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"Nick," Harry says, his voice shaking. He's kneeling on the floor of their kitchen, and the ring box is sweaty in his hand, and his heart is pounding. "Nick. Grim. I- I love you so much, and I- I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and - I just. Will you-"
Sophie wails into the silence, and then dissolves into tears, wet messy loud tears, and Harry shuts his eyes, lets out a long breath.
"Damnit," he mutters to himself, and he staggers up from the floor, pulls Sophie out of her high chair, propping her up against his hip and fumbling to set the box down on the table. She screams into his neck, spit drooling onto his shoulder.
"Shh, shh, love," Harry murmurs, jogging her up and down. "Shh."
She quiets pretty quickly once she's got Harry's attention - as she bloody should, since she's just had a bottle and has had naps aplenty - and Harry kisses the curly soft side of her head and takes her into the living room, sits on the sofa, letting her snuggle up against his chest. She's still so snuggly. Harry heard that goes fast, so he's trying to soak it up as much as possible.
"So what d'you think, Soph," he murmurs to her. "Think he'll say yes?"
"Ga," she says thoughtfully. "Gaaa."
"Ga for yes, goo for no," Harry says, laughing softly.
"Ga!" she repeats, and he grins, pops a pacifier in her mouth before she can contradict herself. She sucks happily, eyes fluttering shut, and he settles back against the sofa, yawns.
Eight months in and the sleep situation is still rough. Eight months in and Harry's the happiest he's ever been, and the most tired he's ever been, and the most anxious he's ever been, because tonight when Nick comes home from his production meetings - the first meetings he's had since Sophie was born, nervewracking exciting meetings about going back to work - Harry is going to ask Nick to marry him.
Oh god. He lets out a long breath, focusing on the warm weight of Sophie in his arms. It's not like Nick'll say no. They've been living together. They have a bloody child together. They talk about the future and about Sophie's eventual schooling and about getting a bigger house in London, it's not like Nick's suddenly gonna get cold feet-
It's just that Harry's still stupidly scared.
He can feel his eyelids starting to droop, and Sophie's looking like she's ready for her second nap of the day, so he plucks the pacifier out of her mouth and carries her into the nursery, carefully lays her down in her crib, and then crawls into the small daybed by the window, pulling a blanket up over himself and nestling into the plump pillows.
"Night, Soph," he says sleepily, and she doesn't make a peep.
He's still sleeping when the door creaks open, and the lamp flicks on. Sophie fusses noisily, and footsteps tap over to Harry. He jerks awake, rubbing at his eyes.
"Sorry," he says, muzzily, head foggy. Nick's standing over him, face shadowed. "I completely passed out. What time is it?"
"Um, half five," Nick says, and he sounds dazed. Harry sits up, pushing the blanket off him, and - oh. Fuck.
Nick's holding the ring box in one hand.
Harry stares at it dumbly.
"Um," he says, guiltily. "That - you weren't meant to see that."
"Interesting choice of a hiding place, the kitchen table," Nick says, voice thick, choking out a laugh. His eyes are wide and dark, his face flushed at the cheekbones.
"I- uh. Shit. That- that wasn't, I was- I was gonna, like-"
He stops, pushes a hand through his hair, looking up at Nick.
"Did you want to ask?" Nick says, breathless. "Like, was that what you were planning to do? Coz I'd quite like to put this ring on my finger."
Harry's stomach flops, and then he feels that same hot, fierce rush of adrenaline he used to get before he stepped on stage. He lets it flood through him, stands up and takes the box from Nick, and sinks down to one knee. Might as well do it properly. Well, as much of it as he can manage.
"Yeah," he says, voice barely even shaking. "Yeah."
"Jesus Christ," Nick says, laughing again, shakily. He laughs at most everything, so Harry's not bothered. "Jesus- Harry."
"Nick?" Harry breathes. "Nick- shit, wait, I had a whole - speech. Thing. Sophie listened."
Nick laughs again and it sounds like a sob. He covers his mouth.
"I- I love you, very much," Harry says, biting his bottom lip hard. "I really love you. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you. And- and I know we don't need to get married to make that happen but I want to- I want to do this proper. Ly. I want to do this properly."
Nick should be taking the piss, probably, but instead he's just staring.
