A/N 1: Here it is, the very last chapter... I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Xx
A/N 2: Trigger warning - this chapter includes references to antenatal recovery and premature babies. If either are sensitive subjects for you, please just message me with any questions you might have before reading... For creative license, I have again taken some liberties with regards to Covid hospital visitation, but please, please ensure you adhere to the rules in your area... We need to beat this damn thing!
1st October 2020
Simultaneously wired and overtired, Harry 'slept' on the narrow day bed in Eloise's private room. But, in reality, spent most of the night jumping up to check on her, overly attentive to every noise and movement. From fluffing her pillows to swapping out water bottles, he was also on hand when she needed to express more milk again in the early hours.
After everything she had given him today, it was certainly the very least he could do.
Once the night shift handed back over to the day shift, Dr. Jenkins returned on her morning rounds, bright and early.
Pleased with Eloise's progress, she removed her catheter and cleared her to be able to get out of bed. Effectively granting her freedom, within the hospital at least, she didn't exactly have to encourage her to get up and move around.
Despite her clutching on to Harry's arm, it's him that has to gently tug her back and remind her to slow down. But he has no doubt as to where she's heading, and understands precisely why she's so intent.
>
Barely paying any heed to now seeing the NICU in daylight, Eloise's laser focus locks solely on the twins.
Robyn, back on duty again too, fusses over her, swapping out chairs to give her the best seat in the house. Literally - the soft armchair on rockers feels heavenly on her aching, broken, miraculous body.
After updating them on the status of each baby and the notes from the night shift, Robyn extolls the virtues of skin-to-skin kangaroo care for aiding premature babies' development.
Holding a baby, dressed only in a nappy, directly against your bare skin - usually under a blanket or tucked into your clothing - keeps them warm and calm, and helps steady their heart rate and breathing. It also aids sleep and prepares them for breastfeeding, so they're big advocates at The Portland hospital - especially those in the know in the NICU.
Harry and Eloise can't attest to any of that just yet, but can certainly feel it working wonders for them; soothing their frazzled nerves at the very first touch.
Suddenly feeling a jolt of nerves, she makes Harry go first, but drinks in the sight of him carefully cradling tiny Dylan to his chest, tucked into his unbuttoned shirt with a blanket over the top to keep him warm.
She only manages to tear her eyes from her boys, when one of the nurses finishes attending to Freya.
Then, she's up like a shot, standing alongside the incubator to gently run her warm palms over the crown of her head and her tummy.
She's unbelievably mini, and Eloise gets despondent and a little upset, struggling to envisage how she'll ever grow strong enough to make it out of the incubator, let alone off the ward.
Pinned down under Dylan, Harry signals to Robyn, who soon folds Eloise into her arms and offers some reassurance. "You want to know the most important thing for her development? It's you. Your milk, and your touch - both of you... That's almost all she needs. The rest is largely caution and monitoring. I know it looks so scary, Eloise, but you have to trust your instincts... You are everything she and he could possibly need right now. Ask the nurses a million questions, but just watch the babies and get to know them. Your intuition is the most powerful tool we have in our arsenal, trust me".
>
After a brief sojourn to express some more milk, a lovely long cuddle lifts her spirits in no time. Having Dylan curled up on her chest is made all the more special, sat on Harry's lap, with his arms wrapped tightly around them.
He grins at catching the sight of Dylan wiggling ever so slightly, nuzzling at Eloise's bare chest. "Oop! Definitely a Styles lad!", he chuckles softly, pressing a kiss to her shoulder to hide his smirk.
But he's a fraction too late and Robyn not only sees but hears him. "Just like daddy, huh?", she banters back, arching an eyebrow sassily.
"Oh, my God! Stop it, both of you!", Eloise scolds, blushing at them both.
Robyn peers down to check. "He is keen! Let him try to suckle so we can check out his reflex... Well, without any practice, how else is he supposed to figure it out?", she grins down at Eloise's look of surprise. "It will get more productive each time, but keeping at it is key... And it's great for bonding and forces you to sit back and take things slow". She raises a brow at Eloise this time, secretly loving that they'll keep her on her toes.
Many of the reflexes to coordinate the sucking, swallowing and breathing needed for feeding may not be fully developed until thirty-four weeks.
Robyn explains they can help develop the babies' feeding reflexes by letting them practice suckling at her breast (or their little fingers) whilst they're fed by their nasogastric tubes. From there, they'll then work to progress them to syringe and then cup feeding before they attempt fully breastfeeding.
"Ready?", she grins encouragingly.
Eloise tugs down the neck of her gown and blushes slightly as she lifts Dylan a little to let Harry pull it lower.
When Dylan mewls and roots more, Robyn steps closer, coaching. "You can help him by angling him over a bit... Support his back and bottom in the crook of your arm. Perfect, just like that... Your nipples will be super sensitive. Just a touch and it will pebble to help him latch... Oh, there it is! Beading's normal; the smell of the milk helps guide him in... See, you're both naturals".
He's only mouthing weakly, but it's a weird sensation. Whilst tickly and tingly, it's something warming and magical... But, totally overcome, her heart is thumping so hard, she's not quite sure what she's feeling where, to be honest. The thought of getting to feed them both at the same time feels elusive - a way off yet, for sure, but definitely a motivational milestone for her to look forward to.
Eloise can't begin to describe the bond she already feels for the babies; suffice to say that it seems akin to a gravitational pull, and she's utterly powerless to it. Kind of like her love for Harry, appropriately enough.
She can barely peel her eyes off Dylan, but Harry leaning in to press a kiss to his head has her casting her gaze higher. Her eyes widen at the tears tracking down his cheeks, but she shouldn't have been surprised; the big softy.
"I figured that might make me feel more torn, but it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen", he whispers, totally in awe of her all over again. Two guesses as to where his lips end up next.
>
>
4th October 2020
There has been a lot to try to get their heads around.
Harry stayed overnight for the first couple of nights, arguing he should be on hand to help with such premature twins.
But, then driving between Hampstead and the hospital in Marylebone, there was a fair bit of coming and going.
Despite all the rabid media speculation over the summer, it ended up being an Instagram post from a fan that broke the Internet a bit. Just happening to be in the right place at the right time, she snapped Harry heading into The Portland alone, with a couple of holdalls full of things for Eloise and the babies. The sign above the door designating it a Maternity hospital made it fairly telling.
Paps immediately stationed themselves across the street, desperate for further sightings and hoping in vain for any information. But another shot of him, outside the hospital the next day, this time with Anne, was enough to fully ignite the rumour mill and fuel a whole host of wildly speculative stories.
True to form, Harry ignored their shouts and eager questioning each time he ran the gauntlet, so, for now, everyone's confused about the timeline and still unaware of them having had twins.
Under mounting pressure, and with his fans having a collective meltdown, he'd had to tweet, albeit vaguely. 'Thanks for the support, as always. All doing well .x'.
They hadn't planned to officially announce anything, but certainly not until both babies are safely settled at home.
