Chapter Text
Louis is pissed, to say the least, and the reason is, as usual, Harry fucking Styles.
He can't seem to leave Louis alone. And today is the worst day of it all. It started with yet another rejection letter on his doorstep, addressed to him. But it will all end soon. Louis is working towards it. He hopes that he will get accepted into at least one of the farthest universities.
He despises Harry Styles with all his being. First, Harry is arrogant. And being the most handsome alpha in the school doesn't help. His presence lingers in the hallways and classroom, much to his ire. Wherever he goes, Omegas and Alphas alike swoon at his feet. Louis wants to barf just at the thought. The only consolation is that he has no idea exactly what Harry smells like, he can’t put his finger on it, which is torture in and of itself. The sooner he can figure it out, the sooner he can avoid it altogether. No one knows him the way Louis does. He can see through the persona's appealing mask. Harry is the subject of gossip in almost every conversation; who he slept with, who he abandoned, what he ate for lunch, how much he scored for the team. Even his teachers praise him: the ideal student.
Louis cringes at the thought because he knows Harry is far from ideal. It frustrates him that no one is able to see the truth. Harry has wrapped everyone around his finger with his cheeky smile, the flattery seems to open the doors for him everywhere he goes. He is the worst person ever.
Currently as Louis stands at the lockers, putting his stuff inside, an omega nearby screeches and goes into the story of how Harry flirted with her and invited her to the final dance. Louis’ jaw clenches.
One moment. He just wants one single moment away from the chatter. He slams his locker door over the giggling of the omega and her friends, which sounds more like the nails on a chalkboard. Everyone in the area turns at the sound. He keeps his head up and avoids their grimacing faces. The chatter in the hallway turns to hushed scowling.
And that's another part of it, the reason he hates Harry Fucking Styles. Where Harry is popular, charming everyone in school and making everyone like him, Louis seems to have done the opposite; everyone is against him, or at least, that’s what it feels like. Louis is very pleased to leave all of this and the school behind.
Whatever he just heard is all fucking bullshit, which is why it frustrates him even more. Harry is always the buzz without having done anything to earn that reputation. It does not matter that it’s tainted, that it’s all lies. They have created a mountain with an anthill.
The school grounds are turning with the season. The breeze smells of late afternoon. The sky is cloudy, and that sours Louis’ mood. He hasn’t seen the sun in ages. The gloominess doesn’t help him at all.
The weight of the day aches in his muscles. He is tired. He wants to go home, shower, and get rid of all the mirky scents from the school, drown out all of the hushed voices and sneering, wash away the tiredness, and curl up in his fresh nest.The thought of how his nest smells of clean, fresh laundry and home almost soothes his rigid shoulders. He is also looking forward to talking to his little sisters, Lily and Ivy. Both will likely be alphas when they grow up. His family will have three of them, Lottie being an alpha too. That leaves him and Rosie to be the omegas among the siblings. He doesn't mind either way.
He hears snickering behind him as he takes his bike from the school parking lot. Another hollering comes his way, “Tomlinson, don't strut away from us princess,” followed with a hoot of laughter. Fucking Grimshaw and his absolute baffoons. He maintains his head high, eyes ahead on the road, and continues leisurely. Any other day, he would have a snarky retort, but not today. He is restless. Not a single thing has gone right for him, and he feels his upcoming heat. His scent must be spiked, and his emotions might be easy to read, so today is not the day at all.
He is on the verge of breaking down by the time he leaves the school grounds.
“Heard the universities don’t want your sorry ass.” A smug, knowingly entitled brat of the voice comes closer.
Harry fucking Styles.
Louis’ plan to get away from this town is crumpling with each letter as he receives them, one by one. He has made it a ritual to visit the house next door whenever he can, to see if Harry has heard back from a university. He has yet to intercept Harry's letters.
Harry is on his bike, in all his glory of the school uniform and the navy blue jumper. The tie is loose around his neck, the shirt askew with the top button open, one side untucked from the pants.
"Why, Styles, are you jealous? At least I'm hearing back from them,” he retaliates.
“Run your legs instead of your mouth, Tomlinson. At least I passed all of my A levels.” Harry tries to appear threatening, but he's just got a curly head with dimples. Yet, his dark green eyes and set jaw irk him in the way Louis would like to snap something in half.
“With that tiny brain of yours, I am surprised you can keep up with them.” Louis speeds up.
“I'll be reading acceptance letters soon. Can you say that for yourself?” Harry follows him. A strong smell of pheromones persists in the air.
“Keep dreaming, Styles, and get the hell away from me. You stink like a rabid dog.” Louis swerves his bike to avoid a puddle. He passes Harry.
“Isn't this the same rancid stench that you beg for in the heat?” Louis can hear the smirk in his voice as he overtakes.
“Isn't that the whole reason they tie you in the asylum for rut?” He throws back, focusing hard on the road to avoid the bump. A car honks at them. Seriously, who even drives on school roads?
"Wouldn't you like to know?" Harry gets behind him to let the traffic pass, and Louis moves to the side.
"The whole school knows it, so no. Now, will you kindly fuck off to your slut whores?" He knows it's not the truth, but he also knows it bothers Harry when people think of him in this way. Bullseye. Don't mess with him in the first place if you don't want to get shredded. He pedals faster.
"Whoa, whoa, that filthy mouth of yours should have earned you something, and yet." Harry falls behind him.
