A week had gone by and they still hadn't picked up where they left off. In fact, they hadn't talked at all. And the weather was only getting colder, more snow than usual around this time of year. It suited the depressing mood he was in.

Every time Harraël texted her to come over, asked her to have dinner or turned up at her door, she claimed to be busy. But how busy can a pregnant woman with maternity leave really be?

She'd finished the nursery months prior, and read enough baby books to last a lifetime and only went grocery shopping once or twice a week so what on earth could she be busy with? It was excuse, that much was obvious.

Harraël was acting a little paranoid, but that didn't make him naïve. He knew her well enough to see she was hiding from him, closing herself off from the outside world by barely leaving her apartment. Falling back into her old habits, from before they met. It worried him, they'd been bonding so nicely. He felt connected to her.

He wouldn't let her push him away, it might work with other people but not him. He'd stay with her.

Harraël shook his head in amazement. What fool in their right mind would ever give this woman up? She was unlike anyone he'd ever encountered and that made her just perfect. He didn't like the demanding, shallow women he had seen so much of before. He didn't want fame-thirsty monsters who'd only cause him heartache. He wanted Moira. Soft, sweet, sarcastic Moira. He wanted her, all of her, baby included. And he was going to make her his no matter how long it took to convince her there was something between them. No matter how stubborn she acted or how much she shut herself off.

Finn tried to convince him their relationship was simply going through a rough patch, but how was that possible when their relationship was non-existent? There was just friendship. Nothing else. Or at least that's what Moira seemed to be stubbornly convinced of.

They were currently in a band meeting, discussing a potential new album. It had been two years since their last release and the men were enjoying their time off. Though also looking forward to rush back into what they loved doing: making music.

Harraël's thoughts about Moira kept distracting him. He wasn't able to concentrate and talk along with the others. She was all his mind could think of, Moira, Moira, Moira. And the fact his bandmates kept ticking him off in between talking didn't help either. Asking about her, making immature comments, pushing him to write songs about her. Which he'd already done. Hell, his entire journal was full of Moira-based songs, but he didn't tell them that. Not wanting to give them more reason to tease him.

"The ultimate goal is to make it sound like a mix of Joy Division, Nirvana, Blur and then add our own twist to it." Isaac said.

"Haz can throw in a serenade to Moira." Heath bumped Harraël's shoulder for the third time that hour.

He sighed. "Can we not."

Finn pat Harraël's shoulder in a reassuring way, after which he threw an empty water bottle in Heath's direction, "Don't listen to that idiot, mate. His lack of pússy is making him go jealous."

"Speak for yourself." Heath rolled his eyes, throwing the water bottle back where it came from.

"Unlike you, I'm happy our pal has finally found himself a worthy lady."

"For fúck's sake, Finn. Stop kissing his áss, we're all happy for him."

"Well, could you quit constantly bringing her up then? If I didn't know any better I'd say you were the one who's in love with her."

Heath groaned. "Are you fúcking serious?! What the fúck, man? Why-"

"Guys, please-" Harraël ran a hand through his curly hair, brushing some stray strands from his forehead. "I-bloody hell," He swore quietly when his phone started ringing. His face change entirely from the mere sound, his eyes narrowing drastically. He answered the phone sharply, not pleased from getting the call. Especially now that he was already in a foul mood.

An unknown number greeted him.

"I'm sorry, I have to take this." He announced, stepping outside the sound booth and exiting the studio. Leaving his four, overly nosy bandmates behind.

"Hello?"

"Hi, is this Harraël Stones?" An unfamiliar woman spoke.

Fearing her to be a journalist, he cautiously answered, "Speaking."

"This is Dr. Patel's assistant. I'm calling to inform you on some recent developments."

"I'm all ear." He leaned against the wall.

"Your donation has been used."

The world around him came clashing down. "I beg your pardon?"

"Your semen has been donated to a recipient, she is seven months along." She clarified warily. "You are Mr. Harraël Elay Stones, are you not? Born 01/02/1983?"

"Uhh yeah, that's me," he mumbled, feeling a lump arise in his throat. "I'm just a little shocked. I saw Dr. Patel a few months ago and she didn't tell me a thing."

"It's noted in your file that we aren't allowed to inform you on the circumstances unless the foetus is outside the miscarriage zone. In case of emotional ties. Hence this call."

He hummed absently, "That makes sense."

"Would you still be willing to be brought in contact with her once the baby's born? Your file says you are, but it's mandatory to check."

Squeezing the bridge of his nose and trying to swallow the lump in his throat, he stuttered. "Uhh can.. can I call you back later?"

Before she could get another word in, he hung up the phone and slid down the brick wall he was leaning against, collapsing onto the pavement. Putting his head between his knees and folding his hands behind his head. Exhaling shakily.

Since being famous, sperm banks had captured his attention somehow. He loved the idea of a woman picking one baby daddy out of thousands. And what if that baby daddy was him? He loved kids, and didn't mind the idea of being a father. It excited him beyond words, actually.

No pride or prejudice, no picking him because of who the public ought him to be: the Harraël Stones. He'd be just another guy in the sea of thousands.

At the age of 26, he'd finally picked up the courage to go through with this idea. His bandmates had warned him about the consequences: an actual living being. But he'd been too blinded by the perfect illusion he'd created in his head. Recipient meets donor, they fall in love, raise their baby together and live happily ever after. He'd even shared this ridiculous dream with Dr. Patel, who'd kindly encouraged him. The dream had faded as time passed, and no one picked him. Eventually, Dr. Patel was forced to freeze in his donated vial. He did see her two to four times a year for check ups, but besides that nothing.

Now, 5 years later, he'd been picked by someone. The dream fulfilled. Though he wasn't so sure of his choice anymore. But there was no going back now. A woman out there was pregnant, with his child. And to his deepest shame, the thought made him feel mortified. Especially now that Moira was in the picture.

Standing back up and not bothering to go back inside, he sent Finn a quick text instead. Apologizing for his sudden departure and claiming he wasn't feeling well. He held a cab and arrived at his building within ten minutes, paying the driver a hefty amount and rushing inside to get away from the cold weather.

Entering his penthouse, he instantly made his way to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of strong liquor. Planning on drinking and making him forget about all his worries, even if it was just for a little while.