Ironically, the paps were also harassing him about the Bond rumours that had randomly flooded the press out of nowhere. Well, certainly not from his team, anyway.
That was the only thing he did clear up, but again, vaguely. "Bond?! Not me!", he shook his head with a scoff.
'Wrong Styles, mate!', he smirked to himself on the way back upstairs, bursting with pride for his bonafide superstar.
>
The NICU is hard.
A lot of the time, it's impossible not to feel powerless, or useless, or like they're just getting in the way and annoying the nurses.
To have to endure such a stressful, difficult and alien experience, whilst your body is already a mess of hormones and emotions and pain, is a lot.
Eloise had been uncomfortable for the first few days, but, fuelled by adrenaline and an emotional high unlike anything she's ever experienced, intent on not missing a thing, she bravely soldiered on.
But, frustratingly, she has still needed help getting in and out of bed, and the shower, and even the toilet. Getting dressed has proved a nightmare too.
Harry has had to watch her like a hawk and keep reminding her to slow down, and accept any and all help, if only to heal faster. "You're already Wonder Woman in my eyes! You don't have to prove anything".
>
But by Sunday - day four - it all proves a bit too much.
Beyond her incision, she has other physical woes to contend with too.
Afterbirth pains have her contending with shocking cramps and a deep ache as her uterus continues contracting.
Her breasts engorge as her milk comes in, leaving her tender and sore and feeling more than a little like Dolly Parton. Going multiple rounds with the electric pump each day leaves her wincing and weepy.
She gets cold again. Really cold; almost enough to long for that furnace-like bump in the August heatwave. Her body must hear her because she then gets random hot flushes too. The contrast feels dizzying and cruelly zaps her of what's left of her energy.
Unhelpfully, day fucking four also randomly steals her appetite, too. Which makes needing to scoff enough calories to produce enough milk for two premies feel like an impossible chore.
The wild emotional and hormonal rollercoaster she'd been riding since the birth, seems to suddenly come off its tracks, as her oestrogen, progesterone, prolactin, and oxytocin levels bottom out. Suddenly dropping back to pre-pregnancy levels, it leaves her feeling really out of sorts. Surfing waves of elation, sadness, and anxiety, she randomly bursts into tears a few times too.
Unsure if she's more alarmed at the reassurances that it's all normal, she can't help but wonder how on earth female bodies have evolved enough to create the miracle of life, but not yet managed to make the aftermath a little more easy going? At this point, she can't imagine anyone willingly going through any of it all over again.
Dr. Jenkins and Robyn try to reassure her as much as possible, but it's an attentive Harry that gets her through it; watching, listening, anticipating. He intuitively knows when to give her space and leave her be, and when to fight to pull her out of it and out of herself. Similarly, he knows when to be soft and soppy and loving with her, and just when to inject a little humour and levity to keep her on her toes.
Sympathetic to her having felt out of it and out of sorts all day, after waiting patiently whilst she took forever to force down some dinner, he commandeered a wheelchair and took her upstairs for a much needed and long overdue visit.
With both babies already settled in their incubators for the night, it proves more than enough for her to curl up on Harry's lap as he rocks her gently to sleep, singing softly in her ear.
With a swift u-turn, Robyn thinks better of it than to tell him that visiting hours are over.
>
>
6th October 2020
All things considered, Eloise rallied impressively yesterday.
Now a week old, the babies officially passed the thirty-two-week mark. Being deemed 'moderately preterm' thankfully means they have less chance of developing life-threatening complications, and a better survival rate.
With her still needing to rest and express milk frequently, Harry spent a fair bit of his time shuffling Eloise between the NICU and her private room.
But they spend absolutely as much time as possible upstairs with the babies. Watching the nurses and listening attentively, they enjoy each precious cuddle for as long as they can - with Dylan and then Freya too.
Touching, looking, smelling, talking and singing, all their time actively bonding with the babies only helps stoke their intuition too.
>
Harry was more surprised than anyone when Dr. Jenkins discharged Eloise this afternoon - day six.
With the call only made relatively late, they had just a couple of hours to pack and panic and ask a million questions.
Eloise had certainly never given her number out with quite such reckless abandon before.
Harry has experienced the wrenching heartache of having to say goodbye and leave the twins for a few nights now. But Eloise's brutal flood of remorseful tears, sobbing all the way down in lift to the underground car park, have him in almost the same state - much like his first time too.
He doesn't have the heart to tell her it doesn't seem to get much easier.
The sense of having abandoned them and the constant anxiety that something might happen without them being there or even to their knowledge, feels oppressive and almost crippling, and leaves them feeling somehow both numb and wired at the same time.
She weeps and sobs and sniffles for the entirety of that fourteen-minute drive home.
And will surely continue to do, each and every night, until they finally get to bring them home with them.
>
Feeling glum and emotionally drained, they both still and stare mutely up at the front door of their dream family home.
After he dashes around the car to help her down, as soon as Eloise steps through the front door, she spins around and burrows into Harry's chest, bursting into fresh tears. "They should be with us, this feels so wrong", she whimpers.
He eyes his mum, looking on worriedly from the kitchen door.
"Oh, I know... But it's temporary, okay? We'll get to bring them home soon", he promises.
Eloise wipes frustratedly at her tears. "I know! I know they're in the best hands, and I'm being irrational, but how does this not feel like home because they're not here? They've never been here!".
"They have... For seven months", he runs a knuckle up the side of her waist.
She crumples again. "God, I'm sorry, I'm a mess! I swear I can literally feel hormones surging around my body. I can't even tell if it's my heart aching or my boobs", she grimaces and cups her chest. "Oh, God, yeah, definitely them too", she winces.
"It's been a long day... Hell, a long week", he rubs at her arm, pressing kisses to her forehead. "Come on, let's get you up to bed... Let me just grab the bags and lock the car, okay?", he steps back outside. "But wait for me, don't do the stairs alone", he calls in warning over his shoulder.
Seeing her shoulders slump, Anne pulls Eloise in for a snuffily hug, successfully distracting her with questions about Dylan and Freya's positive progress that afternoon.
>
Soon settled in bed, Eloise winces as Harry helps ease her back to lay down. Lifting her head up she chuckles wetly, "Hey, I can see that TV again!".
He settles carefully alongside her and pulls her gently into his arms. But she yelps as she rolls into his firm chest, rolling back and cupping her boobs. "Fuck, feel that...", she groans. They're rock hard and feel like they're about to explode.
"Oh, my poor baby", he frowns, hating to see her so uncomfortable. "Let me go and find the bag with the pump... I'll be right back".
"Wow...", she calls out as he heads for the stairs. "I'm not sure these four walls are ready for that sexy kind of talk!".
>
>
14th October 2020
After another early start in Hampstead, they arrive back at the NICU once again; promptly on time for the start of the shift changeover rounds.
They've struck up an empathetic rapport with the other parents. A few visit babies daily, like them, while others are still admitted here themselves.