"As if that were all." Louis retorts and speeds his bike away. He has no energy to deal with this dog at all. He can't help but stoop to Styles' level. He has tried everything; threatening him, complaining about him, and punching him in the face. He even tried to get him expelled that one time, which backfired horribly. The only thing he hasn't tried yet is to leave town, and all he needs is to hear from one university to be able to do just that.
Soon he sees his house come into view. He rests his bike inside the gates and washes his face with the garden hose. The water soothes his overheated skin, but his hair is rough in places from the wind.
When Louis enters the home, his mother is already in the kitchen. The smell of potatoes and peas hangs in the air. The smoked chicken is on the table. Lottie is helping her around.
“You are late,” is all she remarks.
“I heard from Salford,” he says meekly.
“And?” His mother asks, hopeful.
He cannot face the enthusiasm on his mother’s face. There are things that are expected from him. They demand more than he can give at the moment.
He shakes his head in disappointment.
His mother sighs. “It's okay, Louis. You did your best. Go wash up and help me set the table.”
Lottie glances at him sympathetically as he sighs. He heads upstairs.
Louis tosses his backpack onto the corner of his bed, where it lands swiftly in place. He rushes through the washing. He craves a shower, but he needs to help his mom too. Lottie can't be doing all the work. He can do that after dinner. He looks longingly at the end of his bed, where his nest sits peacefully, as he takes his tie off. He wants to relish in the clean smell before his whole room starts to smell like his sweaty heat. He quickly puts on whatever clothes he finds nearby.
He needs to find something softer for his nest. Maybe he can steal another jumper or a hoodie, when he is trying to get his hands on those letters; who knows? He just has to wait for the right time.
As he descends the stairs, Lottie and his mom are talking about him and the universities.
“There’s still hope for Manchester," Lottie says.
“I didn't even get into Lancaster; how am I supposed to get into Manchester?” he remarks, looking all over in search of something to do. He is useless when it comes to chores. He is also an omega. Not that these two things necessarily correlate, but he is constantly reminded of it at times like these.
“It depends on your applications, Lou. Manchester might find your application more suitable. That’s the only one you haven't heard from yet, isn’t it?” Lottie asks as she sets the peas on the kitchen table.
"Yup,” he says resolutely, pulling the pot of boiled potatoes towards him to mash them. “Why did you boil so many? Is there a party? Did I forget someone's birthday?"
“Gemma's leaving for London,” his mother reminds him.
He glances at his baggy, stained old sweatpants and the hoodie that has holes in it. Styles is bound to comment on those and embarrass Louis. He isn't a homeless person, for God’s sake. He has really nice clothes, but he cannot go change now without looking suspicious. He has to be on his good boy behaviour and not give Styles a chance to get under his skin. If only he had remembered, he would have worn something more flattering.
"Why didn't you tell me?" He asks, slightly agitated. He crushes the potatoes to his best ability.
"You knew Gemma was leaving today." Joanne places a few vegetables on the board and starts cutting them.
"Yeah, but not that they were coming here,” Louis says begrudgingly.
“Why wouldn't they be here?” She looks at him puzzled.
Behind her, Lottie shoots him a concerned look.
Louis should have seen this coming. The Styles and Tomlinsons are family friends. They dine and wine together, and they raise their children together. They eat together. They do everything together. The point is that their families do not know that he and Harry don’t get along.
He doesn't care that much about Harry per say, but he sure does care about Anne, Robin, and Gemma. He curses at himself for not remembering this would be the last dinner he would have with Gemma for at least a while.
He shrugs. "I just thought you would tell your son that we would have visitors.”
"What has gotten into you? She is not a stranger.”
Lottie clears her throat. “If you smash them more, we will have to drink them.” She points to the bowl where Louis is stabbing the potatoes.
"I just wish you had told me," he admits defeatedly. He doesn't see why he has to justify himself.
"Well, now you know. Did you want to do something for her?” His mother asks.
He shakes his head, resigned. He focuses on his potatoes.
The front door slams, reverberating through the house. Louis sighs.
“Someone’s got a crush.” Rosie sings as she enters the kitchen.
“Who?” Lottie and Louis both ask her in unison. Their mother is curious, too. And Rosie breaks into the story of her classmate and their embarrassing yet endearing antics.
Lottie is a year younger than him, and Rosie another two years. The school gossip runs rampant with them. The house without his youngest siblings, who have just turned four, sounds empty.
“Where are Lily and Ivy?” Louis asks after the peels of laughter have subsided. He places his cutting board near the kitchen sink, beneath the kitchen window that gives him a nice view of the garden and the evening sky.
There’s a commotion at the front door, and soon the greetings flood through the house. Louis can hear Lily and Ivy’s cheerful shrieks as they run into the house. Joanne goes to greet them.
“Tell me what to do,” Harry says, entering the kitchen and moving directly towards the sink to wash his hands. He is wearing a white t-shirt under an atrocious grey tracksuit. Louis knows it's one of those high priced, soft and cool fabrics. The whiff of his clean scent drifts towards Louis, and he steadies himself. From the corner of his eye, Louis notices Harry's nose twitch. He’s so close, their arms are almost brushing against each other, and Harry can probably smell Louis' impending heat on him. Louis steps away and slides the cutting board towards the stove. His head clears a bit as he inhales the smell of roast instead of Harry.
‘You reek. You can't even control yourself around me, Tomlinson, it's making me barf. I haven't figured out how to get rid of it yet. Utter disgusting. I am disappointed in you.’ Harry's voice spins around in Louis' head. Harry would have remarked condescendingly if they were alone, but they aren't.
