you're my last shot

harry wants to make a marriage pact

Y/N is in that annoying headspace where she can't tell if she's fallen asleep yet when her phone starts buzzing on her nightstand.

Groaning, she sits up slightly and bats her eyelashes open. She doesn't look at who's calling as she haphazardly reaches out for her phone, pressing the green answer button.

"Hasn't anyone told you you're not supposed to wake a sleeping pregnant woman?" she grumbles into the receiver. Somehow, she's not surprised when she hears Harry's husky laughter on the other side. She squints at the bright screen in the darkness of her bedroom, the time reading 1:37 a.m.

"I have a question for you," he says and she huffs, propping her back up against the array of pillows behind her. Since developing a small bump, sleeping has been unexpectedly irritating — she normally prefers falling asleep on her stomach, but it's kind of impossible with her rounded tummy.

(Besides, one time Harry yelled at her for it, saying he didn't want her to smush the baby. She called him an idiot, explaining that was literally impossible, but he still sent her about six different articles on why you shouldn't sleep on your stomach while pregnant.)

"This couldn't wait until tomorrow? Or sent through a text, maybe?"

"No. I can't sleep and it seemed pretty dire, to be honest."

"Fine," she mutters, "What's your question, Harry?"

"Do you see yourself ever getting married?"

Y/N nearly chokes on her own saliva, annoyance steadily building in her chest.

"Seriously? You want to talk about marriage at 1:30 in the morning?"

"Just answer the question, please."

She sighs, allowing her eyes to shut. Realistically, this is never how she expected her life to go. She assumed, like any other person, that she'd meet someone nice, marry them, start a life with them — she didn't anticipate her first child being brought into the world via a one night stand with someone she didn't even like all that much.

"I don't know," she eventually answers. "I used to, yeah. But I don't know anymore."

"Would you want to get married?"

"Is this you proposing?" she fires back, a stroke of panic firing through her, "Because the answer is no."

"I'm not proposing, Y/N."

"Can you get on with it then? I want to go back to sleep."

There's some shuffling in the background, followed by a deep breath. She wants to roll her eyes but she's too tired.

"Okay. What if, when we're like 40, and if we're both single, we get married?" he asks, making her eyes widen, "Personally, I've always wanted some type of life partner and I'd like to make it official at some point. And I assume dating will be harder for us when the baby's born. And I saw it on Friends, Chandler and Monica talk about making this kind of pact—"

"A marriage pact." Y/N says flatly, "Yes, I've heard of it before."

"Right."

"And you want to make one with me."

"Yeah."

"Harry," Y/N sighs, shifting onto her side and curling up to the pregnancy pillow he bought her last week, "Harry, you're you. I have no doubt that you'll be able to find a husband or a wife or whoever you wanna spend the rest of your life with."

He goes silent at that as she rolls her lips into a thin line. She's not typically so candid with him, so she blames it on her tiredness. Sure, the only reason why she and Harry know anything about one another is because of the pregnancy. The one thing she did know about him before was that he was a free lover — he put himself out there, he was vulnerable, and he almost always charmed someone into his bed by the end of the night. It was the thing that irked her most about him, but she was self-aware enough to know that it annoyed her because it was her downfall. Her discomfort with expressing romantic emotions, her consistently stormy demeanor — she wasn't blind to it all.

So, it's true: She doesn't doubt Harry will eventually find the true love of his life, but she also doesn't believe she should subject him to a life with her. They're complete opposites; she imagines a marriage between them would be unsatisfactory on his end.

Based on the jostling in the background, she can imagine the way he's probably flipped onto his stomach, his body tucked into some of the most comfortable sheets and blankets Y/N has ever felt.

(Reluctantly, she asked him a few weeks back where he got them from, and two days later, there was a package on her doorstep from the same retailer. When she demanded to know why he'd spent so much money on a new bedding set for her, he gave her a reasoning along the lines of, "you're carrying my baby, I'm allowed to treat you to things.")

"Okay, but what if I don't? Statistically speaking, I'm sure it's much harder to date as a dad."

"Sure, maybe," Y/N replies, "But that's when co-parenting comes in handy, right? I can always take the baby when you have dates or whatever."

"Don't you think it'll get messy, though?" Harry presses and she smushes her face into her pillow, "Like, what if one of us dates someone that doesn't like our dynamic or gets jealous?"

"Then they're probably not a good partner and we shouldn't date them."

He sighs into the receiver. "Okay, yeah. You're right. Sorry for calling this late, do you still want me to pick you up at noon for the checkup tomorrow?"

She can tell how defeated he is by the drop in his tone and, whether she wants to admit it or not, it makes her heart crack just a little bit. And even though she doesn't know why she says it — she doesn't have enough time to unpack it — she does, and she can't take it back. (She knows Harry will never let her forget it, anyway.)

"Noon is still good," she says, "And... if it really makes you feel better, we can have a marriage pact, Harry."

"Really?"

She rolls her eyes, "Yes. If we're both single at 40, we'll get married. Okay?"

"Are you just saying that because you're annoyed by me?"

"Yes and no. Do you agree or not?"

"Yeah. I agree."

"Okay."

Harry's silent on the other line. She tucks her hand under her head, tangling her legs under the blanket he bought her.

"Can I go back to sleep now?"

He clears his throat, "Yeah. Sorry for waking you up. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Mhm," she murmurs, wedging her thumbnail between her teeth, "For the record, regardless of our situation or not, anyone who dates you would be stupid not to wanna be with you forever."

It's probably the most truthful and sincere thing she's ever admitted to him, but something about his vulnerability and insecurity strikes a cord in her.

When he doesn't immediately reply, she wishes she could eat her words; positive that she's made him uncomfortable. What a stupid thing to say, he probably thinks I likes him now—

"Thank you," he finally replies and her heart softens at his earnest tone, "Just... thank you. I appreciate that."

"Sure." Y/N mutters. "I'm gonna sleep now."

"Okay. Goodnight, Y/N, sleep well."

Her stomach flutters with butterflies and she doesn't know why. She shakes her head to herself and mumbles out a goodnight, hoping she can manage a dreamless night that doesn't consist of Harry being her husband.

Ugh, she thinks to herself, he's so stupid.