Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It's dark out by the time Harry finally pulls up to the place that doesn't feel quite like home yet. Still too new to him though it's been sitting around here for ages, an outdated countryside manor with acres of land between neighbors. It's a hell of a lot more space than two people will ever need, but not only does Harry Styles enjoy the lavish lifestyle, so does Louis Tomlinson.

Louis Tomlinson is a name not only he’s familiar with, but all of the United Kingdom. Hell, his own name fits that description rather nicely, but he’s not inclined to say so at all. So much ugliness is attached to his, and there is too much pain that comes with knowing him.

They go way back though, their names a frequent pair.

Both born heir to Council chair just years apart. Harry and Louis hadn’t been friends back then though. Far from it. The first time Harry ever met Louis Tomlinson the fuming boy tossed his cherry flavored slushy all over him for a comment Harry’d made on his size. Understandable, looking back on it, but he'd been young and incapable of controlling his temper.

To this day, Harry cringes at the memory of tackling the obnoxious (small) boy to the floor. Arm lifted, hand fisted and all before the damndest things had happened.

One: the bastard’s beautiful boyish face had been terrified in the worst ways, mirroring so many others to come.

Two: the bastard spit in his eye and knocked the hell out of him. 

Three: the two were forced into three day suspension, and Harry had been forced into a lifetime of annoyance.

It’s an entertaining tale to tell when Louis isn’t exaggerating it: "What happened is Styles here saw my striking face and just froze. Fireworks in his eyes, the whole bit,” and “I had to beat the fuck out of him though, shout out to my fellow omegas. Gave him a split lip and a black eye and…,” until the injuries become paralysis or a comatose condition and Harry is forced to shut him up.

A sudden blare pierces his reverie. Slow to react, Harry blinks, finding two small fists are braced on the steering wheel, which is the reason for the noise. No shocker, the reason for most of the noise in his life is Louis.

Arching a quizzical brow, Harry regards the young omega who continues to lean over from the passenger side. Moonlight slices through the windows, makes the boy beside him appear porcelain.

Sharp is the perfect way to describe Louis Tomlinson. So sharp. His soft chestnut hair teased to perfection and his cheekbones a lovely structure. An almost perfect button nose to match his bloody beautiful eyes. Right now, those eyes are tempest in their shade of blue, his pink mouth pursed.

“Goin’ to let up anytime soon?” He raises his voice above the incessant noise that’s causing his temples to pound. Not quite enough to annoy him, only his own mind cause that magnitude of reaction anymore. Not that Harry doubts Louis’ ability to defy all and any odds.

“If you play along,” the other retorts in that impressive pitch of his. Confusion prods at him as Louis lets up on the alarm and whines indignantly, “Have you forgotten already?” 

Pretty much. 

Curiously, Harry watches him cross his arms, waiting on some sort of hint or clue as he to what he’s getting at.

Secretly loving every second, he holds Louis’ piercing stare like he always does because he knows better than to look away. The seconds melt and dissipate with the swarming pause, their sanity-stealing drone quieting with this still moment.

Damn it, this is one of the many reasons Louis is his (best friend). His distractions are all that keep Harry sane anymore, awful as it is. “Remind me,” he says cheekily.

Louis rolls his eyes but smiles a small, pained smile Harry knows he can’t help.

True to his mulish nature, he sobers his expression in seconds, furrows his brows, and almost growls, “You never pay me any attention anymore! It’s like I don’t even exist! It’s like you don’t care. Like you don’t even see me anymore!” Just then he twists around to throw his door open, and storms out of the Tahoe.

Unable to get enough of him, Harry follows, swinging his keys in two fingers and wondering idly why Louis insists on "saving electricity" to leave the front lights off. Probably plotting Harry’s ‘accidental’ death; death by tripping over loose pebble on the way in–funny. 

On with his act, Louis continues irately, convincingly hurt. Harry has half the mind to feel bad; he's a proper fool for Louis Tomlinson. 

“It’s like I’m nothing to you! A nobody! Am I nothing to you now?” Everything, he corrects nonsensically, everything and everybody to me.

He joins him at the first step leading up to the front door, more than a little speechless. “Annnnd cut! How was that for drama?” Louis asks, pivoting with an expectant expression. To anyone else the tinge of hope in those bright eyes might not be noticeable, but Harry knows this boy better than he knows himself, and though it’s without reason or cause, Louis has been working on his impromptu performances for weeks now. 

Once it’d been so believable, so out of hand, Harry had to fit right into the role himself, storming through the halls after the deranged boy insulting him on how disgusting an alpha he was.

Falling for and into it, feeling some sort of raw panic until pinning Louis to the bed where the omega laughed, “Haz, Haz, calm down! Shh, no more. Chill! ‘S fake! It’s all fake. I’m…I’m not breaking up with you, sheesh!”

Ice, pure and undeniable, pelted at him in that moment, and those amused words had screwed with his head the entire night after he’d forced his fist through Louis’ bedroom wall before he holed himself up in his own bedroom. Like there’s anything to break up with, what a fucking joke, what a twisted joke.

The next morning Louis knocked real quietly on his door, slipping into his room without permission. Right back into that reserved spot for his best friend, best boy, in his heart with a tiny, “’M sorry, Haz. I won’t do it like that again. Pinky promise.” Since then it hasn’t been so extreme and Harry hasn’t touched him for fear of hurting him like he could’ve that night. He can’t hurt Louis, never his boy.

“Flawless. Totally fooled me. I thought I was ‘bout to lose my balls for sure.”

Even in the darkness Louis’s entire face lights up, the prettiest smile to be seen on his mouth as he whisper-shrieks, “Honest?”

Under the force of the omega’s excitement, the alpha swallows around whatever the hell is ballooning in his throat, and nods. “Yeah. ‘Course, paradise. Nailed it.”

Always awkward to accept compliments, Louis just snatches the keys from his hand, then turns to face the door and work intently on locating the many locks (as much protection as possible is required with Louis in the house).

Meanwhile Harry turns on his phone’s flashlight and enters the security code, letting them into their freezing, arctic Victorian dated manor.

Empty of décor, the place mirrors their inability to get themselves together.

As he follows Louis through the hoard of boxes, the toe of his boot catches one (surprise, surprise). He trips, cursing under his breath and stumbling like an idiot, “Damn it, Lou. How the hell are you moving through all this shit?”

“We really should hire someone to do something about this mess. It’s been months,” Louis comments pertly, sashaying through their disaster with a grace Harry lacks.

Kicking the box responsible aside, he repeats the same words from weeks ago, “You know better. This is ours. We should be the ones to make it a home, or whatever.”

Waving a dismissive, dainty hand, the boy hums, “Whatever you say,” before disappearing into a room (he believes to be the kitchen?).

Surveying the entry room, Harry considers help (not that he’d say so). There is just so much to their three stories with more than plenty bedrooms. Not to mention an attic Louis wants to renovate into an arcade.

All of this an obstacle that will take enormous effort, both of them always fickle. It could honestly take years.

The front room is spherical with the front door center. Wide, aged windows border the walls with window seats below. They're fashioned with velvet blue fabric that almost matches Louis’s irises (those will have to stay) and accents the worn wooden floors beautifully. Floorboards that Louis insists they get rid of because, “it’s creepy, H! ‘M not living in constant paranoia!”

Like paranoia hasn’t infested Harry’s space enough. Sometimes the creeping notion that Louis might become infected is enough that he can’t leave his room for hours upon hours until the omega works his magic and distracts him with constancy.

Undeterred, Harry tells him the floor stays as the history of the place is its allure, reflections of the history. Which is partly true...In truth he thought it'd help him relax a bit more. Nobody could ever catch him off guard, nobody could sneak up on him...

Mirroring his thoughts, the creeks and whines announces Louis' approach before he sighs in exasperation, "This is bloody shit. I can't even walk without being broadcasted now.”

Disregarding him, Harry eyes the fireplace in the far corner that will definitely need to be refurbished as rust has set into the metal support. “Haz, c’mon, quit renovating without my consent. I’m the vision here and you’re the brute strength, got it?”

Sweeping past him, Louis plops onto one of the dusty seats, sneezing adorably. “Ace. Now it’s screwing with my body, too!” As he curls up, Harry asks quietly, tracing the buttercup edoes of the seat in disgust, “Why not start tomorrow?”

“Manual labor, Hazza, darlin’? Not quite so hands-on. How about you start tomorrow. I’ll have my vision ready and I’ll even cheer you on.” By cheer him on Louis must mean try to boss him about and tell him what he wants to go where, really.

Used to this, Harry negotiates, meeting his round pleading gaze impassively.

“You’ll cook?”

“I’ll order take out,” Louis hedges, which by now Harry expects because not only does this boy not clean, he also does not cook beyond cheese toasties and juice (which Harry had forced him into).

He makes up for it by doing everything else, by being here, by putting up with his shit on the daily.

“Deal. But you have to shake your arse a bit for me, too.”

The stunned expression lasts only seconds before the boy snarls, “Oh, shut up.”

Barking laughter, Harry lifts his hands, palms first, in surrender. “You know I’m taking the piss, but a bloke can dream.”

“Every alpha dreams about this pretty paradise.” Mine, my paradise. Only I can call you that. It’s personal. It’s mine.

Grounding his teeth, Harry bites back, “Yeah, well, no complaining tomorrow, got it?”

Hopping like a little hyper bunny, Louis smiles brilliantly, unaware of Harry’s real anger over the thought of anyone else ever using that name on him.

“Only if you’re lucky.”

Winking, the omega brushes past him. “Well then. See ya on the bright side.”

It’s become routine, this whole five-more-minutes bit. Impulsive, the alpha holds his thin wrist and orders, “Not so fast, short-stuff. Stay up with me some more.” He hates letting him go. He hates not having him around. When Louis isn’t being loud, his thoughts are, and Harry needs to not feel like he’s drowning in quicksand and fuck-up failures for five more minutes at the very least.

Facing him again, Louis observes with scarily intelligent clear eyes. Under the intensity, his skin crawls, and he shoves his arm away, muttering in attempt to cover his lapse in control. “Sorry, forget it. You're probably exhausted. You should sleep.”

“You’re not sleeping anymore, are you, Haz?” he asks softly, like he does when he’s trying to convey some sort of serious. Serious Louis is never any good news for Harry. 

Here he comes though, shuffling around stray boxes towards him. He just doesn’t get it, and Harry doesn’t expect him to. He wishes there was a way to show him without hurting him. He hasn’t found one yet, so he turns to the drugs. To numb the pain, to turn everything else off. 

This time, Harry just can't smile like he's himself, he just can't...fake anymore. Pretending like he isn't pretending—a never ending spiral. 

He can’t even pretend to try to resist when the boy is close enough to curve his soft palm along his face, stretching a bit. His boy is so small compared to him and it always gets him, even after all this time. 

He shouldn’t be so close to him. Things tend to get out of hand whenever they’re together lately.

Until recently proximity hasn’t been an issue. It isn’t an issue at all unless Louis’ like this.

Exactly, perfectly soft and considerate and not how he’s supposed to be because when Louis' like this Harry’s damn alpha observes him in ways Harry could never consciously consider or allow.

Yet he holds Louis' swimming stare with a composure that's been drilled into him.

Nimble, thin fingers trace the dark rings beneath his eyes, markers of all his sleepless nights. He almost shivers under his touch like some desperate stray dog.

This his alpha snarls at, unable to tolerate any more proof of his (many) failure. There’s nothing to be done as Harry’s muscles lock, holding so still it’s as if he’s dead, which might not be so unlikely as he’s quit breathing.

I'm trying not to go insane...I'll never get the old me back.

“You're not yourself lately...You haven't been the same. You think I can’t hear you pacing until four, five in the morning with these bloody floors? I know you’re using again. You’re high all the time. What are you on now? Back on coke? Talk to me.”

I can't feel anything anymore. I never pictured my life like this...I've been bumping so much nothing's staying in my stomach anymore. Every night I hear pistols popping...I see myself in a hearse. I just can't take any more. If I lost you, I'd lose my soul.

Rage sprouts in his brain as his hands curl into fists, though he cages the reaction before he acts out like a real tweaker. “I thought I was being too loud.”

Avoiding that troubled stare, Harry fumbles stupidly, “I’ll move. I shouldn’t have taken the one above you. Hold on,” he tries to sidestep the small boy, “Let me just–,”

Louis mirrors his movements, hand all but glued to his face as Harry focuses on the pitch black foyer leading up to the stairway, rather than Louis. Anything but Louis. “Stop,” he murmurs, attempting to halt him though Harry doesn’t listen, suddenly in a frenzied state. “Stop avoiding this. Let me help. I…”

“Paradise, don’t start. I don’t need help, I don’t want to talk about shit, and I’m not going to cry to you about my issues.” Just then Louis loses his balance on their scrambled journey. Harry reacts in seconds, snatching him around his slim waist, only to recoil from the sensation; which leaves him slipping on God knows what (himself?).

On his knees, Harry’s up to Louis’s revealed clavicle, tracing the enticing lines so many alphas must fantasize over. They'd have a death-wish if ever they tried anything, he’d tear them to shreds–not Louis, off limits.  Blankly, Harry says, “I really just can't sleep. You don’t need to worry about me, you know. All good.”

“Oh bullshit.  There's no way... Harry, you’re so tired you’re a zombie half the time. For weeks it’s been like this. Either you’re high and being a dick or tired and unresponsive. So don’t tell me not to worry. Because that’s not okay, Styles. None of this is...healthy.” The anxiety in his voice jabs at Harry’s chest in odd, painful ways. "'M here for you, I don't mean to be insensitive." Truth is I've been going through hell, I’ve never been happy with myself. I think about you all the time. I've had this thing for you....I never lost it. 

