If I could fly (BOOK 2)

Zayns last

The air felt different before Zayn's last show.

No one said it out loud. They didn't need to. It sat heavy in the wings, in the way the boys moved around each other with a little more care, a little less noise. Even the crew seemed quieter, like the building itself knew something was ending. Harry stood side stage with his hair pulled back into a low bun, stray curls escaping at his neck. It made him look older somehow. More exposed. The version of him that only showed up when something mattered too much to pretend otherwise.

Y/N watched him from her spot near the monitors, Darcy tucked safely against her chest, headphones on. At twenty-one weeks, Darcy was alert enough now to feel the shift-her body still, eyes wide, fingers curled into Y/N's shirt like she sensed the gravity of the moment.

The lights dropped.

The crowd roared.

Harry stepped out with the boys, heart pounding so hard he felt it in his throat.

They sang like it was muscle memory. Like breathing. Like they'd done it a thousand times before.

But when Zayn took his part-when his voice cut clean and steady through the arena-Harry felt something crack.

He glanced over.
Zayn didn't look at the crowd.
He looked at them.
At Harry. At Louis. At Niall. At Liam.
At family.

By the time they reached the final song, Harry's chest burned. His voice held, barely, but the emotion was right there-sitting on the edge, daring him to fall apart in front of tens of thousands of people.

When it ended, they stood shoulder to shoulder, hands linked, soaking in the noise.
Zayn squeezed Harry's hand once.
Just once.
And then it was over.
Harry came through the curtain like the air had been knocked out of him.

The noise from the crowd was still thunderous behind him, the echo of the final song ringing down the corridor, but his face was already wrecked - eyes red, jaw tight, breath uneven like he'd been holding himself together with sheer will alone.

Y/N saw it instantly.

She was sitting on the arm of the couch, one leg tucked beneath her, keeping close. Darcy sat beside her on the cushion, propped carefully with pillows at her back, wobbling just slightly but upright - alert, wide-eyed, waiting.

Harry's gaze landed on them and he stopped dead.
For half a second, he just stood there.
Then his shoulders caved.

Y/N didn't say his name. She didn't have to.
Harry crossed the room in three uneven steps and collapsed into her, forehead pressing into her shoulder as his arms wrapped around her waist, tight and desperate. The sound he made was broken - a quiet, shattered sob that ripped straight through her.

"I wasn't ready," he choked. "I wasn't ready for it to be the last one."

Y/N wrapped both arms around him immediately, one hand sliding up into his hair, still pulled back into a messy bun from the show. She held him steady as he cried against her, his body shaking now that there was no stage left to hold him upright.

"It's okay," she whispered, over and over. "It's okay. You don't have to be strong right now."

Darcy made a soft sound beside them - curious, confused.

Harry lifted his head just enough to see her.
She was sitting there, solid and proud, legs kicking lightly, watching him with that sharp, knowing focus she'd developed lately.

His breath hitched all over again.

"She's sitting," he said, voice breaking anew. "She was sitting when I came in."

"She waited for you," Y/N said softly.

Harry reached out with shaking hands, brushing his fingers against Darcy's arm. She grabbed at him immediately, small fingers curling around his sleeve like she knew exactly what he needed. He picked her up and kissed her cheek.

That did it.

Harry pressed his face back into Y/N's shoulder, crying harder now, one hand gripping her hoodie, the other resting protectively on his daughter's back.

"I don't know how to do this without him," he whispered. "Everything's changing and I can't slow it down."

Y/N leaned down, pressing her cheek against the side of his head. "You're not losing him," she said gently. "You're just turning a page. And you don't have to do it alone."

Harry nodded weakly, breathing her in, grounding himself in the warmth of her, the steady weight of Darcy between them. Darcy kicked once, then again, letting out a small, pleased sound - and Harry laughed through tears at that, a broken, breathless laugh that sounded like relief trying to find its way through grief.

"I love you," he said hoarsely. "Both of you."

Y/N tightened her arms around him. "We love you too."

Behind them, the boys lingered quietly, giving space they usually didn't know how to give - all of them understanding, for once, that this moment wasn't meant to be filled.

Harry stayed there for a long time.

Crying into Y/N's arms.

Holding his daughter.

Letting himself feel the end of something - and the weight of everything that still remained.