On the ward, their attention is firmly on their own baby or babies, and, barring the constant low hum and bleeping from all the machines, conversation around the different incubators always remains respectfully hushed. But they all sensitively keep tabs too, to know when to provide space, support or levity in the public areas and facilities.
It's an incredibly tough and emotionally draining environment.
Every time an alarm sounds and disrupts the hallowed calm, panic has their hearts skipping a beat. But it's impossible not to then surreptitiously cast their eyes around; sympathetic, but so relieved that it's not one of theirs, this time.
Even when things are going well, they're always conscious that someone else could be facing the unimaginable.
They're still reeling from the realisation, just a few days before, that the baby boy from the unexpectedly empty incubator in the other corner hadn't just been discharged early. He'd been making steady progress too, so the shocking news hit Harry and Eloise doubly hard.
All they can do is appreciate the fragility of new life, focus on the positives, and do everything in their power to get their two home as soon and safely as possible.
Once they no longer need the intensive care of the NICU, the babies will move to the Special Care baby unit.
Dylan is probably ready to make the move, but as they have space, they're keeping him with Freya until she's ready too.
It will only be once they can breathe entirely on their own, maintain stable body temperature, gain weight steadily, feed properly and pass an extensive list of tests and checks, that they can be discharged and finally taken home. Which, in itself, is a terrifyingly daunting but exciting prospect.
All they can do is take it day by day.
>
And today is looking like it will be a good one.
Robyn's positivity and enthusiasm prove infectious as she bustles them in.
The babies have been responding to Harry and Eloise more and more, and they can't help but coo over their adorable reactions as they greet them good morning. Little wriggles and kicks, soft grunts, slow blinks; they'll take it all.
After giving them a rundown on how both babies have been through the night (well, again - they always call the ward for an update first thing), Robyn spins back to face them. "Right", she rubs her hands together before giving them jazz hands, gesturing between the incubators. "Who's having who this morning?".
"What was it yesterday?", Harry turns to El, drawing a blank. "Did you have Dilly in the afternoon?".
"No, that was Monday, I think? I'm sure I had Frill-?".
They can't quite recall why they agonised over their names for so long, when sweet, silly nicknames inevitably stuck after just a few days... Dilly and Frilly. And, when his cheeky little personality shines through, he sometimes gets Pickle too; fittingly enough.
Looking between them, Robyn just grins. She can't help but get attached to the parents of babies in her care, but she's become particularly fond of these two. They're tired and a little overwhelmed still, but trying so hard. And, truth be told, she has no clue either as days have a way of merging together in the ward, but they always swap during the course of the day, so it doesn't matter much.
>
After helping bathe, change and dress each baby - still with the nurses' assistance, but both getting more confident by the day - they eventually settle into the adjacent soft rocking chairs in their quiet corner.
"He's getting the right idea!", Robyn nods her head at Dylan's rooting.
"Well, not quite!", Harry snorts a laugh, peering down at where he's nuzzling against the skin of his chest - shirt unbuttoned low for the skin-to-skin contact.
"Oh, you can't exactly blame him!", Eloise can help giggle. "It must be your rippling pecs confusing him!".
Robyn can't resist joining in, rolling her eyes sassily. "If only male nipples served a function, eh? It would help out with night feeds, let me tell you!".
"You're telling me! He's got four, I'd be obsolete!", Eloise sniggers, trying to avoid jostling Freya, where she lies snuggled up in her favourite spot, perched high on her chest and tucked under her chin.
"Hey!", he whines, before cooing to a snoozing Dylan. "Wake up, baby! They're ganging up on Daddy already".
The smirk falls promptly from her face. Scrunching her nose at him instead, she shifts surreptitiously in her seat. Bastard; he knows exactly the effect him saying that has on her.
>
Robyn scoots back over on a little rolling stool with some supplies in her hands - syringes without needles, a bottle of expressed breastmilk and muslins.
Having had their feeding tubes removed first thing, it's a big day today. And their latching reflexes had improved thanks to their perseverance of encouraging them to suckle whilst being tube fed, so they're feeling quietly optimistic.
"How do you feel?", she asks Eloise. "Keen to give it a go right off the bat, or try with the syringe first?".
"Oh, I'm definitely game!", she grins, so excited for this. Looking between the babies she adds, "But maybe him first? If he's keen? She's pretty quiet and content right now".
"Good girl! And definitely wise to try him first", she encourages her, earning a relieved smile. "Harry, you jump up and lay Dylan across her thighs before taking Freya, please".
After a little manoeuvring, she's ready. Harry sits alongside her, watching eagerly, whilst unconsciously peppering kisses against Freya's wispy blonde hair.
Robyn scoots around to Eloise's side. "Remember, some discomfort is okay, but it shouldn't hurt... And keep in mind what I've said about the angle of the latch and that scooping movement".
She'll get plenty of practice in no time. Premies need small volumes of milk every hour or so. With twins, that's relentless. Juggling expressing and then suckling, Eloise was already starting to feel like a dairy cow. And, Christ, her poor, poor nipples.
On the plus side, she has at least lost just about any last vestiges of modesty by this point. Tugging down her tank top and unhooking one cup of her nursing bra, she settles Dylan on his side, grasping the back of his neck for support and guiding him closer.
Naturally, he roots around, but needs a little help to actually get further. "Rub your nipple or finger on his lower lip to tease it open... He'll find it eventually".
Eloise can't help but cut her eyes to Harry and has to bite her lip to keep from blurting something inappropriate.
"Jesus, you two!", Robyn chastises, totally on to them, and leaving them both blushing and smirking at the same time.
But nothing else happens. She can feel Dylan's mouth on her, and see a few beads of milk pooling at the corner of his mouth, but that's it. Then, just as she opens her mouth to ask Robyn, she gasps as his tiny mouth gets to work. Wincing and grimacing, she feels the milk come through, tickling her throbbing breast.
He manages just a few sucks before his mouth goes lax, dribbling at the corner of his pursed tiny lips.
Attentively, Harry leans forward and swipes it with a muslin cloth.
As Eloise hisses at a sting of pain, Robyn frowns. "I suggest you unlatch and start again... He'll grumble, but it'll be worthwhile. Gently wedge your pinky into the corner of his mouth or under his lip to break the suction".
After his indignant little bleat of dismay at being separated, it's a happier experience for them both, second time around.
Eloise can't take her eyes off him; stroking his head gently, she's so aware of him. The relative weight in her arms, the warmth of his skin, the lapping of his tongue and pursing of his mouth. The greedy little grunts and mewls melt her heart.
But he's evidently all talk, and his tiny jaw goes lax after just a couple of minutes.
Harry, watching attentively, shuffles closer for a better look. "Milk drunk, already?", he coos, before rolling his eyes sassily.
Robyn swats him with a muslin for it. "It's the good stuff, you can't blame him! Leave him there, Eloise, and he'll come right back to it, I promise you". Stepping closer, she peers down at him. Knowingly dropping a gentle finger to stroke his cheek, he soon rouses and starts suckling again.
>
"Are you game?", she grins, gesturing to Eloise's free arm. "Let's see how good of a juggler you'll be, shall we?".