Swallowing thickly, Harry apologizes, feeling guilty and rightly so. “I’m sorry. I’m trying, yeah? You...You're not insensitive. It's me, 'm making a mess of things.  Just…I’m honestly not tired. I’m not addicted or whatever. It’s just to help get myself…together.” It's probably too late...you'll never know what it's like...I'm home now and shit still ain't sunny for me...I'm not right in the head.

“Well it's not going to help if it hasn't by now and you know it. You should really sober up, Harry.” Louis argues softly, stroking his hair all the while, soothing him oddly enough.

“For me it does. Get off my case, Louis. It’s not serious enough to bother with. You should just let it be.” Please don’t make me tell you the truth, I might break. 

“Look at me and tell me that, Haz,” the boy murmurs, nails biting at his skin as his palm urges Harry’s head backwards.

Shoving back whatever emotion Louis’ conjured up within him, he inhales like he’s not at all worried Louis’ seen through his act (like he can't smell the boy's concern) and meets his stare with finality. “It's not that serious, paradise. I’m working on it. You know this isn’t anything new and I’ll get over it. Eventually...but, I don’t need you giving me those looks, yeah?”

Playful, he taps his bottom lip. “No more puppy eyes, pup. You know how I feel about you giving me those looks.”

As their eyes bore, he doesn't feel guilty over these lies because Louis doesn’t need any more burdens on his shoulders, shouldn’t worry over him, and certainly shouldn’t have to stay up with him because he can’t get his shit together. It’s no different than any other night. Sleeping has always been difficult with the shit sloshing around in his head. 

Louis’ eyes waver in their steel and triumph comes over Harry, though the omega still presses in defeat. “Promise me. Promise me you’ll cut the drugs out. You’re too old for that shit now, and I don’t need an addict in my life. You’re more than that. Pinky promise me.” Then does it, holds out his damn little finger.

Of course Louis would pull this, this childish stunt he knows Harry hates to screw with. Right now this has to be one of those lies that causes the weeds warping his lungs to twine around his ribs, sucking the breath right out of him.

With force, he wraps their pinkies in an embrace and whispers, “You got it, love. I promise.”

Studying him with those all-too-knowing eyes, it’s moments too late that Louis sighs, and nods with a shy smile. “”Kay, really don’t mean to be so pushy…I can’t help it. I need you to be okay. No drinking, no using, no pacing. Try to sleep. Tonight, sleep. Please.” Louis rarely says the p-word unless he wants something he knows he can’t have or he’s desperate, neither of which the older can stand. Louis should never want, and always have. He should never be desperate for anything unless it’s in bed…which is not his business.

“Yeah. Yeah, I will.” Ah, what’s another white lie?

Standing slowly, Harry tosses an arm around his frail shoulders. “Now it’s way past your bedtime for real. I don’t want hell instead of paradise tomorrow. So off you go.” With that, Harry tows the small omega down the hall to the very last room (far, far from his war-zone). He shows his door out of the way to hustle him inside by the small of his back.

“Goodnight.” In a rush to be over with this, Harry shuts the door.

An unsteady breath crawls up his throat. With every, echoing step towards his room the thoughts start up until his hands tremor and his temples twinge mercilessly. Before his eyes the hallway falls apart, his conscious awareness fades as his movements slow with the new scene.

A knife is heavy in his hand. Sticky, warm, slipping in his grip. It’s all he feels. Numb, numb, numb, the bright lights overhead burn his frantically searching eyes. Trapped, all there seems to be is white white white. But as his wild eyes fall to what evil he’s–

“Wait, wait, wait!” a blessed trill disrupts as Harry flinches from both, ripped out of the uncalled for scene. Dimness returns, stilted floors and worn boots reunite with him.

A tiny force crashes into him, and his arms curl around Louis’ back on their own accord. Then he’s got his nose in his soft nest of hair, sea breeze smothering his senses. Holding him shouldn’t feel like this. It shouldn’t…but fuck he’s so good in Harry’s arms, fits so well. The house is fucking with his head.

Being so close to him all the time is really doing it to him, making him want more again and again. Louis’ voice shoves the brief, proximity-pleasure away, meaning he’s probably only responding to a soft omega body. Not Louis. Just omega phermones. “You didn’t even finish our scene. You forgot.”

“Neither did you,” he reminds, rather than risk thinking I could never forget out loud. 

Stepping backwards twice, the boy asks, staring up at him through wide, droopy eyes, “Do you even see me anymore?”

Razor-sharp desperation bleeds into his voice as his beautiful, sleepy eyes reflect the same, looking suspiciously damp. It’s too real–Harry despises how Louis can do this, become another person in another situation in seconds. A dream that can easily turn to a nightmare.

Like always, Harry can’t find his voice, even though the response is really stamped to his jumbled hurricane of a mind. See he just can’t say it. No, because, unlike Louis, he’d mean every word. He hates himself for running from the person he loves more than anything in the world.

He does so anyway. 

Numb from the horde that’s returned to his mind, shouts lodged in his throat, Harry turns his back on the omega to climb the stairs. Makes it to the room only to sit on the bed with his head in his hands. “Such a mess,” he says vacantly, with his thoughts running and running and running until his teeth work and he’s yanking his damn hair (it comes out easy these days).

Nope, not tonight, not sleeping tonight.

Standing again, Harry does what he does every night, centers only on his body and drags his feet back and forth.

Again.

And again.
Endlessly. 

When his body screams in exhaustion, it’s been hours, and often he considers the stash in his desk, considers getting lifted. Fuck, but then there's those damn big blue-fire eyes burning behind his own eyelids. All he sees with every blink, every movement, until he collapses on the bed rather than rushing right over to his desk and—

Cruel thoughts torment him. A regular occurrence. 

Just because, Harry tells the obscurity what he can never recite back to Louis. “My eyes are only for you...My all time high, my good as it gets, my guiltiest pleasure. The best damn thing I lucked into. You are all I will ever see, paradise with the beautiful eyes.”

Fuck, who even chose those lines?

&&

                It’s ass-o’clock when Louis has officially had it. Above him, the dull thuds of Harry’s footsteps carry. Tonight, the insistent whines of the floorboards leave painful impressions on his mind. So over this restless schedule Harry’s acquired, Louis exhales, shoves the blankets away, and scrambles to an indecisive stance.

In the shadows, he skates through the dimly lit hallways, always careful to skip the seventh step up the first flight of stairs, the one that releases an obnoxious moan with any amount of weight (he swears it groaned over a bug once). No doubt Harry will hear and come to investigate; he investigates every little noise these days.

On the second floor, he rounds the corner to creep over to his bedroom door and…hesitates. Here, before the solid door, the boy feels especially small, an empty shell, powerless in his efforts to do something, anything.

His attempts are shot down time and time again which might be his own fault. See, Louis knows Harry Styles, a perfect imperfection, a lost boy. Knows his best friend’s every fault and countless perfections. The stranger in the room before him is an entirely different beast.

When locked up in his room, he’s someone else. Defensive, hostile, scary–before moving into this (“their”) house, Louis hadn’t ever thought to be afraid of Harry. Not ever.

The man who had returned from the Institution months prior is entirely new to him with jagged edges Louis’s yet to touch. He’s afraid that those edges might be too sharp, stab and cut at him until he’s left with gaping wounds of his own. This can’t happen–someone needs to maintain their sense, and it seems that Harry’s a lost cause.

So that’s Louis’ latest mission: stay sane.

Curling his toes in his socks, Louis takes a moment to listen in and catches Harry’s mindless mutters from the other side: “not right,” a broken record. God, Louis would kill to have Harry tell him what isn't right.  Is it the house, Louis, them?

Distress screams in his tummy, but the omega musters his infinite courage, doesn’t think, simply acts. Impulsive actions work best for him. It’s jerky, but Louis throws the entrance open and sees…no Harry. The scarily neat room lacks any personality, bare and sad.

Despite the thunderous instinct to retreat, to protect himself from the monster suffocating Harry’s room, Louis draws forward cautiously. The walls are the deepest shade of blue, and staring now makes him uncomfortable. It’s as if he’s drowning here in this vast room with an enormous bed to the right wall. Otherwise, the only other furniture is a nightstand (that’s only occupied by an old photo of them), and a metal desk in front of the metal screened window.

Frowning, Louis peers at the bed with no luck. A quiet screech of the flooring startles him so the boy whirls around to find Harry’s distinguishable outline in the shadows near the walk-in wardrobe. “Shit,” he yelps, arms circling his belly in silent comfort. “H, you scared–,”

“What d’you think you’re doing in here, Louis?” the cold, flat tone has his omega shrinking away. Never before has Harry made him feel more unwanted, unwelcome. Except now in the moonlight illuminated space, with Harry lurking in the shadows, watching him like he’s an outsider.

Louis lifts his chin, and hisses defensively, “What am I doing here? You ask some stupid questions.” When he doesn’t respond, Louis sighs in exasperation, planting one hand on his hip, needing to see his expression and reassure himself that Harry is in here somewhere. “God, H, will you come here and quit creeping in the shadows?”

Cautiously, the alpha approaches. Able to see his face now, Louis’ heart turns inside out. When the alpha moves like that, sleek and lethal, it’s such a predatory prowl. Slim, long and lean, Harry Styles is everyone's favorite eyecandy. Strikingly handsome with his features somehow both soft and strong, and his stupid eyes that seem to smolder in the darkness.

Squirming under the intensity, Louis swallows, opening his mouth to snap at him when Harry mumbles, stopping too many feet away, “I didn’t mean to scare you, sorry.”

And damn it Louis is such a sucker for Harry’s apologies as he so rarely issues them to anyone. Thawing a bit, the boy breathes hopefully, “You’ll have to make it up to me.”

“Of course I will,” he says dryly, rolling his eyes, then coughing as he shoves his hands in his front pockets. “What’s the matter? You should be asleep.” So should you, Louis thinks, more motivated.

“Can’t sleep, too much on my mind. I wanna cuddle,” Louis implores without missing a single beat.

The discouraging response is instantaneous as Harry storms to the door and opens it. “No, that’s probably not...I don’t think so. You should go back to bed. Your bed.”

Sucking on his bottom lip, the omega scuffles forward until he’s almost flush against him, so close to the solid tension that holds Harry’s frame.

Leaning in, he is bold enough to rest his head on Harry’s chest, like he could do before he’d last left him. “Please.” Being so close means Harry’s scent clings to him, dark with a hint of his cologne. “Please, Haz. Just for a while. I don’t wanna be alone...” You haven’t held me in forever, I’m needy.

The heavy breath Harry lets out is victory. Overjoyed, Louis beams, taking his (unreasonably) large hand to tow him over to his massive bed. He settles on his side, and waits impatiently as Harry sits, removes his shoes, then sheds his V-neck.

Louis marvels at the differences in his build since last year. Though he’s still slim, there’s so much more of him now, his shoulders have broadened and with every move his muscles ripple. Braced on his elbows, his biceps bulge slightly, his chest so much fleshlier as he stretches out beside him on his back.

His omega purrs, and eagerly Louis starts to straddle his hips, but Harry holds him fast. Something mad skids in his eyes. Louis decides not to chance any further reactions, sitting because he’s sure Harry won’t hurt him. There’s no agression as his mouth parts, and Louis sighs, in pheromone-heaven. “See. ‘s nice, innit? Feels nice, just feel.”

Satisfaction thrills through his veins when Harry slowly releases his wrists, watching him intently. Spreading his legs so they bracket his waist, he curls his hands on his chest and peeks up at him shyly when his hands stroke his shoulder.

A shiver rides up his spine…Oh, but he knows those eyes, and he knows this touch and can’t help but to seek out his feel, pressing his face in the crook of Harry’s throat.

“’S okay to hold me, too, Haz,” he encourages happily when he doesn’t move even an inch. Louis doesn’t think he’s even breathing.

Stiffly, those hands run down to rest low on his back, rough and heavy from use, fingers curling underneath what used to his T-shirt five or so years ago.

So relieved to have Harry in bed as calm as he can seem to be these days, Louis’ lashes flutter. “Goodnight, morning, whatever.”

“You’re not sleeping here. You said a while.” The vibrations of his deep, molasses-like voice leave Louis’ lips in tingles. It’s lovely so Louis noses at his jaw. “I know,” he acquiesces, so he doesn’t stress out, though he thinks smugly, I give it ten minutes before you’re out like a light.

He’s right (no surprise). Soon, the alpha's breathing evens out, and when Louis braces on his elbows to confirm his suspicions, he’s asleep.

Oh, baby, he thinks softly, you’re killing yourself.

Even in sleep Harry’s features aren’t relaxed or peaceful like when they were kids; his dark brows are furrowed and the muscles of his jaw tick every few seconds. Softly, Louis smooths these creases, and breathes sadly, always the lonely boy, “Please, be okay. I need you to trust me. Come back home, Haz. I miss you...”

When there’s no response, Louis sighs, but carefully returns to his previous position, breathing the dark secret scent into his lungs. As if it could ever be enough...

For the moment, like this, he lets his wild worries drift and become nothing more than nightmares.

∞∞∞

            Louis can’t breathe through his too-tight airways. Gasping, the boy’s eyes spring open, bleary in his startle as adrenaline fires through his veins. A silky, thick mop of chocolate coloured curls tickles his face.

In a rush, Louis realizes Harry’s tossed in his sleep. Which means Louis is very much trapped underneath him, explaining the crushing weight on his lungs. So, so heavy, though it’s unbearable, achy even, his omega adores it, loves every hard line against his soft curves.

