Remember, Everything Will Be Alright

XII

Warnings: pregnancy loss, mentions of blood, medical emergency, (it's really fucking rough, I had a visceral reaction to writing this)

25 December 2019

"So it's chicken," Louis started, "stuffed with mozzarella—"

"Wrapped in Parma ham, with a side of homemade mash," Harry finished with him in unison, rendering a laugh from everyone else.

"It's his go-to meal," Harry said, "and the first thing he ever cooked me. It wasn't half bad five years ago."

"What's Parma ham?" Ashley asked.

"It's this Italian meat," Louis explained.

She leaned in closer to get a better look at the chicken's coating. "Oh! You mean prosciutto! I know what that is."

"Atta girl," Louis said, offering Ashley a high-five. "If it were Dan or Harry's birthday, I would have avoided cooking with cured meats, but it's not. It's mine!" Louis' charm undercut his feigned narcissism.

"Your birthday was yesterday!" Harry said.

"If Jesus can have a two-day celebration for his birthday, so can I, damnit!"

"Whatever!" Harry shook his head, courting the pile of china on the edge of the counter. "May we?" he asked, turning to Dan with an eager grin.

"Yup." Dan reached for a plate. "Dig in."

With that, a whirlwind of arms spooned heaps of Dan and Phil's vegetables. Spatulas carried squares of Ashley's vegan lasagna, and even the daring fork or two pierced through Louis' chicken breasts. After the couples ravished the dishes, they all took their seats around the dinner table where Dan had created each of them a name card and a crown made of golden, foiled cardstock.

"How cute are these?" Dominic remarked as he raised the crown to his head then helped Ashley fit hers around the back of her long braids. "How long did this take you, Dan?" Dan shrugged. "All day, I guess."

That morning, Dan had been hustling all around the apartment, cleaning every dusty surface, primping his skin, and crafting all of the decorations that turned their home into a winter wonderland. In the middle of his chores, Dan's phone rang with a FaceTime call from his mother.

"Hi, Mum!" he answered, waving to the camera before he set it on the ironing board he had pitched in their living room.

"Merry Christmas!" she greeted, following her cheer with a sigh. "Son, I didn't video call you just to see your ceiling.

Dan chuckled. "I'm busy."

"Doing what?"

"Pressing this tablecloth. We're having guests over, and I want everything to be neat and orderly before they arrive."

"Harry?" Mrs. Howell asked, bringing the phone close to her face to hear better.

"Yup," Dan said, dragging the iron across the bright red tablecloth. "Harry and Louis and Dominic—the guy I do my show with—and his girlfriend, Ashley."

"Sure," she said, forgetting all the other names after the one she recognized. "Has he had his baby yet?"

"Nope. He's only, what"—Dan searched for the number in his jumbled mind—"twenty-two, twenty-three weeks. Some odd number like that."

Mrs. Howell cooed. "And he's doing alright?"

"Uh-huh," Dan said, knowing where the conversation was going; knowing exactly what she would ask of him if he allowed her to take it there.