Archive of Our Own

If he thought it would get simpler after the birth, he was wrong.

He’s a twenty-year-old taken pop star with a newly born child and a fat scar on his abdomen, why would it ever be easy?

His baby is removed from his arms only moments after he first holds him, and a nurse quietly explains that, whilst remarkably healthy and strong for a premature child, he was still a little too young to be off oxygen completely at this stage. Harry stares at his tiny son, seeing the little lungs work overtime and nods, trying to pretend anxiety isn’t threatening to swallow him completely. Nick grips his hand and whispers, “it’s okay” into his ears.

“Is he alright?” Harry rasps out when the nurse has pried his baby from his hands and left the room.

Nick sits next to him on one side, and his mum pushes Louis out of the way to cradle him on the other. Louis and the band stand supportively by the door, smiles still on their faces.

“He’ll be fine, Haz,” Nick reassures him, though his face is pinched as well. “Apparently the baby is considered full term at thirty-seven weeks, so thirty-five is only moderately premature.”

Harry nods, but his gaze is still on the door where his baby disappeared. “But- He can breathe, yeah? And, like- he’ll be okay?”

“He’s small,” his mum takes over. “But he’ll be okay, the doctors think. The oxygen is just a precaution, and he’ll need to be kept warm, but you’ll take him home soon, darling.”

It doesn’t sink in until then, really, that Harry is still in a foreign country, on a world tour. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen; he vaguely remembers meetings discussing it but had been ill and tired and too fed up with his life being micromanaged to pay attention. He reluctantly tears his mind away from his child to look at the lads.

“What’s going to happen now?” he asks, knowing they’ll understand what he’s really asking. Is the tour going ahead? Is he going back to the UK while they carry on? Is he joining them on the US leg?

They look at each other, and Harry frowns. Louis steps forward to perch on the side of the bed, even as Nick scowls and shifts away from him. Harry tightens his grip on the man’s hand absently.

“We’ve got four more shows here,” Louis says gently. “We’ll do them while you recover.” He glances at Zayn, who shrugs at him. “I think the US tour is up to you,” he explains. “If you choose to come from the start then management will set up facilities for you. It’s been done before; Lux came with us.”

“Her mum wasn’t performing every night,” Nick bites out, and by his face he’s not happy with the idea of Harry jetting off again with his child one month after the birth.

Liam nods, stepping away from where he’d been leaning on the wall. “We think Harry should wait until September,” he agrees. “But-”

He doesn’t finish. Harry understands the unspoken words, and nods.

“That’s a month of shows,” he says, and his mum gets tenser next to him.

“So?” his mum says, and there is anger in her voice that she doesn’t normally show. “You’ve just had a baby. You’re going to be up all hours as it is, you can’t be expected to jet around and perform as well.”

“And the baby’s premature,” Liam agrees, and Harry glances sharply at him, remembering that Liam, too, was born early. “It will be hard, Harry.”

“I signed a contract,” Harry points out, though his body is aching and exhausting and sore, even on the painkillers, and every cell in him seems to be crying out for his child. He doesn’t know how he’d manage to perform in less than a month.

“Don’t,” Nick says from next to him. “We’ve talked about this, Popstar.”

Harry knows what he’s talking about. They’ve had countless conversations over Harry exhausting himself and getting stressed out because he doesn’t know how to say no, doesn’t know how to tell someone that he just can’t. Nick tells him, over and over again, that he’s more important than a band, worth more than any contract or agreement, and it isn’t like he disagrees with him, it’s just- When someone asks him, and it’s in his power to do so? He kind of thinks, why not? and he doesn’t know how to get out of that mind-set.

Harry nods, resting his head on Nick and yawning. He wants to sleep, but he wants to see his baby again first.

“This can be discussed at a later time,” his mum says firmly, and Harry sleepily agrees. His body is dead tired, and he really doesn’t want to look at the state of his abdomen. He wants to say goodnight to his baby and then sleep.

“M’ bab-” he mumbles to Nick, who gently manoeuvres him so that he is lying down again, but doesn’t let go of his hand.

“Our baby,” Nick corrects softly, kissing him on the forehead. “I’ll look after him, Haz, go to sleep.”

He tries to protest more, he really does, but Nick’s hand is warm and soft and he can hear the gentle murmurs of the band in the room, and dreams are tugging him down until-

He sleeps.

He wakes up the next day and things are brighter, better. Nick is sitting in the chair, cradling the baby in his arms and looking tired but happy. The others are nowhere to be seen, and Harry is reminded that the lads have a show that night.

“Morning,” Nick says with a smile, getting up to sit on the bed. Harry moves slightly, a tender feeling where his stitches are but still on blissful painkillers.

Harry pushes himself up and reaches out a hand to lightly trace his baby’s face. It’s soft, warm, and so very delicate. He’s small, smaller than Harry thought a baby would be, and his eyes are closed.

“He’s doing better today,” Nick tells him, shifting closer. “He’s alright without oxygen now, as long as he stays warm.”

Harry holds out his arms. “Can I-?”

Nick passes him over gently, taking care to support the head and Harry tries to copy that pose. He’s had experience with Lux, but never when she was this tiny.

“He needs a name,” Harry says quietly, lowering his head to breathe in the smell of his child. He’s making little snuffling noises as he sleeps, and he’s so lovely Harry wants to cry. He went through such utter shit, and that part’s not over, but this? This makes it all worth it.

“Got any ideas?” Nick asks, wrapping an arm around Harry. The older man is gentle today, with both Harry and his baby, and it’s lovely, even if it’s a little weird too. He figures the man is just adjusting, marvelling in his new family just as Harry is.

“I don’t know,” Harry murmurs, even though it’s not quite true. They hadn’t talked about this, the two of them, because Harry hadn’t wanted to jinx it, and because all he could remember was that empty feeling of just missing Nick, when he’d been joking about baby names with Louis.

He glances at Nick, and he is smiling fondly, stupidly, at the both of them. “Haz,” the man says. “I know you do. I promise I won’t hate them on principle.”

Harry flushes a little, pecks his child on the nose and shuts his eyes.

“I don’t want anything stupid,” he says slowly. “Like, I don’t know, I don’t want to be one of those people who names their child North or Romeo or something like that. I want him to be normal.”

“He’s not going to be normal,” Nick laughs quietly. “He’s our child.”

“No, I know,” Harry says. “But- I just want him to have a chance, you know? Like we did. To grow up normally and be a child for a bit. I don’t-” He stops. He doesn’t really know what he wants, but the thought of his child alienated and alone, surrounded by ponce-y celebrity babies and feeling like he has to work to fit in or be one of them? He doesn’t want that. He wants his child to know security and love, like when Harry was little and he curled up on the sofa with his mum and Gemma and they watched a film together. Like that. Normal. Loved.

“Okay,” Nick agrees, and it’s maybe not so strange that he does when Harry remembers that Nick grew up like him; average and forgettable and happy. “So, like what?”

Harry looks back down, strangely nervous in a way he shouldn’t be considering the two of them have their own family now. “Like- I don’t know. David? Because, like, he beat Goliath in that story and our baby’s going to beat all the odds?”

There’s a pause, and Harry is about to start backpedalling and suggesting a name like Apple for fuck’s sake but Nick places a hand under his chin and lifts his head up so that their eyes meet.

“David, huh?” Nick says gently. “I quite like it, you know. It fits. Nick, Harry, and David.”

Harry bends down to kiss his baby – David? – and can’t stop the wide smile on his face. He’s aware that his dimples must be awful now, and he wonders if his child will have the same – if his child will look like him, with curly black hair, or like Nick, with gorgeous light brown eyes.

“I was thinking,” Nick continues, and his voice has a weird tilt to it now. “We have, like, so many people we could use for a middle name, and maybe we could, like, just choose a name instead? One that doesn’t mean anything to us? Because I always think it’s unfair to give people these names and then the poor kid has to live up to it-”

“Nick,” Harry interrupts, grinning, because it’s cute as hell that Nick is as nervous about this whole naming business as him. “What did you have in mind?”

“I was thinking of Samson? I know you said no celebrity names, but it can be shortened to Sam, and that’s completely normal,” Nick babbles, seeming to be relieved that Harry doesn’t mind. And he doesn’t; how in hell were they going to choose a person for David’s middle name anyway? Godfather is bad enough, and Louis has been a given from almost the beginning.

“Why?” Harry asks, liking the name but thinking there must be a reason behind it. “David Samson,” he says to himself, smiling at his child and wondering how his life came to this.

David starts crying then, his voice not strong but his whimpers devastating enough for Harry, who has little idea of what to do. He looks at Nick, and maybe the panic is clear enough, because Nick picks up the child and rocks him soothingly whilst standing up.

“I’m going to find a nurse,” Nick says, eyes on the baby. “It’s probably his feeding time.”

Harry nods, but Nick isn’t looking. He’s left alone a moment later, and he tries to pretend a part of him hasn’t just left the room with Nick. He’s frustrated, because he wants to be the one to feed his child and know what to do and he doesn’t, he hasn’t got a fucking clue.

He feels helpless and alone, and he hates it.

Nick and David turn up later, with the baby quietly awake but not wailing anymore. Harry immediately demands his child, but Nick shakes his head with a smile. His mum and Gemma come in too, and Harry is quickly smothered in his family while Nick stands at the back of the room. Gemma is laughing at him, teasing him about being a daddy when he’s nearly a child himself, but he’s not paying attention.

“Nick . . .” he whines, pouting at his boyfriend who still won’t pass David over, despite his incredibly unsubtle hints.

“Harreeee,” Nick mimics, smirking at him. Gemma laughs at the both of them, and his mum stands up with a sigh and takes the baby. David snuffles a little at the change, but doesn’t cry.

“Come on, lovely,” his mum coos. “You can watch your daddies being silly from my arms, can’t you?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “She’s going to adopt him when I’m not looking, isn’t she?” Harry says to Gemma, who hasn’t stopped giggling.

“I think she misses you,” Gem teases, poking him in the nose. Harry goes cross-eyed trying to look at her finger, and Gemma takes the opportunity to swat him on the back of the head. Harry sticks his tongue out.

The door opens then, and the others don’t look surprised to see Harry’s main midwife, Nicola, enter the room. He guesses it’s why they wouldn’t let him hold David.

“Hello Harry,” she greets him cheerfully. “Everyone looks happy in here today.”

Harry agrees. There’s a nice atmosphere. Somehow, seeing his baby healthy and alive and all his family gathered around him has helped to soothe some of the stresses of the last nine months. Here, he’s just Harry. There’s no pressure to be attractive and pregnant, or happy, or anything but an exhausted father to a one day old child.

