed fresh air.

your hand moves instinctively to your stomach now, even though you already know what the photo shows.

you. and him.

his hand resting there.

the soft curve that isn’t so easy to hide anymore.

your breath catches.

the caption is worse.

speculation. guesses. anonymous “sources.” people connecting dots that were never meant to be public yet.

you feel sick.

“what is it?” harry asks again, more awake now. he shifts, propping himself up on one elbow, his other hand still on you, grounding.

you don’t answer right away.

you just turn the phone toward him.

he blinks, eyes adjusting, then focuses.

you watch it happen.

the moment he understands.

his entire expression changes.

sleep disappears instantly, replaced by something sharp, something protective, something that makes your chest ache for a completely different reason.

“fuck,” he mutters under his breath.

he sits up fully now, taking the phone from your hand, scrolling through the post, the comments, the replies.

they’re already everywhere.

people zooming in. analyzing. speculating like it’s a game.

like it’s not your life.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper, even though you don’t know why you’re apologizing.

his head snaps toward you immediately.

“hey,” he says, firm but soft at the same time. “no. don’t— don’t do that.”

he reaches for you, pulling you closer without hesitation, his hand coming up to cup your face.

“this isn’t your fault,” he says, looking right at you, making sure you hear him. “not even a little bit.”

your eyes sting.

“we were careful,” you say quietly. “we tried—”

“i know,” he cuts in gently. “i know, love.”

he presses his forehead against yours for a second, grounding both of you.

“people are just…” he exhales, frustrated. “they don’t care. they see something and they run with it.”

you look down, your hand still resting on your stomach.

this was supposed to be yours.

yours and his.

not… this.

not like this.

“we didn’t even get to tell anyone properly,” you murmur.

his grip tightens slightly, like that hits him too.

“we will,” he says, softer now. “we still can. this doesn’t take that away from us.”

but it feels like it does.

just a little.

you can see it in his face too. the disappointment. the frustration. not at you. never at you.

at the situation.

at the fact that something so personal got turned into something public without your consent.

his phone starts buzzing now too.

he doesn’t even look at it.

he just tosses it onto the bed beside him like it’s irrelevant.

“ignore it,” he says. “all of it.”

you huff out a small, humorless laugh. “easy for you to say.”

he shakes his head immediately. “no, it’s not.”

there’s a pause.

then, quieter—

“i just don’t want you to feel like this moment’s been stolen from you.”

your chest tightens.

because that’s exactly how it feels.

he notices.

of course he does.

he always does.

his hand moves down from your face, settling over yours on your stomach, fingers intertwining with yours.

gentle. careful. like he’s holding something fragile.

“hey,” he murmurs. “look at me.”

you do.

“this is still ours,” he says, steady. “no post, no random person with a camera gets to change that.”

you swallow.

“it doesn’t feel like it,” you admit.

his expression softens, something almost aching in it.

“then we’ll take it back,” he says.

you blink. “how?”

he smiles slightly, but it’s not his usual playful one. it’s softer. more certain.

“we do it our way,” he says. “on our time. not because they forced it.”

you watch him, trying to understand.

he shifts, reaching over to the nightstand, grabbing his phone again.

you tense slightly, but he shakes his head.

“not for them,” he says, already unlocking it. “for us.”

he opens his camera.

“come here,” he murmurs.

you hesitate.

you’re not dressed. your hair’s a mess. you feel… exposed in a way that has nothing to do with how you look.

he sees it immediately.

“you’re perfect,” he says, like it’s obvious. like it’s not even a question.

your heart stutters.

“harry—”

“just for me, then,” he adds, softer. “we're not posting anything. i just want… this.”

you look at him for a long moment.

then, slowly, you shift closer.

he smiles, small and warm, like you just gave him something important.

he angles the camera, pulling you into his side, his arm wrapping around you, his hand settling over your stomach again, instinctively.

you lean into him, your head resting against his shoulder.

for a second, neither of you says anything.

it’s quiet.

just you. and him.

and this.

he snaps the picture.

then another.

and another.

each one soft. unposed. real.

he lowers the phone, looking at the screen for a moment, then at you.

“see?” he murmurs. “this is what matters.”

you glance at the photos.

they’re… beautiful.

not in a polished, perfect way.

in a real way.

in a this is your life way.

your chest tightens again, but softer this time.

“i hate them,” you admit quietly. “for taking this from us.”

his jaw tightens slightly.

