This is the New Year (Larry Mpreg)

Thirty-Two

On a Saturday several weeks since he has seen Louis, Harry wakes up alone in his flat for what feels like the millionth time.

When he opens his eyes, he notices the pillow he's spooning and wishes Louis was the one wrapped up in his arms. Better yet, he wishes he was wrapped up in Louis's arms.

He tries to adjust himself and groans when he realizes that he's hard. He's not in the mood to fix himself, but he has to piss, and morning wood tends to make that quite difficult.

He plays with himself half-heartedly, thinking about how Louis's body curves and how his eyelashes look when they're pressed against his cheek.

When he finishes, all he can think about is where Louis is right now and what he's doing. He checks his phone when he gets up to go to the toilet and wishes there was some sort of notification from the love of his life. He realizes it's only about 5:30 in the morning. Louis's still sleeping.

He falls back to sleep shortly after he returns to his bed, lonely as ever.

///

When he wakes back up, the sun is shining through his window, and he can only curse at the light and shut his curtains.

His hair is growing out again, and it is extremely oily, so he wraps a scarf around his head to keep it out of his face and goes into the kitchen for some breakfast.

He opens his fridge and reaches for the carton full of eggs when he sees one of Niall's beers that he had left on the top shelf the last time he visited.

He weighs his options, and, ultimately, it's a Saturday. He pops the cap off on the corner of his counter top and takes a large swig.

He's drunk by noon.

Maybe if he had told Louis that his baby was also Harry's baby, Louis would have had more time to process it than he did when his OB told him. Then again, maybe he would have just left sooner.

There's no way Louis could have possibly found out that he knew before, Harry thinks, so that can't be why he was so angry.

He just didn't want Harry to be the father. He didn't want to be with Harry. And that's that.

"What a fucking loser," Harry mumbles to himself as he takes another swig of beer. He's referring to himself, obviously.

///

It's a few weeks later when Harry sees Liam while out for his weekly grocery shop.

"Liam," Harry greets quite happily, approaching the only good friend he has-or maybe, had, considering he's best friends with Louis and all-from his internship.

"Harry," Liam smiles back, slapping his hand against Harry's shoulder in the friendliest way possible, of course. "How've you been, mate? Haven't seen you in forever."

"Yeah, I know, it's been a bit, hasn't it? I'm alright, thanks, you?" he replies politely.

"I'm great, thanks. Got a raise last week," Liam says, giving himself a pat on the back.

"Good on you, mate," Harry smiles. Now, for the question Harry really wants to ask. "And, um," he coughs. "How's-how's Lou- uh, Louis?" he asks awkwardly, making terrible eye contact in the process.

Harry can't help but notice that Liam has Louis's most common cravings in his basket. Mac and cheese and chocolate fingers. Both things Liam would never buy for himself.

Liam gives him a smile full of pity and pats his bicep again, this time as a silent way of saying sorry. "He's just fine," Liam says, sounding quite pained as he does. "Quite large, actually. 8 months now, I think," Liam smiles.