baby love (h.s.)

two

When I retreated back to my flat later that night, exhausted and still reeling from this morning's news, I shoved my key in the lock and kicked my door open lazily. I let out a piercing shriek, however, when I noticed a figure with his back turned to me standing in my kitchen. (For further context, I didn't have a roommate.)

What a day. I had found out I was pregnant not even twenty-four hours ago, and now I was about to be killed in my own flat. I could already imagine Harry's reaction—well, that's two birds killed with one stone.

Perhaps I was a tad bit dramatic. I knew Harry wasn't a monster. But then again, I figured I was allowed to be as dramatic as I wanted, when impending death was looming in front of my own eyes.

Before I could dial 999, however, the figure turned around and revealed itself to be none other than Niall Horan. Usually, he was my best friend, but right now, he was looking a lot like my first victim.

"What the hell is wrong with you!" I exclaimed, running up to him so I could hit him with my purse over and over again. "You don't just break into someone's flat and stand there without even saying anything! You sociopath!"

Niall burst into laughter at my expense, which was a common occurrence. "I wouldn't exactly call it breaking in, Grace. You gave me a key."

"Yes, and clearly I regret that now," I scowled. "Psycho."

"I thought I was a sociopath?" He arched an eyebrow.

"Same thing."

He stared at me for a minute too long, and I fidgeted uncomfortably. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

Instead of responding, he just continued to stare at me with those big, blinking blue eyes of his. Obviously, this only frustrated me even more, and I repeated, more emphatically this time, "What?"

Rather than answering my question like a normal person, Niall threw his arms around my neck and pulled me in close to his chest. It was safe to say I was confused. I couldn't remember the last time Niall and I had hugged. Probably when England lost the World Cup and I was trying to make him feel better, but even then, I was the one who had initiated it, not him. In our three and a half years of friendship, I honestly couldn't remember a time where he had hugged me.

"What are you doing?" I tried to ask, but he only hugged me tighter.

"Don't be mad," he murmured, rubbing the back of my neck gently, "but Harry called me."

I immediately froze. Just play dumb, Grace. "Harry? Who's...oh, that Harry. What did he want?" I tried to sound as nonchalant as possible, hoping that he couldn't hear how fast my heart was beating through our close proximity.

"He called me freaking out," Niall said slowly. "Because apparently you're pregnant with his child."

I wiggled out of his grip upon hearing his words. For a moment, we both stared at each other, and I could tell that he was expecting me to burst into tears or something. Unfortunately for him, I did the complete opposite.

"You—complete—and—utter—wanker!" I exclaimed, punching him in the arm over and over again. At this point, I no longer saw him as my best friend, but an outlet for me to take out my frustration on.

"What the hell!" Niall cried, jumping a few feet back. "Jesus Christ, woman. You're stronger than you look."

That was probably because of all the kickboxing classes I had taken, up until my cute instructor had moved to Amsterdam. "This is all your fault!" I yelled, leaning forward to get another few punches in.

"My fault?" he repeated. "How the hell is this my fault? I'm not the one who slept with you!"

"You kept on insisting that Harry and I should meet," I growled, "that we would get on so well. Well, clearly that wasn't the case. If it wasn't for you, this...thing would have never happened!" I pointed down to my stomach (thankfully, I hadn't started showing yet).