A groan tears through his trance. When Harry's hand drags down his side, Louis tenses a bit, and a breath catches in his throat when that hand sneaks between the tops of his thighs to spread his legs effortlessly. No, this is not wrong–it’s obvious he’s still asleep, but what he’s doing, like this, puzzles Louis like nothing else.

Unable to find his voice, the boy’s mouth simply parts while Harry fits between his open thighs; offering another throaty sound. This hasn’t happened between them in so long, not like this, not even when they did sleep in the same bed (before Harry went away for the third time).

Now, Harry’s hips are flush to his belly, hands rough on his thighs, fingers burrowing into his flesh, leaving impressions as a means to keep him open for his use. “H-Haz,” Louis protests breathlessly, desperate to escape these spellbinding sparks.

He hasn't been touched quite so intimately yet; which Harry knows. It’s not that he’s innocent, he’s explored his body thoroughly, knows exactly what pleasure is, but he has never desired anyone else’s touch the way he craves this alpha.

He doesn't think he should want Harry to touch him like this without consciously doing so. The reason behind the bulge of his very hard cock against Louis’s tummy is another mystery. There's obviously someone or something on his mind, a reason behind this sexual drive, but it’s certainly not him.

Harry’s never been interested in him this way because Louis is not his type, nowhere near that perfect.

Louis tries to form words, but then Harry’s hips move again. Delicious heat pools low in his belly, tingles invading him. Oh, no. Deep in his throat, Harry growls, breathing heavy on his throat as his hands squeeze his thighs. 

And oh God he repeats the same lovely motion, grinding, straining. A flush blooms all over his face and spreads down his throat and chest. 

“Harr’eh,” Louis tries once more because he does not want what his body has begun to beg for. Twining thick locks of his wavy hair in his fingers, he yanks hard and begins to squirm; trying to break away from whatever that is without disturbing his rest.

It’s useless, doesn’t work or help as Harry’s mouth latches onto his throat. Damn, that's nice, though. That's so nice.

Something Harry's done once or twice before but never with such intent, all lovely pressure and teeth. He almost moans—he definitely purrs.

Sort of unraveling, Louis says breathily, “Haz, please,” and he doesn’t know that he’s asking the alpha to stop or stay working this magic with his mouth.

Sensation causes the heat to seize in his belly as his lashes flutter and one hand slides from his hair to his sweat slick shoulder, his skin burning hot and taunt. Sexual. Pure sex.

Dazed, Louis does nothing against his parted mouth drawing across his skin. All he can do is feel as Harry’s hips press him into the mattress, and his mouth works on marking him. A moment whispers by like this until Harry finds his destination.

Louis mewls, and shivers viciously, flooded with raw pleasure, the heat so real his cock starts to throb, and he’s leaking steadily now.

Teeth close around his special-spot, his bonding skin.

The realization freezes his blood as Louis hisses, like Harry has any idea what he’s doing. “Don’t touch me! Stop.” 

A little disturbed by such an intimate invasion, the omega claws at his shoulders, then shoves with all his strength until Harry’s torn away from his throat. “Seriously ! I’ll murder you in your sleep!” The screech seems to reach Harry, who instantly stiffens above him. Grappling with the opportunity, Louis heaves, and with a hurt noise the alpha’s deadweight yields, no additional resistance.

“Oh, come on. That’s hardly fair,” Louis lifts his hands, and blows out an unsettled breath as his heart races. “You’re the one trying to stick it in me here. You’re not allowed to make hurt noises.” Silence is the only response as Harry stills, face buried in the sheets, his breathing choppy.

Utterly ruffled, he leaves the bed, drunkenly wobbling to the door which he closes so soundlessly behind him.

Then in mere seconds he’s out of there. Honest, Louis doesn’t know why he’s on the run, but he is, and he doesn’t ever want to stop because he’s overwhelmed.

Feeling so in over his head because what Louis needs more than anything is his Hazza back. 

Not this phantom–if he knew this is what he’d be stuck with he’d have told Harry to fuck off.

At the front door, Louis fumbles with the security code, then once the green light flashes, exits only to sink to the first step. A noise too close to a sob rips from his heaving chest as the air thins in his lungs, and Louis rocks himself, feeling unworthy and messed up.

Finally, Harry put his hands on him in a real way, and of course he’d been asleep, no doubt wet dreaming about nothing that has to do with Louis at all.

Louis' wrong to him; always has been this unattractive freak-of-nature…yet Harry had the balls to touch him like that

He can’t let this one go, and is more than ready to slap the high out of him. Awake or not.

Red clouds his vision as he stands, reenters the code, storms inside.

As soon as he’s set one foot through the door an agonized, choked shout ricochets through the entire house.

Crossing his arms, the omega tries to turn away, to ignore it, really he does, but as the sounds grow in strength, the sharp pain bashes at his resolve. All of five seconds draws by before Louis bolts upstairs, back into the room where he stops dead, lost on what to do, or how to go about doing it.

Thrashing in the sheets, Harry seems to be struggling against someone who is not there, snarling menacingly.

Approaching cautiously, Louis calls out, “Haz? Haz…wake up. You’re having a nightmare.” He makes the major mistake of placing a hand on Harry’s tense shoulder.

Without warning he’s yanked onto the mattress, whimpering as Harry’s hand bears down on his throat, but otherwise stunned into silence as the malicious seize obstructs his airways. “Again...You…arsehole!” Louis screams breathlessly, prying at his hard grip as crazed, lifeless emerald eyes bore into his.

Harry shouts back with such force that he recoils into the mattress, “Nasty motherfucker! I’m going to cut out your throat and bathe in your blood!"

He’s choking on nothing, thinking stupidly that falling into the mossy fields of Harry’s eyes, like basking in the scent and the emotion and oh God it’d be such a lovely way to die. Weeeelll maybe he’s still got some maturing to do himself. 

“N-Not before I...bite your bloody ear off!” Louis pants around the constriction. Okay, time to panic, not pull a Mike Tyson. “Haz! P-Please! Stop it!”

With a nasty edge, Harry laughs, then leans down to run his nose along his cheek. “I’ll have fun snapping your neck.” Right now, Louis believes him and that scares him. Harry is scaring him. 

In an oxygen-deprived state, Louis finds this almost funny. Though he tries to laugh, it’s a pathetic wheeze as breathing seems impossible. Instinct kicks in, and Louis kicks too, right where it counts.

Harry’s hold eases up enough that Louis chokes on the sudden rush of air, gasping and clutching the sheets because God it hurts.

“I…Lou? Louis!” Gone is all that vengeful anger as the alpha returns to consciousness, horrified. Eyes screwed shut, Louis buries his face in the sheets, coughing.

“Oh, God, Louis, paradise, what’d I do? You let me... Louis, what the fuck is wrong with you? Why would you...”

The pain in his throat intensifies when Louis clears it to croak, “Shut up, Harry. You can’t…be…angry at me. You n-n-n-needed the sleep…” It’s only now that the severity of the situation unearths itself as his throat works to swallow. He feels like laughing again, but finally starts cry instead. Fat, ugly tears overflowing. “You’re s-s-o fucked up.”

“’M sorry,” Harry blurts hastily, attempting to gather his trembling body in his arms. Louis can’t help but resist, unsure of how to feel at this point. “I’m…Paradise, I didn’t…Don’t cry, please. I-I can't believe I...I never meant to, and God, I won’t do it again. I won’t, I promise please. That will never ever happen again. Pinky promise. I’d never hurt you on purpose.” 

More salty tears spill from his eyes, and Louis shakes his head wildly. Then ends up curling small in Harry’s lap with his head tucked underneath his chin, and his arms around his neck. Why can’t you understand the real problem, you fool? “So what? You’re not ever going to sleep? Or you're going to stay away from me some more? God, H, let me help you, you fucking…I j-just wanna be here for you..."

“Help me? You sleeping here ain’t helping shit, Louis! It’s making everything worse! I fucking hurt you! Don’t you get it?” The alpha is almost roaring, panic and stress and unimaginable brokenness in his voice. Oh, baby…

Except Louis’ temper flares as he cries in defense, “You need sleep! You didn’t hurt me! I’m fine! You’re the one that’s–,”

Furiously, Harry deposits him onto the mattress; the crazy returns to his darting eyes–even now he can’t look him in the eye. “Get out. Just go.” Stunned by the bleak hatred in his voice, Louis snivels, and Harry stands, roaring with more alpha than Louis’s ever heard out of him before, “Get the hell out before I hurt you again, damn it!”

Harry's trembling with the force of his emotional reaction, and he doesn’t stop searching the room like someone (or something) is watching the scene unfold, like it’s not just them, here alone falling apart.

Ashamed of his incredible ability to make things worse, Louis ducks his head, and rushes away with tears blurring his journey back to his own room. There, he curls up and cries, muffling his noises into the pillows and wondering where they went so wrong.

(And will they ever find their way back again?)

∞∞∞

Sick, sick, sick. So fucked up. His stomach feels sick as Harry careens around the room with the walls that have begun to close in on him, drawing nearer and nearer. A pathetic animal-esqe noise creeps up his frantically working throat as his hands shake uncontrollably, seeking some form of relief. In his dry mouth, Harry’s tongue feels too thick, too thick to cry for help, help he couldn’t even ever take. No help. Not that help. Not his, Louis’ help. 

Oh, God, paradise...

His terrified look, his tears, his pain...My fault. 

Well, so much for never returning to this desperate, dingy cave in his mind. Frenzied, the alpha tears open an eight ounce, the already measured powder loaded in scatters on the table. Roars build in his head; work faster, they’re coming, work faster…

Even using a blade the white lines aren’t straight; fuck his head isn’t straight, his life isn’t straight, nothing is fucking straight with him. All screwed up twists and spirals and coils. With all this shit, Harry’s learnt parkour.

With the roll-up of money in hand, the alpha brings it up to his right nostril and pinches the left.

With the walls shrieking, and the shadows settling, he inhales his first line (zigzag, whatever) long and hard. The powder shoots up his nose in a blaze of fire he hardly feels anymore. After so long he doesn’t even need to pause, moving onto the second, snorting up in a quick take. Then the third and the fourth until there are only leftover crumbs he almost wants to eat.

As the chemical clings to his neurotransmitters, the heady rush quiets the monster in his head. Groaning low in throat, Harry shoves backwards in his chair, rocking on the back legs. The shadows retreat, sinking back into the walls, hissing in response to his guttural laughter. Ah, fuck ‘em.

Except as he laughs, an invisible force tugs the back of his chair, and he collapses backwards, slamming down on his side.

“Fuck,” he groans when his face meets the cold wood. For some reason the sight rams into his chest, emotion closing in on him. “Paradise, baby,” he croaks pitifully, the scene he tried to snort away caught in the crevices of the bloody wood Louis hates so much. Sometimes he thinks the boy hates only what Harry loves…

Sitting up, the pain of the fall is nothing compared to the battering ram of emotion as glassy cerulean eyes sit in front of his vision, hurting because he’s a disaster.

Jerkily, he stands, stumbles and catches his weight on the bedpost. Without permission, he bolts from the room, down the stairs, and into the warmest area in this poorly ventilated house. Out of habit, Harry does a quick once over with his eyes; but of course there is nothing lurking the in the shadows. Somehow, Louis’ room is always empty of Harry’s followers. It eases his nerves. 

Secure, his stare wanders to the middle of the room where Louis is curled up in a glaringly tiny ball. Seemingly startled, the boy lifts his head from the indented pillow he’s hugging to peer through swollen, glassy eyes. With that stare on him Harry’s entire body feels electrified, and despite how the room won’t hold still his own stare does not stray, never has with Louis.

An owlish blink is all the reaction the boy gives him.

Careful to keep the others out, the alpha proceeds to shut the door and click the faulty locks (they'll have to be replaced). Right now it’s unnecessary, Harry would easily defend his omega from the demons that crawl down his throat into his head so often, defend him from every follower, defend him from everything, but himself. He has to stop getting in the way of Louis and his dreams…He’s at the starting line of the rest of his life and the prize is his to win.

Louis always wins.

He wants to tell him to get ready, get set, and…please, please never go.

He strides over to the canopied bed frame Louis insisted on having, claiming it made him feel like a proper prince.

Determined, he edges onto the sumptuous mattress, takes his thin, tucked in ankle and unwraps his thick limbs. Like he knows there is no winning this, Louis doesn’t resist, rolling onto his back and spreading out, soft and small and so bloody omega when he’s upset like this. 

He doesn’t need permission to drape himself over his smaller frame, bracing his hands flat on either side of his face. Louis inhales sharply, pretty mouth parting like an invitation. He can’t help but notice. He’s always noticed everything about him, which has proven a gift and a curse time and time again.

“’S not your fault, you can’t fix me…I wish it were so simple. I’m sorry, babe,” Harry says into his neck, stroking his sleep mussed hair. Lifting the scent of his shampoo a little closer...An entirely selfish thing to allow himself after what he’d done... “I want so bad to be better for you.  I'll get right, help, whatever I need but paradise, it can't be you. You can’t help me. ‘M so sorry.” Harry is always sorry, because everything that's fucked up is all his fault, and he hates it.

“’S not fair,” Louis whines far too quietly. “It’s like moving bloody mountains with you. It’s fucked that someone else can take my place so easy. I’m supposed to... I’m supposed to be here for you, yeah? Not…Not…” Not anyone else, paradise, a dark voice born of the monster inside him finishes his sentence in Harry’s head.

