Being pregnant is enough of a problem at the end of term especially since it’s quite obvious now that he isn’t just enjoying food and booze, but being Harry Styles’s secret boyfriend is a lot more pressure. He’s been stalked by the paparazzi, mobbed by fan girls, and had to watch the father of his child walk down the red carpet with a beautiful, female model to cover them up because he’s, they’re, not good for Harry’s image. Harry reschedules a lot of events for the last two months of Louis’s pregnancy, and in turn, Louis spends a lot more time at Harry’s place, well when there aren’t cameras covering every door. At the end of term, he no longer has to worry about sneaking past the paparazzo because he starts nesting at Harry’s place, but he’s getting restless as the weeks get closer and closer to forty.
At thirty-seven weeks, he’s doing dishes, which Harry and Maria keep telling him to leave alone because the doctor told him that he should be on partial bed rest, which Harry took to mean no moving at all. But he just feels so goddamn useless and restless, so he does the dishes. Plus, he hates leaving their dinner dishes until Maria comes in the morning, and he’ll wait until Harry has gotten comfortable on the couch before making a move to do them. Because goddamn he wants to do them, not guilt Harry into it.
“Louis William Tomlinson,” Harry yells from the living room when he hears glasses clinking, which makes Louis’s head snap up.
“Have you been talking to my mother?” Louis yells back.
“Yes, because I’m concerned with everything you’re doing when you’re supposed to be on bed rest.”
“Partial bed rest.”
“Louis,” Harry rebukes, “It’s for the baby I want you to take every precaution.”
“It’s not like I’m trying to hurt our baby.”
“I know, babe, I just wish you would hold off.”
“I only have a few more things to put into the dishwasher and then we can watch a movie, yeah?”
“Okay,” Harry concedes, holding Louis’s neck as he kisses Louis’s forehead.
Louis is lifting the stockpot out of the sink when he gets a sharp pain through his lower abdomen. It shocks the breath out of him and he drops the stockpot on the floor.
“Louis?” Harry yells and he can hear Harry’s feet as they slap against the hardwood floor and then the tile of the kitchen. “Shit, Louis, what’s wrong?”
“I just got a sharp pain through my stomach.”
“I’m calling the doctor, but first, let’s get you to the couch,” Harry says, wrapping his arm around Louis’s waist. As they move to the couch, Louis feels tears prick the back of his eyes.
“Fuck, Haz, I’m so fucking sorry, you don’t even know. I’m an idiot and I should’ve listened to you. I’ll never forgive myself if…” He begins sniffling and that doesn’t make his situation better.
“Louis, it’s going to be all right, we’ve got this,” Harry placates as he helps Louis sit down on the couch. He dials their doctor’s number and he answers almost immediately. Harry reports the problem and then relays Louis’s answers to the doctor’s questions. When Harry says it might be easier if he just did the talking, Louis shakes his head because he hasn’t been able to control his quivering voice. They decide to go in just as a precaution. Harry has to call his team though and ten minutes after the first pain another one comes. Louis starts sobbing and Harry rubs circles into his back and reminds him to breathe. He tells Louis there’s nothing to apologize for, but Louis can’t help thinking he’s ruined everything.
