Jhin, I'm home *Rebecca called out as she closed the front door and slid her shoes off. She had recently began working at a art museum to keep her mind off of the upcoming trail with her ex and to also start saving up more for the baby. She was now 4 months pregnant and she enjoyed showing off her little baby bump*
Jhin made dinner and was sleeping on the couch the man was well exhausted and a bit pent up after the long week. He usually did his hit jobs but didn’t do them at a crazy rate as he did before been more of a stay at home boyfriend to help her out.
You open your eyes to Harry nuzzled into the front of your body, cozily dozing in his preferred position as the little spoon. You place a quick kiss on his temple before carefully extricating yourself from his sleeping form, hoping not to wake him. You pad over to the dresser, opening your pajama drawer and rifling through old t-shirts until you find what you’ve been searching for: a t-shirt that says “Holmes Chapel’s best dad” in ridiculously garish letters. You giggle and slip it over your head, barely believing it yourself. Harry is going to be a father, and today is the day that you’re going to tell him.
You head into the kitchen, pulling the Holmes Chapel bakery recipe for cinnamon rolls out of the lovely recipe box that Anne gave you as a wedding present. “These never fail to put a smile on his face,” you remember her whispering as she went through each recipe. “He’s like a little boy at Christmas whenever he smells these in the oven. Save this recipe for something special, love.”
As you prepare the batter, you let yourself imagine Harry as a father. Soon after you’d started dating, you’d seen him backstage with Lux, the lovely daughter of his hairstylist, Lou. He always doted upon her, never failing to invent goofy games or attack her with tickles. Playfulness aside, though, he always gazed upon her with a look of fascinated adoration. “Lou, what a miraculous little person you have here! You did this! How neat!” he’d exclaim goofily while holding a giggling Lux upside down.
“Harry, darling? I made you breakfast!” You call to your husband from the kitchen as you pull the fresh batch of cinnamon rolls out of the oven. You followed the Holmes Chapel bakery’s recipe to a tee, and you hope that the familiarity will make your announcement even more special. You glance around the kitchen, ensuring that everything is as picturesque as you had planned. Fresh daisies and white carnations? Check. Baby pictures of yourself and Harry displayed not-so-subtly on the kitchen table? Check. The quilt that Anne made out of Harry’s old baby clothes? Draped over his chair, about as subtle as a sack of bricks that all say “I’M HAVING YOUR BABY!”
“Do I smell…cinnamon rolls? Is it Christmas? Is mum here? Have I been a good boy? What’s the occasion?” Harry opens the bedroom door with a smile, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he lumbers towards the kitchen table. “Holmes Chapel’s best…dad” he says bemusedly, reading the text of the large t-shirt that you’re wearing. “Where did you get that monstrosity? Not even Des or Robin would wear something that heinous!”
“Oh, this? Isn’t it yours?” He looks at you with sleepy confusion, and you guide him towards the kitchen table. His eyes slowly take in the scene, moving from the baby pictures to the quilt. A gasp catches in his throat, and he turns to look at you, his eyes already welling up with tears.
“Are you… pregnant?” You nod silently, and he embraces you wordlessly, tucking your head into the nape of his neck. “I can’t believe it…You’re having our baby,” he murmurs into your hair, clutching you tightly as he processes this monumental news.
“Can we tell mum? And Gem?” he holds your face between his hands before giving you a heartfelt kiss. “They’ll be so happy for us!”
“Of course, love, but let’s celebrate for a bit with some breakfast, just the two of us. I made these cinnamon rolls from the bakery recipe!”
“THE BAKERY! I can’t wait to tell Barbara and all of the other sweet old ladies! They’re going to be so excited, and knit our baby loads of wonderful baby things like caps and little tiny slippers. Our baby’s going to have the coolest knit goods!” He kneels down, addressing your abdomen “now, I know that it sounds a bit geeky, but Barbara knit me a really neat beanie. You’ll be the best dressed lil person from the start! Maybe we can get you some tiny lil Gucci!”
He looks up at you with excitement. “What are we going to tell the lads? Who’ll be the godfather? Could the baby have 4?”
“I know we haven’t exactly discussed this yet, but we’ll probably have more kids, yeah? Why give one all of the godfathers?” you inquire, sure, for some reason, that Harry will want more.
“Yeah! We’ll have to have loads of kids, because I’ve got a ridiculously long list of potential names and godparents. Grimmy? Niall? Louis? Liam? Have we written Zayn out of the will quite yet? He’d be a right proper godfather, I think… So that makes five? I forgot Ed! So six!”
“Um…I’m not entirely sure that I want six children just so that one of your lads can be personally responsible for corrupting each of them,” you smirk.
“Yeah…We’ll figure it out! Maybe some of them can just be called uncle! Man, they’re going to lose their SHIT when I tell them!” he giggles naughtily, as if the news of your pregnancy is his latest lad prank.
“Of course they are, love. But Anne first. And then Gemma. But before that?”
“Breakfast!” He replies excitedly, pulling out a chair and gallantly helping you into your seat. “M’lady…” he kneels down and goofily bows to your belly “m’baby…”
You pet his curls with your hand, chuckling at his boyish excitement. “Honestly, Harry, can’t we just have a nice meal without you being such a dork?”
“I’ve just found out that there is a tiny little bean inside of your tummy that is going to grow into our LITERAL child! Let me be a dork!” he slumps into his chair, pulling the quilt made out of his baby clothes fondly into his lap.
“I wonder if mum saved any baby clothes of mine and Gem’s…” he muses while tracing each square with his fingers, moving from blue gingham to a soft print with tiny yellow giraffes. “Wouldn’t it be neat to share some of that with our lil person? D’you think that your mum saved any?”
You raise an eyebrow at Harry, giving him a moment to appreciate the ridiculousness of his statement. “Of course your mum saved your baby clothes. She probably also saved your dirty nappies, thinking that they would one day hold some beautifully sentimental significance,” he jokes, remembering your mum’s slight hoarding issue.
“Oh, don’t you worry, Hazza… My mum has saved every last hat, sock, onesie, christening dress, and blankie…and she hasn’t left me out. No! Of course not! She’s saved a stunningly heinous collection of maternity sweaters. They’re not even hers from the 90s! Oh, no, they’re hand-me-downs from the 80s! You’ll take one look at me and run for the hills!”
He shakes his head emphatically. “It’ll take more than some unfortunate geometric prints to get rid of me, missus! I’m in this for the long haul!” he bends his head down to your abdomen, patting it fondly with his ridiculously large hand. “Don’t you worry, baby. I’m not going anywhere!”
You wave the pan of cinnamon rolls under his nose, attempting to regain his attention. You offer him the pan with a smile, but he declines it with an emphatic wave.
“You’re eating for two, and you think that I would be rude enough to take the first cinnamon roll? Honestly, who d’you think raised me? My loving wife and unborn child will have the first pick, thank you very much!”
You sigh, and take a cinnamon roll from the side of the pan, knowing that, even through all of his chivalry at becoming a soon-to-be father, Harry has been eyeing biggest, fluffiest one in the middle.