Goddamn it, it’s worth more than the air Harry breathes, but the sad note to his voice shreds at him, leaving angry red scars in its wake. “You are, love. You’ve helped me more than anything ever, and you've been here for me. You help me everyday just by being here actually. 'S every time you try to...I dunno but I can’t...I hurt you.” And I can’t stand it. Can’t stand myself...

“That's not–,”             

“Shh,” he breathes where his ocean vanilla scent practically oozes from the skin of his soft, silky neck, just below his jaw. “Let me try to explain. ‘S like...the more you push to help me…the more on edge I am. I’m…God, paradise, can’t you see how unstable I am? Aren’t…” you afraid I’m going to snap and hurt you beyond forgiveness? 

Shaken by the thought, unwilling to even acknowledge it, Harry clears his throat, then, “I try to take care of you, I try so hard, but I still end up hurting you anyway because…I…All these pieces and bits of me are missing. They’re gone, babe. I lost them, and I don’t think I’ll find them again. I want to tell you something else. I want to tell you I’m…I’ll be better. I just…I can’t right now.”

More than anything, Harry wants to shut the fuck up, but the way Louis is running his fingertips across his shoulder is the most pleasure he’s experienced ever, and it’s got his tongue so damn loose.

His most incredible highs are always with Louis. His next words are quick bullets, “I was…in my dream, we were alright. At first, we were good, y’know. I was…uh, with you,” fucking you, in my dream I was fucking you, and you wanted it, “Then just like that…it wasn’t fine anymore. They…They were trying to take you away. They were going to if I…if I didn’t…be the monster and hurt them first. 'S always the same shit, nightmares of somebody tryin' to get rid of me...Then I wake up…Damn it, I woke up and I…I’m hurting you. Not them, me. It was…me, paradise.”

It’s always been hard for him to open up, and he’s always had a hard time communicating. Louis gets to him though, and they’ve always told each other everything. Well, mostly. 

Louis softens, hands scrunching in his curls. “‘S not your fault, that’s...It’s out of your control. Nobody can hurt me when I have you, Haz. Whoever those evil people are. Nobody can hurt me, not even you.” God, he’d really like to believe that, but he knows better.

He knows Louis.

Tension grasps his shoulders at the thought; if his lids were open, crimson would tint his vision, his canines already protruding from his gums, but when he thinks of them trying to touch Louis…Venom laces his response, “You don’t get it. My followers...” They’re everywhere; they never stopped following me, not then, not now, not ever.

“Followers?” he whispers in obvious confusion. For the best, if he knew how wrong Harry’s head is, he’d definitely ditch this once and for all.

Honestly, Harry should tell him so he leaves. Rip the bandage and all that shit, reveal the chasmal infected wound. Right now, he wishes they were pups again; wishes he could depend on Louis to stay. That silly, stubborn pup who had demanded to share every class with him, who had followed him when he ditched class, who prattled on and on about his alpha levels, who had called him for two years straight despite Harry’s inability to answer the phone.

See, that pup had changed so much; so much while Harry had been away and hadn’t been able to be with him through these transformations. With just as many demands where Harry’s concerned, Louis now ditches his Council courses, prattles on and on about anything on his mind, and seldom answer his phone when he’s away.

In the years leading up to now, Louis went through friends and outfits and interests effortlessly.  Fuck, he stopped feeding his bunny a week after his Mum bought the bloody thing, he’d given an entire designer wardrobe to charity in order to change his style the second time in one month, he’d let Max kiss him more than enough times, proclaimed his undying love, then stomped on the bloke’s heart by taking Harry’s hand and claiming to have moved on two weeks after Harry came back from his Third-Point training.

More than anything, Louis can’t make up his mind. He can’t stay attracted to anything at all.

Erratic, unpredictable, lovely, intimidating in all ways…

“’S nothing to worry about anymore. They…They won’t bother you.” They’re here for me. When he lifts his weight, the beautiful boy he’s hurt so bad is chewing on his bottom lip, releasing the wet red flesh with a small pop that gives him an immediate hard-on. He’s so sick in the head...and body apparently.

“When you say it’s nothing to worry about all I hear is another thing to lose my mind musing over.”

Leaning in, Harry's mouth brushes the curve of his cute ear, and he teases, “They’ll call us the Crazies soon enough.”

“Haz, c'mon." His hands shove between them on his chest so Harry retreats again. There are hurt traces there, in his shattered-glass eyes. Thumbing at the corner of his mouth, Harry says softly, “Don’t ever let me hurt you, paradise. You’re all I have…I’m still here, still me. I still love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything. You’re the best, but I can’t trust myself not to hurt you when you’re trying to help me in whatever mad way.”

“How can I possibly help that?” Louis moans, reaching up to tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear. He doesn’t take his hand back, though, instead his fingertips drift along the line of his jaw as Harry blatantly stares; his heartbeat slows as much as it can in this state. “I love you. You’re my best mate, and I love you. I can’t just sit back and watch you do this to yourself anymore.”

Even now those three words cause fire and ice to clash in his heart. A pain that shouldn’t feel so delicious and right– Squeezing his eyes shut, Harry buries his face in the crook of Louis’ neck to shield his expression, wanting to feel the soft of his skin on his mouth, but refraining out of self-disgust. “Don’t make me do it, Lou.”

“Do what?”

“Don’t make me tear down the canopies and make you wear them as a dress for being so stubborn.”

“’M not being stubborn, H! I’m–,”

To quiet him, he clamps a hand over his rowdy mouth, laughing when Louis shrieks into his hand, talking nonsense before licking wetly. “Like I haven’t had your spit in my eye,” Harry snorts, playfully rucking him up the mattress. “Lick away, paradise.” His other hand reaches out for the shimmery material but Louis shrieks again and bites the fleshy part of his thumb, hard.

Shoving the instinct that tells him Louis is now the enemy to the curb, Harry snatches his hand back and licks his jaw wetly in retaliation. His skin tastes so naturally sweet, like honey or watermelon sugar. Harry’s head reels a little over it, his body roaring. “Oh my Gosh! Ew! Harry, quit it!” Louis moans dramatically, squirming underneath him. All his soft curves feel…new underneath him, provocative as his alpha enjoys the view, and his skin shouldn’t taste like his vanilla breeze and–

With his heart an insistent thud thud thud behind his ears, Harry sits up on his knees. A little too fast, as he sees little white lights all along his vision and a tinny static starts in his ears...

Louis worms underneath the covers though and it’s probably his only chance to get some space between them before this gets any worse (or any better). He fucking follows though, forcing his way beside him in their dim, tight cocoon.“Still not raising my white flag,” Louis pokes out his tongue cutely.

“Y’know I’m in need of a new dress and–,”

Louis acts like he does, impulsively, hurling at him to close his teeth down on his ear. “Nawow try ish,” he mumbles, breathing hot in his ear as Harry winces from the pleasure this little sting rakes through his system. “Think I enjoyed the licking more.” Any place your wet is enjoyable, I bet.

Onto his earlobe, the boy clamps and sucks, like he’s trying to please him as Harry swallows thickly, trying to keep himself from working up a full knot. “Alright,” the alpha mutters gruffly. “You’ve made your point. You can keep your little princess canopy.”

Squealing all too happily, Louis lets up, but curls beside him in his feline way. “I always get my way.” This is very true. There is not one soul who can deny Louis, because he either tortures or tempts them into giving in.

“’Cause you’re a cheat.”

Snuffling adorably, Louis takes his arm to pull it over his waist, then whispers smugly, “Whatever works.” Securing his hold, Harry turns onto his side, and Louis wiggles then, “Go to sleep now.”

“Can’t,” Harry disagrees, keyed up on coke. “I need to start on this bloody house.”

“Later,” Louis mumbles, soft and sleepy, like he’s already forgotten what happened only hours ago.

“Which is what we say every time. It’s now or never, paradise. You sleep, I’ll work.” It’s his most persuasive tone that’s worked on many before, but he’s never used this timbre on Louis before. It seems to do the trick as he hums, “’Kay, but hold me until I’m asleep at least, don’t be a fuckboy ‘bout it.”

Satisfied, Harry obliges, matching their breaths until Louis’ becomes inaudible with sleep. Once he becomes too restless to stay another minute, he takes his arm back with great care as to not startle him awake, and starts backwards towards freedom. “No,” Louis whimpers, tossing and shivering. “Stay. Hold me.” It’s no surprise that even in sleep Louis is as he’s always been: needy.

On two feet, he makes it to the side Louis favors, drawing out his stay to stare in awe. His hands are tucked underneath his cheek, features relaxed and awfully pretty in sleep. “Quit starin’ at me, creep,” he mumbles without opening his eyes.

“Oops,” Harry mutters, starting to turn away when a dainty hand reaches out, grabbing his own. “No, no…Stay. Stare at me all you want. Please, stay.”

It makes up his mind when he risks a glance backwards to find lonely eyes staring back at him.

So, like he always does, Harry pushes his luck, and stays.

&&

Some time passes before he emerges from the room.

Still powered up by the blow, he snatches a switchblade where it lays on the bare marble counter top of the kitchen island. 

Energy surges through him as he makes it to the entry room and frantically starts at the closest few boxes.

He just wants to remember, to find some of those bits and pieces of himself that the Institution killed. Who he used to be, who he wants to be again...

Slicing and severing and seeing no signs of life. 

Sticky, cruel hands creep from the shadows, latching onto his shoulders, always keeping him out of reach.

Sweat saturates his shirt as Harry’s ribcage constricts maliciously around his lungs and heart and—

Choking on what breath remains, his hands shake another identical box so its contents spill out onto the floor.

There’s nothing more than Tupperware and fine china that’s been chipped and badly beaten (most likely due to their neglect). A dry, hopeless sound (so much like a sob though he refuses to acknowledge so; he’s screwed up in every way possible but he isn’t less an alpha damn it. Is it okay to cry when you're dying inside?) crawls up his throat as his damp hands slide on the wood, and his head bows underneath the force of the crippling hands.

In one last attempt to stay here, an entirely bearable mess, Harry pries his eyes open and–

A little box rests in an open container; velvet blue with crystals imbedded (definitely paradises’ doing). Before his trembling fingers show the lid open Harry knows what it is. Of course there’s no explanation as to how it would end up here, with the décor, but hell if it matters because a scene unlike the others comes to life in his murky vision.

Numb to the emotional scene before him Harry trudges through the horde of bodies: lovers, friends, family. All this bloody love.

Love cannot exist where they’re coming from–hatred is more a fitting alternative. Out of the suffocation zone, Harry tears the steel-plated tags from around his neck and fists it tight in his right hand. A sin infested hand, utilized, worked and wrong.

As his teeth work he stands motionless before the manmade reservoir, torn between the need to cling to this piece any other alpha would be proud to wear, and the need to let it sink with the demons trapped within.

Get rid of his pride to save his rapidly deteriorating sanity…Reasonable to anyone else.

As his fingers uncurl, tiny thin ones wind the best they can around his wrist. Sneering, acting on the impulse that tells him to execute the one who dares touch him, the seventeen year old alpha starts first to detain the assailant. Yet when his head whirls to the right, and his vision files down on the ‘idiot’ any defensive action scarred into his brain flees, no match for the tiny creature standing beside him. A thin, frail omega–nothing worth the effort, with features masked by the fog concealing the sky much the same.

A pest. “What’s this?” it’s a curious trill as the pesky thing snatches the chain and holds it closer than necessary to his face in silent examination.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” he demands much too late, attempting to take back his property though the nuisance flutters away, out of reach, like a weightless leaf. Only much more intriguing as he reveals glowing, emotion ridden eyes that make Harry’s heart tattoo like it does when he palms his Beretta; cardiac arrest fast. Which is fucking ridiculous, who the hell does this little shit think he is, eyeing him apprehensively as if he is the culprit.

“I like this. It’s very…official,” the little one chirps, peering at his chain intently, starting to pull it over his head. “I want it. It’s mine now."

Irritated, he strikes while the nameless pest is otherwise concerned, taking his slim arms in either hands then leaning in so they’re nearly nose-to-nose. The proximity makes him want to recoil, knowing what this would cost him if he was still in the Institution…but he needs to remember that he is not there anymore, needs to acclimate and what better way to start than to realise one little brat is powerless against him. This is an omega with no means of hurting him, unarmed and stunned enough to stumble into his body.

Endorphins barbwire straight through his every vein, reminding him that he’s not been this close to an omega in two years…Right now his eyes are boring into bottomless oceans, the colour an endless sapphire night, dancing with innocent fascination. “Y’know I thought by now you’d have a bit more respect for personal space…” the boy with the mesmerized, and likewise mesmerizing eyes, tells him with bated breath. “Then again there isn’t one thing in this world that could tamper with your temper.” 

Realisation lightning bolts between them as Harry inhales sharply through his nose doubtfully; but it’s there, the scent of an ocean’s breeze, it’s like a walk on the beach, so much more potent now, melting the ice in his chest as his Alpha thunders to life for the first time in years. “Paradise,” he recognises, gentling his hold on the boy's supple hips.

“’Bout time! Welcome home, Haz,” Louis Tomlinson sighs in a voice Harry has never heard before, faraway with a dreamy lilt to his name.

“What happened to you? Why are you such an…omega?” he blurts, disturbed, like Louis could stop puberty in order to make changes with him there to watch. Mercilessly, the tension drains between them when Louis makes this soft, pleased noise, and throws his arms around his shoulders as to let Harry carry all his weight (there isn’t much–all that child chub has left his figure).

“I’m not?”  his breath is warm on his skin. You’re not? Perhaps not yet. He’s too distracted to think into the details of Louis’ presentation. For the first time in too long it does not feel like there’s some catch to the contact, does not feel like a knife will appear to slice his throat wide open.

