If I could fly (BOOK 2)

Husband

Backstage at the Billboard Music Awards felt louder than usual-not just the crowd beyond the curtain, but the boys themselves.

Harry stood between Louis and Niall, mic already warm in his hand. Liam adjusted his jacket like someone trying to keep order in a room that had never once allowed it. Harry glanced toward the wings.
Y/N stood just out of camera view with Darcy tucked against her shoulder. Darcy's white outfit glowed under the soft backstage lights, eyes wide and curious, tracking everything. Harry smiled without meaning to.

"Oi," Louis said under his breath, grinning. "You ready, husband?"

Harry laughed. "Don't start."

Niall beamed. "He said 'don't start' like that's ever worked."

They were ushered forward before Harry could reply. The lights hit. The noise crashed over them.

Louis took the mic immediately-dangerous choice.

"Right," he announced solemnly. "We're here to present an award tonight."

Harry already had his head tipped back, laughing.

"But," Louis continued, slowly turning to him, "apparently we're also meant to address the fact that Harry here is married now."

The crowd detonated.

Harry covered his face for a beat, then lifted his mic. "I hate all of you."

Niall pointed at him. "Is this why you've been walking around like you unlocked a new achievement?"

Liam added calmly, "He introduced himself to catering earlier as 'Harry. Married.'"

"That's not true," Harry protested-then paused. "...okay, maybe once."

Louis squinted theatrically. "So-serious question. Does this mean you're not allowed to flirt with the audience anymore?"

Harry didn't hesitate. He smiled, wide and easy, and leaned into the mic.

"That's exactly what it means," he said. "I'm a one woman man. Even before marriage.With a baby."

The reaction was instant and feral.

Louis clutched his chest. "We've lost him."

Niall nodded gravely. "Fully domesticated."

Liam lifted his brows at Harry's hand. "Is that the ring?"

Harry raised it deliberately, letting the lights catch just right.

The screaming somehow got louder.

"Well," Louis said, shielding his eyes dramatically, "that explains why he's been glowing."

Harry laughed. "Alright-before they cut our mics-"

"And before he starts giving marriage advice," Niall added.

Harry pointed at him. "I've got bullet points."

They finally presented the award, still cracking jokes between lines. As they stepped offstage, Harry's eyes went straight to the wings.

Y/N met his gaze. Darcy kicked excitedly, babbling like she recognized his voice through the noise.

Harry smiled back-grounded, unapologetic.
Vegas breathed below the balcony in a low, constant hum-neon flickering, voices drifting up from the street like distant waves. Inside the hotel room, Y/N slept curled on her side, finally still, the soft rise and fall of her breathing visible through the glass.
Harry sat outside with Darcy on his lap, knees drawn up, her little back resting against his chest as she faced the city. One arm wrapped around her middle, steady and warm. The other balanced a notebook against his thigh.

At first, it was peaceful.

Darcy watched the lights with serious concentration, fingers flexing against the fabric of his trousers. Harry hummed absently, nothing in particular-just sound finding its way out of him.

Then she shifted.

A small sound slipped from her throat. Not a cry yet. Just the beginning of one.
Harry felt it immediately-the tension in her body, the way she stiffened slightly, upset creeping in without warning. He leaned closer, lowering his voice instinctively.

"Hey," he murmured, rocking gently. "Just-just stop. It's alright."

Darcy's lip trembled.

Harry froze.
The words hit him all at once, sharp and clear in his head.

Stop your crying... it's the sign of the times.

His breath caught.

He glanced down at the notebook, heart thudding, and scribbled fast-almost frantic-like he was afraid the thought would vanish if he didn't pin it down.

He didn't sing it yet. Just stared at the words.
Darcy let out a louder cry then, frustration tipping over as her discomfort grew. Harry felt it in his chest-the ache, the helplessness. He turned her slightly, resting his chin against the top of her head, swaying gently.

"I know," he whispered. "Your teeth hurt. I've got you."

He kissed her hair and, without thinking, sang softly-barely above a breath:

"Sweet creature... you bring me home."

Darcy cried harder for a second, then softened, pressing back into him.

Harry went still.

"Oh," he breathed.

He wrote again-slower this time, steadier. Line after line. Not polished. Not perfect. Just honest. The song kept unfolding as Darcy settled, her cries easing into quiet hiccups while he rocked her gently and let the melody carry them both.

He didn't notice when the city noise faded into the background.

Didn't notice when the notebook filled.
Only noticed, suddenly, the weight of what he was doing.
This wasn't a band song.
It wasn't for a stage full of lights or a crowd singing it back.

This was his.

For her. For them. For the quiet moments no one else saw.

Harry leaned back slightly, looking down at Darcy's face-tear-streaked, calm again, eyes heavy with sleep. He pressed a soft kiss to her temple.

"You did this," he whispered, half in awe. "You know that?"

Darcy sighed.

Harry closed the notebook slowly, holding it against his chest like something fragile and real.

And for the first time, sitting on a balcony in Vegas with his daughter in his arms and his wife sleeping just beyond the glass, Harry realized he wasn't just writing a song.

He was planning his future.

One line at a time.