“Now, I’m going to remove the dressing on your incision,” Nicola tells him, unhooking him from the one IV line he has in, “and then see if we can’t get you up and moving.”

“Sounds good,” Harry says, catching his mother’s eye and grinning at her. He’d been getting frustrated lying helpless in bed.

“The doctor will be in after that to talk to you seriously about aftercare and potential problems, and then I believe there’s a meeting scheduled for this afternoon?”

His mum nods, looking unhappy now. “They want to talk over the tour, Harry,” she says. “I tried to get them to wait, but they were impatient.”

Harry shrugs. “It’s okay,” he says. Nick is frowning at him across the room, and Harry offers him a little half-smile. “They need to get stuff organised.”

“Well, for now,” Nicola buts in, “let’s get this dressing off.” She looks around the room, then back at Harry. “Do you want them to go or stay?”

“Stay,” Harry answers immediately. They’re his family, and they’ve all seen worse.

“Right then,” she says. “Arms up for me.”

Between the two of them, they manoeuvre Harry’s top off, and Harry can see the large white bandage stuck to the bottom of his abdomen for the first time, along with the ugly stretch marks across his body. He scowls.

“Stop bitching,” Nick tells him, rolling his eyes and somehow reading his mind. “You’re twenty, Popstar,” he says. “You’ll bounce back.”

Nicola slowly removes the dressing whilst Harry tries not to look.

“We can’t all be beautiful like you,” he teases Nick, but the words fall flat. “Some of us have to work for it.”

“If I catch you working out anytime soon, Harry Styles-” his mum threatens.

“You’ll behead me, got it,” Harry finishes for her, before getting distracted by the red raw stitches across his body. It’s ugly and huge, and he knows this will leave a permanent scar that will be visible any time he goes topless. Fuck.

“Shit,” he says out loud. “How long will it look like that?”

Nick’s berating him for being vain, again, but Harry can’t see anything but the ugliness of it, and the knowledge that he needs to maintain an image right now of a healthy pop star, needs to keep the youth to keep the fans, and a fucking great scar is really not going to help matters. Management is going to flip; the lads are going to flip-

“Harry,” Gem says, close to his ear and firm. “Breathe.”

He does, dragging in a harsh breath and tearing his gaze away. Nick is frowning at him as if he has just realised that Harry is not joking about the appearance crisis, and his mum is worried, clearly.

Nicola watches him sympathetically. “The stitches will dissolve naturally,” she tells him. “The scar will take a while to fade, I’m afraid. There are plenty of creams I can recommend to help when we’re back in London.”

“Jesus fuck,” Harry says.

“Harry,” his mother says, cradling his baby close. “You had major abdominal surgery yesterday. You have layers upon layers of stitches in your body, and your muscles are held together by string right now. Stop swearing, and be grateful that the both of you are okay.”

Harry drops his gaze, feeling anger simmer underneath his skin. He doesn’t want to argue with his mum, but she likes to exist in this perfect world where he can be whomever he wants and look how he likes without repercussions. It doesn’t work like that.

“I’m grateful,” Nick points out quietly, and he moves closer to Harry.

Harry nods. “So am I,” he admits, but it isn’t the whole truth.

“Now,” Nicola interrupts. “Shall we get you standing?”

It’s a slow process. He has to gradually make his way up, ensuring his blood pressure doesn’t drop and make him dizzy. His stomach muscles feel tight and painful, like he might pull out the stitches just by moving, but Nicola promises he won’t.

“They just need gentle stretching,” she says. “Straighten your back out slowly, now . . .”

He feels tired when he’s vertical again, and incredibly sore. He listens to Nicola though, and moves around the room before stopping in front of his mum and cradling his child’s face, who’s been an angel through all of it.

“He’s really quiet,” Harry says, tracing the tiny fingers and wavering slightly on the spot. Nick comes over quickly to grab him round the waist and help him back onto the bed. Between him and Nicola, he is soon lying down again, his eyes starting to close.

“He’s just small,” Nicola is telling him, her voice fading. “He’ll be driving you mad in no time at all.”

“Never,” he mumbles, drifting off again.

He wakes after only an hour or two, feeling more alive for the nap. This time, David is given to him straight away by his mum, while Nick sits slumped in a chair next to him, snoring.

Harry cradles his child to him, jerking his head at Nick in a silent question.

“I don’t think he’s been sleeping,” his mum whispers. “Too worried about you and David.”

Harry smiles fondly. “He’s an idiot,” he says. “We’re alright.”

His mum looks at him, raising her eyebrows. “Harry,” she tells him firmly, “you jetted off around the world while heavily pregnant, and then went into labour in a foreign country five weeks early. I think we had the right to worry.”

Harry shrugs. “Part of the job,” he says helplessly, knowing he puts his family through a lot of shit with his lifestyle, but it’s the price he has to pay.

“No,” his mum corrects, but her tone is softer. “It’s part of you. You just can’t help but push yourself.”

Harry wants to deny it, but finds he can’t, and so he stays silent, rocking his baby when he starts to fidget a little in his arms and make little crying noises. His mum notices, and stands up.

“I’ll go get the nurses and doctors,” she informs him, pecking his forehead. “They wanted to talk to you anyway but you fell asleep, and they can show you how to feed David properly.”

Harry nods and agrees, relieved that he will be able to take a more active part in his child’s care.

“And you might want to wake that one up before the doctors arrive,” his mum says with a quiet laugh, pointing at Nick.

Harry echoes her laughter, shifting as gently as possible to poke Nick in the arm without jostling David. His mum slips out with a fond smile on her lips.

“Nick,” he says loudly, and the man stirs a little. “Nick,” he repeats. “Wake up, idiot.”

“What?” Nick mumbles, his eyes fluttering a small amount. Harry pokes him again, but can’t reach him properly to use any more force.

“You need to wake up,” Harry tells him, his voice light. Nick half-asleep is adorable, soft in a way he so rarely allows people to see.

Nick opens his eyes fully, yawns, and straightens up. His eyes are still blurred, but he is awake enough to reach across and kiss both Harry and David.

Harry wrinkles his nose. “You need to shower,” he says, and Nick rakes his eyes over him sceptically.

“I think you need one more, Popstar,” he returns, patting Harry’s greasy hair. “You’ve really let yourself go.”

Harry fakes outrage, and teases, “at least I don’t look middle-aged.”

“I look not a day over twenty five,” Nick denies with a smirk, ruffling his hair. Harry scowls.

“Try thirty five,” he mutters, but Nick hears and splutters.

“Grimmyyyy,” comes a call from the door, and Louis steps into the room. Harry immediately frowns.

“You’re supposed to be performing,” he points out, and Louis grins sheepishly.

“Not for another few hours,” he waves it off. Nick is glaring at him, but Louis doesn’t take any notice. He skips over to the bed, steals David without another word, and coos to him. “How’s my favourite little godson?”

“He might not be your godson,” Nick bites out, but his expression isn’t as angry as his words suggest, and Harry takes his hand. Nick helps him up into a fully sitting position with little fuss or discomfort while Louis rocks his child around the room.

“Of course he is,” Louis says airily. “Right, Harry?”

Harry laughs. “He is,” he says to Nick apologetically, even though he and Nick had come to an agreement over godparents long ago. They’d agreed upon Aimee as the godmother as a compromise, despite he and Aimee still being on slightly tense terms after the fiasco when he had told Nick about the pregnancy.

The door opens again then, and his mum, his midwife and his main doctor enter, grabbing seats around the bed. Louis mouths at Harry over his mum’s shoulder, still with David in his arms.

“Should I go?”

Harry shakes his head, but holds out his arms in a silent demand for his child. Louis pouts but caves, handing him over and sitting next to Harry on the bed. Nicola raises an eyebrow – and Harry has to learn how to do that, seriously – but Louis just smiles angelically and doesn’t move, seemingly not fazed by the faces looking at him. Nick is frowning, again, and his mum is smirking.

There’s nothing between him and Louis, they’ve never been anything but incredibly close brothers, but Louis loves to wind people up. Harry doesn’t mind. He loves Louis with a depth that his mum says only he can feel, and he rests his head on his shoulder. Louis strokes his hair absently.

Nicola hands him over a bottle, bending over Louis to show Harry in a low voice how to encourage David to latch on.

“Premature babies sometimes have difficulties with this,” she tells him gently, “but he’s seemed pretty happy so far.”

Sure enough, after only a little encouragement, David is happily sucking away at the bottle in Harry’s arms. He smiles down at him, hearing the others talk quietly amongst themselves while Harry delights in his child.

“He’s gorgeous,” Louis murmurs next to him, and Harry nods.

“Get your own,” Nick grumbles, but his tone is light and his eyes fixed on their son rather than the man-child cuddled into Harry’s side.

“While David has a feed,” his doctor interrupts, and everyone turns to look at him, “we should discuss after care, Harry.”

“Okay,” Harry agrees, though there is nervousness in his voice he can’t quite disguise. Louis grips his hand.

“Would you like to discuss this alone, or do you want everyone to stay?”

Harry shrugs. “Stay,” he suggests. “They’ll all have to know anyway.”

It’s true. Harry is rarely trusted to look after himself fully, even as a legal adult, and secrets never stay so in a band as close as theirs. At the moment, anyway, anything that affects Harry’s health has to be made clear to management.

“Okay,” his doctor says. “We’ll start with your aftercare. Your midwife, here, will discuss with you later care for your child.”

The bluntness isn’t unusual, nor the slight undercurrent of rudeness. Harry doesn’t mind. The doctor is one of the best, and he’s helped Harry through all of his pregnancy woes. His mum, on the other hand, is frowning; Harry offers her a reassuring smile.

“After a caesarean, especially one as rushed as yours was, you’ll need to be very careful. No lifting anything heavier than your baby for six weeks at least, so your muscles can heal and you won’t pull any stitches. No exercising until after then, either, other than gentle walking around. Exercise should then be slowly reintroduced.”

Harry feels a lead weight in his stomach, and so does Louis by the looks of it. Six weeks is far longer than he’d imagined, and that will be disastrous.

“Fuck,” he whispers, and Louis meets his worried eyes.

“That’s nearly the entire of August,” Louis calculates quietly. The others are watching them.

“First half of the US leg gone,” Harry agrees. “For fuck’s sake.”

“So?” Nick buts in, rudely, an ugly expression on his face. “You shouldn’t be performing at all on this tour, Harry.”

Harry glares at him, anger simmering in his gut. He and Nick will never agree on this; they never have done. For Harry, his band is his life and his job, and he loves it. Nick sees it as a necessary evil.

“I have to,” he snaps. “It’s my job.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Nick returns. “You’re entitled to at least 26 weeks, and up to 52 if you want.”