"And, like," Harry says, trying to remember the words he'd scribbled into his notebook two months before, at 4:00 AM after he'd given Sophie a bottle, and Nick was sleeping next to him, face mashed into a pillow, eyelashes curling sweetly over his cheek. "And. Ever since I met you, I - I knew you were going to change my life, and I, like-"
He falters. Usually Nick's interrupted him by now.
"- and I," he repeats. "I'm so happy. With you. And Soph. She reminds me so much of you, it's mad, it makes me so- uh. Happy, just, to have both of you."
His face is red. He’s butchering it. "God, Nick, will you just- will you marry me?"
Nick swallows hard, and then sinks to his knees til he's eye to eye with Harry.
"Yeah," he says, unsteadily, taking Harry's face in his hands. "Yes, Harry Styles, I will marry you."
"Uhh. Good, thanks," Harry says, voice cracking, and he pulls Nick in, first to slip the ring onto his finger, and then to kiss him. Nick knees closer to him, slides his arms down around Harry's back, licks into his mouth. He tastes like old coffee, but Harry probably has nap-breath, so neither of them can be choosy. They're both disgusting.
"Love you," Nick mumbles against Harry's mouth, wet and messy. Harry thrills at it. Nick never says it first. "Love you so much."
"Love you too, Grim."
"This is mad," Nick laughs against Harry's cheek, inspects the ring with wide bright eyes. "Oh my god-"
They're both cut off by a yelp, and Harry jerks back so fast they nearly knock foreheads.
Sophie's quite impatiently lying on her back in her crib, rolling back and forth with one plump arm outstretched, peering up at them with her round green eyes and babbling something that sounds very important.
"Should I feed her, d'you think?" Nick says, staring down at the baby, and all of a sudden it hits Harry how absolutely fucking mental it is, that they're the only two people in the world keeping Sophie alive.
It feels scary. Feels heavy. It's just him, and Nick, and no one else.
Years ago, when Harry was eighteen, before they'd ever fucked, before they'd ever moved in together, there was this night where they both got absolutely smashed. Rounds of shots, too many to count, and then a cab back to Nick's flat, and some classy simultaneous puking, Nick in the sink, Harry in the toilet.
The next day they got drunk at brunch and ate so much bacon it nearly made them vom again and took yet another cab to Nick's flat and slept for another six hours. Harry went in with Nick to do the radio that night, both of them unshowered and smelling of cigarette smoke and vodka, Nick fumbling his links and Harry giggling in the corner watching him.
The point is - it's insane that they're here right now. Completely insane.
"Yeah, go for it," Harry says, faintly, staring down at Sophie and curling his hands around the edge of her crib. He's going to try his fucking best. That's all he can do, right? Try his fucking best, and hope it works out, hope she grows up and grows up happy.
"Mm, alright," Nick says, scooping her out of the crib, walking backwards to sit on the daybed and kissing her forehead as he goes. Sophie wriggles in his arms, restlessly. "Mind undoing my shirt?"
Harry nods, shaking himself, and comes over, unbuttons Nick's shirt and slips it off his shoulders, tosses it in the hamper. He watches as Nick situates Sophie in his lap, lifts her mouth to his nipple. Sophie latches on - still so good at it, she is - and Nick tenses and then relaxes, mouth smoothing out, hair falling over his face as he ducks his head.
"Hungry little thing," he whispers fondly to Sophie. Then, louder- "Stop staring at me, Harold, I'm not a bloody dairy cow."
Harry chokes out a laugh, leans forward to kiss Nick's head.
"Love you," he says.
"Yeah, yeah," Nick murmurs back, soft and distracted. "Go make something good for dinner, I'm starved."
Harry watches them for another minute, helplessly. Sophie keeps sucking, unbothered by the audience, groping at Nick's other nipple until he winces, pulling her hand away.
"Haz," Nick whines, looking up at him self-consciously. "Get outtttt."
Harry ruffles his hair, and leaves him alone.
He pauses for a minute in the hallway, holds his breath.
"Missed you today, Soph," he hears Nick whisper. "Everyone thinks you're really really cute. Most perfect baby ever. Showed 'em loads of photos."
Harry leans his head against the wall, shuts his eyes.
