She'd hit a homerun and Harraël was unable to look away as he stared at her. His heart rate sped up; a warm, fluttery feeling welling up and settling in the pit of his stomach.

Harry, she'd called him Harry. Nobody had ever called him Harry. Which was quite odd, now that he came to think of it.

Swallowing his emotions and subtly trying to flush them down the drain, he concluded that pointing out her accidental use of the newfound nickname, wasn't a smart move when she resembled an angry kitten. A very cute, secretive, angry kitten.

And she was definitely hiding something. Something involving the father of her baby. Nobody would have reacted the way she had if nothing was amiss. Or so Harraël thought. Maybe he was being too obtrusive, that could be another possibility.

He couldn't bear to speak, knowing he'd crossed a line and that she was -clearly- upset. To what extent, he did not know. And so he sat frozen in his chair, silently observing the scene that was unwrapping in front him. For a brief moment, she looked to be on the verge of a breakdown. Fresh tears were shimmering in her blue eyes. He held his breath.

"Moira, I-"

"No, shut up. Who the hell do you think you are?" she sneered. "What gives you the right to ask me such personal questions? We barely know each other."

The first sob left her mouth and she immediately hid her face behind a pair of hands, shielding herself away from Harraël, making him swallow the lump that had begun forming in his throat. Standing up and kneeling down beside her, his eyes blazed into her, hardening to forged steel, analysing her every breath. "Please don't cry."

"I'm not crying." She muttered through her hands, her words muffled.

Even in a situation like this, she was the epitome of adorable. And help but smile a little as his large form placed a hand on her back, hoping to comfort her and apologize without actually saying sorry. Unfortunately, it only seemed to make things worse.

"Don't touch me!" she sneered, frantically slapping his hand away. "Don't you dare touch me!"

That only encouraged him to drape his arms over her shoulders and pull her off her chair and onto his lap for a firm hug. And her weak pleas fell on deaf ears.

Harraël was sure she needed the comfort, it radiated off of her with big flashy signs, but she was too damn prideful to ask for it. And he understood why.

She would rather drown in self pity, stress and tears than ask someone else for help, and risk getting hurt. Or being taken advantage of.

She became attached to people she shouldn't, distanced herself from the people who mattered. She was bad with people and good at being alone. But she hated being lonely.

When Harraël felt a tear-streaked face pushing itself into his shoulder, succumbing to the temptation of comfort, he knew his theory to be true.

His own sister had fallen pregnant when she was only 19-years-old and her former boyfriend had bolted the minute he heard. She'd had the support of her family, was in the right position to have a child and seemed born to be a mother: but it was still hard getting through it all alone, without someone to hold her at night and tell her everything would be worth it in the end.

Harraël knew from first hand experience how hard it was to be a single mum, and yet, he'd failed to show Moira just how much he did. He felt connected to her and he wanted to help her get through this. But he didn't know how, he couldn't treat her like he'd treated his sister. Because the feelings he had for Moira weren't sisterly.

Funny how mere months ago, he'd been the typical womanizer. Different woman every night, clubbing whenever, drunk whenever, spending money like a madman. The fame made him that way. And now, he was hooked.

He wasn't in love with Moira, and didn't think he could be in love with someone he only knew so little about. But Harraël did like her; a lot. And even that seemed ridiculous. Seeing as he could count the times they interacted on one hand.

Plus, he hadn't even told her about the biggest part of his life yet: the band.

Ever since he stepped into the world of glitter and glamour, he'd wanted someone to want him for him: Harraël.

And not 'the Harraël Stones, lead singer, guitarist and pretty face from Bones'. It seemed pointless to even try, women had taken advantage of him multiple times and at one point, he no longer cared. That had been a wake-up call.

And then, Moira happened.

Which brought him back to reality, to the petite lady in his arms. Harraël kept a tight hold on her the entire time, extremely cautious of her bump, not wanting to harm the baby in any way whatsoever.

"You ruined our dinner," she whispered, gazing back up and breaking the silence.

He placed a tender kiss on her forehead, fully aware that it was too early to show affections such as these, but he couldn't resist the urge as he disregarded her words, pecked her sweet-smelling skin again and began rubbing circles onto her back.

Finally, she gave in and carefully nuzzled her face back into his chest, encircling his broad torso with her arms, fingers tightly gripping the cotton material of his shirt.

He didn't mind holding her - the complete opposite actually. And nit to forget that he'd done the same thing at least twice a day with his sister. The pregnancy hormones caused her to be overly emotional. And so figured that was the reason for Moira's continuous tears as well.

That's how they remained for a while, with silent teardrops rolling down Moira's cheeks and Harraël still clutching her safely to his chest.

"I'm sorry for overreacting," She gulped, with a voice so weak that it made him want to keep her in his arms for the rest of eternity.

"I just want to help, to be there for you, and the baby. And I know that may seem weird because we barely know each other, but I do."

Moira remained silent, presumably weighing his words.

"And you're right, I did ruin our dinner."

A pleasant smile played at her lips, and Harraël felt proud if himself for being the reason behind it. Unfortunately, the bliss only lasted a few more seconds until it dawned upon her that she was perched on his lap. Awkwardly, she shifted off and stood up -avoiding eye contact as she pretended to be fascinated by the view.

Gazing out at the lights and miniature cars passing by, she softly pet her bump. "I'm sorry for freaking out, Ollie."

In reply, she felt slight movement inside of her, though no kicks. Never kicks. Dr. Patel said she probably wouldn't feel the baby kick until sometime between 16 and 22 weeks, even though he/she started moving at 7 or 8 weeks, and she did already witness his/her acrobatics during one of the ultrasounds. She couldn't help but feel worried something was wrong. It was her 24th week and he/she still hadn't kicked yet.

"Who's Ollie?"

My baby." She explained herself without looking at him. "It's a cute nickname, and it's unisex, so."

"It's adorable." his voice was husky and low, making Moira shiver involuntarily.

An hour later, they had long gone inside. The temperature becoming a little too nippy for their liking.

Conversing cost them -or Moira- too much energy, so they decided on watching some television instead.

"Tell you what," Harraël started, interrupting the news reporter announcing an upcoming storm. "Let's re-do this. Tomorrow, 6PM, your place, I'll bring pizzas and movies."

After a moment of hesitation, she nodded her head, "Deal."