“That’s a fucking year, Nick,” Harry says sharply, realising that Nick must have researched this in preparation for this argument. “I can’t do that.”

“You have to take two weeks off by law,” Nicola tells him. “But after that, it is up to you, though if you do not want to end up back in hospital those six weeks will need to be exercise free.” Her voice is fair and firm, and derails the argument.

“Be sensible, Harry,” his mum says. “Take the time off you need, and then you’ll perform better when you go back to it.”

Harry nods jerkily, still angry but willing to wait until they have more privacy to carry on yelling.

“What about singing?” Louis asks, shooting Harry a look. “When can he go back to that?”

“Not until after at least a month,” his doctor says firmly. “It’ll depend on how you’re healing.”

“Shit,” Harry swears again, and his baby shifts in his arms, finished with the bottle. Nicola takes the child off him.

“I’ll take David somewhere quiet while you get this sorted out,” she says sternly, and Harry feels a little guilty but nods.

“So I can’t even rehearse sitting down?” Harry checks, frustrated, once David has left the room with Nicola.

His doctor shakes his head. “Not until we’re sure it won’t compromise your health.”

“I don’t think you realise how hard this will be,” his mum tells him, frowning. “You’ll be exhausted and sore, Harry. You won’t want to work or sing.”

Harry shakes his head, stubbornly. How difficult can it be?

So maybe he’s a little naïve.

A member of management joins them later, when it’s just Harry and Nick alone in Harry’s room. Louis had finally been kicked out of the hospital when Paul turned up just long enough to say congratulations before hauling Louis back to perform. His mum was talking to Nicola - about Harry, probably - and had taken David with her.

Harry and Nick were carefully skirting around their earlier disagreement, neither willing to rehash it just yet.

“Harry,” Annie, the management member that Harry likes the most, greets him. “And it’s Nick, yes?” She holds out her hand, and Nick shakes it, maybe a little too hard.

Nick doesn’t have a good opinion of Harry’s management.

“Congratulations, first of all,” she says, sitting down on the other side of the bed. “Do you have a name for him yet?”

“David Samson,” Harry tells her, and sees the gratefulness in Nick’s gaze as he returns to his seat. Harry still doesn’t know why he chose it, and he’s desperate to ask, but now is not the time, and he likes the name well enough.

“Beautiful,” Annie says, smiling. “Well, I’ve been sent to discuss the process of getting you back to London and then to figure out where we go from there. I’ve already met with your doctors, who’ve assured me they’ve spoken to you about potential problems, is that right?”

Harry nods. The meeting earlier had turned boring fairly quickly, and had laid more restrictions and consequences on Harry than he could remember. He figures he can guess most of them himself, and Nick seemed to be paying close attention.

“Good,” Annie says, leaning forward. “First of all, you are aware you cannot fly at the moment, so soon after your caesarean and with your child so young, so we’ve arranged alternative transport. I’m guessing you’d rather be home as soon as possible?”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, vaguely recalling the conversation. “But I thought the problem with flying was because of all the infections David could pick up? How are we getting home without risking that?”

“The rest of the band is going to Portugal on the 12th, as I’m sure you know, for the last performance of the European leg. We’re going to steal one of the buses and you’ll drive home with some of the crew that aren’t one hundred percent necessary at the last performance, cutting out the airport completely. Nick, of course, will be coming with you.”

“And my mum? Gemma?” Harry asks, liking the idea well enough. The buses aren’t huge, but if it’s just him and Nick and a couple of security guys, then it doesn’t sound too bad. The thought of fighting through paps at the airport with David has been worrying him since he woke up.

Annie shrugs. “I believe they’ll fly home, to give you and Nick some space, although of course you should discuss that with them.”

Nick is nodding next to him. “How long will that take?” he asks.

“To drive? About sixteen, seventeen hours I think.”

It’s long. To be trapped with a new-born baby and a man that Harry is fairly sure he will argue with at some point soon? It doesn’t sound fun, but it’s the better option.

“And the doctors? Nicola? Will they fly or come with us?”

“Fly,” Annie tells them. “We’ve arranged their flight back already. The rest of the band will fly back and join you on the 14^th as well.”

Harry nods, happy with the arrangements.

“Any other questions about the journey?” Annie asks with a smile. Both he and Nick say no, and she moves on.

“Now, in terms of performing, Harry,” she continues, “I’ve been told not to expect you to be able to join us until after six weeks, not least because most airlines won’t allow you to fly until then after a caesarean.”

Harry scowls, but nods. He’s accepted that timeline, even if it does frustrate him.

“We’ve decided that it will be pointless to fly you out for the last few days of the first half of the US leg,” Annie says, “so you’ll join the other lads when they fly back to the US on September the 10^th, if that’s what you want.”

Despite the words, Harry has the impression that the rest of management do not care what he wants. He’ll perform as soon as he can, and that’s that. “Sounds good,” he agrees, ignoring the tenseness of Nick next to him.

“We’ll release a statement tomorrow that announces the date of birth and name of your child, with your agreement, and we will also apologise for your absence during August.”

“As long as I can read it first, then fine,” Harry says, and this meeting is going more smoothly than he expected, even if Nick seems to be getting more and more worked up as it goes on.

“Lovely,” Annie exclaims, standing up. “That’s all I really needed to sort out now. The arrangements for the care of your baby on tour can be worked out closer to the time. You’ve got a couple of months to rest and bond, first.”

She shakes Nick’s hand, ignoring his silence, and turns to Harry again. “And,” she says quietly, “I am sorry that you don’t get the chance to just enjoy this before you have to work.” Her voice is not as cheerful as it has been. “Having a child is a joy, not a chore. Don’t let people persuade you otherwise.”

Harry feels tears prickle at his eyes, and he hates it, hates that he was stupid enough to believe the time after birth would be easy, and that he would regain control over his emotions.

“Thanks,” he answers softly.

She smiles at him, and her words seem to have softened Nick up a little because he even says goodbye as she leaves. Nick looks at him, seems torn between comforting him and leaving to lick his own wounds.

He leaves.

Harry rests for the next few days, and is pulled out of bed every so often to walk around the room and do stupid pelvic floor exercises that have Louis in hysterics when he comes to say goodbye before the lads drive off to Madrid, leaving Harry, Nick, his mum and Gemma behind with one tour bus. Harry is set to leave on the 12^th and, although he’s still technically in the same country as the band, he feels a little alone.

Nick and he are talking, but it’s tense and they both skirt around the topic of Harry returning to work. There seems to be a silent agreement to wait until they get some privacy on the bus before they renew their argument, and Harry is not looking forward to it.

Meanwhile, Harry and David start to properly bond as Nicola and his mum teach him how to look after a child. He’s read books and talked to Lou, but it’s not quite the same as having a real, living baby in front of you, crying and moving his little arms and legs around. His eyes are bright blue, but his hair is a light blonde that Harry can’t work out where it comes from. He learns how to persuade David to nurse when he can’t latch on, how to give him a bath and care for his umbilical cord stump. He finds out that his baby won’t be able to follow anything for a while, or even recognise faces, but is reassured that it will come with time.

He is told that his baby weighed five and a half pounds when he was born, and is in awe of how something so small could fight so hard to survive and be healthy.

He curls up at night with David now in a cot at the end of his bed and is comforted by the sounds of his breathing.

He won’t deny that he gets up to check on him throughout the night anyway.

Harry is woken up early on the 12^th by Nicola bustling in and running through last minute checks with him, as well as examining his wound to ensure there is no sign of infection. She checks he knows his exercises, and that he has her phone number in case he needs any advice, and reassures him she will set up a time to pop round when they’re both back in London. Unlike many parents, Harry has Nicola as a dedicated midwife, the perks of going private, and she will carry on their care back home instead of being assigned a community midwife.

His mum’s been out with Nicola to buy him and Nick supplies for the trip back, and someone has picked up his stuff from the hotel. He changes into his clothes carefully and slowly, enjoying the feeling of looking normal, even if his clothes are baggy due to the lack of a bump. Moving around is still painful, but it’s getting better as his muscles adjust.

“You look better,” Gemma tells him, walking in to his room after he has finished changing. Nick is walking around somewhere with David, so he is alone.

He smiles at her. “I need a change of clothes,” he says ruefully, pulling at the loose clothing on his abdomen.

Her face is serious, and he frowns at her. “What’s up?” he asks, sensing there is a problem he hasn’t been informed of.

“Someone’s leaked where you are,” she says, and he swears. He hasn’t been allowed his phone while recovering in hospital on his mum’s orders, but he is aware there is massive speculation regarding his whereabouts, and a large interest in when he will appear in public.

“There’s a crowd outside the hospital and around the bus,” she continues, and her voice is hard. “Your management has said you have to go through; you can’t sneak out.”

Harry exhales, closing his eyes. He had planned to control when he first went out, hoping to sneak back into England without a big outcry and be looking more put together before he faced the paps.

“Then I definitely need different clothes,” he says tiredly, and he’s serious. He can’t go out looking such a mess, and he needs to work out a tactic with the security guys regarding his child.

Gemma is quiet. “Shit, Haz,” she says at last, looking a bit overwhelmed. “Why can’t they just leave you alone for a few days?”

He shrugs, feeling pathetic and fed up and a little bit like he might cry. Gemma hugs him tightly, and he leans on her for a moment. “Right,” he says eventually, pulling away and gathering himself together. “Who can I talk to about clothes?”

An hour later, he’s ready. Annie had arranged for someone to run out and pick up some clothes in his size, and he is yet again changed. He’d swallowed a couple of painkillers, hoping to avoid appearing as if he was in too much pain. Someone had wrapped David firmly in several layers of blankets, and pulled a thick hat over his head to try and protect his tiny ears from the noise. Nick is standing next to him, looking pale but smart, and their hands are linked, all disagreements forgotten as they focus on the task ahead.

Harry presses a kiss to David’s head; the baby is swaddled against his chest to keep him safe and secure.

“Ready, Mr Styles?” one of the security men asks, and Harry nods, looking at Nick to check. The man tightens his grip on Harry’s hand and smiles wanly.

“Let’s do this,” Nick says.

Gemma and his mum kiss them both goodbye again, but their main parting had been done earlier, so they wouldn’t have to repeat it in front of the crowds. The two of them step back, and Harry and Nick lift their heads.

Harry signals for security to open the door, and is immediately hit by a wall of noise and camera flashes. Security surrounds the three of them on all sides, and Harry can hear David open his mouth and wail as they start to move.

“Shush,” Harry whispers desperately, trying to be soothing but failing. “Please, love,” he says, but David cannot hear over the noise.

There are paps first, lining the distance between the hospital and the bus, and behind them is a monstrous crowd of fans.

“Just keep going,” Nick tells him, refusing to let go of Harry’s hand. He nods, pushes his head down, wraps his free hand around David and moves.

