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“Pix invited us out to dinner tonight,” Nick says.
Harry is at the stove, stirring some type of green mush that Nick is afraid to ask about. August is draped over one of his shoulders and sound asleep. He’s been fussy all day, at least when he’s not being held. Once someone picks him up, he’s happy as a clam. Otherwise, he’s like a wailing alley cat begging for attention. Harry is more than happy to oblige him, despite Nick’s warnings and reminders to let him learn to self-soothe. It’s an uphill battle, though.
“Okay,” Harry says, glancing quickly over his shoulder. “Are you gonna go?”
“Well, the invitation extended to us both, so I thought, you know. Maybe you could join.”
Harry hums noncommittally. “Baby, though.”
“He can come with us,” Nick says, shuffling some random papers on the kitchen table. “Everyone loves him. I’m sure he’ll be passed around and given so much attention he’ll need a week-long vacation.”
Harry eyes him warily.
“Harry,” Nick continues. “We can’t stay cooped up in the house every day. The baby needs fresh air. We need fresh air. It might be nice to spend a night out around people whose diapers we don’t have to change.”
“Where are we going?” Harry asks, like it makes a difference.
“‘Dunno yet. She said she was gonna text me the details later.”
With a sigh, Harry relents. “All right. Just let me know when I need to be ready by.”
Nick steps up behind him, settling a hand on his lower back. “Gonna get all done up for me, Styles?”
Harry leans into the contact when Nick touches bare skin, sliding his hand under Harry’s t-shirt where his skin is warm and soft, downy hairs moving under his palm when he goes against the grain.
“Perhaps.” Harry says, lopsided grin making an appearance.
Nick leans down and kisses August’s head before placing a matching kiss on Harry’s temple. He peers into the pot that Harry’s been continually stirring and still feels no desire to ask what it is or who it’s for. He just silently crosses his fingers that it’s not another experiment that Harry’s going to make him taste test.
“Want me to take him?
“Nah,” Harry says, thumb subtly stroking over August’s back. “We’re good.”
*
Harry is still in the bathroom while Nick gets the baby dressed in the outfit Harry carefully picked out for him. It’s a bit big, despite being sized for newborns. The sleeves of the shirt almost completely cover his little hands, and the pants are quite long on him as well. It still looks very cute, though, so Nick tells him as much.
“Very nice,” he says, holding August up to admire him. “Koala-chic. I love it. Do you love it, bug? Daddy has questionable taste sometimes, but he pulled it out the bag with this one. Look at you.”
August gives Nick his full attention, staring at him with wide eyes that are still that new-baby dark blue. In Nick’s experience, infants can be hit or miss on whether or not they’re actually interested in what you’re saying to them. So far Auggie seems to be one of the few that is enraptured by the simple things, even as fresh and new as he is. For only a couple weeks old, he’s taking the world by storm, perpetually curious and attentive when he’s awake. He’s already showing signs of inheriting Harry’s laser-focus stare. The one that can be overwhelming at times, but lovely nonetheless, knowing that he’s focused on you and just you.
Nick continues to dress him, putting him in his white fleece jacket, equipping him with matching mittens, “So you don’t scratch yourself, lovie.” He pulls a cap over his full head of dark hair and deems him ready.
“Now, I know you hate your car seat but we’re going somewhere nice so I don’t want you to be too upset with me. It’ll only be for a little bit, just down the road.”
Like he understands what Nick is saying to him, August’s face turns pinched, looking rather worried suddenly in his adorable getup.
Nick pats him consolingly on the butt. “I know. It’s terrible. Call the authorities. You have horrendous parents. Taking you out to dinner and forcing you to socialize.”
Harry walks into the room in nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs, hair still slightly damp and falling onto his forehead a bit.
“Have you seen my black trousers? The ones with little flowers on them?”
Nick’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “Uh, not recently, no.”
“Wonderful. I’m about to go in a bathrobe if I can’t find something that fits,” Harry says, voice holding a bit of edge.
“Might be a bit breezy for that, but if you don’t mind your bits freezing off, I’ll support your choice.”
Harry tries to fight a grin. “Don’t make me laugh, I’m trying to be very serious and upset.”
“What’s there to be upset about? Just throw on a pair of joggers and a hoodie. It’s just Pixie and George.”
“Yeah but I kinda wanted to get dressed. Like, properly. Haven’t done that since before this one.” Harry points a thumb at August.
“Jeans?” Nick suggests.
“None of them will button.”