They both keep to themselves.
Louis would have found an equally hateful remark to degrade Harry. 'I didn't realise you were the alpha that sniffs omegas without their consent; your mother would be ashamed to see how her son has turned out.'
'No one wants you, so you keep crawling back, just to find out what an omega smells like? I pity you, Styles,’ he would have retorted. He knows Harry and his weaknesses like the back of his hand. He knows what nerves to hit at what time.
Tonight, however, he simply wants to get through dinner without incident. He knows Harry will go along with the pleasantries. In a few more weeks, he will be away in another city and at university, establishing a future for himself apart from Harry. He might finally be free of his bravado. He would not have to conceal his disdain for Harry. He wouldn't have to feign a smile for his family.
Lost in thoughts and trying to keep the furiosity under control, the knife slips onto his hand and breaks through the skin. He can't help the gasp that betrays him.
Lottie turns around and sees the blood on his hand. His skin burns around the cut. He stomps his legs to distract himself from the feeling. It's not that deep of a gash, but his pain tolerance is low today, and he is more sensitive to his emotions. The perks of being an omega. Thankfully, he isn't crying, screaming, or making a spectacle as he normally would. Not in front of Harry.
"Louis, why aren't you using the bread knife?” Lottie scolds him from where she is slicing the cooked steak.
“This is sharper; it cuts through, neat, and easy.” He waves his knife around.
“I can see that,” Rosie notes, removing the first-aid box from the top shelf. “Let me have a look,” she says, hurrying over to him.
"Harry, can you hold it like this?” She asks Harry, lifting Louis' hand up to him. Louis' eyes snap to Harry's, who looks back. He panics.
“Don't worry, Lou. It’s not that deep; it will heal soon,” she says.
But Louis knows Harry isn't fooled. His face is blank, but he surely can read the panic in Louis’ eyes. Louis searches his brain for his usual snark, but it lacks the edge. Harry is just as pompous as Louis, who has just humiliated himself. He can't even cut the bread properly. Harry’s eyebrows rise and he smiles devilishly at Louis. His teeth sparkle all white, and his lips shine red. Rosie unwraps a bandage, not even looking at either of them. "I don't think this will be enough.” She moves to get a bigger one, and Harry takes her place.
“May I?” Harry glows with mirth. Louis is struck by the sudden warmth that surrounds him. When he is sure no one is looking at them, he scowls. Harry huffs and mutters something under his breath, taking Louis’ hand.
Something stirs in the air. Louis can smell the sweetness and spice. His shoulders sag. The pain subsides under Harry’s touch for a moment.
Louis gets lost in it before he comes to his senses. He snatches his hand away, and Harry’s nail catches the fresh cut.
“What the hell did you do?” Louis screams. The burning sensation doesn't stop. His hand drips with fresh blood.
“Oh my god! Louis!” Rosie rushes over.
She pulls Louis towards the sink and washes his hand under the tap. She spreads cream over the cut and asks Harry to hold Louis' hand again. She also warns Louis not to move this time. Harry isn't careful this time either. He tugs at Louis' hand, unimpressed. He holds one hand around Louis' wrist, and with the other, he spreads out Louis' fingers. The cream is cold, which soothes him a little. He opens his teary eyes.
“What's going on?” Joanne asks as she enters the kitchen with Lily and Ivy at her heels.
“Louis cut himself again,” Harry provides sternly.
“What were you doing?” Joanne sighs as she takes a look.
“Cutting the bread.” Lottie shakes her head. She hasn't moved from her station.
“You should be careful, Louis. I have told you not to use that knife,” his mother reprimands him. Rosie wraps the bandage around his hand. Harry holds it more firmly as his thumb straightens his fingers. It tingles under his touch, and Louis wants to pinch him.
“It’s my favourite,” Louis defends himself.
“It's the one that you always cut yourself with,” Lottie provides helplessly.
"There. You are done. Sit at the counter; no more knives for you,” Rosie says, handing the knife and the cutting board to Harry. “Take over the bread,” she instructs him.
“Does it hurt, boo?” Lily peers at his hand, sitting on the chair closer to him. He is suddenly bombarded with questions from her and Ivy. He allows their curiosity about his cut, which lasts for a few seconds. Then he moves onto their braids as a distraction for himself. “Oh, look at your hair, Ivy. So pretty. Who did it?”
"Hazza,” she chirps, and Lily joins her. “He did my nails. Look, look!” She holds her fingers to his eyes. He sees the blur of her hands before he moves them to take a proper look. Blue sits prettily on her nails. Louis swallows any snarky remarks. He cannot throw a tantrum just because that bastard was the one who did it.
“Your nails look pretty, Lils.” He smiles at her. “Your braids are cool too, Ive.” He pulls them onto his lap, and they sit, admiring their nails and talking Louis’ ear off at length.
He feels drowned in their conversations. He hums and nods at the right times, but his eyes start to droop. He is sitting in the kitchen, surrounded by lovely food, and his stomach grumbles in agreement.
“When is Gemma coming?” He asks Lottie when the kitchen clock chimes. Not a second later, the doorbell rings.
“Always on time,” Lottie remarks.
Gemma's and Anne's voices flood the house. Everyone files out of the kitchen to join their neighbours. Louis rests his head on the counter. His head is pounding. His hand is in a band-aid. His body aches. His muscles are straining. Tears burn behind his eyes. The hour that he promised himself is now over. With all the mingling and talking that he has to get through, he will need to stay awake for another or two. He usually doesn't mind the chatter, he likes to be the center of attention, he feeds off of it, but not today. The house is too crowded, people are too excited and happy, which is a sentiment that Louis doesn't share at the moment.