“yeah,” he says. “me too.”

he leans down, pressing a slow, gentle kiss to your temple.

“but they don’t get you,” he adds. “they don’t get this.”

his hand moves slightly, thumb brushing over yours.

“and they don’t get to be part of it.”

you close your eyes for a second, leaning into him.

he stays there with you.

doesn’t rush you.

doesn’t try to fix it too quickly.

just… stays.

after a while, he shifts again, reaching for your phone this time.

you tense.

“what are you doing?”

“trust me,” he says.

you watch as he opens your camera, not instagram, not anything public.

just the camera.

he flips it, then hands it back to you.

“your turn,” he says.

you frown slightly. “what?”

“take one,” he says. “of me.”

you blink.

“why?”

he shrugs, but there’s something soft in his eyes.

“because you should have this too.”

your chest aches.

you lift the phone slowly, framing him.

he doesn’t pose.

just sits there, hair messy, eyes still a little tired, one hand resting over yours on your stomach.

present.

here.

yours.

you take the picture.

and something about it feels… grounding.

real.

you lower the phone.

“we’ll tell them when we’re ready,” he says, voice quiet but certain. “friends, family. properly.”

you nod.

“and the rest?” you ask.

he exhales, glancing at his buzzing phone again, then back at you.

“they can wait.”

you study him.

the way he hasn’t let go of you once.

the way his attention hasn’t drifted, not even for a second.

the way he looks at you like this is the most important thing in his life.

because it is.

you shift slightly, pressing closer to him.

“you’re not mad?” you ask, softer now.

he frowns immediately. “at you?”

you shrug a little.

he shakes his head, almost incredulous.

“never,” he says.

then, quieter—

“i’m just… sorry i can’t shield you from all of it.”

your throat tightens.

“you are,” you say. “right now.”

he stills for a second, like that hits him.

then his expression softens again.

he leans in, pressing his forehead to yours.

“always will,” he murmurs.

and for the first time since you saw the post—

it feels a little less like something was taken from you.

There’s a calming silence that takes over the room as soon as Harry exits out of his third out of five scheduled radio interviews of the morning. His eyes close as he takes his headphones out of his ears so he can lean back and get comfortable on his plush green couch for a brief moment before he has to get ready for the next one. He lets out a soft sigh, his hands clasped together as they rest on his lower stomach that’s covered by a cozy brown long sleeved shirt with a bright teal collar that you bought him ages ago while out shopping at a thrift store. Just as he’s about to sit up and go over his notes for the next interview his ears perk up at the faint sound of footsteps coming down the hallway, when be cracks an eye open to check the time on his laptop he lets a small smile appear on his face because he knows exactly who it is that’s tiptoeing down the hall towards him.

When he hears the doorknob start to let out the high pitched squeak it always does when it gets turned in a slow cautious manner he closes his eyes and keeps his head resting against the back of the couch so it will appear as if he’s dozed off and is enjoying a little early morning nap. He listens as the door gets pushed open resulting in a small creak from the floorboards when the person quietly shuffles inside, he fights off a grin when he hears a soft humming sound followed by the rustling of a box getting placed on the floor. He peeks one eye open just to be met with the curious gaze of his very sleepy looking three year old daughter, he lets out a dramatic yawn as he opens his other eye and sits up making her smile as a sweet little giggle slips past her lips while she takes a step towards where he’s sitting on the couch. He watches her eyes bounce around from him over to his laptop that’s sitting on the small side table and then back over to him before looking down at his mismatch sock covered feet and as soon as she does that Harry knows exactly what her next steps are going to be.

He gets comfortable as she quickly turns around to grab a very familiar looking box off the floor near the door before walking over and plopping right down at his feet, the spot she usually always ends up in when she comes to keep him company while he’s in his office. He smiles as she dumps out the pieces to the unicorn puzzle that her aunt Gemma got her for Christmas just a few weeks ago that she’s been obsessed with and has completed more times than he can count. She doesn’t say anything as he reaches down and runs a hand through her hair that’s still a bit of a mess due to more than likely having just woken up, she lets out a small little huff as she starts to flip all the pieces over so she can see them properly and it makes a chuckle escape him as he takes in her appearance.