“A true dilemma indeed,” Nick says sagely. “Do you not have anything else you can wear that suits your interest right now? It’s not like you don’t have a billion clothes or anything.”
Harry scratches his own hip. “Yeah, but like. I just really wanted to wear those trousers.”
Nick walks down the hall and into their bedroom without a word, baby in tow.
“Let’s see.” The closet looks like it vomited all over their floor, barely any hardwood visible as it appears that Harry’s entire wardrobe is scattered on any and all available surfaces. Nick picks up a shirt he hasn’t seen since at least 2014.
Sheepishly, Harry pads in behind them and sits on the edge of their bed, parking his mostly-naked body right next to a vintage Louis Vuitton piece.
“What do you think, bug? Shall we help Daddy find something to wear? He’s being a bit silly.” Nick uses his foot to move some of the bigger piles, somehow unearthing more and more articles of clothing like he’s rummaging through Mary Poppins’ bag.
Now, Nick has his fair share of clothes as well, but frankly this is a bit absurd.
Like Harry can read his mind, he says, “I really need to go through all of that stuff. I’ve been meaning to do another donation thing.”
Nick finds gold. Gingerly, he picks up a pair of forgotten black stockings, garter belt still attached. He brandishes it teasingly. “Is this mine or yours, do you reckon?”
Harry’s cheeks turn pink. “Mine, I think. Give — give me those.”
“Wear those to dinner,” Nick says, waggling his eyebrows.
Harry rolls his eyes as he stuffs the offending garments into a drawer. “No.”
“Spoilsport.”
Nick passes August (who’s been rather unamused by this whole process so far) to Harry who takes him easily, settling him in the crook of his arm like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Nick thinks it actually might be. Baby-free, Nick can more easily sort through the mess on the floor.
He finds a pair of trousers that are similar enough-looking to the ones that Harry was looking for.
Holding them up, he addresses August rather than Harry. “What about these, darling? Do we think Daddy would look nice in these? Ooh, and he could wear… this nice jumper. Cashmere, very lovely. And, his black trainers.”
Nick lays the selected items out next to Harry on the bed. “Bee likes them, you have no other choice but to wear them.”
Harry looks skeptical. But he still lays August down on the bed and starts to get dressed, sliding the suggested trousers up and over his hips, where pink stretch marks are still etched into his skin. “Can you grab me a t-shirt?”
“Yeah,” Nick says, already pulling out the appropriate drawer.
“One of yours, though.”
Nick pretends that the request doesn’t make his heart do a little funny wobble and grabs Harry the softest-looking white tee he can find. The neck is a bit stretched out, and he’s pretty sure there are several holes under the arms, but Harry takes it from him with a soft smile.
“Thanks.”
Nick gets August into his car seat and checks the diaper bag for the fifth time while Harry finishes getting ready.
When Harry finally meets him in the foyer, he’s wearing nice cologne that instantly makes Nick’s blood feel warmer and more settled. He helps Harry into his coat, for no reason other than he wants to.
It’s been a while since they’ve done this: bothered to do more than basic maintenance and hygiene. Nick’s happy. Excited.
Rubbing Harry’s bicep, he asks, “All set, love?”
Harry smoothes his hands over his own sides and belly. “Yeah,” he breathes.
*
“I know. I can’t believe it. Well, I can actually, but…”
Nick feels bad that he’s only paying half attention to the conversation, but he’s a little preoccupied with making sure that the foot he’s using to rock Auggie’s carrier at perfectly-timed intervals stays put.
There’s an appetizer on the table, some type of spinach dip that Harry has been monopolizing like it’s the last one on earth, and no one seems inclined to ask him to share.
Pix is busy recounting some celebrity news that’s apparently all anyone can talk about recently, but Nick honestly can’t remember the last time he watched a television program that doesn’t play soothing classical music or list off colors with the help of farm animals. Harry has been very serious about August’s exposure to such things early on, despite Nick’s protests that he’s literally just been squeezed out and could probably stand it if they watched an episode of Gogglebox or two in his presence. Which is all the time. Because he’s a baby and somehow needs more attention than Nick does.
Now both Nick and Harry are being forced to confront the fact that they’ve become recluse hermits since August was born. Nick does the math in his head quick, and surely it’s been longer than three weeks? It feels like it’s been forever , that any second now they should be packing August’s bags and shipping him off to University.
