If I could fly (BOOK 2)

No honeymoon

There was no honeymoon.

No slow comedown after the wedding. No pause button pressed on real life. Instead, there was a stage, a schedule, and the understanding that whatever had shifted between them hadn't softened anything-it had set it on fire.

The first show back without Zayn felt different before they even walked out.

Backstage, Harry stood shoulder to shoulder with Louis, Liam, and Niall. Familiar. Steady. Different in a way he couldn't quite name yet.

"You ready, husband?" Louis said, adjusting his jacket with a grin.

Harry laughed, shaking his head. "Don't start."

"Oh, I'm starting," Niall said cheerfully. "You've been unbearable all day."

Harry didn't deny it.

The lights went up-and something in him snapped open.

He was wild out there.

Not reckless. Not messy. Just free. He paced the stage like he owned it, spun the mic, laughed mid-lyric like he couldn't believe his own luck. He bumped shoulders with Louis, leaned into Niall during a chorus, caught Liam's eye and grinned like they were sharing a secret.

Louis leaned into his mic. "Someone's had a great break."

The crowd screamed.
Harry lifted his hand as he sang.
The ring flashed.
The reaction was instant-roars, phones lifted higher, the collective realization rippling through the crowd.

Harry didn't hide it.
He leaned into it.

He wrapped that hand around the mic stand. Gestured openly. Let the light catch it again and again. Louis clocked it immediately and laughed into his mic.

"Oh, he's showing off."

"He earned it," Niall shot back.

Between songs, Harry bounced on his heels, breathless and buzzing. "We've got a big week coming up," he said, eyes bright. "Billboard Music Awards are on May seventeenth-wish us luck."

The crowd lost it.

Harry grinned and added, "I've had a pretty good month already."

By the time the show ended, it wasn't just clear that Harry was married.

It was clear that it had unlocked something in him.

Back at the hotel, the noise finally dropped away.

Darcy slept in her crib near the bed, one tiny sock halfway off, chest rising and falling in that steady rhythm that still grounded him more than anything else ever had. She was a week away from eight months old-longer, heavier, more here every day.

Harry closed the door softly and leaned back against it, exhaling.

Y/N sat cross-legged on the bed, still wearing the outfit she'd watched the show in. She looked up at him and smiled-slow, proud, knowing.

"You were insane tonight," she said quietly.

Harry laughed under his breath and crossed the room. "Good insane?"

"Married insane."

He stepped between her knees without asking, hands resting on her thighs-not gripping, not pulling. Just warm. Present.

"You liked it?"

"I loved it."

He didn't kiss her right away.

Instead, he leaned in and brushed his nose along her cheek, slow and unhurried, like he was taking inventory. His fingers slid up her arms, deliberate, mapping familiar ground in a new way before his lips brushed the corner of her mouth.

Not a kiss yet.

A promise.

She leaned into it, breath catching when he lingered-then shifted, pressing his mouth properly to hers. The kiss was deeper than usual, slower, patient in a way that made it feel heavier. He didn't rush. He followed her rhythm instead, letting her set the pace while his thumb traced lazy circles at her waist.

She leaned closer and whispered something against his ear.

Whatever she said froze him.

His breath hitched. His jaw tightened. His hand flexed instinctively at her hip as heat climbed his neck, ears flushing pink in seconds.

"Yn," he murmured, voice rough, stunned.

She pulled back just enough to see his face, calm and pleased with herself.

"You are savage ," he whispered.

She smiled. "Married to you now."

He shook his head, laughing quietly, then pressed his forehead to hers, grounding himself. "You can't do that to me."

"Watch me."

Harry kissed her again-softer this time, lingering, his mouth warm against hers like he was reminding himself where he was. When he finally pulled back, he stayed close, noses brushing.

"I want you to come with me," he said quietly. "To Billboard. May seventeenth. I want you there. Both of you."

She searched his face. "You sure?"

He nodded without hesitation. "I'm always better when you're there."

Her smile softened. "Then we'll be there."

Relief washed through him. He pulled her closer, kissing her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth like he was sealing something real.

"You're my good luck," he murmured.

She laughed softly. "You don't need luck."

"Still bringing you."

He wrapped his arms around her and held her there, cheek pressed to her hair, the room quiet except for Darcy's steady breathing nearby.

Outside, the world buzzed-headlines, tweets, speculation.

Inside, everything was steady.