She’s still in her pink and white polka dotted pajamas and her feet are covered by her favorite pair of cozy socks that are rainbow with little hearts all over them. Harry knows by the fact she hasn’t said anything to him but just given him a smile and a giggle that she’s not fully awake yet, because much like you his little girl prefers slow quiet mornings that allow her to gradually find her energy and eventually find something to chat with him about. He glances over at the time on the bottom corner of his laptop screen and then looks back down at his little girl who is quietly and contently working away at her puzzle, he debates for a moment if he should call for you to come get her before his next interview starts. He currently only has two left, these radio interviews being the only reason he’s not still tucked up in bed with you waiting for the little girl who is currently sitting at his feet to come in and wiggle her way in-between the two of you like she does most mornings.

“Lovey can you do daddy a favor?” His voice is soft and gentle causing her to look up at him over her shoulder with a look that he swears is one she stole directly from you, with the small quirk of her brow and slight purse of her lips that all but tell him to continue and ask whatever it is he wants to ask so she can get back to more important things such as her puzzle. “Can you be really quiet while I talk to a few people?” He knows she won’t be a bother, especially since she’s still in the process of waking up but still wants to ask so she’ll have a slight understanding of what it is he’s doing when he suddenly starts talking to a computer screen.

“Mhhm.” She hums quietly in response before looking away from him causing him to let out a breathy laugh as he grabs the cord to his headphones and places them in his ears, he gives the little girl one more glance before opening the browser on his laptop so he’s ready to answer the next video chat.

You roll over and let out a low humph when you’re met with nothing but cold sheets, when you open your eyes your mouth turns downwards into a small pout at the sight of Harry’s side of the bed being empty, already knowing he’s across the house tucked away in his office for some interviews. But then your eyes catch the time displayed in bright red block numbers on his god awful looking vintage alarm clock that you couldn’t talk him out of buying almost two years ago, and you feel a small bubble of worry begin to grow in your chest at the suddenly very obvious lack of a gangly limbed little curly haired girl with bright green eyes that usually has her face smooshed into Harry’s pillow and a leg haphazardly tossed over your hip.

You quickly get out of bed and slip your feet into the slippers Harry always seems to make sure are right next to your bed and walk towards the bedroom door. As you poke your head out you look down the hall and when you see her door is ajar you know that means one of two things have happened, Harry left it open after he went to check on her before going to his office or she woke up earlier than usual and instead of going into your bedroom and getting comfortable next to you she went to find Harry after seeing he wasn’t in bed.

Part of you already knows the odds of finding her still peacefully asleep in her bed with her stuffed frog tightly clutched to her chest when you push open her door are very slim, but you go check anyway just to be sure before heading down to Harry’s office. When you find her bed empty and the one eyed frog safely tucked under the covers you let out a laugh as you close her door and start making your way into the kitchen so you can start a pot of coffee on the way to his office. Harry’s voice softly flows into the kitchen as you pour water into the coffee maker, you try to make out what he’s saying but all it sounds like is a low mumbling of words followed by the warm honey rumble of his laughter.

“Oh crap.” You whisper as his voice reminds you that he’s currently in the middle of an interview in the same room that your daughter also happens to be in. You press the start button on the coffee maker before rushing down the hall until you’re standing in the doorway of his office, you place a hand over your mouth to hold back the audible awe you want to let out at the sight in front of you.

Harry is sitting on the couch with his headphones in and a dimpled grin on his face as he focuses on his laptop screen, and at his feet is your little girl with the tip of her tongue poking out as she concentrates on putting the last few pieces of her unicorn puzzle together. You lean against the doorframe watching in silence as he lets out a laugh and shakes his head at something the interviewer said, your eyes find his left hand that’s mindlessly tapping the top of his thigh and you know that’s his usual sign that he’s getting antsy for things to wrap up. When your eyes drift back down to your daughter you feel the familiar tingle of anxiousness start to trickle up your spine as you watch her little fingers put the last piece of her puzzle in its rightful place, normally this wouldn’t have you so on edge but you know that anytime your smiley little girl finishes a puzzle Harry is the first one she wants to tell and usually she does that by calling out for him in a loud and bubbly voice.

But before you can step in and even try to distract her from announcing the completion of her puzzle you swear time starts moving faster and everything happens in a blur. Harry removes one of his headphones letting it droop down the side of his neck, not realizing it’s the one with the microphone attached to it that he uses to speak to his interviewer now allowing whoever is on the other end of his video chat to hear everything that’s going on in his cozy little home office. He also has no clue the little girl at his feet has finished her puzzle, at least not until he feels a soft but noticeable tug on the bottom of his jeans causing his eyes to quickly look away from the man on his laptop screen and down at his daughter who has a proud grin on her face.

