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Yellow.
Everything has to be yellow. Yellow paint, yellow clothes, yellow toys. And Louis isn’t blaming Harry, per se, it’s just, he really won’t let Louis buy anything blue or pink or green or purple or anything stereotypically gendered and if Louis sees one more yellow thing he’ll scream.
He really very nearly does when Harry walks into the room half way through an episode of Kourtney and Khloe Take Miami wielding a semi-eaten banana but instead, Louis just clutches his stomach and hot foots it to the closest bathroom, only just managing to keep down the crumpets he’d scoffed at breakfast as he hunches over the toilet bowl, the retched stench of banana still lingering in his nostrils.
Harry, bless his heart, is by his side in seconds, the offending fruit discarded somewhere and the hot heat of his palm seeping through the thin fabric of Louis shirt as he rubs circles into his back, resting his cheek against Louis’ clammy cold shoulder. “Y’alright, babe? W’assit?” His voice is quiet and soothing and Louis is usually so, so grateful, it’s just.
Banana.
“Please,” He croaks weakly, the sound of his voice barely carrying over the sound of the TV that followed them into the bathroom. “Please don’t. Can you like, can you go away.” He drops his head onto his chest, his puffy red face reflecting back at him in the toilet water.
“Lou?” Harry lifts his face from Louis’ shoulder. “Louis?”
He shakes his head, feels a drop of sweat roll from his hairline and down his cheek, before it drips into the water, a ripple lapping gently up the side of the white porcelain. “Sorry, sorry. Just.”
Harry opens his mouth to question him just as Louis retches and brings back up his breakfast and probably the Chinese they shared between them last night into the toilet as Harry holds his hair back with his spare hand. If it weren’t for the size of his stomach, Louis might have mistaken this for the aftermath of a drunken night with the lads. Alas, Louis hasn’t touched a drop of the bloody stuff for eight months now; apart from the Becks Blue they keep a stash of in the fridge for when Louis has a particularly bad day.
Not that non-alcoholic beer does anything to help.
“Shit.” He mutters, falling into Harry’s arms, hair half matted to his sweaty forehead, tears smudged down his cheeks, probably some sick on his shirt. He really, really should be embarrassed. But he isn’t, is the thing, because after eight months, Harry is used to it, used to this and used to cuddling Louis through the aftermath. It’s still gross though.
“Hey, no. No, it’s fine. This,” He gestures to Louis with the arm that isn’t wrapped around his shoulders. “Is normal. We’ve been through all this; the doctor said this would happen, right? Was it-did I do something?”
Sniffling, Louis buries his nose into Harry’s collar bone. “Banana,” His voice is muffled against Harry’s skin. “Bloody banana.”
“Oh god, Lou. I’m so sorry, shit, I totally forgot. My god, I’m the worst boyfriend ever. This is like, worse that the time I offered to suck Zayn off for a fiver, god.”
Siting up so quick he gets a head rush, Louis furrows his eyebrows at Harry. “Wait, when did you offer to suck Zayn off for a fiver?”
“Um,” He chuckles nervously, gaze dropping to the floor. “It was like, yano, ages ago. Not important.”
Steadying himself with a hand on the side of the bath, Louis hoists himself up off the floor, other hand curled around his belly, before waddling over to the sink, grabbing his toothbrush off the counter and lathering it up. “Don’t ‘ink I’m ‘tting you get ’way w’this.” He mumbles around a mouthful of toothpaste, watching as Harry comes up behind him, nuzzling his face into the short hairs behind Louis’ ear.
“Don’t worry, love,” He says, placing a hand either side of The Bump as Louis leans forward to spit into the sink. “Didn’t think you would.”
“Cheesecake.” Louis muses, tipping his head back to rest on Harry’s shoulder, peering up at him through his lashes. “Will you make me cheesecake? Strawberry. No, wait. Banana. Actually, no, not banana. Definitely not banana.” Louis gags. “Strawberry,” Lifting up onto his tiptoes, he presses a kiss under Harry’s jaw. “Please babe.”
Nodding at him in the mirror, Harry presses a kiss to the top of Louis head, scratching gently at the sliver of skin showing where his sleep shirt has ridden up The Bump. “Yeah, okay. I’ll have to go out and get the stuff though. You gonna be alright on your own? Or d’ya wanna come with?” He asks.
“Yeah,” Louis says quietly, linking his fingers with Harry’s where they lay over the smooth expanse of his stomach. “Can I come? Do you mind?”
Turning Louis around to face him, Harry leans down, nosing gently along his cheek bone. “Of course I don’t mind, you muppet. Love it when you come shopping with me, proper little domestic outing innit. Give me 10 minutes and I’ll make a list, yeah?”
Humming, Louis wriggles out of his arms, heading for the door. “Don’t forget the pickled onions.” He reminds him as he nudges the door open with his shoulder, grabbing a green jumper of Harry’s from the radiator.
“Wouldn’t dare, darling.” Harry reminds him, nudging him with his hip as he passes him in the door way.
-
It’s still early when they get to the store, barely 6:30 in the morning, but Harry is used to it now. Used to waking up around 4 to an empty bed, Louis pacing back and forth in front of the big bay window opposite the en-suite, one hand on The Bump, one on his back, cursing quietly to himself as he tries to ebb himself through the pain of carrying a small child 24/7.