Still shoving his face full of dip, with his cheeks almost comically distended and a hand covering his mouth, Harry looks equally startled by the realization that they haven’t really left the house at all, never mind been keeping up with tabloid drama.
“Oh. Wow,” Harry mumbles, struggling to swallow an enormous amount of tortilla-spinach mixture.
Pixie sips from her glass of wine delicately. “Crazy, right?”
“The craziest,” Nick chimes in, because he thinks it’s about time he join the conversation. It also means that Harry can return to scraping out the last remnants of the dip, so, win-win.
“Anyway,” Pixie claps her hands together. “Enough about that, how are you?”
Nick mimes tossing his hair dramatically. “Oh, you know. Just enjoying the perks of fatherhood. Did you know that baby vom is the hottest new accessory? Because I didn’t. And then my little friend here decided to school me.”
Harry snorts into his napkin while Pixie lets out a full-bellied laugh. George, who’s otherwise been very quiet this entire time, laughs as well, shaking his head at Nick.
“Oh,” Nick continues. “And I got my first golden shower the other day. Wee’d right in my face when I was changing him.”
“It was pretty funny,” Harry says, biting his lip to try and conceal his smile.
“How about you, Harry? Feeling all right?” Pixie asks.
Harry looks wide-eyed for a second, but he quickly smooths it over, face melting into a placid expression. “Me? M’fine,” he assures with a small smile. “All good. Can’t complain.”
Their dinners arrive, then. The server distributes the plates around the table and Nick can feel his mouth physically water at the sight of the pasta he’s ordered.
Harry appears to be in a similar state, and Nick is just about to make a comment about how he should hurry up and put a bib on before he dribbles all over himself when Auggie makes his presence known.
Nick’s words that are usually addressed to Harry start rattling around in his head: Let him self-soothe, let him self-soothe, let him self-soothe.
It works for a bit. Nick is able to get in five decent bites of his meal before it becomes apparent that August isn’t fussing just for the sake of it.
Across the table, Harry is doing a shit job of pretending that he’s ignoring what’s going on, pushing his roasted potatoes around his plate rather than eating them. He keeps glancing at the carrier next to him on the floor, and from his vantage point, Nick doesn’t think he can actually see the baby at all.
Everyone else at the table is being gracious and kind, even when August really starts to wail and it’s difficult to hear what they’re saying.
Harry puts his fork down on the table with an audible clank and smiles thinly.
Out of the two of them, Nick is the worrier and Harry is usually more lax. But Auggie’s shrill newborn cries never fail to make Harry get shifty and panicked.
“What’s the matter, bug?” Nick says, unbuckling Auggie and lifting him out of his car seat.
Pixie coos when she sees him, but doesn’t immediately make a grab for him like she usually would, apparently scared off enough by his scrunched red face and angry arm jerks.
Nick sets him over his shoulder and rubs his back, bouncing his upper body slightly to try and calm him down. August quiets a bit, noise reduced to a more palatable decibel, but Nick can tell that he’s still agitated. He keeps wiggling erratically and rubbing his face against Nick’s shoulder, tiny fingers clenching and unclenching around his shirt with a surprisingly strong grip.
Harry has abandoned all pretense of continuing eating in favor of watching Nick and the baby like a hawk.
It’s fine, I have it under control, Nick tries to communicate with just his eyes. While Harry doesn’t doubt Nick’s capabilities, he does seem to have this supernatural sense to detect when something is actually wrong. Nick just hopes now isn’t one of those times.
They planned for this. Well, not this particularly, but they did try to work out a way that would hopefully prevent any meltdowns. With a strategically-timed feed and nap, Auggie was theoretically supposed to be happy as a clam for this little outing. They were actually banking on him being asleep for most of it. But if they’ve learned anything so far about this parenting business, it’s that hardly anything ever works out the way you intend.
When August starts to gear up for another round of real crying, Nick decides that it can’t be ignored any longer. Harry changed him almost as soon as they’d arrived earlier, and with a quick feel of his diaper, it doesn’t seem like he’s wet again. He could have a belly ache. Or he could just be upset because he’s not even a full month old yet and this restaurant, much like everything in the world around him so far, is brand-spanking-new; and while new things can be exciting sometimes, Nick isn’t sure that newborns have the same outlook.
Nick hates the looks they’re getting from the other patrons. As if they’re the only people ever to have a baby that’s crying. He can’t decide which is worse: the ones who look annoyed, or the ones who look pitying.
Harry slides himself out of the booth and turns to Pixie and George. “Sorry, just — we’ll be right back,” he says and pulls Nick up along with him.