“Daddy look! I did it!” Your eyes go wide as her soft excitement filled voice fills the otherwise quiet room, Harry can’t do much but offer her a smile in return but you know by the slight nervousness of the laugh he lets out when his eyes go back to his screen that whoever he’s in the middle of chatting with heard all four words your daughter just said.

“Oh uh that was-” his eyes find yours and you know what he’s silently asking you when he raises a brow and lifts up one shoulder in a shrug. The two of you haven’t shared your little family with the world yet, having been able to keep your pregnancy and personal life relatively private during Harry’s three year break but with his new album and tour coming up you both knew it was only a matter of time before people found out so you just give him a little nod as you take a step into the room. “That was my daughter she wanted to tell me she finished her puzzle.” He says with a proud father type of smile that has your heart melting as you walk over to your daughter who gives you a big grin when she notices your presence.

“Yeah yeah I know s’a bit of a shock right? But uhm she’s-she’s three.” You look over at him as you hold out your hands so you can help the little girl up to her feet, he gives you a small wink making you roll your eyes before he goes back to focusing on his interview. “Sorry wasn’t winking at you…I mean unless you want the wink to be for you? You can have it if you’d like I don’t mind.” You let out a quiet laugh as your daughter grabs yours hands and lets you pull her up to her feet, you smile when she wraps her arms around your middle and snuggles her face into your lower tummy. Harry’s eyes glance over just as you lean down to press a kiss to the top of her head, the tender moment making his heart feel as if it’s going to melt causing him to have to lightly clear his throat before he says anything else so his voice doesn’t give his emotions away.

“Oh yeah she looks exactly like my wife but with my eyes and a bit of my curls-oh uh we’ve been married for almost four years now-yes yeah that’s her-that’s my better half.” He says with a laugh as he leans in to get a look at a photo the interviewer is holding up on his phone of the two of you holding hands and laughing while at a coffee shop during his love on tour days. “It’s been great yeah-I uh really loved getting to focus on just trying to be the best husband and father over the last few years.” You smile at his words as your daughter looks up at you with the same glimmer in her eyes that Harry always gets when he’s excited to ask you something he more than likely already knows the answer you’re going to give him.

“Mommy can we have pancakes for breakfast?” Her voice is a little above a whisper and you can’t help but purse your lips and raise a brow as if you’re really having to think her question over before answering.

“Very excited to have everyone hear what I’ve been working on-yes and for the tour it’s gonna be fun I’m ready to get back to it-yeah yeah they’ll be there for sure.” Harry lifts a finger up to tell you to give him just one moment when you look over at him. “Of course yes it’s always a pleasure talking with you-have a good day! Bye!” Harry waves at his screen with a smile before it goes black and he’s tugging his other headphone out of his ear and closing his laptop.

“Daddy can we have pancakes?” You laugh as your daughter unwraps herself from around you and rushes over to climb in Harry’s lap. “Please?” She adds with the most dramatic pout you’ve ever seen that you know she probably learned from her uncle Niall.

“I think that sounds like a lovely idea.” He tells her with a smile as he looks over at you. “Mommy makes the best pancakes doesn’t she lovey?” You roll your eyes as you place a hand on your hip.

“Fine we can have pancakes but I’ll need some assistance.” This has her little face lighting up as she clumsily climbs out of Harry’s lap making him laugh as the two of you watch her run out of the room and off towards the kitchen.

“So how are you feeling about all this?” He asks as he gets up from his spot on the couch, you just give him a shrug as his hands find your hips. “I still can’t believe we’ve managed to keep this a secret for so long.” He says as your hands rest on his chest while his thumbs rub little circles over the soft material of your night shorts.

“I mean no one really cares about you when you’re unemployed Harry.” You tease making him roll his eyes. “It feels a little weird because I know everyone is just going to want more details about her and us but I’m glad it happened like this and not because someone snapped a photo of the three of us at the airport or something.” Harry just nods as he leans down so he can press a kiss to your forehead. “I’m excited for her to get to see you perform-I think she’s gonna be even more obsessed with you than she already is.”

“You don’t think it’ll be hard on her? Not having me around and available all the time like she’s used to?” You can hear the hint of concern in his voice and it has you reaching up and cupping his face in your hands forcing him to look you in the eyes.