He wants to go to sleep and never wake up, preferably in his nest. There is a smack on the table next to his head, and his head immediately clears from the daze. A glass of water sits beside him. He looks at Harry, who leaves the kitchen with his back straight. Louis has a half-wish of emptying this glass on his head, but he thinks better than to waste the water. He gulps it down, the water cold and soothing his headache a bit.
The dinner rolls through. Anne and Robin ask him questions here and there. Gemma, Lottie, and Harry are giggling amongst themselves, with Rosie joining them. Joanne is feeding Lily and Ivy while talking to Anne and Robin. When everyone is done eating and dishes are in the sink, Rosie takes Ivy and Lily with her to their bedroom. While everyone moves to the sofa and chairs, Harry and Louis settle on the ground, resting their backs against the wall. It’s cold. Louis sags a little into it. He has made it through dinner, now he is looking for an opportunity to excuse himself. Lottie and Gemma keep sending him worried glances, but he avoids them.
Rosie comes back and joins them after a while. Louis closes his eyes, too tired to keep them open any longer, sleep nags at him, and he gets more annoyed by the second.
The conversation moves on to universities and admissions. He is glad his eyes are closed, he doesn't want to see the pity directed at him. He’ll find a university to go to, he has to be accepted into one of them, right? If not, then London has other colleges to offer.
“We need to throw a party soon,” Anne exclaims happily.
Louis feels Harry tense up beside him. He frowns as the air turns citric, his omega wants to whine at it. Louis holds his breath and tries to keep calm. It quickly disappears, and Louis breathes in, he wishes he could close his ears too.
"Yeah. We will wait for Louis, of course.” Robin adds.
“Of course,” Anne agrees.
“We heard from Salford. Louis didn't get in,” Joanne informs.
“I am sure wherever Louis goes, he will shine. He is the most hardworking of this lot.”
“It's just a matter of time,” Robin says supportively.
“I hope so,” he hears Joanne say.
“We heard from Manchester,” Anne says.
Harry makes an indignant sound.
“He got in,” Robin says, and the room erupts in congratulations and cheers. Louis blinks his eyes open and he stands up slowly. He cannot take this anymore. He removes himself from the room. Manchester, his only hope, has been ruined by none other than Harry Styles. He was counting on Manchester. If Harry accepts, then Louis will have to spend more years arguing and snarking at him. He cannot live another year like this. If he gets accepted in Manchester, then their families will insist on them living together. Louis cannot let this happen, he refuses to be degraded and humiliated. This is his chance, he has to let his mum know how he really feels about Harry. He is tired of pretending.
He pours himself a glass of water in the kitchen, and then he heads straight for his nest.
Joanne interrupts his plans.
“Are you okay, love?” She asks, standing at the door.
“He can't.” Louis clenches his hands into fists. “I am going to Manchester. He has no right. If he got into Manchester, then he could get into any other university. He cannot go to Manchester.”
“We haven't heard from Manchester, Louis. And if you do get into Manchester, isn't it better that you and Harry can look after each other?” She steps into the kitchen.
“No. It’s not. I am not. If he goes to Manchester, I will fucking not,” he screams at his mother, frustrated. She has always preferred Harry. Even now, she is not listening to him. It pains him that she insists on the compromise. Louis is done, he has nothing in him to give anymore.
“What are you talking about, Louis? I don't understand.”
“That's the fucking problem, isn't it? You never even try to understand. I have told you that I don't want anything to do with Styles. Yet, you don't listen. Ever. I can't go to the same university as him. I cannot. And will not. If I get into Manchester and he goes, then I won't accept. He can go fuck himself for all I care.”
“Louis. Where is this coming from? You get along so well. You have known each other since you were kids. If you are having arguments, I'm sure he will resolve them with you.”
“I don't want anything to do with him. We don't get along. He fucking despises me. He hates me.” Louis’ voice bounces off the walls. It's nearing screeching. He continues slowly, “He has to go somewhere else if I am going to Manchester.”
“I am sure there is some misunderstanding,” his mother says, clearly not understanding him, let alone taking his side. He sees no point in justifying Harry’s and his arguments to her.
“Harry doesn't hate you. He–”
"Well, I hate him.” He drops his glass in the sink and stomps out, only to see Harry at the kitchen door, standing frozen in disbelief. Louis shoves past him.
He runs up the stairs, slamming the door to his room. It reverberates through the house. He slumps into the nest. It smells weird. His nose runs, his eyes are burning, his temple throbs, and his throat aches. The usual softness of his nest is missing; it scratches against his skin.
The door to his room opens and light floods in. It pricks Louis in the eye.
“What the hell is your problem?” Harry shouts at him.
Louis doesn't have any energy left in him to ask Harry to leave. He just wishes for a second of life for himself. Or at least in his room. Tears stream down his face, all he can do is suppress his sobs and shudders. He cries quietly, facing away from Harry.
“What the hell was that? Are you out of your mind? You haven't even heard from Manchester yet, and you are already acting like an entitled piece of shit. Is that what you want? To break our families apart? And over the fuck, what, a university that you can't get into?”
“It's not that, and you fucking know it.” Louis stands up from his nest and faces Harry. He knows his face is wet, his eyes are red, and his nose is flowing. He doesn't care. Harry stills for a second from whatever he was going to say.