Eloise giggles, "Probably not as good as this one!", she nods towards Harry. Literally.
Standing up, he carefully hands over Freya and helps get her in position before crouching alongside Eloise, planting a hand on her thigh for balance as he watches on, totally transfixed.
Needing to let them each feed for as long as they want each time, it can easily clock up to over four hours actively feeding, for each baby, every day. Successfully doubling up has to be her endgame here; she's determined.
Eloise gasps again as Dylan rouses and starts suckling greedily again, causing his sister to start rooting; too.
"Ah, don't want to be left behind by your brother, huh?", Robyn coos down at her.
Smaller and a little weaker, Freya needs a little more help. But Eloise doesn't dare let go of holding them both securely, so gratefully accepts Robyn lending a hand.
But with her jaw soon going lax as well, she too drifts off to sleep after just a minute. Aww.
Harry cuts his wide, watery eyes from Dylan, to Freya, to Eloise, in awe. His whole world, in her crossed arms, each hand protectively cupping and stroking a little head. "Look at you, everything they need...", he coos.
To manage to successfully feed them both, at the same time, without much help, feels like such progress, even if neither managed to take much milk yet.
Appropriately, they're all for the baby steps these days.
Harry can't resist taking a photo of his own. It might just be one of his very favourite smiles to ever grace her face. Proud, and content, and practically shining with a mother's love. It's a double dose, after all.
>
>
16th October 2020
Harry gets called off paternity leave sooner than anticipated.
He'd been holding off filming a performance - to be streamed for the iHeartRadio's Jingle Bell Ball on the 10th of December - until Mitch and Sarah were due back in London.
But then the babies came. And then lockdown measures tightened again.
As a result, and having taken it relatively to the wire, as these things go, he'll have to make do.
At short notice, and without Mitch, Sarah or Naomi in the country, and, not to mention, the small issue of a global pandemic to contend with, he has to cobble together a plan with Tom, with Jeff chipping in remotely from LA too.
Via his record label, he borrows the Free Nationals band from Anderson Paak, finds an incredible trumpet player and some backing singers too, and decides to make use of their own beautiful garden.
Creative as she is, Anne lends a hand to devise a backdrop, and ends up dressing one of Harry's more outlandish impulsive lockdown buys with bunting and festoon lights.
A vintage silver AirStream trailer isn't something you see often in the UK, and, having always loved them, he'd snapped it up, intending to convert it into a cool outdoor bar for the garden.
>
Feeling guilty, he kissed Eloise goodbye as she left for the hospital that morning, then hung back, nervously keeping tabs on the drizzly rain whilst awaiting the arrival of Tom, and the team from Ben's production company.
With negative Covid tests and NDAs signed, all the safety protocols and distancing measures enforced, and necessarily strict instructions for everyone else to stay out of the house, they kicked off rehearsals as soon as his stand-in musicians arrived.
However, bad news came later in the morning, when it was revealed that the delayed backing singers passed their tests, but learned they had unwittingly come into contact with someone with the virus, and need to self-isolate.
Harry didn't consider taking the risk for even a second. This is their home; and safeguarding themselves, for continued access to the twins in hospital, has to be their top priority.
He'd committed to perform three songs, and the band have learnt Adore You, Golden and Watermelon Sugar.
But all three tracks require backing vocals, and they need to start filming soon or else they'll lose the light and the improved weather.
Bollocks.
>
Harry sits slumped at the kitchen table, desperately trying to figure a passable solution with Tom, when the front door slams shut. "I'm back!".
Distracted, he automatically calls back "Hey, babe!", mid-sentence about using isolated backing vocals from the album. He hates singing alongside anything pre-recorded, but needs must.
"I'll be right down, just give me ten minutes", she hollers, heading straight upstairs.
Harry's delayed realisation comes with a comical double-take and wide, questioning eyes. "Wait, El!", he jumps up and runs to the hall. "What are you doing back? Is everything okay?", he calls up after her.
"Yeah, all good!", she shouts back, already in their bedroom. Stepping back out on to the landing, she leans over the banister to smile down at him. "I just need to throw on some slap and get some spit-up out of my hair, but I'll be quick, I promise".
"Wait, what?". But she's already gone.
Heading back into the kitchen, his mum catches his eye.
Just spotting her smirk over the rim of her cup of tea, he gasps. "Mum! You didn't?!", he rounds on her, accusingly.
"I spoke to her earlier, and when she asked how you were getting on, I may have happened to explain the predicament...". She cuts him off before he can protest. "And she offered! I didn't ask or put any pressure on her, I promise", she holds her hands up defensively. "You need female backing vocals and we both sure as hell know it couldn't have been me!", she laughs.
>
Then, outside with everyone else, a now-dressed Harry sits at the patio table, being attended to by masked hair and make-up artists, when Eloise opens the door and peeks her head out, casting a quick look around before stepping surreptitiously outside.
"Babe, I-", Harry leans back from the hands in his face.
Eloise cuts him off this time. "...Urgently need a singer but overlooked the one who actually lives here? I'm wounded!", she sasses.
"Yeah, literally..." he deadpans. "You're on maternity leave and are supposed to be taking it easy!".
It's her turn to smirk. "It's three songs and, what, an hour tops, including rehearsal time? This isn't exactly manual labour, H!".
"But what about your incision?".
"I wasn't planning on singing that hard!". Coming to stand right in front of him, she plants her hands on his broad shoulders. "It's fine. I'm fine. The babies are fine. And Robyn has our numbers and your mum's in case anything happens... Don't overthink this", she shrugs with a knowing smile.
"Not the first time you've struggled to see the obvious answer from under the end of your nose, you know?", Anne rolls her eyes fondly, chipping in from across the table.
"But-", Harry splutters.
"But what?", Eloise smiles indulgently.
"You've not wanted to appear in anything alongside me before... And I know you won't want the scrutiny or exposure-".
"You're in a jam... I can sing backing vocals. And I know the songs inside out - you literally wrote them about me! The cameras will be trained on you. And it's not live... This is the best and only ready solution for you to perform them as planned. So stop worrying and let me help, okay?".
After a brief, narrowed-eyed stand-off, he relents. "You're actually the best!".
"Oh, I know", she grins, flipping her hair playfully.
"I love you".
"Love you more".
"Impossible!".
"Meh!", she shrugs jokily before lifting her hands from his shoulders to his jaw and bending gingerly to give him a kiss.
She literally feels him relent and relax against her and into the kiss.
"Does this look okay?", she steps back and tugs at her simple off-the-shoulder black broderie cotton sundress, casting a look from him to Harry Lambert.
Lifting one hand to palm her hip, Harry tugs at the ends of her slightly damp long blonde waves. "You look gorgeous... But do you feel comfortable? Wear whatever you want".
The colour and loose smock shape feel forgiving and her (his) slouchy printed shirt obscures the straps of her bra - there's no way in hell she's willing to contend with a strapless one right now.
