If I could fly (BOOK 2)

Thats manipulation

Three weeks later, Darcy felt solid in Y/N's arms.

Not heavy in a newborn way - but sturdy. Present. Like she belonged in the world now instead of just passing through it.

At eighteen weeks old, she didn't just drift through moments anymore. She participated in them.

She kicked when she was excited. Grabbed at fingers with intent. Locked onto faces and held eye contact like she was memorizing people instead of just seeing them.

Y/N noticed it first when Darcy leaned forward in her arms instead of sagging back, eyes bright, mouth already pulling into a grin before anything even happened.

"Okay," Y/N laughed softly. "You're definitely mommies sleepy little potato anymore."

Darcy answered with a breathy sound - not quite a laugh, but close - and kicked both feet hard enough to bump Y/N's stomach.

Harry looked up immediately.
"What was that?"

"She's... trying to laugh at me," Y/N said, half shocked.

Harry crossed the room in seconds, dropping down in front of them. "Darce. Hey. Look at me."

Darcy's eyes locked onto his.

And then she laughed.

Not accidental. Not a reflex.

A full, deliberate, delighted baby laugh.

Harry froze.

"Oh," he whispered, voice cracking instantly. "Oh my god."

He laughed too - soft, stunned, almost disbelieving - and leaned forward until his forehead touched hers.

"You did that on purpose," he murmured. "Didn't you?"

Darcy responded by grabbing his necklace and trying to shove it in her mouth.

Louis, from the doorway: "She's clever. That's manipulation already."

Niall sniffed. "I'm emotional and I hate that about myself. Where's my snacks?"

At eighteen weeks, Darcy wasn't just growing.

She was arriving.

⸻

Later that night, after most of the noise had faded and Darcy was in one of her calmer moods, Harry lay on the hotel bed with her propped against his knees, her back supported by his thighs, his hands steady at her sides.

She could ALMOST sit up now - not fully, but close enough to try.

"Okay," he murmured, focused. "We're gonna attempt this very responsibly."

Darcy wobbled.

Then steadied.

Then looked very proud of herself.

Y/N sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed, phone forgotten in her lap as she watched.

"She's doing it...kinda," she whispered.

Harry smiled so hard it actually hurt his face. "She's doing it...a little."

Darcy made a triumphant little sound and lifted one hand - not a wave, not a grab - just... lifted it, like she was testing the idea.

Harry's breath caught.

"You're going to sit up one day and I'm not going to be ready," he said quietly.

Darcy promptly lost balance and tipped forward, landing against his chest.

He laughed softly and hugged her close.

"Okay. Not today," he whispered. "But soon."

Y/N blinked back tears she hadn't expected.

⸻

That night, when the room was quiet again and Darcy slept in her bassinet, Harry finally said it out loud.

"She'll be twenty-one weeks when Zayn leaves," he said softly, staring at the ceiling.

Y/N turned onto her side, propping her head on her hand. "You've been counting."

He nodded. "I keep thinking about how fast she's changing. How much she's going to be doing by then."

He swallowed.

"She won't remember him," he said. "Not really."

"But she'll know him," Y/N replied gently. "Through you. Through stories. Through the way you talk about him."

Harry turned toward her then, eyes glassy.

"I hate that things keep changing," he admitted. "Just when something feels solid it leaves."

Y/N reached out, threading her fingers through his.

"She's solid," she said quietly. "And she's right here. Right now. Not doing anywhere."

He nodded slowly, grounding himself.

Across the room, Darcy shifted in her sleep and let out a tiny sigh - louder than it used to be, more there.

Harry smiled faintly.

"At eighteen weeks she laughs," he said softly. "By six months she's going to be unstoppable."

Y/N smiled back. "She already is."

⸻

As Harry reached out to rest a hand against the bassinet, he realized something quietly terrifying and beautiful all at once:

By the time Darcy was six months old, nothing about their lives would look the same.

And somehow... he wasn't afraid of that anymore.