Louis takes the opportunity to jump in. “Can you just leave me alone? Go to whatever university you want to; I don't care. Just fucking leave me alone.”
“And why would I do that? I will go to whatever university I want to, and I have worked just as hard for it.”
Louis scoffs, “And I haven't? You knew, didn't you? That's why you rubbed it in my face. Did it flatter your ego? Good, great. You got whatever you wanted. Bloody congratulations. Go celebrate with your family. Why do I have to take part in my own demise?”
“In case you have forgotten, we are at your house. These are our parents downstairs.” Harry says it warningly.
Louis laughs, “Didn't you hear? I am tired of fucking pretending. I hate you. You hate me. I am giving up. Go back to your own fucking house.”
Lily comes running through the door, crying, and Louis freezes. “Don't leave, boo,” she bawls.
He didn't mean for her to hear. Why is it that something transpires and he is always the one to blame?
He bends down and hugs her. “I am not leaving, Lils. Who said that? I am here,” he consoles her, soothing her, and rubbing her back. He wishes someone would hold him just like this.
“You are crying,” she points out, “and angry. Dad was angry before he left. And he was screaming too. I don't want you to leave. I will be a good girl, boo,” she sobs into his neck.
Louis’ heart shatters. There’s no coming back from this, all of his fears are coming true.
Harry crouches, and he puts a hand on Lily’s head. “Louis is angry, but not at you, Lily. He is not going to leave you. We will help him soothe his anger, okay? He is not leaving you,” Harry comforts her.
That offends Louis. What the hell is that supposed to mean? Harry is, of course, as condescending and presumptuous as he thought. For the sake of Lily, he lets it go, at least for the time being.
He picks her up and wipes her tears. “I am not leaving you, little one, ever. Yeah?” She nods and hugs him tightly, her tiny hands circle around his neck.
“Let's get you some milk, and then we will sleep, okay?” he bribes her. She nods into his hold and it makes him smile a little. He will work it out by himself later. Right now, his sibling needs him. He walks towards the door.
“For what it's worth, I don't hate you, Tomlinson. I have never hated you,” Harry says.
“Funny way of showing it,” Louis scoffs.
"I don't hate you. believe me. If I hated you, my life would be so much easier." His voice is as tired as Louis feels.
"Save it." Louis doesn't spare him a glance.
He goes to the kitchen and it’s a miracle that their families are still lounging in the hall. It's been years since Harry and Louis weren’t at each other’s throats. It's an unspoken rule between them; their families will never get wind of it. One night and he tosses that to the wind. Harry will never let him forget it. Embarrassed is how he feels, his face burns with the newly found shame of letting down their families. The pompous pig is equally important, but the outburst is Louis' and Louis’ alone.
Joanne comes to the kitchen as Louis is pouring a glass of milk into the pan to heat it up. He is holding Lily by one hand, his little sister refusing to let go of him. She has quieted down, but Louis still reassures her every now and then.
Joanne looks at him disappointedly. He doesn't look at her, he will deal with his mother later. He already knows he will be grounded.
“Can you ask him to get out of my room?” He turns on the stove.
“I'm not in your room. I have decency.” Harry turns up at the kitchen door, looking as composed as ever.
“Doubt it,” Louis says dismissively.
“What did you think I was going to do in your room? You aren't that interesting,” Harry quips.
“Fuck off,” is all Louis says.
"Language, Louis,” Joanne warns. “You both need to talk it out. I don't want either of you yelling and swearing in this house.”
He turns the stove off.
“I am sure this will blow over when the stress of admission clears up. Till then, please try to be respectful of others,” she chastises them. Louis rolls his eyes behind her back.
He pours the milk out of the glass with one hand and shifts Lily with another to have a better hold on her when she squirms. "Here, Lils, you want to drink the special milk, don't you?” He asks her.
“Chocolate?” she asks, hopefully. He sighs inwardly. The demands of the people surrounding him do not seem to be extinct. On any other day, he wouldn't mind doing things for them, but today just doesn't seem to end.
Harry intervenes. “I have got it.” Harry's knowledge of where chocolate powder is stored in Louis' house is infuriating.
“You have got it handled, I see,” is all Joanne says before removing herself from the kitchen. She raises one eyebrow at her son. The conversation is far from over, Louis knows he will get a talking to at some point and a chance to explain his side as well.
He puts Lily down in a chair. She starts to protest but quiets down when she sees Louis pulling another chair to sit beside her. Harry stirs the chocolate milk, and when he is done, he pushes it towards Lily, offering her a gentle smile.
Louis rubs a hand over his face as Lily gulps it down. “Slow down,” he remarks, and she does slow down, looking at Louis for approval. He nods at her and puts his head down on the table.
“What are you going to tell Joe?" Harry’s voice pierces through his brain. The fog dwindles down.
“The truth,” he says, still looking at Lily.
“And what would it be?” Harry asks.
"Seriously, Styles, have you lost your marbles?” Louis scoffs.
This time, Harry stares at him, trying to get a read on him, and Louis feels annoyed under his inquisitive gaze. His skin prickles at his neck. He keeps his hands down, suppressing the urge to itch. It starts to feel hot in the room.
“Who knows what your twisted mind would come up with?” There is a challenge underneath the words Harry utters. He narrows his eyes at Louis.
“Have you lost your hearing?” Louis knows he is deliberately playing the obtuse one. He clenches his fists. If they were young, by now he would have punched Harry in the face.
