"Shit Harry," James laughed as he stepped back letting Harry cool down.
The sweat ran down Harry's forehead and he was panting. He wasn't tired he was angry. He was angry that she had been feeling sick all week. He was angry that she had been working herself so much to help him pay the bills. He was angry that he was causing some of her stress.
"Have you thought about doing this for a living?" James asked, tossing a water bottle towards Harry.
The gym was practically empty; Harry had been there for hours. He was lifting weights, punching the bags, doing anything to get his anger out. He knew she hated it when he came home angry. It made her upset that she wasn't able to fix it.
"What?" Harry asked, twisting the cap off and drinking the cool refresher.
"I mean take all this energy and put it in the ring for real Harry. You're good better than some of my other clients," James tells him, "you'll make more than you do in that bar."
"How much more?" Harry asked, he would do anything at this point to make more money.
"Well to begin you will get about five hundred per fight, there are usually about two fights per week. But if you do well and expand and get more sponsors you will get more," James says, "think about it."
"No I'll do it," Harry says.
James grins, "great, why don't you stop by tomorrow and I'll set you up with a manager?"
Harry nods, grabbing his bag and walking out of the gym. When he gets home he's greeted to the warm scent of cupcakes. He leans against the door where he can see her. She stands, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, her lips pressed in a line as she tries to frost one of them. He can see his plate on the table, he had made his favorite. Her famous chicken and squash spaghetti with spinach, instead of using pasta she replaced it with squash. The first time she made it he was convinced he would hate it, he didn't think chicken should be that orange nor should she have replaced the pasta and he hated spinach, yet he loved it.
"Hi kitten," he hummed, walking towards her and pressing a kiss to her cheek. He stood behind her, a hand on her hip as he rested his chin on shoulder.
"Hi," she sings.
Her hand shaking as she keeps frosting, he could tell something was wrong. For starters she hated baking, it was such a mess and she didn't like to clean. But the whole apartment was cleaned from top to bottom, something she did when she was anxious. It kept her distracted.
"I made your favorite," she says softly.
She drops the frosting and sighs, "it's stupid," she whispered.
Harry turns her around, "hey now, nothing you do could ever be stupid," he smiled, "what's wrong kitten?"
"Nothing," she lies, her eyes dropping and she rest her head on his chest, "you smell bad," she says, "how was the gym?"
"Good," he says, stroking her hair.
She squeals jumping up, "rat!"
The black rat runs across the kitchen floor and she shrieks again, Harry chuckled but without struggling he picks her up and sets her on the small counter. "No don't kill it," she pleads.
But before he can handle the rat it's gone, she hated the apartment. She really did and he knew it. This wasn't the first rat or bug she had screamed about. She hated having to go out and buy traps, she hated setting them up, she hated the fact that she lived in this dump. But she loved him and it made every other disaster okay.
"We will move," he says, "one day I promise. I promise you'll have a real kitchen, a real dining room, a real home."
"Anywhere is home as long as you're there," she smiled at him.
Harry smiled back and walked to the small table a couple of feet away. "What's wrong?" he asked.
"'m just tired," she mumbled.
"Come here," he pleads.
She doesn't hesitate as she sits at the chair next to him. "Kitten, I know you like the back of my hand," he says, "I know you better than I know myself. What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"Y/N."
"You'll be mad," she says softly, her eyes look down at her hands as she picks at her jeans.
"Are you hurt?" he asked.
"No."
"Then I won't be mad," Harry promises, setting his hand on hers, "what's wrong?"
A tear fell from her eye hitting his hand and Harry frowned. His free hand coming up to cup her face, "what's wrong baby?"
She let out a sob, "that's it," she cried.
"What?"
"Baby," she hiccupped, "I-I'm pregnant."
Harry froze. He hardly had any money to take her out on a nice date. He could hardly afford buying himself a brand new pair of shoes, "it's okay," he forces himself to say, "it's okay, we will be okay."
"How!" she sobs, "I have to pay of my loans starting in June a-and we can hardly afford this place as it is."
Harry wraps her in his arms, holding her tight, "don't worry about that baby. I will take care of it, James offered me a good job, and I can work more at the bar. We can do this y/n as long as we stay together."
