“You alright in there, lovey?” I say softly, tapping my knuckle lightly on the door. You’ve been in the tiny bathroom for a few minutes now, the only sound being the occasional muffled noises of your nausea. Niall looks over from the couch at the back of the tour bus with a concerned brow lifting upwards. “Just food poisoning.” I lie easily with a shrug.

Of course it’s not food poisoning. No, it’s just one of the many pregnancy symptoms that we’ve had to find excuses for.

We’ve been dating for a few years now, since before I even went on the X-Factor. About a month ago, right before tour started, you took a pregnancy test on a whim after a few minor symptoms. We made some jokes about it, because how could you actually be pregnant, but that second line was brighter than Niall’s freshly bleached hair.

We were fucked.

I jump on any opportunity I get for you join us on the road for a few days at a time, not just because I miss you, but because the anxiety I feel being apart during your pregnancy is more overwhelming than I expected it to be. With my career steadily getting even bigger and a magnifying glass constantly on me from the press, I hate being away from you more than necessary.

I just can’t believe none of the boys have caught on yet.