The paps are shouting at him, yelling expletives and insults and anything else they can think of, but Harry ignores them all with practised ears. Nick is tense next to him, but neither stops. The crowds beyond are trying to drown out the paps with yells of “we love you!” and “congrats Harry!” and “hello, david!”.

They make it to the bus eventually, and security pushes them up whilst threatening anyone who gets too close. It’s blacked out, thank god, and Harry feels his knees shake as soon as he gets fully inside.

Nick sees, and wraps an arm around his waist. David is still wailing, the noise loud and frightening in the confined space, and Harry can feel tears in his eyes.

“Fuck,” he says, his voice breaking. Nick places him on a sofa and kneels in front of him, unwrapping David from Harry’s chest. “David, please,” Harry says, helping Nick and looking helplessly at his distraught child.

Nick picks him up and rocks him around, whispering quietly to him while Harry puts his head in his hands and breathes unsteadily. It’s all going around in his head and he feels he may be panicking completely, his breath getting sharper and quicker as it hits him now, that he’s alone with a child and he’s so lost and so many people are going to be watching him and what the fuck does he know about raising a child-

“Harry,” Nick says firmly from across the room. David is still crying. “Pull yourself together.”

He can’t. He’s properly crying, so overwhelmed that he can’t regain control.

“Harry, please,” Nick says, desperate now. “I can’t deal with both of you like this.”

David wails harder. Harry tries to breathe, and fails.

It’s their first five minutes alone, and it’s not going well.

It doesn’t get better. David cries for much of the day, even when Harry gets himself together enough to take over from Nick without meeting his eyes. They try to get him to feed with little success, and then try rocking him around the room. Harry even sings to him, his voice low and cracked after the stresses of the day. Nothing works, and both Harry and Nick are exhausted.

He passes David off to Nick at one point, and calls Nicola. He feels like a failure for needing help so early on, but his midwife is sympathetic.

“He’s very oversensitive,” she tells him. “Preemies often are. They may be strong enough physically to function on their own, but their senses are easily overwhelmed. He’ll be feeling very unhappy after the noise and ordeal of earlier.”

“What do I do?” Harry asks, his voice a little sharper than he intended, but he’s emotionally on his last legs right now, and he’d really like to sleep.

“There’s not a lot you can do,” Nicola informs him sympathetically. “I’d recommend keeping it as quiet as possible, with just you and Nick and no one else around. Try skin-to-skin contact with him, that often helps.”

They take her advice. Harry talks quickly to the two other guys on the bus, who agree to give them space for the rest of the day, and he and Nick hole themselves up in one of the bunks, both shirtless. They lie down next to each other with David cradled on top of them, naked apart from a nappy, and wait for him to cry himself to sleep.

Harry’s nearly asleep himself when David has finally been still and silent for more than a few minutes, but he is aware enough to know that he shouldn’t leave his baby with them to sleep. As carefully as he can, he picks David up, silently begging him not to wake up again, and places him down in his cot. The baby stirs a little, but settles back down again when Harry wraps a blanket around him.

Nick is stripping down to his boxers in the bunk and Harry does the same, before crawling back into the bed with Nick. Within seconds, they’re both asleep.

It’s seven o’clock in the evening.

David wakes up a few hours later, and startles Harry out of sleep. Nick sleepily opens his eyes, but Harry presses a kiss to his forehead and tells him not to worry. He edges out of bed, pulls on some trackies, and picks his baby up, rocking him in his arms.

“Hungry now, are you, silly love?” he whispers quietly, taking him through to the kitchen area. He prepares a bottle of milk with difficulty, balancing David in one arm while he tries to warm up the milk.

“It would be so much easier if I had breasts,” he mutters when David wriggles his protest at Harry’s movement. He’s still crying. “Nearly ready, love,” he tells the baby, who typically doesn’t listen.

David settles down when he has his milk, lying on Harry’s bare chest and suckling the bottle that Harry is holding for him. Harry sings to him softly as he does so, fighting to stop his eyes drifting shut. He removes the bottle when David finishes and pats him gently on the back, walking back to the kitchen to sterilise the bottle.

It’s now ten forty, and he doesn’t go back to sleep for another two hours.

He’s woken the next time by Nick trying to slide out of bed. The older man accidentally jostles his body, and Harry winces in pain as his wound flares red.

“Shit,” he says lowly, blinking his eyes open. Nick is staring at him guiltily.

“Sorry love,” he says. “Though you should probably stop swearing soon.”

“Fuck off,” Harry replies, rolling onto his side and easing himself up that way. He’s been told it’s the best way to get up without stressing his abdominal muscles, which are currently killing him. The wound needs cleaning, the baby needs feeding and changing, and at some point he and Nick will have to eat too.

Nick seems to catch on to his pain, because he slides off the bed and offers Harry a hand up. “Alright?” he asks.

Harry shakes his head. “I need some paracetamol,” he mutters, before David hears their voices and wakes with a quiet cry. “For fu- God’s sake.”

Nick glances at him sympathetically. “I’ll get David changed and fed,” he offers. “Go have a shower; feel more human.”

Harry nods, too exhausted to protest, and wanders off to get a change of clothes. His suitcase is on the floor, and he stares at it, aware that crouching down will be murder. “Oh god,” he says to himself, because how is he going to perform in a couple of months? He carefully sits on the bed then, and cries.

Nick finds him ten minutes later, with David in his arms, looking adorable in a fleecy onesie.

“Haz,” he says quietly, a question in his voice.

Harry doesn’t look up. “I’m okay,” he murmurs, aware of the crack in his voice. “I’m- ‘m being stupid.”

Nick sits down, their thighs touching. “Didn’t Nicola talk to you about this?” he asks gently. “It’s common to get upset in the days after your baby’s born. It’s called baby blues for a reason.”

Harry nods. “I know,” he says, remembering the conversation. “It’s just- I don’t know what to do? My stomach hurts all the time and David keeps crying, and, like, I don’t know how to look after a baby.”

“We’ll learn,” Nick tells him firmly. “We love him, yeah? That’s all he needs right now.”

Harry rests his head on Nick’s shoulder, finds his eyes meeting David’s, and let’s a few tears leak out.

It’s just past seven in the morning.

The tension reaches a peak when they stop for lunch just before going through the Channel Tunnel. David is mercifully, blissfully, asleep in his cot, and Harry is on the phone to Louis, who is telling him about the fans in Portugal. It sounds insane, and Harry finds himself missing it just a little. He makes the mistake of telling this to Nick when he hangs up the phone.

“Tough,” Nick says unsympathetically. “David needs you more than a band.”

Harry’s temper flares, indignant at the accusation. “What are you implying?” he demands. “I know that.”

“Do you?” Nick shoots back. His face is hard. “You’re so desperate to get back to work, have you even thought about what you’re going to do with David?”

“Yes,” Harry snaps, although he cannot lie to himself. He hasn’t put that much effort into working out arrangements for his baby, assuming that someone else would sort it out.

“Like what?” Nick stands up. “You’re going to be performing at night and doing PR stunts during the day, and you’re going to leave him alone with someone he hardly knows-”

“Don’t you fucking dare imply I don’t care about my baby,” Harry hisses. “I have loved him for months, far longer than you-”

Nick laughs, a sharp, ugly, sound. “Oh, do go on,” he says. “Do bring up how I left you alone for months before, as if that makes your actions any better. Just let it go, Haz.” The nickname carries none of the usual fondness.

“No,” Harry retorts, jabbing a finger at him. “There is no way I will ever forget that. Louis has been here for me way more than you have, and he’s only the fucking godfather.”

Nick’s face twists. “Saint Tomlinson,” he snarls. “Well why don’t you just go and play happy families with him, then?”

“It would be a damn sight better than doing it with you,” Harry cries angrily, but regrets the words a moment later. It’s not true, is the thing, and as much as Harry loves Louis, it is not more than he loves Nick. They’re both different, and he cares for them in entirely separate ways.

“You’re running off on tour anyway, aren’t you?” Nick throws back at him. “You’re taking my baby away from me only two months after it was born, but that doesn’t matter, of course it doesn’t, because I don’t love it as much as you or Tomlinson!”

Harry gets what this is about, now, and curses himself for being so stupid. He’s furious at Nick for his words, but understanding is dawning and he doesn’t know what to do about it.

“I’m not taking him away,” Harry says, his voice harsh but quieter. “I know you love him.”

“Yeah?” Nick says, turning away from Harry and clenching his fists. “What would you call it then?”

“I don’t know,” Harry says slowly, his anger dying a little. “I didn’t- I never really thought about it.”

Nick scoffs. “Of course you didn’t,” he replies bluntly, fury fading into hurt. “Why would you ever think that taking a baby away from his father was a problem?”

Harry sits down carefully, looking at the tense outline of his partner against the bus window. “I don’t want to take him away from you,” he tells Nick, completely honestly.

“But you want to go back on tour,” Nick finishes for him, resignation in his voice. “And you’ll take him with you.”

Harry nods, even though the man is facing away from him and can’t see. “I can’t leave him behind,” he says uselessly.

“You’ll just leave me behind instead.”

Harry shakes his head, but there is truth in the words. He is selfish. He won’t leave his baby with Nick, but he expects Nick to be happy with him taking his baby away.

“I’m sorry,” Harry tells him in a small voice.

“Don’t be,” Nick snaps, and walks out of the room without another word. Harry can see him bending over David’s cot with a soft smile on his face, a contrast to the earlier fury.

“Sorry,” Harry whispers again, and he sort of hates himself right now.

“I don’t know what to do,” Harry says to his mum an hour later, with David curled against his chest, sucking on a bottle. The phone is pressed between his shoulder and his ear, and keeps slipping whenever he has to move to adjust the bottle for David.

“It’s not very fair on him,” his mum says, carefully. Harry’s not surprised, somehow. She has the same opinion as Nick, that management is pushing him too hard and he should stay at home the entire tour. “I know it’s your decision, love, but can you blame him?”

“No,” Harry admits. “I get it, but- I don’t- What do I do, instead? I’m not missing this tour. I can’t.”

His mum sighs, clearly resigned to that fact. “I don’t know, sweetheart,” she tells him. “Have you looked into paternity leave, though? Maybe Nick could arrange to come with you.”

Harry’s heart stops. He remembers Nick’s words from before. Harry gets, by law, at least 26 weeks off work, paid. Surely Nick would get a similar amount?

“You’re a genius,” Harry breathes, a smile starting to break on his face. He takes the bottle away from David and bends him over his shoulder. “Thanks-”

David throws up on him, and Harry groans. “Sorry, mum,” he says instead. “I’ve got to go clear up. I’ll call you later.”

