Random Harry Styles Short Stories || Completed!

Something In The Water

Harry was absolutely certain there was something wrong with Y/N. Well, maybe not wrong, per se, but definitely something off about her, these past few weeks.

First, there were the morbid, swiftly changing moods. God, the moods. Their intensity and unpredictability battled those of great hurricanes and wars. One moment she'd be yelling, murmuring, hissing about something as small as the coldness in their bedroom was his fault ("you're hogging all of the blankets, Harry!"). The next, she'd be climbing all over him as they watched Netflix in silence, switching from the distant sofa in their bedroom, because she couldn't stand to be touched, to primly sitting on Harry's thighs before shifting in his lap so her legs were wrapped around his sides, stomach against his, and her chest practically smushing his face as she neared their physical proximity as much as humanly possible (not that he was complaining).

Y/N had narrowed her eyes at Harry suspiciously and eyed him up like he was a piece of meat if he so much as brushed against her, some mornings. The next second she'd practically jump him, whining of how they hadn't had sex in forever, and she was dying. Harry had been walking on egg shells around her, careful and attentive, but not too attentive. At first he had thought maybe it was something in the water, but then everything just progressed even further. For fuck's sake, he'd resorted to googling how to deal with her switching moods on WikiHow.

And that's when he'd come to the aweing realization that, perhaps, they weren't the only two people in their flat anymore. Harry had watered the growing suspicion of a baby growing in his wife's stomach, unbeknownst to y/n, herself. He had brushed the thought away in disbelief, trying not to hope too much, but there were so many signs.

Then there were the worrisome headaches he had fussed over, the back aches, sensitivity, nausea, and newfound exhaustion which followed her everywhere. Y/N was never a morning person, but she liked to be awake early enough so she could lay in bed, conscious, but unmoving for a few hours. Now, she'd spend ages sleeping. It all concerned him, but he figured maybe it was some body thing. Maybe her period. They were still young, after all. But now it seemed so apparent. The maybe-baby was causing all of that.

There were also the bizarre late night wake-up calls.

"Harry," Y/N whimpered, leaning over in bed, looking for her husband. It was well over midnight, closer to day than night, but still pitch-black in their bedroom. y/n squinted and was able to make out that Harry was fast asleep, sprawled on his stomach, mouth hanging wide open, with the most adorable little snores coming out of his nose.

"Harry..." she sniffled again.

This time he awoke. "What is it," he whispered, consciousness slowly washing over his senses. He blinked and then found her face right next to his. "What's wrong? Is it another headache?"

"No," a tear fell down Y/N's cheek. Harry sat up and flicked on the soft lighted lamp on the bedside table, and then turned back to her. He was alarmed, but not surprised, to find his wife in tears.

"What's the matter, hm? Talk to me."

"I want.. I want a... I want a gr-grilled cheese," she sobbed.

Harry tried his best not to smile too widely at her misery. "That's all?"

"Lots of cheese, I need a lot of cheese, all different kinds, Harry," Y/N ran her hand through her hair and sat up with some difficulty.

"With butter on the toast?" He asked.

"Yeah," she sniffed and he handed her a tissue from the prepared box on the bedside table. She blew her nose noisily and boisterously into it.

"Anything else?"

"Milk," she cried.

"Sweetheart, why are you crying about this?"