“It’s going to be an adjustment but we’ll make it work-she’s going to love traveling and watching you sing and dance on stage it’s going to be fun okay?”

“I’ve always imagined myself getting to take my family on tour with me one day and now that it’s happening I’m just worried it’ll be too much.”

“I’m sure there’s going to be moments where it’ll be a little overwhelming and chaotic but we’ll get through it.” You tell him in your usual gentle reassuring tone that has him relaxing as you pull his face closer to yours so you can place a kiss to his lips. “I love you.”

“I’ve got a change of dress in the bag.” Y/N knew better than to go without a change of clothes in this new era of her wanting to feed herself. Disastrous mess was inevitable with a baby and any sort of food. “It’s important for her development for her to figure it out. She’s having fun!”

“I know she is, my heart.” Harry murmured, looking to the ruined sundress. It was a cute outfit, pink heart dress paired with the pink crochet hat over her little curly pigtails, but he knew as soon as her eating was over she was going to get fussy about being sticky and messy.

Harry hated the feeling in most cases too, so he could relate.

“Besides, your mum is going to have at least three new outfits when we get over there after.” Y/N turned to her baby with a big smile. “Isn’t that right, darling? Nana loves to spoil you, hm? All those cute little dresses she gets you, multiple daily outfit changes are the only way we’ll get through the all.”

Harry huffed out a laugh, picking his fork back up. “You’ve got a point. She sent me a photo of a miniature shirt with ducklings on it yesterday, so I’m going to bet on there being at least 4 outfits. That’s just what she’s sent me so far.” His mum had an obsession with buying her granddaughter outfits and he loved it. There was only a short period of time to do it as she grew and if he thought about how fast it was happening he would cry, so he pushed that side.

“Silly Nana. Your wardrobe is already exploding.” Y/N laughed, taking a sip of her mimosa, sans the alcohol. When Harry tried to tell her once that it was just orange juice, she’d simply flipped him off.

She squealed, hitting her little fist on the plastic tray and sent a bit of strawberry onto the main table and Harry’s arm, seemingly agreeing with her mum.

“I do love it, though. It’s fun to play dress up with her. I’m afraid next time we leave her with her she’ll come back with the entire Baby Gap, but I fear our child has your affinity for clothing. It’s like a minefield in our closet, she takes after you.” Harry teased his wife because their own closet was a mess of Y/N’s rotation of aesthetics.

“Like mummy, like baby.” She preened, lifting her glass to her lips. “And Daddy won’t complain if he wants more babies, will he? No, he won’t.” She reached out to tickle their daughter’s little foot, which had somehow lost its sock. “And he’s been talking about more babies since you were born, so I think he’s going to reconsider.”

“I’m not complaining!” He clarified, blinking rapidly. “M’not!” The man wanted more babies, and he knew what was good for him.

The crowd screamed loud enough to vibrate through the floor beneath Maisie’s feet, even inside the VIP tent, the noise was deafening. Maisie was curled into the corner of one of the cream-colored couches, knees tucked against her chest, watching her father dramatically dance (or stomp) during Satellite “He’s insane” she muttered.

You barely looked up from recording on your phone. “You say that like it is new information…”

Harry had somehow acquired a pink feather boa from someone near barricade and was now whipping it around his neck while dancing

“He’s just crazy” Maisie said “I love him but sometimes I…question his…ways?”

“That’s okay baby, he’s a dad, you’re going to question our ways many many times…”

The crowd roared as Harry dropped dramatically to his knees at the end of the song, one hand over his chest like he’d just survived heartbreak.

Maisie snorted despite herself and you smiled softly beside her.

No matter how many tours passed, you still watched Harry perform like you couldn’t quite believe he was real and Maisie noticed it every time, kind of craving that for her too someday.

The fondness in your eyes.

The quiet disbelief.

Like part of you still saw the twenty-something boy you fell in love with underneath all the lights and screaming and sold-out stadiums.

Harry stood again, breathing hard, curls damp and sticking to his forehead.

“London!” he shouted.

The response was immediate, eighty thousand people screamed back so loudly that Maisie felt it in her ribs.

Then Harry grinned.

And Maisie immediately stopped smiling. “Oh no,” she whispered.

You glanced over “What?”

“It is time”

“Oh” you said smiling “He’s reading signs.”