His mum says goodbye, laughing, and Harry figures she had guessed what David had done. “Love you, darling,” she says.

He gets the chance to google paternity leave only once he has cleaned both himself and David up, and changed his nappy. “Monster,” Harry whispers to his baby, who is watching a baby mobile move above his head while Harry sits with his laptop on his knees. Nick is still up the front of the bus, obviously trying to cool off before he joins Harry and David again.

The initial result is discouraging. One or two weeks paid leave, the government website says, and Harry swears before looking at David guiltily. Nick’s using that up, now, and it won’t be enough for the tour. Then he looks closer. Up to 26 weeks additional leave, it declares in black and white, depending on how much additional leave the other parent takes. Harry starts to feel excitement in his gut. He switches over to maternity leave, where it says he can have 26 weeks, plus up to 26 weeks additional leave.

Harry’s going back to work eight weeks after the birth. He will use up exactly none of his additional leave, which means . . . Nick can legally take the time off work instead, and 26 weeks will be more than enough to cover the tour. They could all go, all three of them. Harry won’t have to worry about leaving David with a stranger while he performs, and Nick won’t be left behind.

It’s perfect. Harry grins to himself.

Persuading Nick is another matter entirely, and Harry is strangely nervous. He decides to wait until they are home and settled in Harry’s house, as they’re back on English soil already anyway. There’s tension between him and Nick as they pack up their stuff that has spread across the bus, but Harry is in a much lighter mood, and David seems to be responding to that. He cries very little for the last leg of the journey.

There are mercifully no paps or fans around Harry’s house when they arrive, and the three of them, as well as security, move everything from the bus inside. Gemma and his mum have already been around as planned and have left baby supplies and even a vase of flowers in the lounge. A nursery had been built while Harry was away in Europe, but it is the first time he or Nick is seeing it.

It’s a light yellow colour with mobiles hanging from the ceiling. There’s a bright sunshine painted on one wall and the ceiling is covered in white clouds. The carpet is a practical brown-grey colour – his mum’s suggestion – and there are plain cupboards and chest of drawers against the wall. It’s very simple – “boring”, Louis had called it when Harry showed him the plans – but it suits him and Nick, so Harry is happy.

He tries placing David down for a nap in the cot, but the baby seems overwhelmed by the new place and strange smells and cries loudly when Harry puts him down. He stares at him a little helplessly, remembering his mum’s suggestion to get him used to being left alone for a bit, but not wanting to leave his baby crying.

“For Christ’s sake,” Nick says, and he picks David back up again, rocking him soothingly. “Let’s do that crap at a later date, yeah? I can’t stand the crying right now.”

Harry nods. “Can we- talk?” he asks hesitantly, and Nick narrows his eyes at him, before agreeing.

“Let me get a cup of tea first,” Nick says, heading through to the kitchen.

Harry follows him through, pushing him gently onto the sofa and going to make some tea for both of them. They sit, curled up sleepily on the sofa with David quietly lying in Nick’s arms.

“What did you want to talk about, Popstar?” Nick asks eventually, leaning back with his eyes shut.

“The tour,” Harry says nervously, watching as tension appears in Nick’s body and David starts to cry a little. Nick is instantly sitting up, soothing the baby until he settles again.

“What about it?”

“I was thinking-” Harry takes a breath, wondering why he’s so nervous. “You could, like, come with us? Then you can look after David and you won’t be left behind.”

“I have a job,” Nick tells him firmly. “And I won’t be your glorified babysitter, either.”

“No,” Harry says, shaking his head, a little upset. “That’s not what I meant.” He’s a bit frustrated now; the words aren’t coming out right.

Nick just watches him.

“I love you,” Harry says quietly, trying to sort it out in his head before he speaks. “And I don’t want to be apart from you that long, and neither does David. I want- I’d really like it if you came.”

Nick sighs then, leaning forward so that his face is next to David’s. “That doesn’t change the fact that I have a job, Haz.” His tone is softer now, though, and Harry counts it as a victory.

Harry bites his lip. “Take paternity leave,” he suggests, interrupting Nick when he opens his mouth to speak. “No,” he says, “I looked it up. If I don’t use my additional leave, which I’m not, you can have up to twenty six weeks paid leave.”

“Are you sure?” Nick asks carefully, his eyes considering. “I didn’t know that.”

Harry shrugs. “Pretty certain,” he says. “Check it yourself.”

He’s still nervous, painfully aware that Nick hasn’t said yes yet, and worrying stupidly that Nick doesn’t like the idea, would prefer not to come even if it means no David, or maybe he’s planning on trying to take David away from Harry somehow or-

“Haz,” Nick says, breaking his spiralling panic. “Calm down. I’ll talk to the BBC, and if they say yes, then I’ll come.”

Harry looks at him, a smile forming. “Really?” he checks. “I mean- If you don’t want to-”

“I love you and I want to,” Nick tells him firmly. “I go back to work next week, so I’ll talk to them then, okay?”

Harry nods and leans forward to press his lips against Nick’s. “Love you too,” he whispers happily. “We’ll stay together, yeah? The three of us.”

Nick breathes yes against his lips, and it’s not perfect, of course it’s not, but it’s pretty damn close to it.

Between Harry and Nick, they manage the first week at home by themselves fine. Nicola drops by to check on them and make sure Harry’s not straining himself – which he’s not, because Nick won’t let him do anything – and she leaves smiling, so obviously he and Nick aren’t fucking it up too much.

But Nick goes back to work on the 21^st July, a Monday, and Harry tells him he will be fine alone and not to worry. Nick does though, leaving with a frown marring his forehead and a demand for Harry to ring if he has any problems, whether he’s on air or not.

Harry gets a text from Fincham about the time Nick normally gets in to the studio backing up Nick’s offer, telling him he will happily take over the radio if Harry needs Nick’s help with anything. Harry grins, because honestly the lot at Radio 1 fuss over him insanely, but texts back with a thank you and a heart, receiving a heart and a don’t tell Nick back a second later.

He laughs and shoots off a text to Nick saying Fincham’s flirting with me before the wail of a baby jerks him out of bed.

He sighs, drops his phone on the bedside table, and gets up to deal with a hungry, grumpy, three week old baby.

He lasts for the day alright. He’s exhausted by the time Nick comes home and is desperate for a shower and nap. Nick’s in high spirits after going back to work, and immediately takes David off his hands and shoos him out to take some time for himself. He has a shower and then calls his mum, who laughs at him and says all parents go through it.

The week gets steadily worse as Harry is woken up throughout the night by David’s cries. This was their agreement. The one not working gets the night shift.

But fuck, he is so tired.

Three days later is Friday, and Harry has been up since three am with David, who will not stop wailing in his ear. He’s clean, fed, and been held by both Nick and Harry alike, both trying to calm him down. It’s no good, and Nick heads off to work reluctantly with promises to ring regularly to check on them both.

Harry sits on the floor of the lounge with David in his arms and cries. It makes his baby worse, but for fuck’s sake he hasn’t got a clue what to do. In desperation, he puts on one of their CDs and sings along to it, quietly, and rocks slowly around the room. But David’s face is tired and unhappy and he won’t shut up. Google is Harry’s next port of call, and the lovely NHS website tells him that a drive might help, so Harry grabs his keys and phone and heads out of the door. He hasn’t gone out with David yet in England – not after the disaster in Spain – and so is slightly nervous, but he aims straight for the car and gets there without – hopefully – anyone spotting him. He buckles David into the car seat, and his baby just screws up his face and wails harder. He hates being restrained, always has, but Harry is so desperate right now he will try anything.

He drives aimlessly for half an hour, hoping the vibrations of the engine will sooth the child, but David is still going strong. Harry pulls up outside his house and lets his head fall against the steering wheel.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

There’s a knock on the window then, and Harry jerks up, wiping his face and pretending he isn’t crying. There’s a young girl there in running kit, her face a mix of hopeful and concerned, and Harry plasters on his best pop star expression. He winds down his window, trying to ignore the wails of his baby who has somehow not managed to cry himself to sleep yet.

“Can I help?” Harry asks with a – very fake – smile.

“Are you Harry Styles?” she asks breathlessly. He nods.

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“Could I- Can I have a photo with you? And your baby?”

Harry covers a sigh as best he can, and says, “of course you can. His name’s David, by the way.”

While she explains excitedly that she had heard that from a magazine but wasn’t sure it was true, Harry unbuckles a miserable David and climbs out of the car.

“Sorry,” he says, shrugging his shoulders at her. “He’s not very happy today.”

“Oh, he’s lovely,” she tells him enthusiastically anyway, and he finds himself offering a slightly more genuine smile for the camera. She thanks him effusively and runs off, and Harry huffs a breath before locking the car and making his way inside.

It’s not a hardship talking to fans, not really, and he is honestly so thankful for their support, but right now he could have done without it. David hasn’t stopped, and as Harry places the baby down in his carrier he wishes vigorously that the baby would just shut up.

“Please,” he says, tears returning to his eyes. “Please, David love, just be quiet for two minutes.”

David’s face is red and splotchy, his cries going hoarse but not stopping. Harry slumps to the ground in front of him and watches, getting more and more desperate. He can’t ring Nick, the man’s struggling enough with work after being up all night – and besides, he won’t be able to help.

“I don’t know what to do,” Harry says roughly, running his hands through his hair and swallowing a sob. “Please, love, just tell me what’s wrong.”

David, predictably, doesn’t react to the words.

“Please,” Harry cries again. “I am so tired, and I need you to stop. Please.”

If anything, the baby cries harder and Harry sits there, hands wrapped around his knees, ignoring the throbbing pain in his abdomen at the tight position, and cries too.

It could be hours or minutes later, Harry doesn’t know, that he hears the sound of the door opening. He hopes stupidly, desperately, that it’s Nick home early, or Nicola with some pearls of wisdom, but it is Louis’ voice that reaches him a moment later.

“Haz?” he calls, letting himself in. “David being a pain?”

Harry glances at the baby, still wailing in his carrier, and doesn’t react.

“Harry?” Louis says again, coming into the lounge. “Oh, Haz,” he says, softer, when he sees the two of them. Harry is encircled with warm arms and breathes in the unmistakable scent of Louis and feels, somewhat ridiculously, comforted.

“He won’t stop,” Harry chokes out, not looking Louis in the eyes. “I don’t know what I’m doing and he won’t shut up.”

“Okay,” Louis whispers in his ear. “How long has he been crying?”

Harry sniffs, shakes his head, and tries to stop the sobs. “On and off since three am,” he admits, his voice rough and distressed. “I’m so tired, Lou.”

“I can see that,” Louis teases gently, kissing the top of Harry’s head before he stands up to grab David.