He does empathise, he really does. Or at least he tries. He mollycoddles Louis like hell whenever he can, no matter how much he whines about it. Harry knows he loves it really though, overheard him telling Liam how special and protected it made him feel whenever Harry insisted on doing things for him – even the small stuff like helping him get dressed and running him a bath and helping him out of the car.
That’s why he makes sure he manages to dash around the front of the car quick enough to steady Louis with a hand on his waist as he climbs out of the Range Rover, earning himself a muttered “m’not an invalid”, but he doesn’t miss the way Louis mouth tilts up at the corners as Harry slams the door behind him.
He lets Louis push the trolley today, hanging back a few steps to watch the way he leans over the handle a little, trying to relieve some of the pressure on his feet. “You sure you’re okay?” He asks, placing a hand on the small of Louis’ back as he catches up to him where he’s come to a stop in front of the milks.
The rest of the little grocery store is almost empty at this time of day, save for a few old ladies picking up their groceries for the week, so Louis doesn’t think twice about wrapping himself around Harry, exhaling as he presses his cheek against the partially exposed skin of his chest. “M’tired and achy and I feel a lot like shit but other than that.” He cuts himself off with a yawn.
“Fancy a bath when we get home?” Harry asks him. “I’ll run you a nice hot bath and you can have a long soak while I bake for you?”
Louis hums, pressing his smile against Harry’s warm skin. “You might have to supervise though. Wouldn’t want to drown or anything.”
“No,” Harry muses, reaching out to manoeuvre the trolley out of the way for someone to pass them. “Wouldn’t want that at all, would we?” His voice drops to a whisper as he drums his fingers gently on The Bump, letting Louis move his hand slightly to the left to feel the kicking under his palm. “I don’t think I’ll ever get over that.” He admits quietly.
“We did that.” Louis grins up at him.
Harry nods, his smile blinding in the glow of the fluorescent lighting. “We did.”
Louis giggles, surging up to capture Harry’s lips with his own, holding him close with the arm he has wrapped tightly around his middle. “I do love you lots,” He starts. “But I would really like it if we can get this done sooner rather than later because my feet are killing me babe.”
Nodding, Harry untangles himself from Louis grip, drawing up the list on his phone. “Right, where do we start?”
-
They’re back home and unpacked within the hour and Louis is knackered. He’s only been awake for a few hours but he’s pretty much constantly drained these days, didn’t even have enough energy to go baby shopping with an equally pregnant Perrie. Although she’s still a fair few months behind Louis, she’s packing twins so she’s already rivalling him in the size department.
“The boys still coming over next week?” He asks before stuffing the bottom end of a pickled onion into his mouth.
“Think so,” Harry mumbles, weighing out some flour. “Niall was still checking if him and Ida could get a babysitter for the girls. Gonna let us know for definite tomorrow I think, why?”
Louis hums. “Nothing, nothing. Just thinking. Just yano, due soon. Bit scared, that’s all.”
“Hey,” Louis snaps his head up to look at Harry, a light dusting of flour spattered down his black t-shirt and a bit of eggshell in his eyebrow. “C’mere.” He says, lifting up his arm for Louis to fit himself under. “You’ve got at least three weeks left yet, right? I’m pretty sure you won’t start giving birth in the middle of stir fry night.” Louis nods against his armpit, letting out a breathy laugh. “I know you’re scared, I’m scared too but that’s why I’m here right, why you’re here? So we can do this together, the two of us, our little family.” He presses a kiss to the top of Louis head, spreading a floury hand across his tummy. “C’mon,” He says, nudging Louis up. “Let’s go run you that bath, shall we. Baking can wait.”
-
A half hour later finds Harry squished up behind Louis in the tub, because, well of course it does. The water is hot and scented with lavender, which Harry hates but Louis loves, and he’s trying awkwardly to lather up Louis’ head with these damn mango scented bubbles but the tub really isn’t big enough for the both of them so most of the shampoo ends up either in Harry’s mouth or dripped down Louis back but Louis is humming and leaning into him like it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him so Harry won’t complain.
At least, not to Louis.
Maybe to his mum when she rings him in a few days, or to Gemma when she Skypes him from where ever in the world she is this week. Maybe even to Zayn when he hops up on the counter next to Harry to watch him cook stir fry next week, beer grasped between his fingers as they compare pregnancy traumas.
Never to Louis though.
He doesn’t really mean it, when he complains. Silly petty little things like how Louis always leaves the cap off his toothpaste and usually leaves his dirty boxers in the middle of the floor and sometimes falls asleep too fast to give Harry a kiss goodnight.
Because really, none of that matters, not when he sees Louis laid out before him, the golden skin of his stomach stretched taught under his shirt, glasses perched on his nose as he skims through a pregnancy book, or when he’s curled up under the covers giggling about something his sisters are doing on FaceTime, or anytime really.
He can never stay even remotely mad at anything Louis does. He could probably murder Harry’s entire family and he’d still love him more than the earth loves the sun.
Whipped is probably an understatement.
-
Stir fry night goes ahead as usual, the eight of them all together on a Wednesday night - Harry and Louis, Zayn and Perrie, Niall and Ida, Liam and Ana – squashed around the four person table on makeshift chairs commandeered from all over the house, all pressed together shoulder to knee as they share one of Harry’s exotic creations – sans banana for Louis sake, of course.
And if Louis goes into labour in the middle of karaoke, right when Perrie and Ana are belting out their rendition of We Are Family, well.
Only the eight of them ever need to know.