Lily burps and places her glass down. “I am done,” she announces, kicking her feet in the air.
“Let’s get you to sleep.” Louis stands up and almost falls to the ground. He’s dizzy around the corners of his eyes and his stomach is in his throat.
Lily giggles at his misstep. He cannot muster a smile for her. Instead, he clenches down on the table when a sharp pain runs through his stomach. Beads of sweat arise on his temple.
Harry is there in a split second. “Do you want me to call Joe?” he asks, concerned.
Louis shakes his head. Instead, he turns to Lily. "Let's get you to sleep."
“I will take her,” Harry offers.
Another shot of pain runs through him and any retort that Louis might have come up with dies. He exhales. He needs his nest. The smell of forest floats through his nose, clearing his head, the pain ebbs away. He takes a deep breath and dashes towards his room.
This heat is unbearable, it is nothing like Louis has ever experienced. He screams for an alpha and a knot, and he longs for a soothing voice and warm hands caressing his back. At some point, he dreams of a distinct voice.
He spends five days writhing in pain. When he becomes conscious, his voice is gone, his face is splotched red, and his arms and legs are full of scratches. He is thirsty and disoriented. He cannot move his legs, his body is exhausted. His room smells of potent slick and his nest is a mess, it's thrown all over his room, the blankets, the hoodies, and his mom's shawls are slumped in the corner.
His eyes fill with tears and a sob wrecks through him. He didn't ask for any of this. He curses at his omega for not finding an alpha sooner to spend his heat with. Obviously he wouldn't have thrown himself at anyone but he is so preoccupied with his revenge plans that he has completely ignored his dating life.
He curses at his lonely life and whines out to the world. The room is bright which makes his headache worse, the tears more painful. He flings the blankets over his head and goes to sleep.
Later in the afternoon, his mother opens the door, and the creak makes Louis wake up from his slumber. She stands at the door with an arm full of clean clothes and a large glass of water.
Louis downs it in a second.
“A rough one, then,” his mother remarks, running her hand through his hair. She wipes his face. He hugs her. Her familiar smell is comforting, it grounds him. Louis hates this dependency. Why can't I be an alpha? He has asked his mother before, when he was a pup. 'Alphas go through more pain, Louis. It's not rainbows and sunshine for them either,' she had consoled him, but Louis doesn't believe it at all. Anytime Harry shows up at school after his rut, he looks like he is fresh out of bed. He curses at the image.
He hasn’t even regained lucidity for a minute and that bastard has already occupied his mind. Louis wants to hunt him down and make him pay for making his life miserable.
He grunts as he makes his way to the shower. The warm water runs like a balm against his burning skin. He can't even face himself in the mirror; his face is gaunt, his hair is sticking out of place, his skin is pale, his lips are dry, and eyes are swollen. He has lost some weight. He sighs. He looks miserable.
Once he has eaten and drank enough water, he makes his way downstairs. It's early afternoon and the kids are in school, so he sits in the kitchen chair and stares longingly into the kitchen garden.
“So, do you want to think about it?” his mom asks, sitting in the chair across from him.
“About what?” He isn't sure what she is talking about.
She helps him out. “The tantrum you had during dinner.”
“It wasn't a tantrum. I am not attending the same university as him.”
“It's okay if you don't want to, but keep in mind that we haven't finalised one.” This time, her voice is gentle and compassionate. He is sure his mom and Anne are talking behind their backs. “Do you really want to throw your future away because of one person?”
“It's exactly that. I do not want to throw away my whole future just because of one person that I can not get along with.”
“But why is that? He is a good boy. He has good grades, he is polite. We have known him since he was a child, since you were a child. Has he done something to you? Did he say something, Lou?" Her voice is patient, but her face is filled with worry. The last thing he wants is to worry about his mom. As she pointed out, they have not finalised any universities yet. He will cross the bridge when he gets there.
"No, he hasn't,” he assures her. He can't tell her about anything Harry has done to him or how Louis has retaliated throughout the years. They are both twisted in their own ways, and this is something between him and Harry. He wants to protect the truth at any cost. “It's just that I want to be with new people. I want to experience university on my own. I will be in a new place with new people, and I just want a fresh start, I guess.”
“You said you hated Harry. What was it about then?” Nothing gets past his mom when she is onto something.
“It’s nothing. I was jealous that I got another rejection letter and he got accepted yet again." It isn't completely untrue.
“But you will tell me if he does something that is out of line, won't you?” She studies his face closely, and he nods with reassurance.
“Promise?” She asks. He promises, and she hugs him. She ruffles his hair and kisses his forehead. “I miss you,” she says it in a hushed voice, and Louis’ throat constricts. Between her job and a house filled with kids, the time that they spend one-on-one has dwindled significantly. He doesn't blame her. The school and his murderous plans occupy his time, too.
“I miss you, too,” he says, hugging her close. He knows she works hard to place food on their plates and to maintain shelter over their heads. He can't complain, nor can he ask for more, but sometimes, when he is sitting on the bed and looking into Harry’s room across from him, he cannot help but wonder if he had been born into the Styles family, if he were an alpha, would it hurt a little less to carry these burdens on his shoulders ? He would give anything to be him.
When the doorbell rings, his mom goes to greet the unannounced guest. Her surprised voice fills the hallway, making its way to the kitchen. When she moves, she reveals a dishevelled-looking Harry behind her. He has flowers in one hand and cookies in the other. Louis’ mouth waters at the citrus smell that the breeze carries through the open windows.