>
After he introduces her to the band, keeping a safe distance, they all warm-up and run through the songs once, then again with the cameras rolling.
Eloise is positioned at the far side of the Air Stream, as safe as possible a distance away from the band and crew. Being perched on one of the bar stools from the kitchen island should help keep her post-baby body under wraps to avoid any unfair scrutiny.
Anne stays in both of their eye lines, with all their phones laid out at the ready on the table in front of her. But seeing her relaxed and happily singing along and dancing in her seat is all the reassurance they both need to let loose and enjoy it.
>
Despite the latent, disconcerting feeling of cheating on his own band, and with a palpable sense of relief after their panicky afternoon, Harry quickly relaxes into it.
The band are amazing, and the trumpeter is insanely good.
Eloise resists the temptation to sing along with Harry, and instead focuses on the girls' isolated backing vocals, playing discretely in her ear.
With her nailing Sarah's tone, Harry could almost forget it's Eloise behind him, but he keeps catching sight of her as he dances, shimmies and spins. He's loving it.
God, it feels so good to perform again. And it's all the more special to have Eloise alongside him as he belts out songs about her in their beautiful garden at their dream family home.
In a blue shirt and grey checked jacket with brown trousers, and with the bunting dancing in the breeze, and the AirSteam aglow in the golden hour before the sun sets in a remarkably cleared sky, it looks great too.
The whole vibe is irresistibly, undeniably dreamy, cool and easy.
Still bopping his head and shimmying around to the irresistible groove, Harry addresses the camera after Adore You. "Hello! I'm Harry... Thank you for having us. Thank you to iHeart... I just want to say happy holidays to everyone at home. I hope you've been staying safe, and managed to make the best out of a rough year... I want to say thank you to the Free Nationals, Mr. Maurice Brown, Tom, and a certain Mrs. Styles, for all stepping in and playing with me today...". He spins around and grins over his shoulder at her before introducing Golden.
>
Despite the acoustics outside, his voice sounds incredible - warm, rich and certainly well-rested. And his and Eloise's harmonies compliment each other beautifully too.
Tom lends a little depth, singing some backing vocals too, from his spot at the soundboard, largely out of frame.
In tribute, Harry couldn't resist singing the "n-o oh-ohh's" and "wh-oa oh-ooh's" Eloise always ad-libs when singing along to the album.
After his sweet goodbye message and then nailing his final "Watermelon Sugar", Harry spins and claps the band as he saunters straight over to Eloise, sweeping her off the stool and into his arms; spinning in a circle with her long blonde hair fanning out around them.
"That was amazing, H!", she grins.
"You were amazing... That felt so good!".
"Don't get used to it", she waggles a finger.
Once the director calls cut, Harry pauses briefly to watch some of the footage back, before saying his "Thank yous" and "Goodbyes", following Eloise straight back inside.
After quick, hot showers, they return to the hospital to sit and cuddle with Dylan and Freya until the end of visiting hours.
It's a good day. A really good day.
>
>
20th October 2020
But they're not all great days. And, sometimes, not even good days.
Repeating the same journey, day after day, first thing in the morning and late at night, for long days at the hospital has both of them feeling a sense of Groundhog Day.
With her anaemia, bleeding heavily for two weeks after the birth was no joke, and left her feeling weary with exhaustion. Having to express or breastfeed throughout the day and night, hasn't helped. And nor had feeling perpetually on edge, in a constant state of worry about the babies.
It hadn't all been smooth sailing for them either.
Both developed jaundice; relatively mildly, but enough to turn a slightly alarming yellow hue, and needed to spend time under phototherapy treatment lamps, with protective goggles to help protect their delicate eyes.
And Freya stopped feeding properly for a very anxious couple of days, which hindered her weight gain again.
It was fraught and stressful and left them feeling more powerless and out of control than ever; awkwardly trying to keep out from under the nurses' feet, but unable to keep away.
But all they can do is take it day by day. They remind themselves, and each other, daily. And when they both waver, Anne and Robyn are on hand to remind them both and dole out pep talks.
>
They celebrated each of the little wins and proverbial baby steps, of course.
But spending all day, every day, with the twins, it was hard to appreciate the rate of development. In looking back at photos, even just from a few days before, they'd always be shocked at quite how much they'd already changed.
So moving along wards and floors felt incredible - to experience actual, tangible progress, and physically edge closer to the door home.
Eventually transferring from the NICU to the Special Care unit felt momentous. Moving from incubators, into hot cots and then normal cots, made them seem increasingly like normal newborns.
The nursery ward felt like the final frontier. A halfway house to getting them home, and largely just to check all their levels remained stable, it allowed Eloise and Harry precious more autonomy.
>
Dylan made it there late last week.
Still technically six weeks from his due date, he looks comically small next to the comparatively beefy newborns in the cots either side of his.
His heart rate, breathing, temperature, blood sugar and weight gain have all been consistently stable, but it takes Harry and Eloise entirely by surprise when Robyn announces that he's ready for discharge. He can go home.
They are absolutely delighted, of course, but it's bittersweet.
Freya isn't quite ready, and still in the Special Care unit.
She's doing well, all things considered, but after her recent issues feeding, her weight still hasn't quite stabilised and her temperature is still prone to the odd wobble.
It has been hard enough for Harry and Eloise to just see the twins separated in different wards for a few days. But, with the hospital only getting busier and in need of space on the wards, they accept it. They have to.
But it doesn't make it any easier.
>
It should feel right up there, as rites of passage go. Choosing your baby's going home outfit, and packing his things, whilst all the adoring staff queue up to say goodbye. Wrangling with the new car seat, signing the discharge forms, and ceremoniously cutting off the hospital ID tag.
But it's agonising when doing that for one baby means leaving the other behind.
After dragging her heels with a long feed and an even longer quiet cuddle afterward, Eloise eventually hands Freya to Harry before she's pulled into Robyn's arms. "I know this is wretched, but I'll keep an extra close eye on her, I promise. In just a few days, or maybe a week, tops, these will be the happiest tears".
>
Weepy tears had been spilling for almost an hour now. And the risk of dehydration is no joke when you're feeding newborn twins.
After battling with the car seat, and then a notably slow and cautious drive home, Eloise braced herself for a fresh wave as they approached the front door.
But, somehow, the new house finally felt like home.
>
As much as Eloise and Harry find leaving Freya each night excruciating, they'd admit that getting to grips with just one baby at home first is helpful, crucial practice.
Anne has been a godsend too; giving them space and time to figure things out for themselves, but miraculously always around when they needed a hand, or felt unsure or overwhelmed.
And when Eloise is up in the middle of the night, feeding Dylan and expressing for Freya and feeling all the more guilty about her being alone, she FaceTimes Mer, Rosie or Adele in LA. Her mum had surprised her too, checking in and sharing a few twin tricks.
Never having felt more grateful for all the amazing women in her life, Eloise is so appreciative of all their support and advice.
She just needs to take it day by day.
>
>
26th November 2020
All four of them finally made it home, all together, after four weeks, just before Halloween.
