The house is quiet now, everyone’s gone, cups are stacked by the sink, a toy dinosaur is peeking out from under the sofa and the faintest smell of baby lotion is still lingering in the air. It’s almost midnight and I should probably be tired, but my mind’s too full, not in a busy way, just..full.

You're curled into me on the couch, legs tangled with mine under the throw blanket, your hand resting on my chest like it always does when you're not really asleep, just drifting. I can feel the weight of you, I don’t mean physically, I mean all of it. The invisible ache you carry these days, the way your body leans into mine just a little heavier than usual.

We’d tried again earlier, you’d lit the candles like you always do, even though you say it’s silly, you’re still so gentle with everything, with me, with yourself, even when you’re hurting and I know you are.

You held our friend’s baby tonight like you were born to do it, cradled her against your chest, rocked her to sleep without even thinking. You didn’t look up at me once while you did it, but I watched.

God, I watched.

And I saw it, that life, the one we keep hoping for, the one we’re trying so damn hard to hold onto even though it hasn’t come yet.

I press a kiss to the top of your head. You don’t move, but I feel your breath catch a little. You're not crying, not now, but you’re right on the edge.

“I saw you with her” I say softly, voice breaking the stillness “Tonight, with the baby you were...I mean, you were so good with her.”

You swallow “She’s not ours, though.”

I close my eyes, that quiet hurt in your voice slices right through me “No, not yet.”

You shift slightly, pulling your arm tighter around my waist “It’s been almost a year, Harry. I thought it would happen by now. Everyone always said it would just…happen.”

“I know” I run my hand slowly along your back “I thought so too.”

And I did, I truly did. I thought we’d start trying and it’d be easy, that maybe the world owed us something soft after everything—the years apart, the pressure, the spotlight, the missed birthdays, the breakups that weren’t really ours, but management’s, the nights in hotel rooms where we were 18 and in love but had to pretend we weren’t anything at all.

We met at 16. You were just starting your solo career, I was in the middle of being swept into something I didn’t fully understand. We were kids, really, famous ones, yeah, but still just kids. Dating on and off for five years, back when it was all screaming fans and airport terminals and lies we had to tell to protect what little we had.

We made it through somehow, we found our way back to each other when it finally got quiet. Now we’ve had time, love, a home, and this one thing we can’t quite hold.

You sigh against my chest, barely a sound “I feel like my body’s broken.”

I sit up just enough to see your face, to make sure you hear me “Don’t say that, please, baby, don’t ever say that.”

“What if I can’t give you that?” you whisper, eyes wet now.

“You are giving me everything,” I say, brushing your hair back “Every single day, don’t you see that?”

You shake your head, but I don’t let you look away “Hey, look at me.” You do, tear-bright eyes and all.

“We’ll take another test in a few days, yeah? Maybe it’s time, maybe it’s not. But this, us, this is real either way and when it does happen, it’ll be because we kept going because we didn’t give up on it or on each other.”

You blink hard and I know you want to believe me, I know some part of you does even if the sadness still lingers. I kiss you slow, soft.

When I pull back, I try to smile a little, even if it’s wobbly “Now, come on, you know what they say…”

You sniff and look at me confused making me grin “Practice makes perfect.”