Harry puts the daffodils and lilies in the flowerpot on the kitchen table near Louis’ head and hands over roses to Joanne, placing a kiss on her cheek. The simple act riles Louis up, and he throws daggers at him. It's his mother, she shouldn't be fraternising with the enemy.
Joanne chuckles and offers him biscuits. Harry accepts and takes a seat opposite Louis. His hair curls are around his chin, and his skin peaks out of a worn out black t-shirt. He looks the definition of comfort. Harry eyes him defiantly.
Louis glances at the lemon tree in the garden. He wants to sit beneath its shade, but his mom wouldn't allow it, given how cold it is outside on this particular day.
“Done with school, Harry?” his mom asks, voicing the question that Louis is looking for an answer to.
“Yeah, it was a bit of a slow day,” he informs her. Joanne fusses over him equally. She is just as much a mother to Harry and Gemma as she is to Louis and his whole family. Anne is no better. The thought of her unsettles Louis. He yelled and swore at her son the last time she was in this room. He feels overcome with guilt, he feels nauseous. He has to go and apologise to her, he knows that.
What will he even say? ‘Your son is a prick, and I'm sorry.’ He cannot say that. He hopes she will forgive him.
As fate would have it, the instigator of this misfortunate dilemma seats in front of him.
Joanne brings them tea, says she has work to do, and leaves them.
The niceties linger only in front of their families, and now that they are alone, Louis waits for another low blow and gets his defences up, but it never comes.
He looks up at Harry, who looks back with his shoulders squared. Louis scowls. Harry doesn't say anything, and Louis doesn't know how to defend himself or what to insult Harry with if Harry isn't giving him anything.
“Did something eat your tongue?” He exhorts, having enough of the silence and the loaded gaze.
“My tongue is at its finest,” Harry says coyly, still giving nothing away.
"You haven't dragged me through the mud. And that's my tea, which you are drinking.”
Harry Styles fucking smirtles at that. It brightens up the whole room, and Louis wants to strangle him.
Harry still doesn't say anything. There is no judgement on the tea brand or any feedback, whether it is too watery or too sweet.
‘My drainage tastes better than the filth you drink, Tomlinson.'
‘I didn't know you loved drainage. I bet you learned from the pig itself.’
Nothing. The silence is absolute, and Louis can't take it anymore.
But before he can open his mouth with more insults, Harry says, “Mum asked you over for the tea and biscuits.”
Louis is consumed with shame. He doesn't know where he stands with Anne anymore. Harry’s mother would skin Louis alive if she found out how Harry and he lunged at each other and how they hurt each other.
Truth be told, he doesn't remember how it started, but next thing he knew, both of them were tearing each other down in every way possible to mankind. Harry ruined Louis' social life with rumours, Louis retaliated with a kick to his back in a football match. He hasn't tried anything physical since that day, though. He had never seen anyone in so much pain. Louis still feels guilty about it to this day, but he will never admit it to Harry.
In another universe, they would call him a bully, but in this universe, Harry gives just as much back as he receives. And Louis cannot explain it. He hates Harry Styles with a passion. Harry messed up his alarms and ruined his notes and books. That's how he failed his A-levels. Louis retorted by replacing his shampoo with balding cream; a patch on Harry’s hair under his ears hasn't grown back yet, and Louis finds great satisfaction in that. He damaged Harry’s car, so now he takes his bike to school every day. In return, Louis has taken more than a punch from Harry.
Nowadays, with the focus on which university each will attend, there are only screams and degrading words.
And now, on this particular afternoon, Harry isn't even giving him that. Louis nods when he finishes his tea. He puts his cup in the sink. That's enough of a signal to Harry, because he gets up and puts his cup beside Louis’. Louis shoves something sweet from the fridge into his mouth before he stretches out. His muscles still ache. The urge to cry has long disappeared but he still feels sleepy and tired. He had a whole week full of crankiness. He puts on a jacket. It doesn't help that Harry is on his heels trying to trip him when he leaves the house and walks over to the one nextdoor.
Louis rings the bell hesitatingly. He doesn't know what to say to Anne. Should he apologise? Should he come clean? He has let her down. She must be disappointed in him. Worry engulfs him as the door opens.
Anne has a warm and open smile.
He follows her to the kitchen while Harry disappears back to his room. She offers him something to eat. Louis welcomes the familiarity and raids the fridge to his heart’s content. When he is satisfied with his plate, he sits down at the table in his chair and faces Anne.
She talks about everything and nothing. She doesn't treat him differently at all. She also doesn't mention his outburst, and Louis is glad she doesn't. She hands him a glass of water, and he sits it down next to his plate. The time together passes leisurely.
The balance is back in the universe. He doesn't feel any shame or guilt. He is filled with warmth, care, and food when he sits down on the sofa, stretching like he is in his own living room and scrolls through the channels on TV.
Harry settles down in the loveseat by the window. It opens into the backyard. He has a book filled with pink and orange sticky notes in his hands.
Louis settles on some cartoons and sets down the remote on the side table. He lies down with his hands beneath his head and gets comfortable. A fan whirls above them. He ponders about his future and how to make the best of it while the cartoon plays in the background.
In the meantime, Anne prepares to leave for work. By the time she does, the sun is slanting, and its rays enter through the window. Louis should get up and go home. His siblings must have come back from school, but the thought of giving up the warmth and comfort annoys him.
He would rather relish the citrus smell that hangs in the air around him than make the effort to move his limbs.
