15 Years // harry styles

chapter twenty

B

The knock on the door comes sooner than I expect it to. I pull up to my knees, picking Freddie up off the floor where he was playing and heading over to the door. I check the peep hole before pulling it open.

He comes inside quickly, taking the hood off his head and pulling his sunglasses off with a smile.

"So you're the famous Bailey Conrad," he smiles, reaching for the baby.

"And you're the famous Louis Tomlinson." I hand his son to him, and the little boy giggles, nuzzling up close to him despite the fact that I'm sure he's cold. I pass him his diaper bag that I had packed and he slings it over his shoulder.

"In the flesh. Thank you again for helping Haz with him. I don't mean to run out on you but my uber is waiting and I'm sure I'll be seeing you again!" He smiles warmly, offering me a one armed hug that I accept gratefully before he heads out the door, son on his hip.

I sigh, shuffling back to my bed to find a sleeping Harry strung across my bed. He looks quite peaceful, despite the fact that his feet and arms hang off the sides of the mattress. As carefully as I can, I climb over him, nestling between his bare torso and the window, gazing out over the street. He stirs slightly, rolling over to me and wrapping his warm arms around my waist. I can't help but smile, running my fingers through his long, soft hair as his shoulders relax again.

It's 12 o'clock by the time he nuzzles into my neck and sighs before planting a kiss on the skin there, signally he's awake.

He sits up slowly, rubbing the sleep from his green eyes and flashing a grin before letting his head fall against my chest again. He's so beautiful it hurts.

"Baby?" He grunts.

"Lou already came and picked him up." I run my fingers over his back lightly.

"I wasn't talking about Freddie, but that's good. What time is it?" He asks, his voice croaky and his accent thick.

"A little past noon."

"Nooooooooooo," he groans, squeezing me tighter. I laugh at him, kissing the top of his head. I hadn't realized how lonely my bed had been without him in it. "I was gonna take you to lunch to make up for being an ass an then ask you on a not-so-spectacular but still super fun date."

He pushes himself up so he's eye level with me, a pout on his lip. I kiss it away, and he goes to bring his other hand up to cup my face, but he quickly looses his balance, forehead bumping into mine with a thud.

"Fuckkkkkk," he whispers, rubbing his forehead and kissing mine before we both burst out laughing. It's a wonderful sound, and once he's caught his breath again he picks me up and carries me to the kitchen. I automatically cling to him, legs tight around his waist.

"So, what's our not-so-spectacular date?" I murmur against his shoulder as he starts rummaging through the cabinets, not bothering to put me down. I hear the rattle of pasta noodles in a box by my ear.

"We're running through the set tonight,  since the first show is in a few days. I want you to come hang out and listen." I can't see him but I can tell he's biting his lip in anticipation.

"Hmmm. I'll have to consider your offer, I'm not really prepared for a 1D show. Should I bring a sign that says 'I'm here for the Irish one'?" I can feel him tense, so I kiss his cheek even though I know he can hear my sarcasm.

"Hey now, according to you were dating. You called me your boyfriend." He cranes his neck back to look at me with a smirk.

"Hey. That was a angst filled rant, you don't get to hold that against me." I poke his nose with my finger. He wrinkles it a little and rolls his eyes, but doesn't say anything as he reaches for a pot. I begin to let go of him, but he sits the pot down on the counter and catches my thighs with his hands, hoisting me back up.

"And just where do you think you're going, not-girlfriend?"

"I was gonna get down so you can cook easier, not-boyfriend."

"I can multitask," he teases, a cocky smirk playing on his lips before he kisses me.

----

Three hours later, with our stomachs full of spaghetti, which was surprisingly good considering Harry had admitted he didn't do much cooking, and the fact that he did it all with me attached to him, we're out the door, headed for the arena.

Per usual, I'm on high alert as we head out through the lobby and dash into Jerry's cab, but after that I relax. I lay down in the seat, my head on Harry's lap as he twirls my hair and sings along to the radio.

We pull into a back entrance and Harry takes my hand, leading me around backstage. He stops to shake everyone's hand, passing out a few hugs to some of the stage crew he hasn't seen in a while, but he keeps a tight grip on me the whole time.

"Stage should be ready in a few minutes Harry, the boys are catching up in the dressing room," says a man I recognize from something, but can't quite place.

"Thanks Mark," Harry smiles, turning to me. He suddenly looks a little nervous, his eyes wide and excited before he speaks again. "You ready to meet my brothers?"