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"Hello?"
"Harry," she heaves, a pained whimper falling from her lips. "Are you busy?"
"What?" His voice is groggy. "I'm just about done with my shift—what's wrong, flower?"
"I—," she sobs, tears gathering in her eyes, "I think I'm having contractions. I'm sorry, I didn't know who else to call—"
"No, no, hey," Harry cuts her off quickly, sounding far more alert than when he'd first picked up. "What's going on?"
"I—"
A flash of sharp pain rips across Moon's lower abdomen, like someone sweeping the tip of a knife across the underside of her pregnant belly. It creeps up and builds in intensity then dulls. Her hand flies to cradle her bump, a startled squeak sputtering from her pink lips.
"I—I don't know what's wrong," she sniffles. "Something's off, I'm having these, these pains. They hurt."
There is the briefest of pause before Harry speaks again, "How far apart, love?"
The thought of premature labour hasn't hit Moon until now and she lets out a shocked sob, "I-I'm not sure, Harry. I don't- I can't—"
"Moon, I need you to take a deep breath for me," he orders. "I'll clock off and head to yours, okay? Give me ten, I'll be there."
"Can you maybe stay on the line with me?" she asks, wincing when another wave of pain sweeps through her abdomen.
"Yeah. Of course," he agrees.
She hears faint shuffling on the other end of the line. "I'm sorry," she says weakly, droplets of water rolling down her cheeks. Her body grows tight with discomfort, and a frail cry bubbles up in her throat.
Harry tuts. "Hey, it's okay, shh, sh. Don't cry, flower. You've gotta calm down," he croons. "I'm coming."
The windshield wipers wave at a pace as frantic as Harry's heart pounds desperately against his chest and shake his body with ripples of anxiety. The ten-minute drive feels like a decade. He's stopped at a red light and he slams his fist to the steering wheel until throbbing pain chews at the skin of his knuckles.
"I'm pulling up now," he says, "I'll be there in a minute, just hold tight." He parks by the curb, hangs up the call, shoves his phone in his pocket and snatches his backpack from the passenger's seat before punching in the code for the intercom and making a dash for her flat.
He lets himself in and goes tearing around the tiny flat for his best friend. He locates her in the bathroom across the hall hunched over the sink. His features soften as he watches Moon's grip on the sink slacken.
"Harry," she manages to call out with a shaky voice.
She adjusts her hold on the rim of the sink, keeping herself steady while her other hand is on the underside of her pregnant belly.
