If I could fly (BOOK 2)

Owned the place

Early October bled straight into long days and even longer nights.

Rehearsals intensified for the final show, the stage lights harsher, the soundchecks tighter, every detail suddenly carrying weight. Darcy walked straight through it all like she belonged there-tiny shoes slapping softly against the stage floor, arms out for balance, laughing when she wobbled and caught herself. No fear. No hesitation.

Like she owned the place.

Harry watched from the edge of the stage, heart squeezing in a way he hadn't expected. This was it-the last time all these worlds overlapped so seamlessly. Band. Family. Music. Fatherhood. All in one room.

The boys noticed it too. One by one, they scooped Darcy up between takes, letting her tug at their shirts, stealing kisses from her cheeks, making faces just to hear her laugh. There was a quiet sadness under the jokes-an unspoken realization that they wouldn't see her growing week by week anymore.

Y/N stood nearby, more tired than she'd been letting on. Some mornings the nausea hit before she even opened her eyes. Other days it was the bone-deep fatigue, the sudden dizziness, the way her body felt like it was already shifting gears again. She didn't say much-just rested a hand against her stomach sometimes, grounding herself, steadying the swirl of everything changing at once.

By mid-October, sentimentality crept in whether anyone wanted it to or not.

The boys got softer in strange ways-inside jokes resurfacing from years ago, laughter that lingered too long, silences that said more than words. Harry carried the weight of it all visibly now, the knowledge that this chapter was closing pressing heavier every day.

Y/N became his anchor without trying. A hand at his lower back. A quiet look across the room. A whispered you okay? that he answered honestly. Even when her head throbbed or her stomach turned, she stayed steady for him-present, grounding, constant.

Late October arrived faster than anyone was ready for.

The countdown to the final show began, numbers circled on calendars, dates spoken out loud like they might make it easier to believe. One night, after rehearsal ran late and the house finally went quiet, Harry held Darcy longer than usual. She curled into his chest, warm and heavy, fingers clutching his shirt as if she knew something important was happening.

Y/N watched from the doorway, exhaustion tugging at her, emotions sitting just under her skin. Her hand drifted to her stomach again, instinctive now.
Harry pressed a kiss into Darcy's hair and closed his eyes.

Goodbye didn't mean loss.

It meant something else was already beginning-soft, unseen, and inevitable-right alongside the ending.