"Yes, I know," Nick says, like he's carrying on a conversation. "I know- oh, careful, please. Hand off my tits, please, love, that hurts. There you go, that's better, thank you. God, I missed you so much. That's stupid, int it? Weren't gone for that long. Don't tell your dad."
Harry lets out a slow breath and pads softly down the hall back to the kitchen.
---
They celebrate the week after, a Tuesday night when someone's finally free to stay the night and babysit. Harry gets a room at the Edition, their poshest suite. Takes Nick out to dinner, at a hushed table in Berners Tavern, in the back where no one's watching. Does it up proper.
"Oh my god!" Nick's saying, giggling, as Harry comes out of the hotel toilet, stripped down to his briefs.
Harry stares at him bemusedly. Nick's clutching the wall, cheeks flushed. "You alright?"
"Just walked into the wall a bit," Nick says, grinning at him, eyes slightly unfocused through his glasses. "Only a little bit. Oof."
"You're drunk," Harry says, huffing a laugh. "Grim, you had two glasses of wine."
"I'm not drunk," Nick scoffs, toeing off his shoes and crawling onto the bed still in his trousers and shirt. "May I remind you, Harold, of the time I had six vodkas at the Brits and then went on stage and presented perfectly. Snogged James Corden, I did. Tongue and everyfing."
He sounds proud. Harry crawls into bed next to him, straddling Nick's hips to unbutton his shirt.
"Not too pissed to have sex, are you?" he asks, reaching in to cup Nick's nipple as he pulls his shirt off. Nick pumped before they left, and the skin is red, a little puffy. Nick shivers when Harry strokes it lightly.
"Don't," he says, curling his hand around Harry's wrist and moving his hand away. "Mm. Not too drunk. Very much the perfect amount of drunk to be fucked."
He reaches down to undo his trousers, and Harry pulls his hands away, sets them on the bed, pressing down against Nick's wrists gently. Nick's fingers twitch, but he doesn't move.
"Let me," Harry says. "You keep still."
Nick peers down at him, dark-eyed, and Harry gives him a kiss on the stomach before he unzips Nick's trousers.
It's so nice to do this slowly, without the baby monitor on the table, a constant interruption. A welcome interruption, Harry reminds himself, but still. He's missed this. Nick's body, and Harry's body, and time. A whole night. Harry's gonna use it well.
---
"Alright?" Harry breathes, touching Nick's face. He's barely inside him and Nick's jaw is clenched tight. His dick's only half-hard, still streaked with wet from where Harry got him hard with his mouth. "Want more fingers?"
"No, it's- it's good," Nick mumbles out, one of his hands pressed to Harry's back. He's breathing hard. "It's good. Just. Been a while."
Harry slides in an inch more and Nick bites his bottom lip, shifts up on the bed, the movement working Harry's dick inside him deeper.
"That's good," he says, low. "Yeah, go on. Go- go on."
"Stitches alright?"
"Please, for the love of God don't ask me about my stitches," Nick gasps. "When you're inside me. Please. Plus, those dissolved yonks ago, and they weren't even- ugh, fucking fuck me, Harold, I'm not made of glass."
Harry hitches his hips up and pushes his dick all the way inside, and Nick groans, mouth curling up in a smile.
"Ye-a-ah," he says, slow and pleased. "There's that famous popstar prick of yours."
"Shut up," Harry says, flushing. He props himself up on his elbow so he can stroke one hand over Nick's cheek.
"Go on, Harry," Nick says, blinking up at him and laughing.
"Need a minute," Harry mumbles, thumbing over Nick's bottom lip.
Nick nips at his finger and then laughs again.
"Hey," Harry says, close to his face. He dips down to kiss Nick's soft, slack mouth. "Guess what."
"What," Nick says impatiently, squirming on Harry's dick, lips slick and shiny. Harry kisses him again.
"We've got a kid," Harry whispers. "You and me."
"Oh my god, Harry, fuck me, come on," Nick groans, shoving at Harry's chest.
Harry smiles down at him. Nick's face is red and indignant and there's sweat at his hairline and freckles on his nose and he's staring up at Harry impatiently and Harry loves him awfully, completely.
"We have a kid," he whispers again, trying it on for size.
