He's standing in front of me. He looks so angry....hurt...betrayed. He isn't saying anything. I'm crying, saying over and over "I'm so sorry". I keep begging him to forgive me. In my arms, the child I'm holding fusses and I look down at it. It's our child. I feel it in my heart. With that realization, a new sadness falls over me.  

She is so beautiful. Dark black hair and eyes a pale green-brown, just like him. I hush her and look back at him. He is holding his arms out, still not saying a word. I clutch her closer, unwilling to let go. But an invisible hand pulls at my arms, guiding them to his open hands. I begin to sob as he takes her from me. 

"She's mine," is all he says. And like that he's gone, walking out the door with her.. 

I jerk awake, my breathing heavy and a cold sweat dotting my brow. Harry stirs next to me but doesn't wake. Through the baby monitor on the table, Jackson begins to fuss. I push a hand through my hair and sigh, kicking the covers off me. The dream plays like loop in my head, wondering what the fuck it could possibly mean. I change and feed Jackson, putting him back down to sleep. I watch him zonk out, deciding to write about it and I find myself writing a letter I never thought I would to someone I didn't think of until that dream. 

Aaron... I write, wondering what I'm supposed to say to the man who's heart I stomped on and sent to the whacky shack. I do feel bad enough, but I know what I write has to be carefully thought out before it's written. 

I honestly never intended to hurt you like I have and I don't expect you to forgive me, but I am truly sorry for it all. I'm sure you've heard about my son and he is adorable.  

I'm not writing you about that, though. I'm writing to try to make amends, even if it's only professionally. You haven't crossed my mind until tonight when I had a dream of you taking a little baby girl who resembles us both and leaving. You looked hurt, betrayed and angry (I would say fuming is more accurate). You said that she is your daughter and walk out the door with the beautiful baby with you. She had black hair, beautiful hazel eyes. I'm begging for you to forgive me, not wanting you to take her and leave as I hold her closer to me. You take her and leave, shutting the door behind you anyway. I stop writing, tears dripping from my eyes and onto the paper. He's gonna see this and probably toss it aside once he reads my name on the envelope. I sigh, knowing his possible reaction. I could put a fake name on it. But then would he throw it away thinking it was some crazy stalker fan? The study door opens and I stuff the letter under some blank papers. "What's got you awake at this bloody hour?" Louis questions me, rubbing his eyes. 

"A weird dream and then Jackson, but mainly the dream." 

"Do I wanta know what it was about?" he asks, about sounding like aboot. 

"Only if you don't tell anyone," I demand. He holds up his two front fingers. 

"Scout's honor," he swears. I recount my dream to him and he had to sit in the extra chair beside me, my head down the entire time. "Blimey... That's a dream that would make me feel the way you do," he replies a few seconds later, needing time to absorb it. I nod, unable to find my voice through the tears. "I have one question, love." I look at him, motioning for him to ask away. "Who's the guy in your dream?"  

I did withhold that teensy little detail, the identity of the man. Shock written all over my face, the inquiry having caught me off guard. I bite my lips, alternating between them both and fight an internal battle with myself over whether I should tell him just because I'm unsure if he'd tell anyone; Harry being the main concern. What would Harry say if he found out?  

"Deven?" he pressed, bringing my attention back to him.  

"You swear on everything that means anything to you?" I emphasize. He gives me the scout's honor again and I confess the man's identity.  

He scratches his head near his temple. "Uhhhh... That's a bit much to deal with on top of your upcoming tour, album, Jackson, Harry, the group and everything else." 

I raise a finger, wincing as if admitting it hurts. "The label cancelled my tour." His eyes go big. "They don't want me to have to leave Jackson already," I explain. "Especially with you guys starting to blow up. I just refuse to allow my son to be raised by an endless slew of nannies." He nodded in understanding. 

"When did you find out? Is the album still coming out? When are you telling Harry? For how long?" 

"Last night after you and Harry decided to go to bed. They're still releasing my album. I'm planning on telling him today. As for when and if my tour is ever going to happen, I have no honest idea," I ramble, choking back sobs. 

He hands me a tissue. "It's quite a bit to deal with," he agrees. 

"Sometimes I wonder what would've happened if I had done things differently than I have," I confess. I've been asking myself that for months now; since I broke Aaron's heart and drove him out of his mind. "Don't get me wrong I love Harry. And I'm not going anywhere until he tells me to. But that doesn't stop me from feeling like a douche for what I did to Aaron."  

His eyes widen, nearly the sizes of dinner plates. "Do you feel something for Aaron? Other than a regret?" I freeze, slowly looking at him and by his expression, I told him everything he needed to know with my reaction. "You need to tell them, Harry more than Aaron and be honest with all of you who are involved in the triangle." I just realized that Louis talks with his hands just like most Americans do. 

"I love Aaron," I say slowly. "But it's not the same love I feel for Harry. He was a very good friend," I try to begin to explain, Louis interrupting me. 

"No, that's a lie." 

"It's not though!" I insist. "Harry and Jack are my everything! And any feelings I may still have for Aaron are only because I feel awful about what I did and because I want to make things right with one of my best friends!" 

"But, if he were your 'best friend' like you say, you wouldn't have hurt him in the first place, Deven," he points out.  

"I never planned in falling so hard for Harry," I whisper, hanging my head in shame. He shakes his head. "I didn't want to hurt him. It was never my plan. Before I met Harry I could've married Aaron if he had asked." Louis didn't say anything.  

He just stood and went to the door, stopping long enough to say: "You better figure it out soon, Deven. Because I won't let you do to my best friend what you did to Aaron." With that, he left. That had hurt; a lot, more than I thought it could. 

I have a genuine dilemma on my hands. The dream weighing heavily on my mind and in my heart. He is right about Harry deserving to know, about Aaron and about how much it would hurt him if I didn't tell Harry myself and Louis does. I want to tell him, but I don't want him to know at same exact time. I tear the letter to shreds and drop it in the bottom of the wastebasket. If I was going to say anything to anyone I was going to say it in person.