“Oh,” is the first word to leave his mouth; he loves knowing Louis is…well, Louis. Paradise, his home from home, his his his; someone who won’t try to slit his throat or cut his tongue out (not unprovoked at least).

Short, hitching breaths mark his tears as much as the damp wet on his skin. Uncomfortable, the older attempts to retreat, but the younger boy clings to him, shaking his head a bit to mumble, “’M sorry. I…”

“Are you…Jesus, are you crying, paradise?” The notion is like a knife to his gut–so much for being secure. Emotional knives might hurt more than any other; they’re never clean cuts.

“No! Get a g-grip! I don’t cry! I’ve just got a leak, ‘s all.” That’s right–Louis does not cry. Mostly, Louis is vicious kicks and spiteful giggles.

“You’re still not a robot, Louis,” he whispers playfully, thumbing at the jut of his hipbone, instinctively brushing his mouth against the smooth skin of his right temple. When the boy stomps on his right foot, Harry’s mouth pulls up in an insignificant smile that falls short with the reminder than he’s not smiled in two fucking years. “What are you cryin’ for?”

“’M n-not. But if I was…it’d be ‘cause I haven’t heard your voice in t-two bloody years minus a shitty la-landline, and you sound a l-lot more alpha. And you feel a whole lot more alpha, too.”

What that means, Harry hasn’t a clue, but mutters, “You feel a whole lot more omega, paradise.”

He winces. “No. You sound like you’ve not h-had a drink in two years.”

“Not the drink I’ve been lookin’ for,” the older snorts, still playful though Louis tenses up, seemingly mystified. It reminds him that he’s talking to Louis….Louis who is in obvious denial over his nearing presentation, and hasn’t experienced his first anything yet. Well he isn't sure if that's still true.

He hopes he hasn’t missed anything. And he intends to make sure of it once he’s collapsed in his childhood bed and slept a whole night through without breaks and spazzes due to Institution life. “Joking,” he assures quietly, stroking because he can’t help how his hands enjoy the soft curves that weren’t there when Louis was twelve. “You sound like you swallowed a squeaky toy, pup.”

“Max tells me I sound soft,” the boy retorts as Harry burrows his nose in his hair (yeah, definitely an omega).

“Well Max must really be kissing your arse.”

Louis makes a little noise in disagreement. “Only my lips! Though he did try to slip a little tongue in too.”

That’s new–that makes him want to hunt this Max fellow down and sow his mouth shut. Caught off by the anger this evokes in him, Harry growls, “How long’s this been going on?”

“Ooooh, so big bad alpha now,” Louis mocks, squirming, then running his nose up his neck to his ear, “I haven’t told anyone. He promised not to, too. So don’t worry.” Only thing I’m worried about is your innocence staying intact because it’s mine to take.

Harry swallows thickly to avoid such thoughts, then, “A very sad welcome home, paradise. Deciding to drop this bomb on me that you’ve been bad while I was away.” 

Against him, Louis stiffens, then whispers meekly, “Bad?”

“Very bad,” he affirms quietly. “Giving your mouth without my approval.” Lord, what is he saying?

“No,” the boy disagrees in such horror that Harry almost feels wrong now for doing this to him…but when his mouth is damp and warm on his ear, his cock is the hardest it’s ever been and he can’t seem to think beyond sensation and what his instinct tells him is right. “No. Not bad. Good.” Once again he wonders how Louis can still think he’s an alpha. There's just no way.

“I don’t think so. You’ve only been bad. Make it up to me. How’re you going to be good, paradise?”

Louis’ breaths come fast and short before the fifteen year old boy acts like he always has: impulsively. A soft, wet mouth is hot on his, and though Harry stiffens, he doesn’t hesitate to take what Louis is offering in this precious moment, returning the kiss to tongue at his salty sweet lips, slowly until they part under his attention.

Omega. Omega. Omega.

Obviously, he really hasn't had much tongue action. Good.

Wanting him to return the contact, the alpha teases his little tongue languidly. The taste is better than he could have ever imagined, saccharine and eager for him. A foreign sound forms in the boy’s throat, sexual and needy. A calling, the base of his cock swells.

The dim jingle of his chain reels him to reality. Tearing away, Harry staggers a foot, then shoves with more force than intended at the other who tumbles to the floor and begins to laugh hysterically, dabbing at real tears, “How’s that for good?”

When the soon to present omega tilts his head backwards, those blue eyes are wide and laughing despite the cheery flush to his cheeks. Swallowing, Harry tries to shake the sensation away, to play along, “Filthy. You’re a filthy animal.”

Pouting, Louis crosses his arms, “’M just desirable in all ways.” You are…

“Feed Max-y that shit, pup.”

“I’ve been kissed by you. Screw Max. Wait ‘til I present alpha and laugh in one of your bitches faces because you tongued me down first.”

Deliberately, Harry scrubs at his mouth with the back of his hand, then spits like the taste disgusts him. “You taste like whore.”

“From kissing one fifteen year old boy? Unlikely.”

Unimpressed, he crosses his arms and pins the boy with his most disapproving look. “Must I monitor you at all times, pup? What were you gettin’ from a fumbling child’s kiss?”

Standing, Louis retorts, “Twenty seven. Geez, H. What were you gettin’ from an old dusty hag’s kiss?”

“Nothing but a nice warm hole."

At the crude, biting response, the boy’s eyes bug out. “Disgusting pig, only think with your prick. Remind me why we're even friends again.”

“Interested as you are, I didn’t come home to talk about what blocks I've been 'round.”

Scrunching his face cutely, Louis ducks his head, and opens his hand to reveal his chain pooled in his hand. Against his skin the metallic grey looks…beautiful as his nimble fingers trace the tags attached. “I quite like this.”

“Keep it,” Harry hears himself say.

Peeking up through thick lashes, the boy whispers shyly, “Yeah?”

“Yeah, so next time I’m away if you ever miss me you can just put it on.” So you don’t forget, because God knows I’ve never forgotten.

"Don’t go away again.”

Leaning into the rails, Harry looks out over the river. “Don’t ask that of me.”

“I’m not asking. I’m saying that you are home now, you’re still mine, and you’re not allowed to leave me behind anymore.”

Harry smiles numbly, then whispers to the dark void stretching out before him. It looks like his future. “If it were so simple I’d never leave again.” Never leave you to Matt, whatever the fuck his name is, or any other moron.

“I hoped you wouldn’t find that,” a small voice parts the memory as Harry tenses, blinking rapidly.

There are the same militia encryptions, but diamonds are engraved on all seven tags. Diamonds that weren’t there when he last saw them.

He looks over his shoulder in question to find Louis in the doorway, clutching a throw blanket to his frail shoulders. His hair is a mess in his face and something lurks in the depths of his soft stare. “Diamonds?” Harry asks quietly, tracing the smooth, sparkling fragments with the tip of his index finger.

“I wanted to be there, too,” Louis explains, jacking the blankets up to scurry over and stand before him. “They have a pretty sparkle to ‘em now.”

Helpless to his reaction, the alpha smiles a bit, then looks back down at the tags. “Definitely a nice shine now. They look better like this.”

“I think so too. They were too simplistic. And you know–,”

“Nothing about paradise is simple,” he finishes as Louis curls into his lap, resting his head on Harry’s shoulder. Fit for him, the omega settles to take the chain in two fingers. “It’s still mine. No take-backs.”

“I wouldn’t dream of trying to take anything from you.”

“You’ve taken enough,” the boy mumbles with too many traces of unhappiness.

He swallows, hard. Tries to apologise again, though it’s a wasted effort as Louis asks first, “Do you remember when you gave them to me?”

“When you stole them,” Harry mumbles seconds too late, snaking his arm around his waist. “Yes, I do.” I remember every detail; how you felt, how you tasted and talked…

Fingers trail down his neck to sneak underneath his V-neck to his pecs, where the muscles jump. “Your third trip. You didn’t think I’d be there. Your Mum told us you didn’t want a scene…” There’s a frown in his voice. “You looked so tired. And you gained so much weight! I almost passed you right by. You were going to throw my necklace away, too, like you hadn’t gone through Hell to get it. And then you looked at me like you wanted to…” from there Louis begins to ramble, and Harry listens and listens and listens because that’s just his way, drinking in every word like it’s the last drop of water on Earth.

When at last Louis’ finished the tale of their reunion, Harry asks in amusement, “You done yet?”

“Oh, I could go all night,” Harry knows this too, “but I’m starving. You don’t feed me enough. Get your arse in that kitchen.”

It’s only once Harry’s rummaged through the entire kitchen, offering plenty meal options, that Louis groans, “This is taking too long! I’m hungry now!”

“Brat,” he mutters, scowling as Louis smiles sweetly.

“I’ll get dressed! Diner downtown?”

“Sure,” he waves one hand, already headed to his room. He needs just a few more lines to keep him going. “Want to take a ride on the bike?”

“Can we? Can we, can we?” A child’s excitement halos him as Louis almost soars out of sight, leaving a trail of fairy dust and giggles.

"We can.” 

“I’ll be out in two minutes!”

All that Harry leaves behind is a trail of tragedy.

&&

Adrenaline festers in Louis’ bloodstream even as Harry kills the engine and dismounts all in one effortless motion. Breathless, he acts on the habit of a lifetime, following Harry’s example to swing his legs over onto his side. It’s nowhere as poised: Louis loses balance and suddenly he’s making a slow dive towards the concrete. A large, familiar hand closes around his upper arm, steadying him. Like this, the omega closes his eyes and focuses on anything but the mad rush in his head.

“Steady,” his voice is amused, then concerned when Louis gives no reaction. “Gonna remove the helmet now, yeah?”

Softly, Louis hums, shoring the strength to somehow lift his helmet head so Harry’s skilled fingers unfasten the protection and carefully remove it. Once the cool morning breeze drifts over his sweat sheen face, he shivers, lets out a deep breath he'd been holding for too long and bats his messy hair away from his eyes so he can peer up at Harry.

Heartthrob is such an understatement when looking at him like this; dressed in a designer short-sleeve sheer white top, with a flashy gold watch (that must’ve cost more than the entire diner they’re about to enter) fastened to his wrist. Tight, black jeans stretch across the span of his legs, his black leather boots toe at the rubble every few heartbeats.

In the piercing sunlight with his silky hair bouffant styled, out of his face, the skittish madness hides in the emerald depths of his eyes. Anxiety knots in his tummy; Harry looks so drained, dark bags causing his naturally fair skin to appear wraithlike.

Seemingly uncomfortable, the alpha ushers him to his feet. As to appease him, Louis breathes excitedly, “That was so much fun! You’ve been holding out on me, Sir!” Reproving, his index pokes him in the right pec as Harry smiles cheekily down at him, setting the helmet carelessly on the seat.

“You know I haven’t exactly been around to ride it.” No, because Harry had purchased the bloody motorcycle on his nineteenth birthday during his time in the Institution (God knows how), and dubbed Louis its lousy babysitter.

“I know,” he mutters, rolling his eyes heavenward before sauntering towards the entrance. “But I mean look how I’ve cared for it! The least you could’ve done is trusted me with the bloody keys!” Except Harry isn’t that thick, never has been despite the slow drawl of his voice, or his inability to get to the point, and knows Louis would have abused that trust (but come on! Who wouldn’t?).

Somehow the alpha still makes it to the entrance first to hold the door open for him to walk through first–which he does with his head ducked shyly, though he can’t help but comment airily, “Always the gentleman.”

Close behind, Harry’s hand bears down on his lower back, and Louis swallows thickly at the steering contact. Even knowing better by now, his omega instinctively feels so much more secure out in the open with him, knows Harry would never let someone like Robert touch him again.

The reality is that Harry knows nothing about Robert or his perverse fixation.

Louis' own doing, of course. Being stripped of his dignity was too much to bear, and Louis had done everything in his immense power to keep the episode to himself (he still wishes his family could have been kept apart too, but that was both inevitable and unavoidable).

With crystal-clear clarity, he can never seem to forget that cold, terrified sensation; cornered and alone with that voice luring him. He remembers how it felt to lose complete control. Louis remembers all of those moments leading up the encounter. Then...nothing. 

He remembers feeling so powerless as he followed the alpha’s orders, standing there on that lamp-lit street, trembling but unable to really do anything at all because that stupid, awful voice, “stay very still, little pet, don’t you move,”. 

He remembers his defiler stroking his face with invasive hands and weeping because, “you’re finally here, I finally have you…I love you, I love you, I love you… I’ve…We’re…meant, don’t you see…”

He remembers the rush of victory when his own hand had obeyed his will, and punched with enough force that he’d even toppled backwards (he had always had a proper arm).

Unfortunately that rush hadn’t exactly lasted as Robert struck back too soon, shouting with rancid breath “Love me!” in his face as Louis screamed at the top of his lungs.

Everything that happens afterwards remains dim and distant. A few days later, he’d woken up in confidential hospital care with anxiety attacks over his bruised face because Harry was due home and he was an absolute wreck. 

His father had Robert locked away for the remainder of his life (spared the death-penalty only because of Louis’ insistence—he’d suffer more alive). Louis’ face had mostly healed before Harry’s return beside the faded black eye easily explained away as horseplay on the footie field.

He can’t rely on Harry to protect him. The alpha has become a ticking-time-bomb and everyone’s noticed. Everyone warned him against moving in, even Harrys own Dad who wants Louis for a son-in-law more than anything. He just couldn’t listen, opting instead to keep his faith in the Harry who had brought him nearly a thousand pounds worth of ice-cream when Louis presented what he felt to be wrong.