They'll inevitably need to get some help in the form of a full-time nanny or two once they're both working normally again, but, for now, they've been intent on being entirely hands-on and making the most of all their precious time together.
But it's been an adjustment, for sure.
And, more often than not, it's really hard.
Caring for premature, newborn twins is an all-consuming, around-the-clock job, after all.
Some days and nights, Dylan and Freya are too in sync, demanding all their attention, all at once, for everything, at the same time. It feels like there just aren't enough hands to keep up with everything - even with Anne helping out too.
But, at other times, the babies seem to be on wildly opposing schedules; regardless of how closely they try to keep them to a routine. As soon as they get one down, the other will start up.
Whichever kind of day it is, and even when they achieve a happier medium, they rarely stop or sit down. And they certainly don't manage to get anything like enough sleep.
There are plenty of tears, and not just from the littlest Styles'.
>
The media and fans have been desperate for photos and information, but a second UK lockdown - announced mid-October and in effect from early November - had the Styles' laying low at home.
With infection rates and the death toll soaring terrifyingly, they did not mess around; adhering strictly to the rules, and then some... They just cannot take any risks. Not with two premature babies at home - technically still only at thirty-nine weeks gestation, with another eight days to go until their original due date.
Whilst it has meant that so many family and friends had yet to meet the twins properly, it's given them crucial time to get to grips with their new charges. And - a silver lining if ever there was one - kept Anne with them; patiently showing them the ropes, lending support and bonding with her grandbabies.
And besides, they've spent a fair bit of time proudly showing them off anyway, with FaceTime and Zoom calls aplenty.
It's Thanksgiving today, actually, and they have another call planned for later, to catch up with Jeff and Glenne, and Mitch and Sarah.
They have a lot to be thankful for. Even outside of their protective, blissful bubble at home, so much has been happening.
Harry released the Golden music video - extra special to them for having been shot, in part, around the grounds of the palazzo where they married.
And within the last two weeks, he has been named Variety's 'Hitmaker of the Year', won an Aria award, and even been nominated for three Grammy's. The enormity of that hasn't quite sunk in yet.
But then, even that was overshadowed by the unexpected noise around his US Vogue cover story being released. They had indeed held it back, to be able to add a post-script on the online article, congratulating them and adding 'father' to the many feathers now in Harry's cap.
>
With a narrow window of opportunity before the next lockdown is due to be announced, Anne finally headed back home to Holmes Chapel yesterday.
She'd been incredible. Always on hand to help and answer any questions, but never pushy or preachy, and gave them plenty of time and space to just be. Despite her inclination, she resisted mollycoddling them too much. They'll need to know how to juggle the babies and the house and daily life, before they can even begin to think about throwing work into the mix full time again - well, one day.
They're missing her already; but, after a successful hospital appointment earlier, with both babies progressing well and Eloise getting the all-clear, things are looking up. The sky is even clear and the sun shining.
Keen to make the most of it before winter really kicks in with a vengeance, they bundle up to head out for a gentle stroll on Hampstead Heath. It feels pretty amazing, after being cooped up for so long.
Decked out in wellies, jeans and warm jumpers, they help each other into the complicated baby carriers and then carefully secure their precious cargo. She has Freya, he has Dylan.
Donning their sunglasses and coats, left open to be able to pull around the sides of the carriers, they head out the front door, hand in hand.
>
Having stopped for water at a cute little kiosk, when Eloise drops the cap from hers, with their precious cargo and all their layers, they both struggle to bend down for it. Harry also has the baby bag slung across his shoulders.
Giggling and laughing as he makes a play of slut dropping down, clinging on to her legs to ensure his balance, a cute little girl walks up to help.
She's only four or so, and holds a doll tightly in the crook of her arm. "Here you go!", she holds the cap out for him, lisping slightly.
"Oh, thank you!", Harry says softly. "That's very kind of you".
Eloise looks around, trying to spot the little girl's parents.
"I love babies...", she grins, stepping innocently closer to Harry, who's still crouched down.
"Well, these two are special, tiny babies... Look", he leans forward and adjusts Dylan's blanket to give her a quick peek.
"Where's your mummy or daddy, sweetie?", Eloise frets, before jumping when a man clears his throat alongside them.
They both can't help but stiffen a little, immediately clocking the professional camera hanging from his neck.
Popping quickly back up to his full height, Harry steps closer to Eloise and Freya.
"Ah, she's with me, sorry... Come on Cora, leave them in peace", he turns his daughter by the shoulders, to lead her away. "And congratulations!", he nods to the baby carriers with a smile.
Turning to leave, he then appears to hesitate. "I, umm, hate to have to ask... But, when it's been such a tough year-, would you mind if I get just one shot? I won't get their faces at all".
A polite, courteous man, out with his young family; who just happens to be a photographer?
Harry doesn't recognise him, but is willing to trust his gut instinct, that if he is a paparazzo, he would seem to be one of the few decent ones.
"Sounds closest to on our terms, babe?", he whispers as he turns to look at Eloise.
Eyeing the man and then his sweet young daughter, she nods, already stepping closer to rearrange the blankets and sheepskins in both carriers to ensure both babies are well-covered.
Harry turns back to the man and points in the direction they'd just come from. "We'll be heading off that way in a minute or so", he explains, giving him a heads up so he can prep his shot.
With one hand spanning Dylan's back, cradling him protectively, Harry eyes the photographer as he fiddles with his camera.
"Cheers for this mate, really", the man swallows thickly, "This is really good of you". He drops a hand to the crown of his daughter's head, knowingly.
After all the speculation, the first photo of Harry and Eloise together for months, let alone with the twins, will definitely pull in his biggest pay packet ever.
Harry holds his gaze, pointedly. "That's okay... But please give us until tonight to post something first? We haven't got around to it yet... We'd been intending to wait until after their due date next week".
"Of course, absolutely", he promises, eyes dropping in a double-take down to Dylan. Evidently still very small, even under all his layers, he's shocked just imagining how little they must have been.
They set off hand-in-hand, and, cradling Freya's bottom protectively, Eloise leans over and drops a kiss to Dylan's head, burrowed snuggly against Harry's chest.
After just a minute, they quickly duck back through the trees into the woods, safely out of sight.
>
After hanging up from their Zoom call - on which, to allay everyone's disappointment at finding them empty-handed, they'd been heckled into dutifully sneaking into the nursery to give them all a peek of the twins again - Harry and Eloise had been snuggling contentedly on the sofa in the living room, deep in conversation, when they're interrupted by a singular whimper from the baby monitor.
Gently wrestling and then unceremoniously upending her into the plush sofa, Harry then sprints upstairs.
>
Still lying contentedly where he left her, burrowed into the invitingly squishy cushions, Eloise smile, humming Harry's silly "Hey Dilly, Dilly..." ditty that she'd just overheard him singing softly in the nursery over the baby monitor.
She jumps in surprise when he suddenly sits down on the other end of the sofa.
Craning her neck, she then pops up on to an elbow and cocks her head to the side, eyeing him appraisingly.
