Work Text:
December 3, 2012
Anne couldn’t believe she was sitting in a green room backstage at Madison Square Garden. It felt like she had blinked and all of a sudden Harry was everywhere. Back home she saw his face at the store on the cover of magazines and on the t-shirts and lunchboxes of girls at the local park, but he was rarely actually with her anymore. The band was jet setting around the world, having amazing experiences and doing incredible things, but also being away from home and away from their families. It was a hard pill for her to swallow. She loved her son more than anything, but she felt the terror of motherhood more acutely for him now than she had in a while.
The boys all came charging into the green room, done with soundcheck and ready to kick back and shake out the nerves before their show later that night. Harry stood over the back of the couch where she and Robin sat, his hands on their shoulders and his face leaned down between theirs.
“Hello, there,” he said. “Are you alright? Ready for tonight?”
Anne turned around to look up at her son and smiled, “Of course we are. Are you ready? How are you feeling?”
Harry came around and sat on the chair across from them, leaning back he said, “I’m ok. Nervous. But ok.”
Anne could hear the shake in his voice and see the sweat on his brow. She got up and walked over to kneel in front of Harry’s chair. She took his hand in hers, and he looked at her, his eyes wide and his bottom lip caught between his teeth.
“You are going to be fantastic, Harry,” she said quietly. “This is what you’re good at, putting on a show. Just focus on those boys around you and the fans you can see. You’re doing it for them. It’s going to be great, I know it.”
Harry squeezed her hand and said, “Thanks, mum.”
The moment was interrupted by Lou’s northern accent saying, “Harry, you’re up next, please,” and Harry went over to sit in front of the mirror for his hair cut.
Anne plopped back down on the couch next to Robin and he took her hand, squeezing it as if he knew she needed the small comfort. She was unbelievably proud of her son and everything he was accomplishing, but she was also worried that this life of fame and notoriety would chew him up and spit him out. He was her little boy. He would always be her little boy. Even though he had more money than any of them knew what to do with and already owned more property and art than Anne herself ever had, he was still her baby. He was still the seven year old who cried into her shoulder when the kids at school made fun of his new haircut. And the twelve year old who begrudgingly let her hug him in public, even when all of his friends thought it was babyish.
That boy was sensitive and took things to heart, things she knew could cause him pain in the industry he was thrust into. It was sometimes hard for her to remember that Harry was growing up and growing into himself, getting a thicker skin and becoming more resilient. She would always have the urge to protect him and keep him from feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Anne watched as Harry sat in the salon-style chair, his head tipped back and his eyes closed as Lou ran her fingers through his hair. There was one worry that creeped up more and more as the band became more famous and more well known. Since he was a boy Anne suspected that maybe Harry wasn’t entirely straight. She was convinced he was gay when he was very young, always playing dress up with her dresses and heels and choosing the pink lunchboxes or backpacks. As time went on and he got his first girlfriend—and subsequently cried all night over his first broken heart caused by said girlfriend—she thought maybe he wasn’t gay after all, but maybe not straight either.
Harry never said anything about it to her, and of course she never brought it up to him. It was something he would come to her with when he was ready. And who knows, maybe she was wrong all along. Or maybe, he hadn’t figured it out for himself quite yet. When she had seen his connection with Louis at the start of the band and subtly tried to ask him about it, Harry had laughed it off and said how funny he and Louis found the fan theories. So she had shrugged and moved on, but she still sometimes wondered if he would eventually realize what she suspected that all actually was—a crush.
The thought of Harry having to pick through the intricacies of his own identity while in the spotlight of the band made her stomach ache and her heart hurt. She couldn’t imagine having to spend such formative years under a microscope, and she hoped that the world would be kind to her baby boy.
Harry caught her eye in the mirror and gave her a questioning look. She could tell that worry was etched in her face, so she schooled her expression into a smile and winked at him. He beamed back at her.
Only time would tell if her worries were all for naught. He was strong and knew what he wanted in life, she knew that and it gave her hope that it would all turn out ok. But fame and fortune came with downsides, and she couldn’t do anything to protect her son other than be his biggest cheerleader and hold him tight when he needed.