The Harry who used his hands to love, not hurt; the Harry who had been his. He’d been so very wrong, knows now that this Harry is bound to prove him wrong time and time over. This male will tear him down until he has no choice but to escape this nightmare or wind up in the same madhouse.

“Welcome!” A cheery trill interrupts his dismal thoughts—tall, beautiful, omega, and very excited by their (Harry’s) arrival. “Two,” Harry tells tersely, studying her with critical eyes.

To distract him from Miss Caked-Face Louis knocks into him lightly, and teases, “What about our imaginary friends? Where will they sit?” Something as simple as this triggers him these days; abruptly, the alpha halts, frantically searching for something or someone that will not be there.

Dread pours over him as the patrons conversations quiet, prying eyes wandering over to Harry who’s started towards the windows. “Is he…?” Miss Caked-Face asks like she’s concerned.

Louis doesn’t even bother with a cutting response, scrambling over to his best mate and curling his hand around his straining bicep. “Haz,” he murmurs, yanking on his arm. “I was joking. C’mon, babe, the nosy people are staring.”

Success. Louis seems to reach him as Harry nods curtly, though his temper flares under all the wary stares. Somehow, the alpha lets him haul him by the arm, all the while meeting stares resolutely (everyone looks away immediately).

“Here we are,” the ‘flustered’ server announces, motioning to the table near the wide, curtain drawn window. Firstly, Harry pulls out Louis’ seat. As he’s tucked in he watches him shove into the seat across, stating to the server, “An Irish coffee to start, please, lovely.”

“What?” Louis sputters incredulously as Harry smirks suggestively at her. Furious emotion wires through him as Louis pins the bitch with a cutting scowl that says, ‘try it’. “Ignore him. We actually need a moment. Don’t bring anything to this table, or I will have to throw it in your pretty little face.”

Awkwardly, she sputters, clearly offended though Louis only smiles tightly, “Cheers. And don’t feel too special, this happens all the time.”

When she storms away, Louis smiles, much more satisfied, though Harry’s voice shreds through his accomplished haze. “That wasn’t very nice.”

“When am I ever nice? You know, it’s eight in the morning,” Louis states conversationally, folding his hands on the table before him.

“And?” He prompts tightly, jaw ticking attractively (damn him).

“And there is no reason for you to be so bitchy.”

Bracing on his elbows, Harry leans forward, brows low, mouth set, nostrils flared and working as he inhales so many times it’s rather impressive. “I’m bitchy? Says the one with no reason to be in Mummy mode. Or is it something else? Forgetting your place, Louis?”

Humiliated heat creeps onto his cheeks as the omega hisses, “You obviously haven’t grown up any.”

“And you have?”

“Obviously more than you,” Louis retorts, brimming with heated hurt. “What exactly happened when you went away, Harry? Lost some brain cells, someone beat your head in? God, you’re so damn jumpy all the time. You know, everyone thinks you’re losing your mind? I’m tryin’ to keep faith, H, really I am, but God damn it I can’t even mention imaginary friends without–,”

It’s only when Harry slams his fists against his eyes, and whispers faintly, “Stop, please,” does Louis realise what he’s said. What he’s brought up, what demons he’s conjoured. “I’m sorry,” Louis mumbles sincerely, wishing Harry would open his eyes and see him for once. “I…That was harsh.”

Now that suggestive smirk is aimed at him as Harry leans back in his seat and crosses his arms. “I think I deserve that drink now.”

Feeling small and cruel, Louis fastens his stare to the table and nods.

Surprising him, the alpha reaches forward, hesitantly brushing his clenched up hands with gentle fingers. Goose bumps form all along his arms, and the omega holds very still, so maybe he’ll stay. “’S okay, paradise. I…You don’t have to act like it didn’t happen…”

I don’t?  Louis nods then admits softly, “I missed you so bad. And then…I got you back, but you’re not…you.” And still I miss you so bad.

Louis peers up at him to try to gauge his thoughts just as he looks away, scrubbing his nose. “I thought about you all the time. You’re all I thought about, really.”

God, those words have his heart tripping, and he asks timidly, “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Right before I passed out, right when I woke up, and when I went through a diamond mine.” Already, the his insides liquify, becoming soft and soupy. He’s so stupid when it comes to Harry Styles and all his fools gold. 

Smiling shyly, he chirps, “Diamond mine? You didn’t tell me about that? Was it pretty? Why did you go there?”

“It was…uh, pretty. You would’ve liked it…” Something remains unsaid. “And I was…uh, looking for someone.” Pease, just talk to me…Don’t hide…

Curiously sad, Louis starts to ask, but Harry strokes his knuckles, a zing of tingles running up his arm. Distracting him–contact always distracts him and Harry knows it. He likes contact, always has been the hands-on sort. 

“It was cold. The whole time I was wishing you could see it with me. You would’ve taken the most from it I think. The cold got to me though, I caught the flu.”

“You’re always warm,” Louis says in disbelief. “I can’t believe that.”

“Yeah,” Harry murmurs, mouth in a crooked grin. “It wasn’t pretty. I’m not pretty sight when I’m sick, lovely.” Lovely…I’m lovely.

“What else?” the boy asks eagerly, needing more. “What else made you think of me?”

Clearing his throat, Harry murmurs in that languid way of his, “Well, chocolate did. I didn’t see it often but when I did I thought about all the times we’d share chocolate cake. Rain boots and how yours always squeak no matter the brand. I thought about your shit driving and how the first time I let you drive my car you totaled it. Blood. When you hit that goalie post playing footie and busted the back of your head.

”The sky. The sky reminded me of your eyes. Some days it was very light blue and then cloudy and grey, but the best was dusk, that’s when I wanted to see your eyes in person the most. I wanted to see them change colour like that. One day the richest blue, the next all tinged with grey and then the darkest blue like twilight. I watched the sky a lot. I wanted to feel closer to you. It helped.”

It means so much to him, all of it. With a melting feeling, Louis sighs dreamily, watching as Harry rubs the back of his neck. “You’re too easy to think about, paradise.”

“Wow,” Louis breathes, wanderlust crackling like fireworks in his omega veins. He means to add something cheeky but the alpha inhales sharply, hurting the moment. “Is your nose bothering you?”

“It’s stuffy.”

Inside, Louis wilts a little. Outside, he diverts his gaze because his smarter side knows exactly why. Slowly, he takes his hand back despite his omega’s reluctance and puts his bitch-face back on to ask briskly, “Is that why you’re not eating?” 

As the alpha shrugs, the muscles of his shoulders shift, and Louis tries so hard not to notice how sharp he’s become, edged by starvation. “Not hungry.”

Louis cocks an artful brow. “You’re always hungry.” You used to be…

“Not this morning,” Harry murmurs easily. It’s unsettling how Louis can no longer decipher truth from lie with him. On that note, the omega deflates, then toys with his silverware, “I wish you’d eat.”

“I like to watch you eat.”

“Of course you do.” Because Harry Styles is pure alpha, and that’s just a knotheads way. Louis’ been around enough to know.

When the alpha twines their ankles, the boy tells himself it’s nothing, because Harry does these things all the time so it shouldn’t feel like more than what it is. An all-too-familiar touch.

Mischievously, the omega toes out of his right shoe to rub his sock-clad foot up his calf, swallowing thickly when Harry stiffens.

A heady thrill courses through him at the look in Harry’s hypnotic stare. Something starving that could eat him alive.

“I wish you‘d eat,” Louis repeats, taking his bottom lip between his canines. “That would make me feel better.”

“Better?” His voice has taken on a new note as Louis curls his toes on his thigh, hands trembling where he hides them in his lap.

“Mhm,” he hums softly. “Put me in a better mood.”

“I highly doubt that,” Harry mutters, and it’s like his voice hadn’t changed at all, returning to its natural rasp.

“It definitely would,” Louis convinces, stroking his thigh suggestively until one large hand takes his thin ankle, and Harry lifts one brow. “You’re nearing the wrong territory right now, paradise.”

Warmth drizzles over him, and Louis wants to deny, because that’s where he’d like to be; he liked the feeling of him last night. Maybe he wants to feel it again.

He hums again, attempting nonchalance as Harry thumbs at his skin. Suddenly he wants to ask if he’s hard for him now, if he’s struggling to breathe evenly or think straight. Almost has the nerve too. 

Slapping himself mentally, Louis tries to snatch his foot back, confused and ashamed, wanting to hide though the alpha holds him fast. “Stay.”

“Let up,” the boy mumbles hastily, still tugging.

“You started it, playing all these games. So stay. Rub me off under the table.”

Louis’ mouth parts at the blunt words, and his eyes widen at the same time Harry’s do.

“Shit…I…” Harry mutters, releasing him like he’s a blazing iron as Louis swallows so many times around the butterflies creeping up his throat from his belly. “I don’t know why I said that. Was stupid. I’m sorry.”

“Extremely stupid,” Louis agrees, flushed hot all over. Does he see it?

“I didn’t mean it.”

Ouch. With his chest aching, the omega wishes he could curl in on himself. “Gee, thanks. You’re such a prick.”

“I know, ‘m sorry.”

As his appetite abandons him, Louis mumbles, “I’m not hungry anymore. I want to go home.”

“Louis…”

Of course he has to sound like he regrets it more than anything else, like he’s repulsed. Angry tears sting his eyes as Louis clenches his teeth, then snaps, “Home. Now, Harry.”

“Christ, I said I was sorry. I don’t think when I talk sometimes, you know that. It’s not the first time I’ve said something stupid.”

Nonexistent vomit threatens to crawl up his throat as Louis blindly stares at the table before him. “Yeah, okay, but you don’t have to sound so grossed out by me. I know I’m not such a turn on, but you could at least be nice about it.”

Silence swarms between them before Harry whispers, “I’m never grossed out by you, Louis. You know that. You’re beautiful. Nobody in their right mind is turned off by you.”

And damn it Louis wants to believe him, but it’s so difficult because if that were the case an alpha would have claimed him already. He’s nineteen, he’s practically a spinster. And he’s going to be alone forever and–, “Louis, c’mon, stop it. Enough. For christsakes, you’re not a bloody spinster. You have to be patient.”

A stunned noise falls past his lips as he realizes what he’s said. Humiliated heat creeps high on his cheeks as the omega whispers, “I don’t want to be patient. I want to be loved. I want to…to be...with someone like that.” As the words crowd the space between them, Louis squirms, then mumbles miserably, “It’s easy for you to talk shit. You’re an alpha. There’s nothing wrong with the bachelor’s life for you. I’m an omega. And anyway I want to make someone happy, preferably an alpha, and I want someone to make me happy. I want a bond. Something real. You know how long I’ve wanted that. ‘S just nobody has shown any real bond-worthy interest in me.”

He can’t muster the courage to look up as Harry’s silence is deafening, then, “You know I get that. I understand. I don’t want a fucking bachelor’s life either. That’s all stereotypical bullshit. You know what I want more than anything in this world, but I don’t have that choice right now. I’m just going to have to accept that.” 

A shiver runs up his spine as Louis’ skin heats deliciously, though Harry only carries on shakily, “And you need to be more confident in your skin, paradise. You’re so intimidating, babe. You scare so many people away with just one look. You shatter hearts. All the time. With just one look. And it’s better that way because you don’t need them. You need someone who…isn’t scared of you. Someone who can love you for you. If you rush that then you’ll end up with the wrong person. Just be patient, paradise. Enjoy the freedom. It will happen, I pinky promise you.”

“You just want me to stay with you,” Louis mumbles stupidly, angry that even now he’s willing to give all that up for him. “That’s why you’re all be patient, wait it out, blah blah blah. Well, I’ve been waiting my whole life.”

“Of course I do. I want to keep you as long as I can because when there’s another alpha in the picture you’re not…” he lapses, then clears his throat, “You’re not mine. And I don’t like that. I haven’t had you long enough. I…just…” Oh, oh, oh, Louis’ heart skips too many beats. Really, it does. I’ll wait. I’ll wait to stay with you. To stay yours a while longer. “More than that I don’t want you to rush into something that isn’t right just because you’re lonely. That’s not you. I don’t want you to get hurt. I want you to be happy and whole...but if you just choose the first fucker that comes around…” A dark look clouds his handsome features.

Louis sighs. “With the way you act sometimes I’ve been expecting you to auction me off to the first bidder.”

Tension thickens between them as fingers tighten around his ankle. “Do I make you feel unwanted?”

Upset with his sudden piteous streak, he shrugs, about to speak when the server reappears with his order, setting down Louis’ stack of waffles and all (should he be worried it’s been poisoned?). When she’s left, Harry presses, “Lou.”

Drizzling the syrup, Louis mutters, “Sometimes I think this moving in idea was your worst yet. You don’t leave your room for whole days. You stay out all night...” When the waffles are drowning, “You don’t seem too into me or my company, really.”

He cuts neat squares as Harry interjects, “I love your company.”

Louis shoves a forkful in his mouth, moaning appreciatively the taste, the chocolate chips melt mouthwateringly. “I won’t ask you to explain,” he murmurs matter-of-factly once he’s swallowed. “But I also won’t just accept that with nothing to back it up.”

“I don’t like staying away. You know I don’t. I always…Sometimes I find myself standing at your door whenever I’m on my way to my room. I don’t mean to...but I can hear you in there doin’ all sorts of shit. Listening to old records. Playing video games. On the phone. Who are you on the phone with every Thursday night?”

“Well,” Louis murmurs tightly around another bite, peeking up at him, pale and agitated. “You’ve proven you’re a creeper.” 

