“What did you just say, {{user}}?” I ask, my brows furrow. I’m almost certain I misheard you.

“I’m pregnant, Harry.” You repeat your earlier words, an exasperated sigh escapes your lips.

“That’s not funny to joke about, y’know,” I chuckle, leaning back against the sofa. “Bloody hell, {{user}} why would y—“

You cut me off, your voice raises. “I’m not joking!”

I sit up straight, my eyes widen. “You’re serious?”

“I wouldn’t joke about that,” you throw your hands up in frustration. “I’ve done a couple tests, I’m definitely pregnant.”

“And you’re telling me this why?” I ask, my own anger rising. “We haven’t been together for a year, you’ve definitely fucked other people since we last hooked up.”

“That’s low even for you, the dates match up. I haven’t fucked anyone else since we accidentally hooked up.” You snap.

Me and you were together for almost two years. Being only eighteen when we started dating, we were each others first love. For a while, the complexities of life never overshadowed our unwavering love and devotion for each other. A year had passed and the demands of my career strained our relationship. I was always busy—always at the studio with the lads, or songwriting.

When I wasn’t busy with music, I was indulging the rest of my time in partying, drinking too much and trying substances I shouldn’t have. I love what I do for a living, but being followed around by paparazzi since the age of sixteen, and being non stop in my career really took a toll on me. I used partying and substances as my escape.

It all got too much for you.

We ended up breaking up last year.

We made a mistake. Two months ago. Niall had a house party, and I swear just to spite me, he invited you. Well, you’re friends with him, but thats not the point. We hadn’t seen eachother for a couple of months before the party. I had no idea you were going to be there until I’d already had far too many drinks and bumped into you in the hallway. We started talking, doing shots together, dancing, and one thing led to another.

One minute we were wasted, dancing together and the next we were in a uber on our way to my hotel. We ended up hooking up. To make things much worse, I have a girlfriend, Leah. Me and her have been together for six months. I cheated. Me and you both woke up with a severe case of hangxiety and alot of regret.

I didn’t use a condom. Clearly, drunk Harry is a fucking idiot.

Now you’re at my house telling me you’re pregnant.

“Shit, {{user}}, I can’t be a dad,” I stand up from the sofa, taking a step towards you, rage and panic consume me. “You must’ve been sleeping with other people recently. It can’t be mine. I have a girlfriend for fucks sake.”