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4

Pulling into a space near the door, Harry's quick to unbuckle, yet sits staring at the building before opening his door. He can't quite explain the want to return home, he knew he wanted a baby and had already made the appointment two weeks ago. Unbeknownst to his husband, Harry was going to adopt the minute Zayn left for work. 

He purposefully scheduled it for the day after his party knowing he could claim it was a present to himself, but deep down the man knew his husband would stay rooted to Niall's side the entirety of the party, and that would push Harry enough over the line to just fucking do it.

Stepping from the car the master sighed, he was going to do it. 

"How do you want them registered?"

Harry adjusts in the hard seat, he clears his throat crossing and uncrossing his legs as he pulls on the collar of his sweater buying himself time as he racks his brain for an answer.

He knew, of course, he knew what the answer would be, but without seeing it - it sounded untrue.

His forest orbs travel around the room, he sniffles smelling the stale air of the office, and he gets hit with the bursting whiff of cleaner - lemon-scented. Grunting at the sharp intrusion in his senses, Harry gives a subtle shake of his head, "I-I," he stutters, this was so much easier to practice in the shower, or even in his head while staring at Zayn eye-fucking Niall during dinner.

"Mr.Styles?"

The name jars Harry from his thoughts, he hums bringing his attention back to her with his eyebrows knitted together, "I-I'm sorry what did you call me?"

"Mr.Styles? I apologize, that's the name you made the appointment under," The woman says lifting the tab of her manilla folder with the name Harry Styles scribbled in black ink.

The man nods rubbing his lips together in thought, he remembers the day he made the appointment now so clearly, what had drawn him close enough to the line to make the fucking call. The event that made him so sure he would be a Styles when signing that line.

The name on Liam's paperwork flashes in his mind, he glances down at his hands seeing them clenching around his shirt anxiously, fiddling with his wedding ring that felt suffocatingly tight that morning.

"Uneducated," he mutters, lifting once more to face her, he watches her hand steady itself on the box placing the tip of the pen on the paper moving in a swift checking motion, "To be tested?" she clarifies, Harry clears his throat straightening his posture in the chair, "No, t-to remain."

"Mr.Styles-"

"Malik," Harry corrects, "M-My name is Harry Malik. T-they will be our little one," he admits, the clerk refraining from questioning further having gotten the answer she had been prepared to dig for. Most Masters won't outright admit to revoking status to have a "little one", she couldn't help but respect the ones that did a little more.

"The rest we fill out when they've been selected," she announces standing from her chair and motioning for Harry to follow her, the master rising fidgeting with his hands nervously as he steps behind her trailing her down the hall to another set of glass double doors much like the ones he walked in through.

Seeing the rows of closed doors down the barren hallway, Harry saunters behind her feeling himself wanting to lower to her level so as to not draw so much attention to himself. He stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the white walls and black doors, the dreary scene ahead with his navy blue slacks and cream button-up with brown loafers. He screamed old money out of his place.

Harry hated feeling out of place.

"These are our uneducated," she remarks bringing her key fob to her hand, Harry flinches putting his own hand between her, and the black box's light that flashes red signaling a bad connection, "I-I believe you're mistaken," he rushes a panic setting in his tone, the out of placeness increasing his rising anxiety, "I-I want them marked uneducated, I do not desire an uneducated,"