Regarding him, Harry’s stare is hard. At the attention heat shimmers to life in his veins. “And why is it you feel the need to tell them what you’re wearing?”

Now Louis blanches, and hisses, “Oh my God, H! Personal space!” As to preoccupy his mouth he takes a hasty gulp of his OJ.

“I found out some interesting details about your nightwear. You don’t tell me things. Like your thing for lingerie.”

Louis chokes on another gulp, then sputters, “That’s…That’s none of your business! And don’t call it a thing!”

A small, playful smile tilts Harry’s full red mouth. “’M sure whoever is on the phone appreciates the visuals you create with that mouth of yours. Buttercup lace with a frilly trim. Mmm. Yum.”

A blush reheats his cheeks as he realises that’s what he has on now. “You know no boundaries, do you?”

“I didn’t know you liked lingerie. I would’ve bought you an entire wardrobe.” The omega doesn’t doubt it because Harry tries to spoil him like nobody else, but that’s not what’s got him so out of it. His trousers feel too tight and he’s sure he’s producing slick, the idea of wearing what Harry picks out, what he likes, too much for him. Too overstimulating.

“I didn’t want you to know!” Louis shrills a little too loudly, panicked by his reaction. “That’s so embarrassing, Harry. Why are you listening in on my private conversations! I don’t do that to you!” Lie, and Louis knows it. He doesn’t believe in privacy where Harry Styles is concerned; he wants to know what is on his twisted mind because Harry never tells him.

By the glint in his eyes, the alpha knows too, though he murmurs easily, “To be quite honest I don’t think you should be giving people images to wank to.”

“And to be quite honest I don’t care what you think.”

“Well just a tip, paradise,” Harry says quietly. “Buttercup is cute and all but pink, somethin’ blush. That’s you.”

Louis pouts. “You’re the only one who thinks so.”

“My opinion is rather important.”

“Maybe to your little worshipers. Me? Not so much.”

“I reckon Thursday I’ll hear you’re wearing pale pink panties.”

Louis takes a measured bite. “Doubt it. I don’t even own that colour.”

“You’re quite resourceful. Just don’t let whoever is on the phone know who you’re wearing them for.”

Oh, boy. “I’m done with this convo,” the omega grumbles, shoveling food as Harry watches, annoying in his amusement.

“I’m not. Who are you talkin’ to so late at night, paradise?”

“If you must know,” Louis sighs, “His name is Aiden. The Grimshaw’s heir.”

There’s a brief pause, and when Louis looks up again the Alpha’s face is blank, but how his knuckles are white on the table and his body rigid tells Louis he’s not so heartless. “You could do better.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “I like him. He’s a…change.”

“A change?” Harry asks tightly.

“You know…” By now Louis is simply playing with the mushy leftovers. “He’s sweet.”

“Sweet enough that you feel the need to tell him what you’re wearing in order to keep his attention?”

Ouch.

Irritation wells up as Louis hisses, “I don’t need to do anything. I want to.  H, don’t be an arse right now.”

“I don’t like him,” the alpha mutters mulishly even though Louis' sure they've only crossed ways a handful of times. Maybe never at all.

At this, the boy’s brows furrow. “Why not?”

“He probably wanks to you every night, that’s why not.”

Unbidden giggles bubble from his lips until Louis’ biting the bottom one and batting his lashes. “Pups for me.”

Hostility mars his features as Harry twitches, nostrils flaring while his skittish stare bores into Louis’ soul. “You don’t even want that.”

“Maybe I do,” Louis mumbles, prodding at him. “You’ve never asked.”

It seems that’s what does it as Harry all but slams his coffee cup on the table and growls, “Do you want pups, paradise?”

A bit intimidated, Louis swallows, then breathes, “Its killing you to know I can have what you want so bad, innit?”

“That’s not it,” he bites back, canines like daggers flashing as he does.

“No?” Louis asks quietly, “then why–,”

“Don’t mock me. Don’t shove that shit in my face,” Harry snarls, eyes ablaze. “You think that’s funny? You want Grimshaw’s pup? Fine. Go right ahead. But don’t think I couldn’t get any…” As Harry rants, Louis zones out, watching dark, crimson liquid seep from his nose. It runs, staining his skin as Louis says numbly, “You’re bleeding.”  

He does not have to listen to know Harry asks him what he’s said. Dread lances through him as Louis stares, so sick as the changes come to light. “Your nose. It’s bleeding.” It doesn’t sound like him; it sounds empty as Harry stills, and wipes at the blood like it means nothing. Louis must be the blood. Meaningless. Just an indication of betrayal.

Of course, that’s it. He’s high. It’s all there in the blown pupils that dart every which way, the nose bother, the way he’s been running his nails over his wrist like it itches.

Numb, Louis stands, and walks away blindly. Escape is all that’s on his mind as betrayal’s knife cuts deep in his chest. Of course. He’s so stupid. So stupid to think Harry would take him seriously. Like he matters.

In the near distance Louis can hear his name. He can feel the stares. Luckily his own vision is blurred by tears so he can't see them. At the thought his throat seizes up enough that there’s no way to find his voice, and he’s…

Overwhelmed. Yeah, that’s it.

That’s…it.

Louis exits the diner, and stands there for moments with his trembling hand over his mouth, his rapid heartbeat climbing up his throat.

Thoughtlessly, the omega starts down the road, aimless. He barely takes two steps before Harry’s hand takes his wrist, halting his movements. Without turning, Louis hears, “It’s just a drip.”

A firestorm of fury sets flames to his heart as Louis whirls around. He doesn’t really realise but he’s reeled back his arm, prepared to slap the high out of him, though his chance is stolen when the alpha immobilizes him. “Let go of me.” Louis snarls, struggling until Harry crushes him to his chest and his fists are just slamming into his chest. With any luck, he’ll break a rib or…or… “You liar. You fucking liar. You pinky promised.”

The icy rage that fists his heart scares the hell out of him as Louis buries his face in Harry’s throat, and breathes raggedly, “You pinky p-promised.”

And he really hates his body, mind, heart for warming under his touch, for forgiving so freely.

“I’m sorry.”

“Liar. You’re not sorry! You don’t give two fucks about anything but your next fix." Some scalding tears spill down his face as he shakes his head. "I-I...I need to go. I'm going to stay with my parents for a few days or something. You…You’re…I won’t watch you kill yourself. I won’t.”

Tension builds in Harry’s body, until his holds become unbreakable. Frantically, “Don’t say that. Please, don’t say that. I need you.”

Those words slice straight through him as Louis cringes, trying to step away, to hide the fireball of pain. “How can I? I can’t. You don’t need me, you need your bloody fix.”

Airways all closed up Louis struggles to breathe, freaking the fuck out as the seconds drip by. He can’t breathe. He can’t–, “Louis. Lou, listen to me.” His arms are pinned to his sides by strong hands, and Harry leans in so those blown, flat eyes are level with Louis’ blurry vision. He wants to vomit in his face. His hands grapple with the collar of Harry’s top as the alpha says with that tenor, “Breathe. In and out, in and out, in…” Helpless to him, Louis listens, breathing in when Harry says to, then out, until the dizziness dwindles. “We can do this at home. This ain’t the place. Let me just get the bill, okay?”

Louis nods–three heartbeats run away from them until Harry leaves him.

As soon as the alpha is out of sight, the omega turns on his heels and walks away with a nearby cab company on the phone. He steps into the vehicle just as Harry appears around the bend with a focused stare.

Solo, Louis sinks into the abused seats, and doesn’t dare look back as the car starts away.

&&

                It’s the night before life goes on that Louis sits up on the roof of his home. Speckle sock-clad his feet dangle, but the young boy doesn’t notice, sneaking a smoke by the chimney and checking out the moon. It looks so lonely up there, but even the moon has the stars to comfort her.

He isn’t startled when someone he knows all too well takes the fag between his fingers and tosses it. Louis watches soundlessly as the orange glow plunges into the nighttime darkness below. He wants to follow it. “Shit kills you,” says that disapproving someone.

Unaffected, Louis shrugs, then shivers when the breeze bites at his fragile, bare skin. Like an instinct, the Alpha takes off his flannel shirt and drapes it around his shoulders, all the while sliding up behind him. Arms round his waist, and Louis can’t help but sink into him.

It’s when one tear falls from his cheek, right when it hits his arm, that the alpha murmurs, “C’mon, paradise, let’s get out of here.”

“I don’t want this night to end. Why’s it gotta end, Haz?” 

There isn’t an answer. Louis doesn’t think Harry has one for him.

Ghostlike, the both are silent as Louis’ mum waves them off with so-sad eyes.

All they do is take one last drive around the city. It already looks different. They’ve been dreading this moment all summer long.

Startling him, Harry slams the wheel, and almost shouts, “Life ain’t fair. This...This isn't fair. I don’t want to let you go again.” But, that’s the thing, isn’t it? He will. Tomorrow, he will leave with only sixteen years in his rearview, and a trail of blood from the heart he shouldn’t have hiding in his pocket.

In shambles, Louis just mumbles, disconcertingly stable for him, what his Mum told him only nights ago, “There’s nothing you can do. There’s nothing you can say. Life goes on.”

He didn’t want to listen, but it’s then Louis knows exactly what it feels like when love goes away.

&&

                Louis is all giggles, wilted flowers adorning his hair. Senses stunted from the bubbly stuff he fancies so much, Louis leaves Niall with wet kisses, and stumbles through the front door ready to fight.

It’s like those films where the child comes home after sneaking out and as soon as they walk through the door the light comes on to reveal the angry parent.

Except this light reveals an angry alpha with the Devil living in his blown stare.

“Well, ‘ello,” the omega giggles, running his tongue along his bottom lip before taking the flesh between his teeth.

“You been drinking?”

“Duh.”

“Where.”

Louis grins. “Oh, nowhere, jus’ around.”

Propped up against the opposite wall, Harry is pokerfaced, giving him no reaction whatsoever. He’s gotten quite good at it. At…At…Louis sways, then flattens one damp palm on the wall and points the other hand at Harry who moves to help him, “Ah, ah, ah,” he slurs, a bit dizzy. “Keep ya filthy paws to yaself. Stay away. Or I’ll puke on you.”

“You’ve had a few too many I think, paradise.”

Residual resentment rages, and Louis is on fire, dripping diamonds and sweat. He wants to scream. He wants to sob. He wants to wish Harry Styles away. “Says the fookin’ crackhead. I’ll drink as much as I wanna. In fact I’ll go drink some more!” Prideful, Louis stumbles around boxes and trips over his own feet to the dimly lit hallway towards the–

An arm circles his waist. With a surprised chirping noise, Louis flails his limbs in attempts to squirm free, but Harry’s mouth is flush to his ear, breath hot and slightly heavy from keeping him upright. “Paradise, no more for tonight.”

“Get off ah me!”

A hand smooths back his damp hair, and flower petals flutter to the floor. “You’re gonna fall as soon as I do.”

“Am not! Let go!” He does. Louis doesn’t expect this, and staggers forward, headed straight for the worn wood he despises so much. Before this happens, he-who-Louis-also-despises catches him around the waist again and hauls him up on two feet. “See?” he’s so damn smug.

“I see shit! Let me go the right way!”

“What is the right way?”

Louis tries to think, but frowns. “I…dunno.”

“You hungry?”

“No.”

“I think so. Want some cereal?”

Cereal…Too tempting.

“What sort?”

“We can do a Louis mix-up.”

How is he to say no to such an offer? “Thas’ not fair. I’m not hungry! ‘M sleepy, and me mouth tastes like arse!”

“Does it?”

“Wanna taste?” Louis pouts.

It might just be his intoxicated imagination but before Harry mutters, “Milk won’t help that,” he thinks he hears a maybe.

“Take me to bed.”

Louis doesn’t know when or where but along the way the alpha lifts him so Louis transforms into a baby monkey, hanging on by loose limbs. He’s drooling on his shirt, and is more than happy about it.

Lolled to sleep with every step, the omega slurs hazily, “’Ey, Haz?”

“Mmm.”

“I hate you.”

“Why?” Like he doesn’t know.

“You hurt me. Always hurtin’…me,” that the boy has to say so is one more sharp sting.

“You just love me too much,” Harry whispers sadly.

“I’ll stop,” Louis promises, worse off. “I have to stop...”

As his bedroom door is shown open, he immediately wants to crawl under his blankets and sleep all his heartache away.

“Don’t stop. Never stop. How about this: How about I love you more?”

A small smile spreads on his mouth, but slips because, “You couldn’t love me more than your precious fix.”

“You’re wrong.”

Louis’ never wrong. Of that he’s sure.

“Gonna sleep now,” is all he bothers to respond. 

 “What do you want from me?” He wants a lot, but most of all, I want to be your one and only. I want to be what matters most.

“Nothing. I want to sleep,” Louis mutters blandly before pushing weakly on his shoulders.

“Okay...Sweet dreams, Lou.” Just like that, without hesitance or care, Louis is left alone.

It’s nothing new.

&&

            “You look tired,” Niall announces rudely, settling in the seat beside him.

Louis quits chewing on his pencil to regard the Irish omega blankly. “I am tired. How are you alive right now?”

“Well, there’s this thing in my chest called me heart and–,”

“Niall,” he warns darkly. “I didn’t ask for an anatomy lesson.”

“You jus’ need to learn to love yer liquor, Tommo. Love it and it will treat you right.”

He means to respond right away, but is sidetracked by a text from the contact Coco-Puffs: how’s ur head?

“Who could that be?” the Irish one singsongs sarcastically, craning his neck to see Louis’ phone. “How is that going anyway? How is Harry?” At the sound of his name Louis feels like he’s been hit by a train, and locks the phone to shove it between his thighs.

