Changed [stylinson]

IM Pregnant

He's watching a program on the telly when Harry slides into the cushion next to him, burrowing himself in much like a cat and, eventually, resting his head on Louis' shoulder so that he gets a nice face-full of fruit smelling curls. God, does Louis love Harry.

"How are you, Tommo?" Gemma asks, patting her stomach, "I haven't spoken to you much, thought you'd dropped off the planet."

Louis isn't sure if Gemma knows in extensive detail what's going on back in Donny, so he decides to play dumb. "I'm just chillin', yeah, not much. Um, Harry and I were trying to decide on a color scheme-"

"Green and blue," she interrupts, "of course."

"Gems, that's too predictable," whines Harry, and boy, we go again-

"But it makes sense."

"Okay, but, like. Imagine. Mint green, really really light, and a nice light pink color. And white flowers, maybe, or some lilacs-" 

Gemma wrinkles her nose. "Sounds like something Mum would pick."

"I personally like the idea of red-" begins Louis, but both Styles siblings turn their heads toward him with the exact same squinty-eyed "don't you dare, Louis, we've discussed this a million times and we all know you're going to lose this, give it up, but I still love you" expression, he swears, so he lets his jaw clamp shut and purses his lips together as tightly as he can. Never mind, then.

"Anyway," says Gemma, pointedly and smug as she eyes Louis before glancing over to their telly, "I was saying. Blue and green. They work well together and, like, you lot are exactly the kind of people to go down a route that's as shittily cheesy as that, y'know it."

"Yeah, well." Harry lolls his head on Louis' shoulder until his nose is pressing into the side of Louis' neck and little hot puffs of air hit his collarbones. Louis' hand tightens noticeably on Harry's thigh - a promise for later, and Harry bites on his lower lip 'til it pinkens. 

It takes Gemma a few moments to look over to see why Harry isn't responding, and when she does, the two of them are met with a loud groan and a throw pillow chucked at the pair of their heads. "Oi!"

"Gemma, Christ," Louis huffs, Harry cowering behind him and giggling like a child, "pregnant people shouldn't be that strong."

"Take you down any day," she grumbles, "I could take you down right now, Tomlinson."

"Let's be civil," says Harry, always the peace maker, and he even sits up and adjusts his little floral shirt before he raises his hands. His curls are unruly now, a small chunk sticking up in the back cutely, but Louis decides to admire him silently. Harry smiles down at him for half a second before he resumes his bickering with Gemma about the wedding - he loses, of course. 

Harry goes to make all three of them lunch at about noon, and Louis watches his little bum as he goes. He's humming to himself before he even reaches the kitchen, hair in a bun now, and Louis is so in love that he nearly sees stars - until Gemma clears her throat, that is, and brings him down from his Harry-induced high. He huffs. 

"Heard about your mum," Gemma begins softly, teasing smile gone and replaced by a sheepishness that Louis has never seen on her before as she gazes at her fingers where they rest on her bump. It takes a few moments for these words to process, but when they do, Louis tries not to slump too much. He's been trying to avoid the thought, actually.

"Um, yeah," he says, staring so hard at the television that he's surprised his eyes don't start watering. 

Gemma pauses for a beat, and then there's a hand reaching over and taking Louis' own into it. "I'm sorry, Louis." Her fingers are cold and slender, but the gesture feels like the warmest thing he's experienced in a week. 

He looks down at their hands and squeezes back. "Yeah."

"It's going to be okay," Gemma says, "I really do think so. I've only spoken to your mum a handful of times, but she gave birth to and raised you, so. She must be a fighter." Louis knows this is an attempt to make him crack a smile, but he doesn't. Gemma wilts a little, "but, I, um. Regardless, she'll be alright. She's got a lot of little ones looking after her, doesn't she? And the wedding isn't for a few more months, so I'm sure it'll all be okay by then. People are rarely in comas for a really, really long time, and you have a baby on the way," she reminds him, brings their hands to her bump; Louis feels like he could cry. Out of happiness or out of sorrow, he isn't sure, but he does know that the wetness swimming in his eyes wasn't there before Gemma launched into this grand speech. He loves her, he really does, but he also doesn't want to talk about it like this. Like she's a lost cause.

"Of course she'll be fine," he scoffs, wet and shaky, "she's my mum. She's always fine."

Gemma smiles at him. It's tight and forced, but it's still a smile, and that's all that matters. "You guys - all of you - you're in my prayers."

Louis has never been a religious person. He wasn't raised in a religious household, certainly doesn't buy into it now - but he's engaged to Harry. He isn't new to the idea of prayer, especially not when Harry tucks his cross necklace between the purse of his lips and closes his eyes everytime he's nervous, or the way he use to clench it between his fingers before every show. Louis has never been a religious person, but the words are still enough to shake him to his core. 

"Thank you, Gem," he says, blinks as rapidly as he can, because Louis Tomlinson is not a crier. He prides himself in his ability to keep his emotions largely private - not including the times he's around Harry, of course, where he probably does more crying than anyone else in the entire universe - but she isn't here to see Louis weep into his hands like a small child. 

As a reminder, Harry calls for them from the kitchen asking what kind of dressing they'd like on their salads - fat-free Italian for Gemma and just plain ranch for Louis, of course - and the moment is immediately over. He scoots back over to his corner of the couch and Gemma follows suit, and they watch together in silence until Harry bounds in with a pretty smile and a tray full of little bowls and sandwiches.

 Louis really does love him.