Harry sobs a little again, exhausted and overwhelmed and so thankful he’s no longer alone.

“I’ll try and sort munchkin here out,” Louis orders, “and you’re going to have a shower, get dressed, and eat something.”

Harry wipes his eyes, takes a breath, and nods. “Okay,” he agrees quietly, unravelling himself from his ball position. He winces immediately at the pain but carefully stands up. Louis is watching him closely, David crying but cradled in his arms.

“Need a painkiller?” he asks perceptively, and Harry nods slightly, holding on to a door handle for support whilst he straightens out his stomach muscles gradually.

“Here,” Louis says a moment later, pushing two small tablets into his hands. “Now, shower.”

“Okay,” Harry agrees quietly, leaving Louis to deal with David and grabbing clean clothes from his bedroom. He dumps them on the floor of the bathroom and looks around for his towel, which is missing from the towel rail.

It’s when he realises that David threw up on it the day before that he breaks.

It takes Louis only a minute or so to find Harry on the floor of the bathroom, breathing rapidly and wondering when everything went to shit and when did he stop having control over his life and how much of a shit parent is he that he can’t even stop his baby from crying and yet can pose for photos with a fake smile on his face as if everything is alright when really everything is falling to pieces-

“Harry, breathe,” comes the now familiar order, and Harry follows it almost without question, sucking in a breath before another sob erupts.

“I- I can’t,” he gets out, feeling panic swirl in his gut, and he feels so utterly and totally out of control right now-

“Just breathe, Haz, please,” Louis says, with an anxious edge to his voice that he rarely has, and Harry is just barely aware of the fact that David is still crying, and it makes Harry sob worse because how selfish is he, falling to pieces when his child is the one upset and who needs the help?

“Please, Haz,” Louis tries again. “I can’t help both of you, I need you to breathe.”

Louis crouches down next to him and rests his chin on Harry’s curls, but it just brings David closer to him, and the cries are beginning to drown everything out until he can hear nothing but the desperate pleas for a love that Harry is not capable of right now and so he says

“Go, Lou,” with a force that surprises even him, and Louis shakes his head.

“Harry you need help.”

“Go, go, go, please,” Harry cries, because he cannot have his child around him when he’s like this, and Louis has got to get David away and happy and safe and that doesn’t mean Harry right now.

“Haz,” Louis whispers, but Harry shakes his head and sobs.

“No, no, no,” Harry mumbles, trying to clear the panic but failing and the words useless worthless failure whore circling in his head don’t stop.

Louis stands up then, his face creased in worry and his indecision over staying or leaving written all over his face.

“Go,” Harry chokes out, and Louis does, leaving the bathroom door open and letting Harry collapse into his own head of nightmares by himself.

helpless useless worthless

“Harry,” is crooned in his ear an indeterminate time later, and Harry jumps a little, but is still caught up in his head. He’s breathing too fast and he knows it, but he can’t stop, can’t reign it in, can’t control anything about his body-

“Breathe for me, love,” the voice, female?, says softly, pulling him against her chest and Harry relaxes just a little as he realises that it’s Gemma, that Louis must have called her when he couldn’t calm Harry down himself. “Deep breaths, in and out, come on.”

Harry does as she says, trying to listen to her voice rather than his own thoughts.

“Gem,” he manages, before she is placing a hand on his chest and pressing her lips to his forehead.

“Don’t speak, breathe,” she orders, and he does.

He breathes with her, moving his chest as hers moves beneath him, and it is so familiar to his childhood that he is comforted in a strange way, even though the memories are not pleasant ones.

“You have me, forever and always, and you have mum, who is demanding we call her asap, and you have Louis, who rang me in tears to come and help, and you have Nick who has left the radio and is on his way right now, and you have the lads-” Gemma carries on softly in his ear as he breathes. It’s an old tactic of hers, a way to calm him down and get him to focus on the outside world. She lists everyone who cares about him, over and over again, until he can almost say it with her.

“’m ‘kay,” he mumbles eventually, shifting in her grasp until she loosens the contact, kissing him gently again. The flat is blissfully quiet, for once, and he takes in a deep breath before twisting to face her.

“Sorry,” he says quietly, and she strokes his hair.

“You don’t need to be,” she tells him firmly, but her face is open and soft. “That was a bad one.”

He nods, repeats “sorry,” quietly, and she shakes her head at him, wrapping a hand around his wrist.

“Are you alright now?” she asks.

“Yeah,” he answers in a low, rough voice. “Louis- Lou called you?”

“He did,” she confirms. “Said David wouldn’t stop crying and that you were having a breakdown in the bathroom. He was pretty scared, Haz.” She looks at him carefully, and he glances away.

“I didn’t- They don’t know,” he says, shrugging apologetically.

“You need help,” Gemma tells him, and it’s not an option, not really, and he knows it. “I know you said you were fine, but this isn’t alright.”

Harry shrugs again. “I’m sorry,” he says. “It’s just baby blues, maybe.”

Gem shakes her head sadly. “I’m sure hormones made it worse,” she agrees, “but this is ongoing, Harry, don’t deny it.”

“Yeah,” he admits softly, letting a breath out before clambering to his feet slowly and carefully. “I’m going to take a shower.”

Gemma stands up with him, eyeing him closely before nodding. “Okay,” she says. “But after, we’re all going to have a talk.”

“We?” Harry asks, deciding to just steal one of Nick’s towels. Now the panic has faded, and the only effects are a tight feeling in his stomach and lightly trembling hands, rational solutions occur to him for problems that seem unsolvable in a circling brain.

“Me, you, Nick and Louis,” Gemma says firmly. “Shower, then we’ll talk.”

Harry nods, recognising that he can’t get out of it and resigned to the no doubt awkward discussion.

“Good,” Gem says in satisfaction, and leaves the bathroom to Harry’s slight half-smile.

He traipses out of the bathroom fifteen minutes later to find a plate of sandwiches on the table for him, and his four favourite people sitting on the chair around it. Nick gets up when Harry walks in and kisses him chastely.

“Alright?” the man checks, dark eyes concerned. Harry nods. “Yeah, sorry,” he replies, and they both take a seat. “David?” Harry asks immediately, when he can’t see the baby in any of their arms.

“Your mum has him, Haz,” Louis tells him quickly, and oh yeah, Harry does remember his mum saying she was staying with Gemma for the moment while Harry adjusts.

“Is he alright?” Harry questions, anxiety curling in his stomach again as he remembers how distressed his child was.

“I called my mum,” Louis says, “and she reckons it’s just a bit of colic. He’ll be fine.”

Harry nods, relief flooding through him. Nick takes his hand and grips it firmly, and Harry feels like he should apologise again for dragging him away from work.

“Does Ian hate me?” Harry asks with a soft laugh, and Nick shakes his head but doesn’t smile.

“They’re worried,” he tells Harry quietly. “So am I.”

“I’m okay,” Harry replies honestly. The shower calmed him down and gave him a bit of perspective. He let the panic get away from him, and he shouldn’t have. It won’t happen again.

He says the last bit aloud, and Gemma looks at him.

“It will, Harry,” she contradicts. “It’s happened so many times before.”

“What is it?” Nick wants to know. “Panic attacks or something?”

Harry nods, decides honesty is the way to go. “I get anxious,” he explains quietly. “Always have done.”

Gemma inclines her head. “He used to get attacks in big crowds and when he felt out of control,” she takes over. “He got better though, before he went on X Factor.”

“It doesn’t happen a lot,” Harry agrees. “It was stupid. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not stupid,” Louis cuts in, his face a mix of concerned and sharp. That’s Louis though – so protective of everyone and so ready to be defensive that it comes out angry more than worried half the time. “You may not get so bad, but you still panic, don’t you, Haz? I’ve seen it. I had to keep telling you to breathe and calm down when you were pregnant.”

Nick tenses next to him and Harry squeezes his hand, reminding him that his absence has been forgiven.

“What are we going to do?” Nick asks, and maybe Harry is silly for feeling so relieved at the ‘we’ but he can’t help it.

“I think you need to see someone again,” Gemma tells him, her voice firm. “Leaving you to deal alone isn’t working.”

“I’m fine,” Harry denies, because he is, isn’t he? He has a child now, a little baby boy, he can’t be mentally unstable, he needs to be strong and brave and he has to be there for him-

“Harry, breathe,” Gemma demands, and Harry blows out a breath and flushes, looking down at the table.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Louis tells him strongly. “So what if you need some help? Lots of people do. You’ve just had a baby, Haz, it’s fine to not be okay for a while.”

Harry shakes his head, disbelieving but unwilling to get into an argument.

“We need to sort it out,” Nick says then. “What happens if you freak when you’re alone with David? What happens to him?”

Harry flushes a dark angry red. “I won’t put my baby in danger,” he snaps, but the thought is already racing through his mind and he can see Nick’s point.

“Not on purpose,” Nick says more softly. “But do you want to take the risk? Just go talk to someone.”

Harry nods sharply. “Fine,” he agrees, and Nick presses a kiss into his hair.

Things don’t get better straight away, but Harry finds that he is rarely alone, now. Louis, his mum, and Gemma take turns keeping him and David company in the mornings, and even Lou Teasdale pops around a couple of times. Evenings and weekends are reserved for he and Nick, and they find the baby thing a little easier to deal with as the days pass. David learns to follow their hands with his eyes and even starts to make little sounds that aren’t cries.

Harry goes to a psychologist once a week, one vetted by management as safe, and they figure out together that the hormone changes likely combined with his pre-existing anxiety problems to catapult him into the panicky mess he has recently been.

He refuses to call it a disorder. He manages.

He hits rock bottom when David is five weeks old and Nick is at work. Louis is visiting his parents in Doncaster, and his mum and Gemma have gone to see his grandmother. Harry is alone for only the second time since they had the talk, as Harry calls it, and he can feel himself spiralling already.

He makes the mistake of going on Twitter in the morning, and finds a graphic death threat for him and his baby, and maybe it is stupid but he panics, alright, because what sort of father is he when he puts his only child in danger simply because of who he is. David deserves someone better, someone who can give him a life outside of paparazzi and fame and death threats and celebrities and tours and stressful flights and a father who can’t pull himself together enough to comfort his crying child who is lying on the mat on the floor and –

worthless

useless

fucking freak

whore

- and he hates himself more with every minute and his breathing starts to go funny

Fucking idiot, told you that you weren’t fit for life

he is out of control and he knows it and can’t help it can’t help wishing things were different and hearing the voices in his head tell him he is

stupid waste of space

and David is crying, he smells, his nappy needs changing, has done for a while but Harry can’t move, can’t breathe, really can’t live at all and the selfishness of it all makes him hate himself

worthless

even more-

He pulls himself out of it eventually, shame and guilt threatening to take him back under but he sings to himself, drowning out his baby’s cries momentarily

Not even the Gods above

Can separate the two of us

No, nothing can come between

You and I

He fights and fights, calming his breathing until he feels confident enough to open his eyes, seeing his child’s pink angry face first of all. It nearly sends him spiralling, the knowledge that his child has been sitting, filthy dirty and upset, by himself while Harry freaks out but he doesn’t let it, just picks David up and whispers

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” over again in his little ears, letting tears drip down his face as he goes through the motions.