Nick's face shivers and goes solemn, the self-deprecating crease still in his brow. It's not the first time one of them's said it, repeating the words like it'll feel more real if they say it aloud.
"Yeah," he says, in a puff of breath. "Yeah, we do, Styles. Now do you remember how she was conceived? Can we get on with it?"
"You make me so happy," Harry breathes out.
"Don't start," Nick says, warningly, but his eyes are crinkling, jaw muscles working like he's trying to keep down a giddy grin. "Honestly, Harry, no one's watching, you don't get points for being soppy."
Harry thrusts his hips up hard, watches as Nick groans, eyes shutting.
He bares his teeth petulantly. "Not trying to earn points."
"Yeah, no, I know," Nick says breathlessly. "Keep going."
"Say I make you happy."
"You're an idiot who won't fuck me," Nick gasps out. He's grinning. "I'm not saying it."
"Say itttttt," Harry whines, starting to laugh at himself now. He pulls out, thrusts in again, letting Nick feel every inch. "Say it. Say my dick makes you happy."
"Oh it's your dick now!" Nick laughs. "You fucking egomaniac!"
Harry giggles, and puts his face against Nick's chest, starts to roll his hips, a slow, steady rhythm.
Nick strokes Harry's hair, gently, and Harry practically purrs, shivering from the touch and the feeling of Nick, hot and tight around him. So good. He missed this.
"Your dick makes me happy," Nick murmurs. "You make me happy."
Harry smiles, kisses Nick's nipple, and lifts his head again.
"Wasn't so hard, was it," he says, speeding up his thrusts. Oh, god, this bit's lovely, watching Nick start to lose it, watching him get overwhelmed. Nick looks like he wants to say something snippy back, but it gets fucked out of him, and he just gasps up at Harry, gasps and tightens his legs around Harry's waist and digs his fingers hard into Harry's back, pulling him closer, deeper.
Harry stares at him even though his eyes want to close. Nick's so incredible like this, gripping at Harry's body like he wants to swallow him, breathing hard, too gone to care about how needy he looks. It's when he's the most honest. When he's bone-tired or drunk or getting fucked. Harry loves it.
"You like it?" Harry asks, when they've settled into a rhythm.
Nick arches his back, mouth falling open like he's drowning in it.
"Nick." Harry rolls his hips deep. "Tell me you like it."
"Like it," Nick manages to say. "Fuck. You feel good."
"So do you," Harry says back, cupping Nick's jaw with one hand. Nick's so fucking tight. Harry's breathing as deep as he can so he won't come too fast. He's had a lot of sex in his life, but it's just- something about Nick. Nick's arse. Nick's face. Nick in general.
Jesus, Nick had his baby. Harry puts his face into Nick's chest, hips rutting furiously, rubbing against Nick's hard cock and soft belly. Nick moans, grabbing at Harry's arse to push him deeper inside.
"Fuck-" Harry chokes, sweat blurring his eyes. "Fucking. God."
"Jesus, Haz," Nick says, sounding amused. Surprised. It just makes Harry hotter, sweat dripping down his neck. "Are you gonna-"
"God," Harry moans, body snapping taut as he comes, deep inside Nick. He knows there's a condom between his dick and Nick's arse but he still thinks, for a split second, God, what if we-
It pushes him further, makes him whimper as he finishes, breathless. He slumps against Nick's chest, shivering with aftershocks, skin sensitive and prickling.
"Well," Nick says, softly. "Have a good time?"
"Fuck," Harry mumbles, eyes squeezed shut. He feels Nick's hand rest on the back of his head, stroke his hair.
"Am I meant to get myself off, then?" Nick says, laughing a little. "Are you down for the count?"
"No," Harry huffs, propping himself up on his elbow. "Give me a minute."
"Sorry, sorry." Nick's grinning at him, glassy-eyed and pleased. His dick's still hard, slick with precome and flushed blood-dark against his stomach. His nipples are hard and pink. Harry swallows a rush of saliva.
Nick pushes himself up on the bed, wincing as Harry slips out of him. He reaches a hand down for his prick and Harry moves it away.
"No," he says, feeling petulant. That's his dick to touch.
