If I could fly (BOOK 2)

Shy of nine months

Late June settled in quietly, the kind of warm that crept through open windows and stayed.

Darcy was still two weeks shy of nine months, which meant teething had become the background music of their lives-sharp little cries in the night, red cheeks, small hands clutching at shirts like anchors. The tour kept rolling. The schedule stayed packed.

But something underneath it all had changed.
Harry felt it in his bones.

They were in a writing room that afternoon, the four of them falling into old positions without thinking-Louis slouched sideways in a chair, Niall tapping a rhythm against the table with a pencil, Liam flipping pages like he was trying to tame the chaos by sheer organization.

Harry sat on the floor with a guitar, legs crossed, eyes distant.

"I need to say something," he finally said.

Louis squinted. "I hate when you start like that."

Harry exhaled slowly. "I've been thinking seriously about doing something on my own. A solo record."

Silence-then immediate, dramatic collapse.

"Oh, for-" Louis groaned, dropping his head back. "We can't even leave you alone with a baby without you reinventing yourself."

Niall blinked. "Is this, like... instead of us?"

"No," Harry said quickly. "Not instead. Just-personal. Stuff that doesn't feel like it belongs to the band."

Liam studied him. "You've already started."

Harry hesitated. "Yeah."

Louis pointed accusingly. "You're writing emotional dad music at four in the morning."

Harry smiled despite himself. "Some of it."

Niall leaned forward, suddenly quieter. "We've been talking too."
Harry looked up.
Liam nodded. "About taking a break. Not ending anything. Just... a pause. Before the album cycle eats us alive again."

Louis added, softer than usual, "If we do it, we do it properly. One last show. October."

Harry swallowed, chest tight. "All of us?"

"All of us," Liam said.

Harry nodded once. "Okay."

He picked the guitar back up without ceremony, fingers finding a familiar progression. He didn't sing. Just played-slow, floating, the kind of melody that hung in the air.

Louis tilted his head. "That one always felt different."

Harry nodded. "It does now."

Liam watched him closely. "You sound like someone who knows where home is."

Harry glanced down at his ring without thinking, dimple cutting deep as he smiled.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "I do."

No one joked after that.

They just let the moment sit.

⸻

That night, Darcy decided sleep was optional.

Harry paced the hallway in the low light, her small body warm against his chest, tiny fists knotting in his shirt as she cried-sharp and tired, gums aching. The clock read 4:03 a.m.

"I know," he murmured, rocking gently. "I've got you."

The notebook lay open on the counter, pen nearby like it had been waiting. He hummed first-aimless, soft-then caught a thread and followed it, murmuring half-formed phrases meant more to soothe than to sing.

Inside the bedroom, Y/N watched from the doorway, wrapped in one of his shirts, hair loose, eyes heavy with sleep and love. She didn't interrupt. She just watched him be exactly who he was now.

Darcy's cries finally softened into hiccups, then sleep.

Harry laid her carefully in her crib, palm resting on her chest a moment longer than necessary. When he turned, Y/N was there.

She reached for him, brushing her thumb along his jaw. "You're falling into it," she whispered.

"Into what?"

"This new sound. This new you."

He kissed her slowly-no rush, no urgency-just grounding, familiar warmth. His hands settled at her waist, pulling her close like the night couldn't touch them here.

They moved together toward the bed, the room dim and quiet. Kisses lingered. Foreheads pressed together. Everything unspoken but understood.

Later, tangled beneath the sheets, Harry brushed her hair from her face.

"We decided today," he said softly.

She looked up. "What did you decide?"

"Hiatus. Before the album comes out."

Y/N searched his eyes. "Does it feel right?"

He nodded. "It does."

She kissed him again, slow and sure. "Then it's right."

⸻

Two mornings later, Harry sat on the living room floor with his guitar while Darcy sat propped beside the couch, pillows stacked around her like a tiny throne.

She wobbled-but she stayed upright.

Harry strummed absent chords, glancing over every few seconds like he didn't trust gravity.

Darcy giggled, proud and delighted.
Harry froze mid-note.

"...you're sitting even better," he whispered.

She bounced once, triumphant, then tipped sideways into the pillows laughing like it was the best game she'd ever invented.

Harry lowered the guitar, breath catching as he laughed too, pulling her close and pressing a kiss to her head.

Y/N watched from the doorway, smiling softly.

"She's growing fast," she said.

Harry nodded, eyes never leaving Darcy. "Too fast."

Darcy squealed again, grabbing his fingers.

Harry held her there, heart full and steady, knowing-finally-that whatever came next in his music, his career, his life...

This was the center of it.

And he wasn't going anywhere.