If I could fly (BOOK 2)

Slowing down

Two weeks later, tour stopped feeling theoretical.

Darcy was five weeks old-still impossibly small, still warm and real in Y/N's arms. Her birthday would always be October 30th, something Harry had said once, quietly, like he'd already decided it mattered forever. For now, she slept through most of the chaos, tucked against someone's chest, unaware that planes and arenas and flashing lights were already becoming part of her world.

Y/N was still healing.

Physically, yes-but the deeper work was quieter. Slower. Her body no longer felt like something she inhabited naturally. Every mirror was a negotiation. Some days she avoided them altogether. Loving Darcy didn't erase that feeling; it complicated it. She loved her daughter fiercely, but the cost of that love was written all over her skin.

Harry saw it.

He didn't hover, but he set boundaries. And when the boys started running logistics too loudly-too many flights, too little space-he stopped it without raising his voice.

"We're slowing this down," Harry said.

Louis blinked. "We are?"

"Yes," Harry replied. "Y/N is still healing. Darcy's five weeks old. This isn't about what we can do. It's about what we should do."

Liam nodded immediately. "Yeah. That's fair."

Niall lifted his hands. "I support anything that involves more snacks and less rushing. And the baby and Yn of course."

Zayn met Harry's eyes and gave a small nod. "We'll make it work. Don't worry."

Harry turned to Y/N. "You don't have to keep up with us."

She nodded. "I know, baby."

"And if anyone forgets that," Harry added, glancing at Louis, "I'll remind them."

Louis scoffed. "Dad voice. Firm."

Harry didn't smile-but he didn't move.

The flight to the American Music Awards was Darcy's first. Y/N held her the entire time, heart tight with every sound. Harry stayed close, one hand around Yn's waist back, the other anchoring his own knee.

"She's okay," he said once.

"I know," Y/N replied. "I just-"

"I've got you," he said. "Both of you."

Darcy slept through it.

⸻

Backstage at the AMAs, everything felt louder than it needed to be. Harry was focused in a way Y/N hadn't seen before-still, deliberate. He stood in front of her before he was called, black jacket trimmed with gold catching the light, black skinny jeans, black Chelsea boots polished clean. His hair brushed his shoulders now, just long enough to soften the edges of him.

He kissed Y/N once. Then Darcy's head.

"I'll be right back."

She nodded.

From the side of the stage, Y/N watched him perform.

And she loved the way he did it-how he held the mic now, how he moved less and meant more. The voice filled the room without forcing itself. When Night Changes began, something in her chest tightened painfully.

It was different now.
He was different.
The boys were different.

And then the thought came-sharp, uninvited.

He could be doing so much more if he wasn't tied to me.

She looked down at herself.

At the softness that hadn't left. The stretch marks. The exhaustion she could never quite hide. The dark circles and bags. Darcy pressed warm against her chest, rubbing her back.