“I love you,” he tells David, but it is empty words when he can’t even function normally enough to take care of his child.

He reads later: ‘Rock bottom became the solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life’ and thinks, yes, okay, I can do this.

He calls his psychologist and confesses the events.

His psychologist doesn’t act sympathetic or kind or offer useless words. She says, “You’re going to have to work at it,” and he thinks that is the best thing she could have said, because he doesn’t think anything this important should be easy.

It’s not. It’s hard, and perhaps the worst part is telling Nick what happened, feeling like a failure of a parent and wondering if Nick will try and get him declared unfit.

He says, instead, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” and Harry kisses him until they are both short of breath, because he loves the man with everything he is and yet he doesn’t think it can come close to what Nick feels for David, and that is the way it should be.

Louis babysits once a week in the evening for them while Harry and Nick go out on a date, and if there’s paps? Well, Harry has Nick and he feels safe and it’s okay.

He takes anti-anxiety medication on a temporary basis, while his hormones rebalance themselves, and dedicates himself to regular therapy on a permanent basis, and falls in love with his child all over again because living in panic is not conductive to bonding. He has attacks that are headed off by a text to Nick or by Louis’ warm hands or by Gemma’s firm voice, and he cradles David to his chest to remind him what he’s fighting for.

No one talks about after the birth, but Harry thinks it is simultaneously the hardest thing he has ever done, and the easiest, because living with a new born baby is so difficult but loving him? That’s the simplest thing in the world.

Nick gets the time off work as paid paternity leave, and Harry starts to pack up for the tour. They start in California, and it’s only a month, and Nick will be there. Harry and Nick will share the bus with the lads but have their own hotel room at night, and the bus is transformed into a safe haven for a two month old baby.

Harry’s psychologist is on call, and they have regular Skype dates arranged already. Nicola has visited them again, talking over ways to deal with the flights and the best way to soothe David’s distress if he gets overstimulated, and Harry listens closely now, because his mind is clearing.

“Ready?” Louis asks when Nick, Harry and David climb into the car waiting outside to take them to the airport.

Harry smiles and tangles his hand with Louis’. “Yeah,” he says, and thinks that maybe this time he is.

Louis has told the lads about Harry’s anxiety but Harry hasn’t seen them since, and their airport reunion is all the more emotional for it. Nick has David and is pretending to pout at being ignored, but there is no escaping the fondness in his eyes as Harry indulges in a group hug with the lads in the middle of the VIP lounge.

“You should have told us before,” Liam tells him, his voice muffled, and Harry shrugs as best he can.

“Didn’t want to make it a thing, before,” he says, and the vague response seems to make sense to Liam, because he nods and drops it.

“We have your back,” Niall says loudly and cheerfully, ruffling his curls.

Harry fakes a scowl, bats his hands away, but laughs a moment later. “I love you,” he tells each and every one of them, and they grin at him.

“You’re just buttering us up before this journey, aren’t you?” Louis questions suspiciously.

“This is going to be worse than the last one, isn’t it?” Zayn asks rhetorically, and Harry laughs again.

It is. David cries and cries, even as Harry takes Nicola’s advice and encourages him to have a bottle as they take off and land to prevent his ears popping from the pressure difference. David is whiney and clingy and upset when they climb out of the plane later, however, and the roar of the fans as they leave the airport makes it all the worse. Nick is tired and grumpy, not used to long distance flights unlike the rest of them, and they unanimously decide to retire to separate hotel rooms straight away. It’s like déjà vu, so similar to the last part of the tour, but Harry is no longer heavily pregnant and he has Nick and David now.

He curls up in bed with Nick lying next to him later that night, and David resting peacefully in the cot at the foot of the bed, and thinks that he loves this family more than he loves the band, and it’s a little scary but it’s so right at the same time.

Nick is curious about his work, Harry knows, and he follows Harry to rehearsals in the morning. Harry’s wound is no longer stiff and sore, although it is still ugly and raw looking. He has been given the go ahead to perform now, as long as he takes it easy and doesn’t jump around too much. Rehearsals are hard as the other boys quickly grow a little impatient as Harry forgets words or cues or positions, even if they try to hide it.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says when they stop for lunch. “I’m making it hard on the rest of you.”

Niall nods cheerfully, honest but relaxed right to the end, and says, “Don’t worry about it.”

“Seriously, Haz,” Louis reassures him, wrapping his entire body around Harry and clinging to him. “No one expects you to be perfect.”

Harry agrees quietly and excuses himself to the bathroom where he calls his psychologist.

He manages.

Nick watches from behind the cameras as the band does their first interview together since Harry has given birth. They talk about the music for a while, then the tour, and then, inevitably-

“And how is parenthood treating you, Harry?”

Harry smiles. Liam wraps an arm around his neck casually, as if to say, “we’re here,” and Harry is grateful. Nick grins at him over the top of the interviewer’s head.

“I love it,” he says honestly, looking at his baby asleep in Nick’s arms. “David’s beautiful.”

“We’re all very happy for you,” the interviewer – Rob? – says, “especially since David was a bit early, wasn’t he?”

Harry laughs, having almost forgotten about that. The birth seems so long ago, and David is so healthy now. “Oh, yeah,” he agrees. “He was born at thirty-five weeks, but they’re considered full term at thirty-seven, so he was alright.”

David is stirring now; a coincidence for sure, but a funny one nonetheless.

“Heard your name, did you?” Nick is whispering to him and Harry can’t help the fond expression.

Rob notices. “And how’s everything going with your partner?” he asks. “Everyone always wants to know about your dating lives.”

“Things are going great,” Harry says, relieved when Louis takes over and starts discussing Niall’s lack of a girlfriend.

The interview ends a few minutes and a couple of trite questions later, and Harry immediately takes David from Nick’s arms.

“Love you, baby boy,” he croons, and Nick’s arms encircle him.

“Love you both,” Nick tells him, and there are a couple of wolf-whistles in the room.

“You’re just jealous,” Harry yells back with a grin. Nick kisses him then, firm and hard and very hotly.

Harry sighs into his mouth. “Glad you’re here,” he says, and means it.

“I’ll be wherever you are, Popstar,” Nick replies, and the words aren’t true but the gesture is heartfelt.

“Get a room,” Louis says, hurling a box of tissues at them that misses by a mile – deliberately, because Harry knows that Louis can throw well.

“Jealous, much?” Harry says in a sing-song voice back, and is unsurprised when Louis comes and snatches his baby away in a huff.

“You love me the most, don’t you, my beautiful godson,” Louis coos, rocking him in his arms as he goes around the room.

“Alright boys,” Paul interrupts. “We need to get going.”

“Look at my gorgeous godson,” Louis says to Paul, holding David out to him with a hand supporting his head. David waves his arms around and gurgles.

“Yes, yes, very sweet,” Paul says in a dismissive voice, shooing Liam and Zayn off the sofa and out of the door. Harry can see, though, the way Paul softens his face when he looks at David, and he smiles because Paul is just as in love with David as the rest of them.

The next interview Harry gets asked: “Where did David Samson come from?”

Harry pauses, wonders what to say. “Both names mean something to me and Nick,” he settles on. “But he’s not named after anyone in particular. We just wanted him to have a normal name and be a regular kid, you know?”

He vows to ask Nick what Samson means later on.

He forgets.

Harry is performing in less than an hour, but he’s lying on the floor of the dressing room with Nick and David instead of being bullied into sorting out hair and make-up. David is on his back while Nick waves a little soft toy around above him, making stupid noises and laughing. Harry watches them both with a smile on his face.

Both of them think they’re imagining it when, a second later, a slight smile appears on David’s face too.

Harry hurries to get on the stage, fiddling with his microphone and trying to get the stupid grin off his face. He can’t, and a member of the stage team is shaking their heads at him in amusement. He waves at them, shrugs, and whispers to Louis, right before they go on stage, “David’s learnt to smile.”

The crowd is greeted by not one, but two, massive grins as Louis grabs Harry in delight.

It’s the 3^rd October, and they’re going home in three days. Harry has persuaded Lou Teasdale to take David for the night, and has dragged Nick out of the hotel to a local restaurant. They’re in Florida, and it’s a bit too hot for them, but Harry is determined to have a good night.

Nick is in a mood though, grumpy and tired from the travelling and the exhaustion of looking after a baby all day long.

“Where are we going?” he complains.

Harry sighs. “It’s a surprise,” he says, leading Nick around the streets. He and Louis had looked the route up earlier, and Harry had gone over it again with Paul before getting the okay.

“I don’t like surprises,” Nick informs him.

“I know,” Harry says, rolling his eyes. “Try to enjoy it, though? For me?”

Nick huffs, but subsides for the moment.

When they reach the small restaurant though, and are led to a table for two in a dark corner with roses on the centre, just as Harry had requested, he reaches his limit.

“Really, Haz?” he says, his voice incredulous but not excited. Harry’s not surprised, exactly, knows romance isn’t Nick’s thing, but he’s annoyed a little nonetheless.

“We missed Valentine’s Day,” Harry tells him, sitting down at the table, “and my birthday. So this is us making up for it.”

Nick raises his eyebrows and sits down. “You’re an idiot.”

The expression isn’t new, nor are the words, and normally Harry would laugh it off, but Nick’s voice isn’t fond tonight, it’s a little exasperated.

“Well, forgive me for trying to do something nice,” Harry snaps, regretting it a second later when Nick’s forehead draws together.

“I’m tired, Haz, this was a stupid night for it,” he whines, and Harry takes a deep breath.

“When is a good night?” he asks dryly. “You’ve been in a mood for days.”

“It’s exhausting looking after David all the time,” Nick shoots back, clearly quite happy to have a fight.

“I know,” Harry retorts, feeling his own anger rise up. “I did it for the first two months, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, well, look at what a good job you did,” Nick replies harshly. “You had a mental breakdown a month in.”

Harry feels his breath freeze in his chest then, and he rips his gaze away from Nick who starts to look horribly guilty. Harry can feel himself going numb, but he doesn’t let the panic rise, won’t prove Nick right. “Okay,” he chokes out eventually. “That’s fair.”