"What?", he looks up, holding a fussing Dylan to his chest with one hand as he lays out his supplies alongside him with the other. Nappy, wipes, baby powder, nappy sack.
How he could have carried that one handed, she can't quite fathom... Nor, why he's down here at all, when this stuff all lives on the changing table in their nursery, where he'd just been?
Whilst running his fingers through the poppers along the legs of Dylan's sleep suit, Harry looks up and catches her still smirking at him. "Go on then-", he nods.
"What?".
"What, umm-, what was it you were saying before?", he asks in faux innocence.
They trade slight smirks, both knowing exactly what she'd been gushing about - her pride at all his incredible, mind-blowing achievements of late, even despite the distractions of a global pandemic and getting to grips with two newborns. It seems someone's in the mood to have his ego stroked; and she can't blame him one bit. He deserves all the kudos and more.
She shakes her head, bemused. "Why didn't you just change him upstairs?".
"She was starting to stir and I didn't want to risk waking her... And, besides, we can't have this monkey thinking it's okay to interrupt his Mummy, can we?", He babbles cutely, kissing him noisily to see that precious, gummy smile, before laying him down on his lap.
"You're ridiculous!", she scoffs.
"What?!", he gapes.
"Oh, alright then, Mr. Cocky! Go right ahead...", she snuggles back down, eyes drifting shut to teasingly deny Harry the attention he's evidently craving.
But then, hearing his pained, strained gasp, she whips her head back up. Her eyes widen in horror as it reaches her.
By now, they're used to baby poo being an unexpectedly alarming shade of mustard yellow. They'd each dealt with their fair share of nappies in the last eight weeks, but it doesn't usually smell much. This definitely does.
Her eyes automatically lock on Dylan, in concern, but he's wriggling under Harry's anchoring palm, grunting quietly.
But, catching sight of the state of Harry's formerly black jogging bottoms, she too gasps in alarm. Scanning her eyes up his torso, she winces at the tell-tale smear of yellow on his white t-shirt.
She then promptly loses it.
His face is an absolute picture. The regret is real. Green eyes wide and cast down, surveying the horror, literally in his lap. Nose scrunched at the unaccustomed smell. And panic etched into his furrowed brow.
But it's the smear across his forehead that kills her. He'd so obviously run his hand through his hair.
She can only hang her head where she lies, now propped up on both elbows, jigging and shaking with silent laughter.
His "Holy shit!", has her braving another look.
Harry holds Dylan in outstretched hands. The formerly white sleep suit, rucked up around his neck, reveals at least half of the absolute horror show - smeared half way up his back and down past his knees. Gross.
His face is an absolute picture - gaping at his son in a mix of revulsion, panic, dismay and just a smidge (or should that be smudge?) of hysteria.
Cutting his wide green eyes to hers, he hisses, "What the actual fuck am I supposed to do with this?".
"Well, for starters, I'd get off the new, light grey sofa if I were you!", she just manages to blurt before creasing into hysterics again. Flipping on to her back, she slides off the sofa and literally rolls on the floor, laughing uncontrollably.
Jumping up, with Dylan cradled in his outstretched hands, Harry dashes back up the stairs, leaving her cackling - entirely at his expense, writhing on the floor, with tears streaming down her cheeks, and a hand protectively splayed over her fresh incision scar.
>
"Eurgh, it's the smelly boys!", she stage whispers to a feeding and entirely non-plussed Freya as they return downstairs, ten minutes later.
Smelling decidedly fresher, if a tad traumatised, Harry's giving Dylan the stink eye.
Biting her lip to try to keep from laughing again, she raises an eyebrow at their state of undress. Tellingly, both are now wrapped in just towels.
"Well, I had to get straight in the shower with him, didn't I? In our clothes and everything", he pouts.
At Eloise's snort, he sniggers too. It's a little haunted, but still. "Fucking hell, it was on his neck and even in his hair!".
Her eyes lift tellingly to his forehead.
"Yes, I know! And it was in my fucking hair too!". Shaking his head in dismay, he lays Dylan down on his lap again to redress him, and she's relieved to see he's already safely in a fresh nappy. "We're going to need to throw that sleep suit straight out... And maybe just redecorate that bathroom whilst we're at it".
"Oh, stop being dramatic!", she laughs.
"I'm not! That was harrowing!", he wails. Looking down at his lap again, he shakes his head in disbelief. How is it even possible that all of that, came from this now angelic bundle laying sleepily on his lap? "I think I might actually love him a teeny, tiny bit less after that".
She gasps, and lobs a cushion at his ankles. "Take that back!".
"I just had shit on my face and in my hair, Eloise!".
"You did well not to get any on the sofa, I'll give you that much!", she concedes, albeit with a smirk. "Well, Mr. Cocky, that was comedy gold! You're lucky I didn't have time to get a photo-".
"Oh, fine, sure, laugh now! You know it's only a matter of time until that happens to you... Anyway, here, take him", he stands up and steps closer. "Fill him back up with whatever in God's name you're feeding him, because there sure as hell can't be anything left in there".
>
Returning back downstairs again, now with his hair dried and dressed in a fresh pair of sweatpants and t-shirt, Harry drops a kiss to the crown of Eloise's head as he settles close alongside her. "That didn't take long", he nods to the now fed and sleepy twins.
Once they each have a burped and snoozing baby in their arms, Harry leans closer, shifting and wriggling to get his phone out of his pocket. "What do you say? Give it a go now while they're both milk drunk enough to play ball?", he whispers.
Fittingly, both babies seem as allergic to selfies as their parents evidently are.
But, needs must... Anne had taken a load of photos of them already whilst she'd been staying, but they all feel a little too personal to share like this.
After a little gentle manoeuvring, and a mild tangle of limbs, they're sorted.
Harry sits in the corner of the sofa, with Eloise perched sideways on his lap with her legs crossed, and Dylan laying in the crook of her left arm. Still a little wary of him, Harry holds Freya against his chest one-handed, with his right outstretched, trying to find an angle that avoids revealing the babies' faces, or Eloise's tummy (at her request), or too much of the house behind them.
It takes a few attempts.
>
One is perfect. Heads together, they're each looking down at the sleeping baby in the other's arms. Her spare hand wraps around his back, splayed across his ribs, to delicately stroke Freya's tiny foot.
Harry posts it to his main Instagram account, limiting the comments and captioning it: 'Feeling even more thankful than usual for a lot of things at the moment, but mostly for this... Styles: Party of four. Dylan and Freya, 30/09/2020 .xx'.
He then posts a different photo to his private account. Also taken earlier, both babies' faces are on show and Eloise is looking up at the camera with a beaming smile as he stares at her moonily. Cheekily, he can't resist captioning this one: 'My whole world, in my arms: One MILF and two tiny angels. Ever thankful .xxx'. He triple-checks that it's from his private account.
As he scoops both babies up to take them up to their nursery for the night, his phone vibrates in his pocket.
"Quick, can you grab that please?", he whispers, "Hurry, before it wakes them!".
