prequel to 'what a sweet sound it makes' (x-posted to tumblr)

[saysthemagpie]

this is a little prequel scene to what a sweet sound it makes. it takes place after this fic, which I did not write but felt so strongly about that i decided to write fix-it fic (plus more hurt/comfort) in that world. this scene takes place after harry’s gotten pregnant (by simon) and decided to have an abortion, without even telling nick he’s had his first heat. now harry’s come home to spend time with nick before the next tour starts, but he's not doing so well, in his head and heart.

alpha!nick, omega!harry. warnings for distorted/depressed thinking and vague allusions to a past dub/noncon encounter with simon.

*

"We’ve talked about this.” Nick’s voice is edged with frustration. "We've been over it a million times. Is that what you’ve been sulking about all week?"

"I'm not." Harry says, stung. "I haven't."

He’s not been sulking, just—thinking. Playing that night with Simon over and over again in his head, and later, the predawn visit to the clinic too, where a nice middle-aged nurse had held his hand through the procedure, speaking soft, reassuring words to him as he wept. 

You’ll be all right, dear, you’ll see. It wasn’t the right time, that’s all.

"Everyone's been asking if you're ill," Nick says. "If that's why you haven't shown up for any of your own goodbye parties. And I've had to say no, he just can't be arsed to get off the sofa. He's got to watch the first half of Titanic for the hundredth time, you see, and it's very urgent, since he's leaving tomorrow for eight bloody months and they haven't got Netflix in America."

Harry keeps petting Pig's ears, though he can tell, from the way she's twitching them irritably, that she wishes he would stop. He knows Nick's right. He's ruined their two weeks, the last bit of time they'll have together.

When he doesn't say anything, Nick sighs. "I'm sorry," he says. "I shouldn't - I'm sorry, all right? It's just, it feels like we've barely spoken in months. You're always busy, and then you come home and you're like a zombie or something. You don't want to go anywhere, or see anyone - "

"I think we should break up," Harry says abruptly.

Nick stops pacing. He stares at him.

"What?" he says. "God, we’re just - we’re having a row, that’s all, we're not splitting up."

"I'm going to be gone for eight months," Harry says. "Like you said. It's a long time."

Nick moves closer, sinking into a chair opposite him.

"I know," he says. "But we've managed it before, haven't we? I'll come visit you, and you’ll come back to London when you can, and we can talk every day, if you want."

If you want.

Harry thinks about what he'd wanted, all the things he'd imagined for them. His first heat, the two of them together, Nick easing him through it. And later—when the band ended, when things quieted down—something else, something more. Moving in together and doing it all properly. Waking up next to Nick every morning, Pig curled up at their feet. A baby, maybe, someday. He's gone and ruined it, all of it. Because he was selfish and greedy, thinking only of himself. Because he'd wanted a knot more than he wanted Nick.  

"I'm going to be away," he says again, dumbly, still not looking at Nick. "And I’ve been thinking for a while, we’re not - I  mean, it’s not like this was going to last anyway." It feels like someone's cracking his ribcage open, exposing the softest, most vulnerable parts of him, but he still forces the words out. "And we should probably - I mean, I’m going to want to sleep with other people.”

"Oh," Nick says.