That's Love, Bitch (Larry au) *mpreg*

Twenty-Seven

"I love you, a bushel and a peck," Harry sings under his breath, toward both Emma and his budding belly covered by one of Louis' t-shirts. "A bushel and a peck, and a hug around the neck."

"Pa," Emma pokes at Harry's sore chest, but he smiles and kisses the top of her soapy head, rubbing the baby soap into her back while she's distracted.

Harry bites his lip when the baby–a girl, they found out a few days ago–moves the wrong way. He takes his hand off of Emma's shoulder and puts it on his belly, the water soaking through the shirt and onto his skin.

"All done, baby," Harry coos softly, grabbing the yellow baby towel from the floor next to him and lifting Emma up, wrapping her in it tightly. Emma whines a little as she's lifted out of the warm water, but she's fine once Harry's arms are wrapped around her tightly.

Harry drains the bath and carries her out into the kitchen where Louis is sitting at the table, looking pale. Harry furrows his eyebrows, but he hands Emma off to him. "Are you okay, Louis?"

"'M fine," Louis croaks, holding his daughter close to his chest as she closes her eyes. Harry nods suspiciously, picking up a paper plate that was left on the table and going to throw it in the rubbish bin. He looks to where the bin usually is only to see it's gone.

"Where's the bin?" He asks confusedly, looking over to a blushing Louis.

"I-I got sick," He admits, his hold on Emma tightening. "I put the bin in the back garden. I'm sorry."

"You got sick?" Harry asks, almost devastated. "Louis, love, that's not good. Maybe I should take you to the hospital."

"I'm fine," Louis mumbles bitterly, turning his head so he isn't facing Harry. Harry just sighs miserably, staring at Louis' sunken in cheeks before turning back to where the rubbish bin should be.

"I-I'll just go throw this out in the washroom," Harry says quietly, walking out of the kitchen and to the washroom. He closes and locks the door behind him before tossing the plate into the small bin and sitting down on the toilet cover. He can feel the tears building up as he exhales shakily. Louis isn't okay. He knows it, but he doesn't know what to do about it.

"Oh, god," Harry whispers to himself, sniffling and wiping his eyes. He pulls his mobile out of his pocket and texts Jay what happened, asking what he should do. She replies by telling him to lay him down and take his temperature, then tell her if he has a fever. Harry takes a deep breath before standing up and walking out of the washroom, entering the kitchen again.

"I think you should lay down, Louis, love," He suggests, biting his lip and looking at Louis pleadingly. Louis looks up at Harry, ready to argue when he notices the sadness in Harry's expression. His face softens and he sighs before nodding.

"Okay," He rasps quietly, holding Emma out to Harry. Harry takes her before walking toward the bedroom, Louis following behind in his electric chair.

Harry lays Emma down on her baby blanket on the carpet before helping Louis onto the bed. Louis looks miserable, staring up at Harry with raised eyebrows. "I think I'm going to take your temperature, okay?" Louis just sighs and nods, avoiding Harry's eyes. Harry takes the thermometer from the drawer in the bedside table before sticking it in Louis' mouth, leaning down and kissing his forehead.

Harry takes the thermometer out of Louis' mouth, sighing in relief when it's at a normal temperature. "Oh thank God," He exhales, setting the thermometer down before kissing Louis' forehead again. "No fever, love."

"That's good," Louis hums softly. Harry nods in agreement, laying down next to Louis and cuddling into his side. Louis smiles wearily, kissing the tip of Harry's nose. "I'm sorry I scared you."

"You should tell me when you don't feel well," Harry reminds softly, Louis' fingers running through his curls. "I need to know, okay?"

"I will," Louis nods, and just as he says it Harry feels it. The familiar fluttering feeling that makes the corners of his lips turn upward.

"Give me your hand," Harry demands gently, and of course Louis obeys. Harry rests Louis' palm flat on his belly, waiting until the tiny little thumps from baby feet come back. Louis' beaming, his favourite feeling against his fingertips as Harry nuzzles his nose into his shoulder.

"I want to h-have ten kids," Louis decides. "Just to f-feel this."

"Louis," Harry giggles, looking up into Louis' eyes. Those will never change, Harry thinks. No matter how badly he's doing.

♛

"Haz? Harry, please, Harry."

Harry groans into his pillow, feeling Louis' fingertips against his forearm. "What? What's up?" Harry grumbles, slowly opening his eyes to see Louis with a nervous expression.

"I feel sick, Harry, I-I need to throw up," Louis whimpers, face shining with sweat as Harry leans up and turns on the light.

"Okay, okay, uh," Harry sighs. "I'll go get the mop bucket from the basement, I'll be back quick."

Harry rushes downstairs before coming back up with the red mop bucket, setting it down in Louis' lap. Louis almost immediately vomits, gripping the sides and retching into it as Harry winces and rubs his back.

"'M taking you to the doctor tomorrow," Harry decides as Louis coughs up his dinner. Louis sighs and nods when he's done, leaning into Harry weakly as Harry kisses the top of his head tenderly.