If I could fly (BOOK 2)

Spiraling

The week after the announcement didn't feel loud anymore.

It felt stretched thin.

The internet was still spiraling - theories multiplying, timelines being argued over, grief and gratitude tangling together in long threads - but inside the house, time moved differently. Slower. More deliberate.

Darcy was nine and a half months old now. She already knew how to stand. She already knew how to step.
What she was learning now was how to walk.
Harry watched from the kitchen as she let go of the couch, arms lifted instinctively for balance, knees wobbling as she pushed forward with stubborn confidence. She didn't pause to think about it anymore. She trusted herself.

Y/N sat on the floor a few feet away, hands out but not touching. "You've got it," she murmured.

Darcy took several careful steps - not rushing, not panicking - then laughed when she reached Y/N and collapsed into her lap, clapping like she'd conquered something enormous.

Harry sank into a chair, breath knocked out of him. "She's not even scared anymore."

"That's how you know she's ready," Y/N said softly.

He nodded slowly. "Everything feels like it's moving all at once."

Y/N looked up at him. "Because it is."

Later that afternoon, the boys met at the studio - not to tweak, not to debate. The album was finished. Made in the A.M. was done, sealed, handed off.

There was a strange calm between them, like the adrenaline had finally worn off.

"We're taking two weeks," Liam said, rubbing his hands together. "Proper space."

Louis nodded. "I love you all, but if I don't disappear for a bit, I'll start a fight just to feel something."

Niall laughed. "Already booked a flight."

Harry didn't argue. He felt it too. "Yeah," he said. "That's probably smart."

No tension. No drama.

Just four people acknowledging they needed air.

They hugged. Promised to check in. Promised nothing else.

Two weeks of breathing room.

⸻

Harry's first solo writing session didn't feel like a beginning.

It felt like stepping into a room where the rules were looser - where curiosity mattered more than outcome.

Kid Harpoon leaned against the wall with a guitar resting against his knee, relaxed. Tyler Johnson sat with a notebook open, listening more than speaking. Mitch - Tyler's friend - sat cross-legged on the floor, quiet for a long moment before finally talking.

"This one's messy," Mitch said. "And it's not about you."

Harry nodded. "That's fine."

"The first girl," Mitch continued, "the one with blue eyes, red lips, tattoos - she wasn't trouble at the start. Not really. We loved each other once. Or thought we did."

Harry picked up the guitar, fingers resting lightly on the strings.

"But over time," Mitch said, "we stopped being who we were when we met. Same bodies. Different souls. Two ghosts haunting what we used to be."

Harry strummed once - low, slow. "That already feels heavy."

"It is," Mitch agreed. "But it's also angry. Because you're standing in the wreckage, still pretending something's alive when it's not."

Harry adjusted the rhythm instinctively. "That sounds like tension. Like decay."

"That's the heart of it," Mitch said.

Tyler leaned forward. "And the other girl?"

Mitch's voice softened. "Someone I met a long time ago. She was nervous about moving - scared of change. But there was this wildness under it all. Like she was standing on the edge of something and didn't know whether to jump."

Harry's fingers moved faster now, sharper. Restless.

"She stayed with you," Harry said quietly. Not a question.

"Yeah," Mitch replied. "Not because anything happened. But because it could have."

Kid Harpoon smiled faintly. "That contrast is interesting. Rot versus possibility."

Harry played again - quicker now, energy crackling. "This doesn't feel like confession."

"That's because it's not," Tyler said. "It's performance."

"That's why I want you to sing it," Mitch added. "You don't need to be the guy in the story. You just need to make people believe he exists."

Harry laughed under his breath. "That's dangerous."

Kid Harpoon leaned forward. "That danger - that pull - that's where something like Only Angel lives."

Harry paused, breath uneven. "That one scares me."

"Good," Mitch said quietly. "It should."

They worked in fragments - heat, tone, intention - nothing finished, but everything alive.

During a break, coffee refilled and guitars leaned aside, Harry sat back on the couch, rolling a pick between his fingers.

"Hey," he said, glancing up at them. "Can I ask you something?"

Kid Harpoon looked over immediately. "Yeah."

"Would it be alright," Harry said carefully, "if my wife and baby stopped by one of these days? Not to sit in or anything. Just... to be around."

There wasn't even a pause.

Tyler smiled. "Of course."

Mitch nodded easily. "Bring them. That's real life."

Kid Harpoon grinned. "Honestly? That kind of energy belongs in rooms like this."

Harry let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Alright. Just wanted to make sure."

Tyler studied him for a moment. "You're not separating things," he said. "That's good. Means whatever you write next is going to be honest."

Harry smiled faintly. "That's the plan."

They picked the guitars back up a moment later - the room settling again, not disrupted, just fuller.

⸻

That night, the house was quiet.
Darcy slept hard, worn out from learning how to move her body forward instead of just standing still. Harry lingered in her doorway before climbing into bed beside Y/N.

"I'm scared," he admitted quietly.

She turned toward him immediately. "Of what?"

"Letting people down," he said. "Fans. The boys. Everyone who expects me to stay one version of myself."

She took his hand, lacing their fingers together. "You're allowed to grow."

"I know," he said. "But it still feels heavy."

She pressed her forehead to his. "There's no clock. No finish line. The only timeline that matters is the one we're building here."

"With you," he said.

"With us," she corrected gently. "With her."

Harry glanced toward the crib, then back at Y/N. "She's not slowing down."

"She's not meant to," Y/N said softly. "Neither are you."

He kissed her then - not rushed, not desperate. Just sure.

For the first time since the announcement, Harry didn't feel like he was trying to outrun his life.

He felt like he was finally walking into it - step by step, together.