“Let’s hope it’s better than last night”

Harry clapped his hands together loudly into the microphone.

“Should we see what nonsense you’ve all brought me tonight?”

The stadium erupted….Harry loveddd sign-reading.

No one was ever safe, not couples, not parents, and this time not his own family, unfortunately.

He started wandering slowly down the extended catwalk, squinting dramatically at signs people held over their heads.

“You named your kid after me?” he read aloud. “I’m very honored, but please tell him something more interesting when he asks about his name”

The crowd laughed.

Another sign caught his attention.

“My boss thinks i’m at the hospital” he read with a light chuckle ”well, i hope you have a back up plan this is probably going to end on tiktok”

The audience screamed.

Maisie shook her head. “He loves this”

“Let him be” you smiled

Harry pointed at another sign.

“‘Harry, my boyfriend broke up with me over this concert’” He paused. “you meant your ex-boyfriend??”

The crowd cheered.

Maisie relaxed slightly.

Okay. Fine. Normal sign-reading. Safe.

Then you made a tiny choking sound beside her and maisie turned slowly….and you were suddenly trying very hard not to smile.

Which was not a good sign.

“What”

“Nothing”

“Mum”

“Nothing”

That tone meant absolutely something, Maisie narrowed her eyes suspiciously and followed your gaze toward the barricade….And felt every single organ in her body shut down simultaneously.

“Oh my God.”

There he was. Noah.

Niall’s son stood near the front of the pit surrounded by friends who looked way too excited

And above Noah’s head was a giant neon sign.

MY CRUSH IS HERE. CAN YOU HELP ME ASK HER OUT? 

Maisie stared in horror “No, there’s no way…”

You immediately covered your mouth trying not to smile too hard

“No no no no NO” Maise kept saying

The worst part wasn’t even the sign. The worst part was Noah himself, because Noah had become unfairly attractive sometime during the last year. One minute he’d been the annoying boy who used to cannonball into their pool fully clothed and steal snacks directly off your pantry.

The next he was tall and stupidly handsome with great hair and an easy grin that made girls visibly malfunction around him.

Including, unfortunately, Maisie.

Which she had been trying very hard to ignore.

“Mum…” she whispered in genuine distress “Please tell me that isn’t me…PLEASE”

You were fully smiling now. “I think you should be asking that to yourself young lady”

Maisie wanted the earth to split open beneath her feet.

Because Harry had already seen him and now he was staring directly toward Noah with a smirk beginning to form.

“Oh my God” Maisie whispered. “Dad no, please”

Onstage, Harry stopped walking entirely.

Then slowly lowered his microphone.

“Oh, I know that face,” Harry said slowly into the mic.

The crowd screamed when Noah appeared on the screen

“Noah Horan,” he shouted. “What are you doing over there?”

Noah smiled and waved the sign while Maisie wanted to pass away peacefully in the VIP tent.

Harry laughed “Oh no no no” he said pacing “No no no, because I KNOW him.”

The audience screamed louder.

Harry pointed accusingly. “Everyone make some noise for Noah Horan!”

The crowd erupted again.

Maisie slid farther into the couch cushions.

“Maisie” you said sympathetically through laughter, “you look like a tomato!”

Harry squinted at the sign again dramatically.

“Wait… hold on.” He read it slower this time. “My crush is here. Can you help me ask her out?” Then Harry stopped “Okay…what’s your crush’s name?” A lot of screams were heard so he had to take off his ear piece “Maddie?...Marly?...Miley??” he said growing and trying so hard to read his lips “Okay everyone shut up…go on again” “MAISIE!” Noah shouted “Maisie!...” it took him 2 seconds “WAIT”

He looked at Noah… then looked slowly toward the VIP tent and then back at Noah.

And his mouth fell open.

“No”

The crowd immediately became feral.

Harry pointed aggressively now but obviously joking

“NO”

Noah covered his face completely.

“You are absolutely NOT about to publicly ask out my daughter at MY concert.”

The scream that followed nearly ruptured your eardrums.

“No because why am I finding out like this?!” he cried dramatically. “I mean i kind of knew but…cmon man!”

Noah shouted something back that got swallowed by eighty thousand screaming people.

Harry clutched his chest.

“I trusted you!”

Then suddenly the giant screens switched.

And Maisie’s horrified face appeared in ultra HD across Wembley Stadium.