"Go on then," Nick says, legs spread wide, mouth open, all of him splayed and wanting. Harry lets out a long trembling breath, and then crawls down the bed, sucks Nick's hard cock into his mouth.
Nick lets out a sigh of relief that goes high and frantic when Harry slips two fingers in, pulling off Nick's dick to watch them pop past the rim of Nick's arse. They go easy, Nick all slick and stretched from before, and Harry curves them up, pressing Nick's prostate and feeling him clench.
"Mouth," Nick chokes out, fumbling for a handful of Harry's hair, and Harry remembers - oh yeah, blowjob. He sucks at the head of Nick's cock, making it wet and tight, and Nick makes a sound like a laugh, harsh and happy. His arse clenches again, a twitch of pleasure Harry can feel around his hand.
Harry hums around Nick, puts three fingers inside him, and Nick stops laughing and starts whining, breathless little pants that sound ridiculous and yet so stupidly hot. Harry's doing that. Harry's the one who does that. Gets Nick off with his hand and his dick and his mouth, gets him loud and groaning for it.
He can feel his eyes tearing from Nick's prick pressing against his gag reflex, and he twists all three fingers, fucks Nick's prostate sharp and fast until Nick gasps and spills down Harry's throat, in hot pulses that last forever. Harry pulls off, swallowing, throat clenching hot. Works Nick slowly through it with one hand until Nick hisses, oversensitive.
"Jesus," Nick says, voice low and hoarse like he's the one who's had a dick down his throat.
Harry lifts his head, wiping his blurry eyes. When he opens them, Nick's watching him, eyes dark.
Harry doesn't say anything.
"Thank fuck," Nick whispers, and Harry nods. He's not sure what for. For them still being them, even after Sophie. For the way they make each other come.
Harry slides up Nick's body and kisses him slow.
"Love you," he says, pulling back to press his thumbs against the cut of Nick's cheekbones. Nick's staring up at him, eyes wide.
"Yeah?" he breathes.
"So much." Harry's throat is raw. "Can't fucking wait to marry you."
Nick's chest hitches in a rough sob, and Harry swipes his thumb under Nick's wet eyes. His cheeks freckled from the sun and his laugh lines and the pockmark under his right eye. Harry takes it all in, carefully holds his face still.
"Soz," Nick chokes out. "Just. Holy shit."
"I know."
Nick reaches up to press at his eyes with the heel of his palm. "Jesus."
"I know," Harry repeats, voice cracking like a kid's, and he leans down, kisses Nick for a long time.
---
Nick passes out on Harry's shoulder a half hour later, drooling. Harry huffs a laugh, mutes the telly, carefully takes off Nick's glasses and eases him down into bed.
He watches Nick sleep for a long minute, and then grabs Nick's phone, takes it out to the balcony.
Ian answers on the fifth ring, sounding groggy. "Hi, Nick."
"It's Harry, actually," Harry says, crossing his arm over his chest, leaning against the cool glass door. "Just realized I didn't have your number."
"Oh, hello, Harry."
"Were you sleeping?"
Ian yawns audibly. "Yeah, Sophie's out. Bloody hell, this bed you've got in her nursery is so comfortable."
"Oh, I know. Fall asleep there all the time." Harry laughs.
"Mm." Ian yawns again.
"Just- like. Checking up on her. Grim's asleep. Didn't make it to midnight."
"How was his first night away?"
Harry turns back to look through the window. Nick's naked and curled on his side, a pillow against his chest, breathing deeply.
Harry bites down a smile. "Alright, I think. Reckon he had a good time."
Ian snorts. "Oookay, I don't need the details. Sophie's good. Gave her a bottle and some dinner about - what, four hours ago now? She went down right afterwards. Hasn't woken up yet, knock on wood."
"Perfect." Harry tightens the arm across his chest as a breeze ruffles his hair. "Can you put the phone up to her ear? Want to say good night."
Ian doesn't laugh, which is very kind of him. Nick laughed every time Harry asked to do it when he was in LA, and then he would respond to Harry in a squeaky baby voice, which still sounds Irish for some reason.
"Yeah, sure, I'll do it now," Ian says, and goes silent.
Harry bites his lip.