After a quick but shameless grope whilst rummaging for it, she quickly silences his phone and takes it with her into the kitchen, intent on clearing up after dinner. And lunch, oops.
>
Once the twins are settled, Harry returns downstairs, rounding the corner to the kitchen to find Eloise tapping away on his phone, grinning to herself.
"You're doing it again...", he sing-songs, calling her out on her jigging - apparently entirely unable to stand still anymore, even without a baby to soothe.
Sidling up behind her, he palms at her hips, exaggerating their now-familiar looping figure of eight motion.
As she tries to wriggle away, he relents only to then wrap his arms tightly over her chest instead. Hooking his chin over her shoulder, he peers down at his phone screen.
"Oh, babe, did you log me out?", he whines. "I always forget that bloody password!".
But reading the caption of the post on her private Instagram soon has him smirking.
'Dylan & Freya 👼🏻👼🏻 Technically due next Friday... Time-keeping evidently inherited from the baby daddy!'. It's another photo from their little selfie spree earlier; the two of them looking at each other and laughing, with both babies blissfully unaware in their arms.
He won't see what she'd already just posted to her public account until the next morning.
A shot of him looking at the camera, notably teary-eyed, with her perched in his lap, gaze cast down at the twins. She'd couldn't resist posting it with a pointed question. 'But are tears of joy at your premature newborns not manly enough or too manly?'.
In their blissful bubble, and with far more important things to contend with, they'd ignored Candace Owen's attention-seeking prattle so far; but Eloise has just been biding her time, waiting for her opportunity to clap back and tell her to bore the fuck off.
>
"Well I like the sound of 'baby daddy'!", he can't help but smirk lasciviously.
Tossing his phone on to the marble island, she spins in his arms. "I'll bet you do!".
The sight of his bare chest stops her eye roll in its tracks, and she can't help but smirk appreciatively. Lifting her hands to his hips, she rubs her thumbs over the cut of his obliques, raking her eyes none too subtly as she checks him out.
She can't help but scoff a laugh at his goofy shimmying and matching expression. "Oh, stop! It's a little early for dad dancing, isn't it?". At her cheek, he grabs her hands and pulls her closer, jostling her against his chest. "What are you doing?", she laughs.
He smoothly adjusts their stance, wrapping her hands behind his neck, before dropping his to her back. Very low down.
"I'm dancing... With my gorgeous wife... While our beautiful daughter and that little shit", - he yelps as she drops a hand to pinch his ribs - "sleep peacefully". He's quick to envelop her nimble fingers in his and rest them against his bare chest.
Well, she can't, and won't, argue with that. The making the most of them being asleep; not him calling her angelic, darling baby boy a 'little shit'.
"Hmm... What was that lyric about a "dance floor" again?", she taps her index finger against her chin, only to squeal as he enthusiastically leans down to unnecessarily refresh her memory.
>
Gazing down at her, he sings Adore You softly as he leads her around the kitchen.
The baby monitor in the pocket of his sweatpants might be a new addition, but sometimes it's the simple things... His wife, at home, at in his arms, slow dancing around their quiet kitchen.
Sighing contentedly as they come to a stop, his lips quirk and nose scrunches fondly as he fails to suppress a dimpled grin. As his eyes - a rich and blazing emerald green in the dimmed light of the kitchen - scan hers, he nods decisively.
"What?", she whispers, cocking her head.
"Today was a good day", he says softly, smiling moonily down at her.
"Even with another hospital appointment, more bloody Covid tests, a run in with a pap, and even the 'poonami'?", she raises an eyebrow.
"Yep", he pops the 'p', "Even with all that... I love you".
"I love you, too", she grins back, eyes crinkling.
"So much".
"Mmm-hmm... Know what else I love-?", she whispers before gasping as he cuts her off, tugging on the end of her ponytail with the hand still splayed at her lower back.
Arching her neck, he leans down to kiss her soundly, but pauses. "Kiss me? I need-".
She rises on to the balls of her feet to be able to plant her pouted lips to his in a playful kiss.
"What?", he whispers back, lips still against hers. "What else do you love?".
"That", she pulls back and lifts her gaze to the ceiling.
"What?", it's his turn to frown.
"...Sleeping babies", she smirks.
"Mmm-hmm, but also when they're awake though... Oh, and when you watch them wake up and they blink all slowly at you... Ooh, and those little smiles when-". She shifts in his arms as he babbles - baby fever in full flow. Stepping surreptitiously closer, she presses her thigh between his legs.
"Oh? ...Sleeping babies!", he cottons on, and belatedly buttons it. Pressing gently back, he kisses her deeply but briefly. "There's no rush, though! I was only joking about the MILF thing, El... You only just got the all-clear this morning-".
"H, it's been almost three months... I can barely think about anything else! And you parading around in grey sweatpants isn't helping much... You're a smoking hot baby daddy, you know?", she smirks, eyeing him hotly.
"Hmm, really?", he beams back, but then bites his lip, feeling unexpectedly bashful as he rakes his eyes over her, drinking her in.
"Oh, umm, unless you don't-", she misreads his appraising gaze, turning timid.
He cuts her straight off with a scoff and an even harder kiss. "Oh, we both know I definitely do-," he punctuates with a needy grind of his hips into hers.
Spinning her in his hold, he nudges her forward, whispering in her ear just how irresistible she is, and just how much he wants her.
They only make it to the other side of the kitchen before she spins back, kissing him desperately.
Scooping her up from where she ends up, pressed into the fridge - no thanks to his rutting hips - he takes matters into his own hands and heads straight upstairs, intent on not losing any more time.
"H?", she whispers in his ear after sucking open-mouthed kisses up his neck. "Today's been a great day... Every day is, with you".
The end
💫 Please kindly vote and comment - any feedback and encouragement always appreciated!
A/N 3:
That's all, folks! 😭😭😭
I really hope you've enjoyed Harry and Eloise's story as much as I've enjoyed dreaming it up and getting all 90 (!) chapters and almost 400,000 words (!!) of it out of my head?!
A have to say a HUGE thank you to those of you who have supported me along the way. I never would have made it to the end without your reads, votes and kind comments... Without fail, every single one of them made me smile, and some even moved me to actual tears. They all massively boosted my confidence, and then the incredible sense of community only fuelled my determination to see it through for you, and to create something I could be proud of... And I have, and I am. So thank you, really.
I need a little break from Harry and Eloise for now - to get a tonne of other ideas out of my head first - but I'll never say never to maybe revisiting them again... But I'm a tinkerer by nature, so will undoubtedly dip in and out to edit chapters here and there... So in case any scenarios come to me that didn't at the time of writing, I'll be sure to pop them in my soon to be posted One Shots book. As it is, chapter one of that is reserved to finally reveal their first proper encounter at that New Year's Eve party, way back at the end of 2014... For anyone that's interested, I'll be sure to add a link here when that's posted.
In the meantime, please do keep safe, and remember to treat people (and yourselves!) with kindness.
Carrie xx