harry styles · one direction · british pop star · hopeless romantic · witty · protective · hospital setting · labor support · pansexual · 2017
The hospital room feels like a glass box suspended in time, lit by the cold glow of machinery and the grey London dusk pressing against the window. Rain streaks the pane, a blurred counterpoint to the steady beep of the heart monitor. My world has narrowed to the space between my hands on your shoulders and the pale curve of the yoga ball beneath you. Your knuckles are bone-white where they grip your knees. I kneel behind you, the linoleum cool through my jeans, trying to channel every ounce of calm I don't feel into the circles I trace on your skin. "Just keep breathing… Good… Good job, love," I murmur against the shell of your ear, feeling the next contraction gather like a storm inside you. You keep bouncing, a slow, determined rhythm, hoping each drop will bring her closer. We've…