"G'night, Sophie," he whispers, hushed into his phone. Oh, shit, he misses her. He wants to see her right this second. Maybe Nick would stay asleep if Harry just took a quick cab across town and-
He shakes himself. "We miss you, love. We're thinking of you. See you really really soon, sweetheart. Love you-"
"Finished?" Ian whispers into the phone, cutting him off. "Or, sorry, d'you want me to-"
"No, it's alright," Harry says, sighing. "See you tomorrow, yeah? She still wants to eat in the night sometime. Give her some of Nick's, it's in the bottle with the green top. Left side of the fridge."
"Sounds good."
"Cheers, Ian."
"Yeah, no problem. Have fun. Not too much fun! Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
"Nick's so pissed, he puked everywhere. All over the bed."
"He didn't."
"No, he didn't," Harry laughs. "He had two glasses of wine and walked into a wall."
Ian cackles. "That sounds more like it."
"I'll speak to you later, yeah?"
"Yeah. Good night, Styles."
"Night."
---
Harry steps back inside, slides the balcony door shut and flicks off the lamp.
Nick stirs in bed, absentmindedly groping at his chest with one hand. Harry laughs under his breath, watching him.
"Grim?"
Nick opens one eye. "Mmrgh? She need a feed?"
"No, love, she's at home," Harry says softly, crawling back into bed. "Go back to sleep. Just spoke to Ian, they're all good."
Nick buries his face in the pillow. "Miss her."
Harry's heart wobbles. He strokes Nick's hair.
"Me too," he says quietly. "Like, I love having this time, y'know. Love being alone with you for a bit, and I think it was really good to get to, like, touch you, you know? Without her in the- in the same place as us, if that doesn't sound, like, awful, but I guess I do feel like-"
Nick snores loudly, mid-sentence, and Harry stops.
"Nick?"
Nick's eyes are closed.
"You twat," Harry whispers, laughing.
Nick doesn't stir. Harry touches his cheek, and then slides down into bed next to him.
He reaches out, gently thumbs over Nick's nipple. Bloody amazing, what his body can do.
Nick twitches in his sleep, rolls away from Harry, letting out a sigh.
"Night, dad," Harry murmurs, before he shuts his eyes.
---
"Soph-a-doph!" Nick crows the next morning, bursting back into their house and throwing his bag on the floor. Sophie's perched in her high chair, and when she sees him she starts clapping, giggling, her face lighting up. Nick's own personal fan club. Nick scoops her up before he even takes his shoes off.
Ian looks up from the kitchen counter, bowl of porridge in one hand. Nick's got Sophie clutched to his chest, planting kisses on the side of her curly-haired head. She looks utterly ecstatic.
"Morning," Ian says sleepily.
"Gooood morning!" Nick calls.
Harry tosses the car keys onto the counter, balancing his and Nick's Starbucks cups with his overnight bag. "Morning, Chaloner. She do alright?"
"Yeah, good." Ian yawns into the crook of his elbow.
"She was perfect," Nick says, cradling Sophie close in his arms, looking up over her head. "She's always perfect."
"Can I get that in writing for the next time you complain about waking up in the middle of the night?" Harry says, snorting.
"Shh, don't listen to him, Sophs," Nick whispers. "He's just being an arse."
"Shush," Harry says, crowding in close to them, stroking his palm over the back of Sophie's head. He leans in and inhales. "Good morning, love, you miss us?"
"Ian did what?" Nick says with a gasp, leaning in and putting his ear to Sophie's tiny mouth. She squeaks and giggles. "He gave you a drink? What was it? Ohmygod, vodka? With cranberry? Points off for poor taste, Ian. Give my child a martini at least."
"Shut up," Ian laughs.
Nick laughs against the side of Sophie's head, eyes crinkled with delight.
"Did you give her a bottle yet, Ian?"
"No," Ian says, mouth full of porridge. "Just a bit of mashed pear which she immediately threw in my face."
"Perfect. Gonna go feed her. Think she missed me." He coos at Sophie, looking excited. Harry watches him, something clenching fierce and hot in his stomach. Nick talks a load of crap about how boring it is to nurse but he loves it, he so obviously does. "Did you miss me, Sophs? Of course you did. I'm sorry I left you with Ian. He's weird, isn't he."