He forgets that Harry is in the same room as him, and when Anne leaves, it's just the two of them home. The silence offers another layer of weariness to his eyes. His temple is throbbing minutely by the side. He wants to drift back to the sluggish, hazy dreams that offer no comfort.
There is a movement by the table as Harry throws some papers onto it.
Louis sits up annoyed, he has to get up, he has to go back to his home. He is weary, his muscles ache, and even though he ate so much throughout the day, he is hungry again.
The flash of his name on a piece of paper catches his attention on the glass, and he sobers up.
There are envelopes on the table. He recognises some of the university logos. He stills for a second. Harry stole them before he even knew he got them.
There's a letter addressed to him. He opens it.
He got accepted in Manchester. He opens the second one; he got accepted in Salford. Then the envelope he received that morning must be a fake one. He clutches it harshly and it almost crumples in his hands.
Harry’s face is proud when he sees that Louis has clocked what he’s done. All the anger, worry, and frustration he felt for the past few weeks was useless. Instead of relief and joy, all he feels is irritated and annoyed. He takes a deep breath and saves his anguish for later.
His determination doesn't last long, though. The more he stares at the envelopes, the more his future starts dissolving right before his eyes. What if Harry didn't hand him these envelopes? What if he missed the deadlines for submitting his documents or writing back?
Worse, what if he spent every single day in misery and pain, thinking of himself as a failure, even if he worked hard? This is serious stuff. There is a limit to how one can hurt another, isn't there? Or are they so occupied with knocking each other down that they’ve forgotten the real-life consequences of their actions?
He turns to Harry. His voice is measured. “When were you going to give me my letters?”
Harry has the audacity to smirk. He orchestrates the torture he puts Louis through, with no remorse. He sits smugly.
“And why would I have done that?” he asks tantalisingly.
Louis considers tearing up one of Harry’s letters, but he reigns it in. He knows this act pales in comparison to the heavy weight of their careers, which includes any future job opportunities, a stable income, and the future of their families. Louis has to carry those responsibilities. Harry has never understood, has he?
Excluding the fact that they are neighbours and their homes are mirrored layouts of each other, they have nothing in common. Harry’s has three well-established incomes. He sleeps on money. He has his own car. They don't even need a car to get around this neighbourhood. Hell, the furniture in Harry’s house costs more than his own family could ever afford. If not for Joanne’s and Anne’s friendship, he’s sure they would have already moved into upper estates.
Moreover, the house they live in is a rented one. The Styles family owns his house, and Anne hasn’t increased the rent in a decade.
And yet, their pretentious, lazy, ungrateful son who has no care in the world is playing with Louis' chance at a better life.
“Grow the fuck up, Styles. You have no right to keep these from me.” With that, he takes all of his letters and throws the remaining ones. They fall off the table. “These are mine!” he yells at him. He has done it again, he has lost his temper in front of Harry.
He is seething with rage. The exposition that Harry has put him through humiliates him even more. The idle headache comes back. The flames eat up all the patience he has left inside of him. The door opens, and he looks up to see Anne, who stands there. She looks at the spectacle that her son and his friendly neighbour have put on. Harry is yet to wipe the smirk off his face.
“What's all the yelling about?” Anne asks him sternly, and Harry startles out of his reverie. He looks bewildered to see Anne in the room.
“He stole my essays; before I could send them, I had to rewrite every single thing.” Harry throws his hands in the air and glares at Louis.
Anne looks at Louis questioningly. “You did that?”
Okay, so they are coming clean. They are involving adults in this.
“He ruined my assignments. I was about to fail if Mr. Hall hadn’t extended my deadline.”
They keep throwing accusations until Anne interrupts them.
“How long has this been going on? Why didn't you say something, Louis?” Anne is concerned.
Harry huffs, “Why would he? He started this.”
“You stay quiet. You are equally in trouble. I will deal with you later.”
“Why? I didn't do anything. He was the one who started it, I just defended myself.”
Anne shakes her head disappointedly. Then she looks at Louis and asks, “What else did he do?”
Louis tells her everything begrudgingly, and as she listens, her face falls slowly. She is lost for words.
Harry isn't. “How do you leave things out so conveniently?”
“I was defending myself.”
Harry scoffs.
“Is this really the way? Is that how you treat your friend?”
“We are not friends,” Harry and Louis both protest in unison.
Anne narrows her eyes at them. “Then what about our family outings? Weekly dinners, movies, and teas? Are you telling me you two have faked all of that? Are you telling me that we raised cruel monsters instead of two genuine people? Have we failed you? Does Joe know about all of this?”
“I'm sorry, Anne. I never meant for you to find out,” Louis apologises appeasingly.
“Goodness gracious- Find out! Are you really apologising to me for finding out? I don't know whether I am more offended or insulted. I am surely very disappointed in both of you,” she tells him. “I will let your mother deal with you, Louis.”
Harry huffs. Anne turns her attention towards her son. “You have something to add?”
"Joe is lenient with him. After all, he's her favourite child.”
“Of course,” she says. “Then you will receive the same punishment as Louis, and we will discuss it at this Sunday’s dinner. It's settled. Now, I'm going to be late for work. I hope you both can manage to not set the house on fire in my absence. Or is that too much decency to ask of you?” She looks at them closely.
Louis holds his head in shame while Harry rolls his eyes. She leaves the house after finding whatever she was looking for. Louis quickly shuffles back to the envelopes, and puts them in his jacket.