Nick doesn’t seem to know what to say for a moment, and Harry starts to gather his jacket and wallet. “This obviously isn’t a good time to do this,” he says, feeling his fingers start to tremble. “I’m- I’m going to go back to the hotel.”

Nick reaches out and grabs his wrist. “No,” he says pleadingly. “Don’t run from me again.”

Harry shrugs him off. Running is their thing, he and Nick. Nick runs when commitment scares him and Harry? Harry runs when emotions get over his head and he feels like he might drown. He runs to avoid confrontation, or when he knows he would place demands on people that they won’t do.

“I’ll see you later,” Harry says, striding out of the shop and trying to regulate his breathing. He wonders if Nick will stay long enough for the staff to bring out the cake with two candles on it, and a heart in between. It’s soppy as hell, but he and Nick first got together two years ago now, even if they did break in between, and Harry wanted to do something to acknowledge that.

He stifles a sob, then wants to throw something because why should he be upset right now? What right did Nick have to ruin what could have been a lovely evening?

“Harry,” he hears Nick call from behind him, and Harry turns, surprised.

“Nick?” he questions, because they don’t follow each other when they run, is the thing. If you run, you get the space you ask for, and it’s your move next. Nick ran from the pregnancy, and he was the one to call. Harry ran once from Nick’s questions about coming out, long ago, and it was Harry who turned up on his doorstep two days later.

“I love you,” Nick says when he reaches him. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t be angry and grumpy sometimes, because that’s who I am.”

“I know that,” Harry replies, scowling. He doesn’t like the insinuation that he’s trying to change Nick, because he’s not, he loves Nick how he is.

“There, see,” Nick says, “I don’t know why you’re angry at what I just said, and you wouldn’t tell me, would you?”

Harry frowns. “What’s your point?” he asks demandingly.

“We’re pretty fucking awful at communicating,” Nick declares. “And I don’t think that’s going to change anytime soon.”

Harry thinks privately that it will never change with that attitude – and realises what Nick means, because thoughts like that fester under Harry’s skin until he erupts, and they both are bad at saying what they really think sometimes.

“Okay,” he agrees slowly. “So?”

“So I love you,” Nick says, pressing his body close to him. “And I will always love you, no matter what. But I think we should have a no running rule, because I am sick to fucking death of searching you out and trying to figure out what I said wrong.”

“It’s not only me who runs,” Harry points out with a glare. “Don’t put this all on me.”

Nick nods quickly. “I know,” he admits. “I think we should work on it, together.”

“Alright,” Harry says quietly, and it’s the calmest the two of them have been all evening. “Then- Can I say- I put a lot of thought into that dinner.”

Nick lowers his head. “I know,” he says. “I’m sorry. I ruined it, and I shouldn’t have.”

Harry thinks grudgingly if they’re doing this honesty thing he should apologise too. “No,” he sighs, “I shouldn’t have run. I should’ve stayed and we could’ve worked it out.”

Nick nods again, and there is silence. “This is really fucking mature and it’s freaking me out,” Nick confesses with a laugh, but there is a truth there too, and Harry agrees.

“Pub?” he suggests, and Nick starts on about the lack of a decent pub in America, but they go in search anyway.

It’s not a fairytale. He doesn’t want it to be.

They get drunk, and there are unattractive photos of them snogging in the magazines the next day and Harry spends the morning hung over, fed up, with a squalling baby and his PR team giving him a lecture on appropriate behaviour for a young pop star. That apparently doesn’t include seedy pubs and showing off a boyfriend nine years older than him. Harry tunes it out with a smile, because he loves Nick and that’s not going to change anytime soon.

Home is calm and quiet and a little bit lonely after the insanity of tour. Harry’s exhausted and David still isn’t sleeping through the night, but he has a month off before he has to start doing promotions for their next album, so he takes advantage of it. Nick goes back to work, and both carefully avoid thinking of what they’re going to do when Harry has to work, too, even though the date draws closer.

Louis comes back to London two weeks after the tour ends, and Harry drags him out to Hype Park with him. It’s October, and freezing, but there is a blue sky and David is happy today, old enough to be able to deal with the outside and settled enough to not get overstimulated by different noises and people.

“How’s my favourite little baby,” Louis croons to him as they leave the house. They’re both dressed warmly and casually, and David is wrapped up in so many layers that he looks more like a ball than a baby, with a bright red fleecy hat pulled over his ears. He squeals a reply at Louis, who continues to murmur in a silly voice to him.

“He doesn’t understand you, you know,” Harry points out with a smile, pushing an empty pram along so that they have somewhere to put David if they grow tired.

Louis huffs at him. “How do you know?” he demands. “He’s a very intelligent baby.”

Harry rolls his eyes, even though he himself talks to David all the time. “He’s four months old, Lou.”

“And a very beautiful four months he is,” Louis says, rubbing his nose with David, who bats at him with a fist.

“He’s a bloody loud four months,” Harry corrects, but there is no mistaking the fondness in his voice as they walk around the park. Louis delights in pointing out all the ducks and squirrels to David, who laughs and coos at Louis when he pulls stupid faces. They get approached for a couple of photographs and autographs, but most people respect them and keep their distance.

“How are things going with you and Nick?” Louis asks eventually, placing David back in the pram and stretching his arms above his head. David fusses for a minute or so before settling back.

Harry shrugs. “Good,” he says with a smile. He’s never been able to keep secrets from Louis, so his friend knows about every one of he and Nick’s arguments, but the answer is honest, for now.

“Sure?” Louis checks, his eyes narrowed. “He’s not being an arsehole or freaking out again?”

Harry blows out a breath. “It wasn’t always Nick’s fault,” he admits quietly, sitting down on a bench and drawing up his knees. He brings the pram next to him and rests his hand there, allowing David to play with his fingers.

Louis scoffs. “The man ran out on you when you were pregnant, then blew up at you for trying to do your job, before complaining about looking after a baby when you had done it whilst he worked.”

Harry laughs abruptly, and Louis looks at him. It just sounds so stupid when laid out like that, even if the memories still carried their own pain.

“No,” Harry decides, shaking his head. “I refused to give him a chance because I thought he’d fuck off and leave me, and then blamed it on him when I pushed him into it.”

“Rubbish.”

“It’s not,” Harry denies with a smile at his over-protective big brother figure. “We suck at just talking to each other. The only time we do is when we lose it and yell, and then neither of us actually listen.”

“Sounds like a relationship made in heaven,” Louis tells him, eyebrows raised and clearly sceptical.

“It works,” Harry replies. “We don’t need to get along all the time, Lou.”

Louis doesn’t seem convinced, but then his relationship with Eleanor is the opposite of theirs. El is sweet and lovely and rarely gets annoyed. Lou blows hot but fast, and refuses to take it out on her. They work on their relationship constantly, setting down rules and having adult discussions that Louis denies with every breath but which El has recorded as blackmail. Harry and Nick kind of fall into theirs, loving easily but dating with difficulty, and they make an effort to avoid awkward talks about feelings. Nick was right, before, in that they do run from each other, physically and emotionally, and it’s not always good and it’s very rarely right, but they know, they somehow always know deep down, that they’ll find their way back.

“We’re different,” Harry tells Louis firmly. “What you and El have is great. But it’s not what I want with Nick.”

“Why not?” Louis frowns, and he may be older than Harry but in many ways Harry is more experienced with relationships.

Harry grins. “Would you want to be like Zayn and Perrie?” he asks. “With their stupid loved –up nonsense and need for commitment?”

Louis looks revolted. He and El work at it, but Louis is adamant that they are both young, still, and he refuses to tie either of them down like that. Eleanor is on the same page, insisting she wants to concentrate on Uni and not her boyfriend.

“No,” Louis concedes. “I get your point.”

“Good,” Harry says in satisfaction. “Me and Nick love each other,” he continues. “We don’t need anything else.”

Harry goes back to work when David is five months old, and he is too anxious to concentrate through most of the day. It’s different from before when he knew Nick had David and often they were milling around near him, because now it’s a stranger looking after his child, and it feels wrong.

They’d argued about it constantly. Harry was desperate to try and work with David, passing him off onto one of the other lads or Lou or Paul when he needed to. Nick was the practical one.

“It’s not fair on him,” Nick had retorted. “He needs some kind of stability, Haz. We can’t just pass him around the whole time. He’s too young.”

Harry had conceded eventually, seeing the logic, and he and Nick had thrown themselves into finding the perfect person to look after him. They needed someone who understood the downfalls of Harry’s job, and who wasn’t likely to exploit their connection with David for fame. Most importantly, Harry was determined to make sure David got on with them.

They found Lily two days before Harry was due back to work, and drew up a contract almost immediately.

Lily waves from behind him now, and he smiles back at the mirror. David is wriggling around, making cute little noises and Lily shushes him gently, with a smile on her face. She’s twenty-two, recently graduated from Cambridge Uni, very bright and looking for a job to keep her occupied while she figures out where to go with her History degree. She has two younger siblings and plenty of experience with kids.

She’s also sweet and scarily smart, and Harry thinks that she’ll go to hell and back again before she lets anyone trick her into exploiting David.

“Say bye bye to Daddy,” Lily tells David, rocking him in her arms. David squeals and Harry takes that as a goodbye.

“Bye, little man,” he says cheerfully. “You going out?” he asks, and Lily nods. She has free reign of their house and whatever studio Harry is in, such as the one he’s in now, but Harry has told her to go out and have fun around London if she wants. Any costs are charged to him and Nick.

“Thought I’d take him to London Zoo,” she says with a grin. “Just for the morning, anyway. Nick’s picking him up at twelve.”

Harry nods. He’s not upset about David experiencing everything without him. He’s too young to remember much anyway, and Harry wants his baby to acclimatise to people and the city without being overwhelmed by the crowds that gather when Harry and Nick emerge. With Lily, he looks just like any other baby and mother, and Harry is grateful for that.

“Have fun,” he wishes them, and they leave while Lou scowls at the mess of hair on his head. He grins sheepishly, trying to think of an excuse for the disaster other than, ‘David was asleep this morning and Nick and I used the moment to have a quickie in the bedroom before rushing out of the house’. He shrugs, and tells the truth.

“Too much information, Haz,” Louis groans theatrically from next to him, covering his ears with his hands.

“No such thing,” Harry laughs.

“I never told you, did I?” Nick says idly one night, when he and Nick are lying naked in bed, with Harry curled up in front of the older man. Their hands are joined awkwardly, but Harry refuses to let go. David is fast asleep in the nursery, the baby monitor letting them hear his gentle breaths.

“Tell me what?” Harry asks tiredly, shutting his eyes as sleep starts to wash over him.

“What Samson means,” Nick explains, his voice low and content.

Harry smiles.

“The sun,” he says, feeling Nick’s surprise. “It means the sun.”