"You're welcome, Nick!" Ian calls down the hall as Nick disappears. He laughs to himself, shaking his head. He's quite fond of him really, Harry can tell. That's how everyone in Nick's life is. Fondly confused.
Harry takes a sip of his latte, sinking into a chair. "She was alright, though? Honestly?"
"She was good." Ian puts his bowl in the sink. "Think we've really bonded. Best mates for life."
Harry snorts. "She's got the memory of a goldfish, but alright."
Ian laughs.
"So Chaloner," Harry says, knee jiggling under the table. "D'you want to know why we asked you to babysit?"
"Cos I'm the best?" Ian says, raising an eyebrow. "Obviously?"
"Other than that. Why we wanted a night away"
Ian waves at him like, alright then, spill it.
Harry shrugs.
"Suppose I asked him to marry me last weekend," he says, breezily. "And we wanted to celebrate."
Ian's eyes go round.
"You didn't."
"Did."
"Holy- shit. Holy shit."
Harry grins. He can't stop doing that, grinning like an idiot. It's awful. It's going to give them away.
"Congratulations, mate!" Ian says, awkwardly side-stepping towards him and leaning down to give him a hug. Harry squeezes him hard around the waist, smacks a kiss on his cheek just cos he can.
"Thanks, Chaloner," he says happily.
"He said yes then?"
"Yeaah, after some convincing," Harry says with a sigh. Ian's eyes narrow, and Harry snorts. "You're so gullible, mate."
"Heyy, I didn't actually believe you. Nick's desperate for a ring on his finger."
Harry bites down a giddy grin. "Well, now he's got one."
Ian shakes his head disbelievingly. "Fucking hell. You're getting married. Oh shit, this means Nick's going to plan a wedding. I'm never gonna see my wife again."
Harry snorts. "Not for a while. Not til Sophie's older."
"Mm, I suppose that makes sense-"
"Harry?" Nick's voice echoes into the kitchen.
"Yeah, love?"
"Can you bring me a glass of water?"
Harry slides out of his chair, covering a yawn with one hand. He fumbles for a cup out of the dishwasher.
"Well," Ian says, grabbing his keys. "Think I'll head out."
"Cheers, Ian," Harry says, waving. "Wait- don't mention the engagement. Still waiting on telling people."
Ian nods, and then says, eyes widening, "Wait, I can't even tell Aimee?"
Harry laughs. "Oh, uh, Aimee already knows."
Ian looks comically offended.
"Sorry, mate." Harry yanks out the Brita, filling a glass with cold water. "Anyway. Thanks for the night. Owe you one."
Ian waves him off and ducks out the front door.
Harry carries the glass of water down the hall, breathing in the hush of the house, the familiar smell of Verveine Diptyque candles and baby powder.
Nick's sat on the daybed in the nursery, shirt unbuttoned, slipping off one pale shoulder. He's watching Sophie with a soft look on his face, eyes heavy-lidded and tired, mouth curving up.
For a minute he doesn't even look real. Nick's a Renaissance painting, a sculpture or summat, otherworldly, beautiful in its simplicity. Harry goes breathless looking at him, and then Nick looks up at him and says, "Oh thank fuck, my mouth's like the bloody desert. Give that here please."
Harry chokes out a laugh, and gives him the glass of water.
Thank god for you, he thinks, as he watches Nick gulp it down thirstily, holding Sophie against his chest with one hand. Harry takes the glass from Nick's hand when he's done, presses a kiss against his temple, and lets him alone.
"Haz," Nick says softly, as Harry's almost out the door.
"Yeah?"
Nick smiles at him, eyes going crinkly under his glasses.
"Last night was good."
Harry leans against the doorjamb, grinning. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
They look at each other for a long moment.
Nick cuddles Sophie closer to him.
"I'm glad I tricked you into raising a child with me," he says.
Harry laughs. "I'm glad I got tricked."
Nick pulls a face at him over Sophie's head. Harry pulls one back, tongue out, going cross-eyed, until Nick's huffing out breathless laughter.
"You're so strange," he says, shaking his head.
Harry just grins.
"I'll make breakfast," he says.
Nick nods, yawning against Sophie's head. "Starving, me."
"As always," Harry says. "See you in a bit."
"See you in a bit."