They parked a bit down the road, but not too far. Nick pats his jeans pockets and makes sure that he actually has the keys, which thankfully he does.
Harry climbs into the back seat and starts rummaging through the baby bag they keep in the car.
“‘Gimme him,” Harry says, making grabby hands.
Nick passes him the baby without question. Auggie is still crying, whether it be from a second change of scenery, or being handed off like an American football. Who can really be sure — Nick doesn’t know.
However, Harry does seem to know something. With the car door still wide open, and an evident lack of regard for the chilly temperature, Harry shrugs out of his jumper and t-shirt, prompting Nick to act as an impromptu shield from the view of any passerby.
“Jesus Christ,” Nick mumbles under his breath.
Harry doesn’t pay him any mind. His focus is solely on the baby and making sure that he’s latching properly, his crying effectively stopped.
“We should change his name to ‘Bottomless Pit’ because August clearly isn’t appropriate anymore.”
Harry gives him a look. “I don’t think he’s really even hungry. He’s like. Not actually eating, if that makes sense.”
Nick’s eyebrows knit together. “Mm. So your child is just as orally fixated as you are then?”
“Yes. I mean — no. No, he’s comfort nursing, I think. I know I sent you an article about it.”
It’s very likely that Harry did send him an article about it, but the likelihood of him actually having read it is significantly less. Not because he doesn’t care, but because Harry has sent him approximately one-million articles about anything and everything baby-related. Nick’s email inbox is overflowing with subject lines like ‘IMPORTANT: weird nipple info’ and ‘baby poo color guide.’
However Nick does vaguely remember something about what Harry’s talking about. He also remembers what their doctor said about it when Harry fired off a long list of questions and concerns. Nick is fairly certain that it’s perfectly fine to do as long as it doesn’t evolve into a dependency, but Nick tamps down on this premature and irrational anxiety and lets Harry do as he pleases. Because Auggie seems significantly more happy and so does Harry, now that his face is free from its previous distressed expression.
Harry actually looks like he’s seconds away from dozing off, but Nick trusts him to keep things conscious and under control.
“It like, triggers a hormone that makes him sleepy,” Harry says, flapping his hands to evidently demonstrate tiredness.
Nick snorts. “What about you? You look like you’re going to be comatose soon. Should I go get his car seat and buckle you in?”
“Idiot.”
While Harry seems content and unbothered, Nick is starting to get cold just standing there. He does a poor job of concealing a shiver and his chattering teeth.
Harry cracks one eye open and looks at him, the corners of his mouth pulling up. “You can go back inside. We’ll follow you in a bit.”
“Are you sure?” Nick asks, but he’s already starting to slowly step away from the car door.
“Yeah. We’ll be fine.” Harry pats August gently on the butt.
Nick shuts them inside the car and practically bolts back to the restaurant.
He rubs his hands together as he plops back onto the booth seat. “Baby was hungry,” Nick says, because it’s easier than explaining what’s actually going on. “They’ll be back in a ‘mo.”
His dinner is nearly cold by now, but he doesn’t care very much, scarfing as much down as he possibly can without the threat of being interrupted.
True to his word, Harry does return very shortly, with a now-sleeping August settled comfortably in the crook of his arm, all of Harry’s clothes thankfully back on.
“Isn’t he sweet,” Pixie says softly, stroking one of Auggie’s sock-clad feet.
“Yeah he’s cute now, but don’t be fooled. He’s a proper little monster. You only got a sneak peek a few minutes ago.” Nick can’t fight his own grin as he says it.
Harry tsks. “Don’t be mean, Nicholas. He’s only dramatic because he inherited it from you.”
Nick widens his eyes in faux-shock. “Excuse you ? Me? Just me?”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Harry sniffs, adjusting Auggie’s sleeve.
“Mhm.”
Pixie looks delighted by the entire exchange and George looks like he’s watching a tennis match, but he’s grinning so it can’t be that bad.
“Boys, boys. Let’s be civil,” Pixie simpers.
Harry nudges Nick’s foot under the table, hardly any force behind it. Nick’s cheeks hurt from how hard he’s smiling, Harry’s own face a near-perfect mirror.
It’s all very mushy and disgusting until George breaks the silence. “So. Who wants dessert?”
Harry is the first to raise his hand, arm shooting up so quickly that he jostles August a bit. All four of them laugh while August stays thankfully and blissfully asleep.