“Oh my GOD”

“There she is!” he shouted immediately “Hi baby” he said looking at the screens

“I hate you!” Maisie said 

Harry gasped dramatically “That’s hurtful baby…”

“You’re humiliating me!”

“It’s not my fault!” Harry shot back instantly. “I watched this boy eat pasta in my kitchen THREE DAYS AGO.”

The audience lost it again.

Harry pointed towards Noah again.

“And YOU.”

Noah straightened slightly a bit nervous and all smiley

“What happened to shame?!”

The crowd exploded laughing.

Harry dragged a hand down his face dramatically “I literally held you when you were a baby”

“That’s not my fault!” Noah yelled back immediately.

He chuckled into the microphone while the audience screamed louder.

Maisie groaned into her hands, still wanting to disappear and beside her you rubbed her back slowly “Breathe this is so romantic!.”

Maisie lifted her head slowly. “Mum you’re NOT helping”

“Your father is handling it great!”

Both of them looked toward the stage at the exact same moment.

Harry had one hand over his heart.

Maisie’s stomach dropped.

“…oh no.”

“Okay maybe not that great” you said

Harry looked between Noah and the VIP tent again.

Then something softened in his face.

And instantly Maisie knew she was doomed, bcause underneath all the theatrics and teasing and chaos, he got unbearably sentimental about her.

“She’s my baby” Harry said into the microphone softly, earning a soft “Awww” from the audience

Maisie covered her face again immediately. “STOP this madness!!.”

“I mean, she’s not actually a baby anymore…she’s 17” he continued emotionally, “which honestly feels fake to me personally….”

Harry smiled faintly toward the VIP tent.

“I still remember carrying her around backstage with giant noise-canceling headphones because she refused to sleep.”

Maisie groaned loudly. “MUM DO SOMETHING!.”

You looked near tears too, there was no way back “You were so little.” you said completely ignoring her

Harry pointed vaguely toward Noah now.

“And now suddenly one of my best mate’s sons is trying to date her...”

Noah shrugged helplessly.

Harry narrowed his eyes immediately. “You know your father is going to enjoy this far too much.”

That made Noah laugh harder. “Yeah,” he admitted.

Harry sighed dramatically into the microphone. “God…Fine…”

The audience screamed again.

Then Harry looked toward Maisie once more.

And his voice softened completely.

“Do you like…him?” he said chuckling softly already giving up

The entire stadium fell silent.

Maisie’s eyes widened in horror.

“MUM.”

“Answer you father” you whispered delightedly

“Oh my god” she said covering her face trying to breathe steadily

Harry grinned from the stage, which meant he already knew anyway.

Because somehow he always knew, he knew when she was upset before she said anything, he knew when she had a bad day and obviously he knew when she liked someone before she admitted it to herself.

And then…the crowd started chanting her name loudly.

Maisie wanted to launch herself into outer space but she knew there was no escape from this “I guess?” she mouthed and smiled 

The audience erupted instantly.

Harry held up one finger towards Noah “You get one chance.”

Noah straightened immediately.

“One.”

“I understand sir!”

Then he nodded toward Noah.

“Go on then.”

Noah looked suddenly nervous, like, actually nervous.

Maisie had never seen that before.

He jumped over the barricade with some help from security and walked all the way towards the VIP tent.

Toward her.

And for one tiny second, everything else disappeared.

The crowd.

The screaming.

The stadium.

It was just Noah looking terrified and hopeful all at once.

“Maisie” he shouted from the barricade separating the tent from the stage “will you go out with me?”

The stadium exploded.

The sound was so loud it almost didn’t feel real.

Maisie’s face burned impossibly hot.

Noah looked seconds away from cardiac arrest.

Harry? well he just wanted to cry.

You? you looked ready to frame this moment and replay it at their wedding.

Maisie groaned dramatically.

Then finally…she nodded.

The reaction was instant, the entire stadium screamed so loudly the floor shook beneath them.

Noah’s face lit up so brightly it made her stomach flip.

Harry stumbled backward theatrically clutching his chest.

“Okay okay we’re here for a concert aren’t we?” he yelled dramatically and the next song began

Then Harry pointed toward Noah one last time.

“You hurt her and I’m calling your father personally.”

Noah laughed helplessly. “Won’t happen!”

Harry shook his head slowly, smiling despite himself.

Because honestly?

If somebody was going to love his daughter someday.

At least it was someone he already loved like family.