“The same.” It’s an old scar.

He focuses his stare on their professor mostly to avoid Niall’s stare, rather than pretend he’s paying attention.

“What’s your plan then?”

“Run,” the boy mutters, wishing he meant it.

“Well, I have an idea,” Niall whispers dubiously.

Trusting the Irish lad only because he’s desperate, Louis turns his head to smile tightly, prompting him with his eyebrows.

All smiles, Niall says simply, “Cut ‘im off.”

Deflating, the omega mumbles, “I can’t. I don’t know where he gets his shit from.”

“Louis,” the Irish boy boos, “C’mon, mate! It’s not rocket science! Get yer little paws on his phone, delete all the sketchy contacts and boom. Then, find the stash, and flush that shit down the loo.” Just like that all the jammed up cogwheels in his head start to turn, and his hope is revived. “Niall, you brilliant little shit.”

“I know, I know,” the Irish lad doesn’t even try to sound modest. “Smarter than yer average cokehead. Just make ‘im think it’s all fine and dandy first so he ain’t suspicious.”  

Louis intends to.

&&

            Between his Council prerequisites, the boys, and the unholy hours of his current Council courses, Louis doesn’t have the time to think or feel or be. As of now Louis simply is.

At last it’s Thursday, and though Louis wants to crash, to sleep away any remnants of school, there are schemes that need to be carried through. Curse his ruthless nature–now why can’t I just be a pretty, meek Omega?

Well, because they’re utter twats. That’s why.

So, exhausted, running only on sheer will and seven cups of the strongest coffee he could find, Louis trudges into their house. In the entry room, he heaves his three thousand stone backpack, stuffed to its capacity with Council scriptures that need to be memorized (ugh), to the floorboards that whine in protest (damn it the wood really needs to go).

“Haz!” the boy calls around a yawn, toeing out of his shoes. “I’m home!” It feels like an eternity, though it’s only a minute, of swarming anxiety before–, “One sec.”

Fleetingly, Louis thinks he should tell the Alpha not to bother…but he doesn’t. If tonight goes horribly wrong then Harry will be right pissed for at least two days, and Louis has to play nice first. So he waits there in his uniform, shoeless and toying nervously with his beanie.

Footsteps approach abruptly. Before he can track them with his eyes he’s taken around the waist in an embrace. The arms that circle his waist are unbreakable bands, and his body knows so as he softens, pliable and loose. Oh, lovely, now he wants to be carried to bed and cuddled and–

“Well hello there,” Louis greets him playfully, in need of distraction.

“You’re home late,” Harry prompts into his beanie.

The scent that emanates from Harry’s skin clouds his mind, intoxicating him; evergreen and cologne and something alpha, dark and thick, weaving through his every sense. “Mmm,” the boy hums softly before yawning, though he assures him, “Was just class. Ran late.”

“'M sure you wanna rest.”

Louis smiles broadly. “Yeah, in a bit. I need to shower first. I smell like old Council alphas. I’ll tell ya, that old bat, y’know the one with the skin that’s melting? Yeah, she’s so feeling me. She doesn’t leave me alone, H. I’m just trying to survive, and she won’t give it a rest! It’s gross.”

Louis feels Harry’s answering laugh on his lips, and his bones tremble under the force, knees ridiculously weak. “Lady Carnell, paradise? She’s harmless, about six feet under. I’m sure she’s not tryin’ to get it in with you. She’s old enough to be your Nan. She has a grandson.”

“That’s the problem,” Louis groans, grimacing in disgust. “They both want a piece of this. She wants me for her grandson! Jacoby who is thirty seven! Though I don’t think she’d refuse an offer either.”

“Council scandal of the year,” the alpha teases, thumbing at his leaping pulse-point. “I’m going to Parliament Monday to see about my political prerequisites… So I might be around to rescue you from the Carnell scandal. You rescue me from my boredom. 'S a win-win.”

Trying not to gush, Louis nods. "For real? This is great news, H! We've all been missing you. Carnell will have to take the hint...Lady won't be so easy. I've already tried everything. Snogged Ni for the rumor of it and nothing!"

“Damn,” Harry jokes a little. “I take break and suddenly you’re into omegas, and Niall? Oh, paradise, what are we going to do with you?”

You can do whatever you want to me. Wait. What. No. Shut up me. “We're going to let me wash away all this school-smell, and pray Ni works his magic until you’re back. You’re the big guns, boo.”

“Hardly. They all think I’ve lost it. Don’t think I don’t know what goes around. They think I’m headed to hospital. I know my parents hear all about it.” The offended edge to his voice makes Louis’ heart ache, makes him want to throttle anyone who's ever opened their mouth concerning Harry Styles.

It's not so simple though. No doubt Louis’ father is a part of that crowd (at least his dad only runs his mouth to Harry’s–his best mate). Damn it, Harry hasn’t given anyone reason to think otherwise. Not with the way he acted the last time he stepped foot in Parliament (Louis cringes inwardly, praying Monday isn’t a repeat).

“Even better,” the boy says lightly, nosing at his jaw. “If you’re scary and insane with the reputation the Reaper, the Carnell’s will have to back off.”

“Everyone will back off.” Oh well. 

“I don’t mind. At the end of the day I'd always rather be with you. Everyone that doesn’t matter will fuck off and that’s fine. Ni lost his marbles long ago and Z doesn’t give any fucks. Liam is in la-la land with Sofia next to him, Cara adores you. Grimmy just…you know.”

Really, he doesn’t mean to say his name in such a bitchy tone, but Louis just isn’t all that fond, and doesn’t like that Harry shows a particular attachment to the other alpha either. When Harry isn’t with Louis, he is with Grimmy and God knows who Grimmy brings along to do God knows what.

Snidely, his omega turns his pert nose, turning all shades of green.

“Still. I wouldn’t want to put a dent in your sterling reputation. ‘Sides you do reek of old Council alphas. Scary stuff.” Sadly, the alpha takes his arms back, and Louis pokes his tongue out at him, which earns him another chuckle. Like it’s weightless, Harry tosses his boulder-bag over one shoulder, then drapes his free arm around his shoulders. “C’mon.”

“You don’t need to walk me to my room,” Louis mumbles, colour blooming on his cheeks for no apparent reason. This is routine; Harry always walks him to his room. So why is his heart beating like he’s run a bloody marathon?

“Need to? No. Want to? Of course.”

Wordless, Louis nods, leans into his side and lets him all but tow him to his bedroom. Inside, Harry places his bag on his loveseat. Here it is… He expects Harry to wish him sweet dreams then go away, but oddly enough he lingers, and with him here in the room that’s a master suite everything feels small. The air of influence that coats his skin pours into the room, all over his skin as Louis fidgets.

“Um,” the boy whispers, shyly. This certainly isn’t routine. “What’s up?”

“Dunno,” his voice disrupts the still in the room. “I haven’t seen much of you this week…” Why does the disappointment in his voice excite him so much? Did you miss me?

“Oh,” Louis mumbles, indebted to the darkness for veiling his fiery cheeks. “’S been a long week.”

“C’mere,” Harry beckons huskily. Louis doesn’t know how it happens but then his arms lock around the broad of Harry’s shoulders, and he’s tucked small against the solid lines of his best mate. “I wanna lay with you.”

What?

Stunned, the boy jerks backwards to peer up at him because this is so new. Years–it’s been years since Harry’s initiated prolonged contact, and his omega body aches for it, him. Even so, Louis searches the alpha’s face shadily. With seemingly nothing to hide, Harry stares back in the darkness, and for the first time in what feels like so long he is looking at him, stare sober and so clear.

“I could hold you.” A persuasive breath that almost threatens to waver his resolve, watering it down so easily...

“Not tonight,” he forces, toying with the ends of his thick, silky hair. “’S Thursday, and I’m really beat. I have to be up by the crack tomorrow. It’s nine now and I still have to shower, plus I gotta make a call.”

Tension grasps his shoulders though Harry only nods as Louis retracts his arms and settles on his feet again rather than his tiptoes. “Okay,” he mutters, tucking his hands in his front pockets. “Yeah, see ya. Sweet dreams.”

Before the omega has the chance to respond or change his mind Harry backs out and closes the door behind him.

Alone, Louis shivers, then hastily turns the lights on the lowest setting and tears the beanie from his greasy hair. Next he all but hops over to his backpack to pull out his newly purchased merchandise.

Now to play his role…

&&

At sixteen years old Harry never thought to be tied down, or spoken for.

Here he is though, with what used to be the bane of his existence, now his entire world, clinging to his right leg and screaming bloody murder as he tries to take his place in line. “Never! Never! Don’t leave me! I’ve only just gotten you back! Please, Hazza, stop! You don’t have to go back! You don’t have to!"

The younger boy’s voice bleeds with betrayal as Harry, who presented alpha last year, shakes him off, fighting the searing moisture gathering in his own eyes. Damn it, no. The little pup on the mosaic floor of the entry hall of Parliament’s main house looks so devastated, eyes red-rimmed from tears that have yet to be shed, his cheeks flushed pink with exertion.

Around them the other trainees pretend not to watch the entire bit, checking their watches, shuffling their boots, the likes. Meanwhile, the Father’s look in with disapproving stares that say, “Get your omega in check, boy.” Supreme Styles is nowhere to be found, but Harry knows why. He’s in the States on business. Some things are just better off missed.

More than anything Harry abruptly wants to shout in their aged faces, shout that it’s not his fault, that this isn’t his omega, that he’s trying to get the hell away, that he’s trying trying tyring, oh God he’s trying, to make his Father proud…

Angrily, Harry crouches, then leans forward to hiss in his ear, “Get up, pup. Stop causing a bloody scene and go play with the other brats. 'M going whether you want me to or not so deal with it.”

Of course Louis does not listen, never does; rather he stands unsteadily, storms up to the Generals permanently red, plump face. “You fat bastard! You’re making him leave! You’re taking him away from me! I hate you! I hate all of you! I hope you burn–,”

Before the General even reacts to the sudden, child’s outburst, Louis is reeling his arm back, little hand fisted and–, “Enough!” Without warning Louis’ Father (thank God), one of the thirteen Council Alphas, like his own Father, storms up to his son, who shrinks from the hand that takes his upper arm in a firm hand and pins it to his side. “That is quite enough, Louis. You will not treat your elders with such impertinence, no matter the reason. Where is your dignity? Apologise to everyone, especially Harry. Then excuse yourself to the Meditation Center where you will refrain from showing your face for another night as punishment. To reflect.”

When the boy exhales shakily, pure Alpha instinct rears through him, and Harry suddenly wants to destroy every and any idiot who’s ever upset this easily-upset boy. But that is simply not his place; this is not his omega… “Now, Louis!” it’s an alpha’s no-nonsense bellow that forces Louis to sniff through his stuffy nose with an air of regal sarcasm, hissing to his audience, “My most sincere apologies. I'll excuse myself.”

“Permission granted,” the General states tightly as Louis’ Father tries to bring him over to Harry. It's like a blade's being twisted deep in his gut, watching him turn his little nose away and start in the other direction, towards the spiral stairway. "I won't apologise to him like it or not, papa. He can piss off now, I'll take a week in the Meditation Center if I have to." With that dismissive sentence Louis darts up the floors, scrubbing at his face. Only footsteps are left in his wake.

Freakish instincts rips through him, venom eating away at his bone marrow, though he holds very stiff and still until Louis’ Father, the most influential figure in the room, clears his throat pointedly.

As his head snaps up, his eyes meet expectant, steely ones as the older Council alpha motions to the stairway. “Are you going to take care of this, Styles? I would hope so as you’re the reason for his tantrum. So, am I going to have to beg his forgiveness for allowing you to leave without a private farewell?” When his eyes dart to the stiffly annoyed General, the elder snarls, “They will wait. My son cannot, I fear.”

No, Louis has always come first in everyone’s life. Needing no more reassurance, Harry bolts up the (what feels like endless) stairway, stopping on the third floor to start in direction of the Meditation Center.

There he shoves his way through the doors. All in less than one minute. At the sight of the curled up boy in the far corner, hugging a pillow to his chest, his heart breaks. Busts right open.

More desperate than he could ever express, Harry doesn’t give him any chance to react, ripping the pillow away and yanking him into his arms, into a crushing embrace.

“Lou,” he whispers into his choppily done hair  (that he insisted Harry cut) as his fists pound on his chest, and he shrieks unintelligibly. “Louis…please, please stop it. Stop making me want to stay. I can’t stay. I have to do this. You know I do...We’ve been through this.” Every time more difficult than the last...

“No, no, you don’t! I hate you right now! I hate you for being so bloody honorable all the time! I hate you for loving everyone and everything else more than you love me!” No, he thinks, horrified, I love you more than I love anyone or anything else.

“That's,” Harry swallows in a harsh breath, eyes stinging even screwed shut. He‘s bottled up all his hurt and stored it so deep in his heart only Louis ever seems to reach it. And it hurts. God, it hurts...  “That’s fine. Hate me. It will hurt less for both of us if you do.”

“B-B-But I can’t! I can’t hate you,” Louis chokes out, fisting his tear-stained shirt. “I want to so much, though. God, don’t think I don’t want to. I just…I could nev’ah hate you, Hazzy.” At last the boy is still aside from his hiccuping, like he knows now nothing will change Harry’s mind. Or he’s accepted it for the moment.

Harry is so selfishly relieved he almost does it, kisses him like he’s been dying to for so long...

“I don’t ever want you to. You’re not allowed to hate me.” Because Harry’s so tired of acting like he hates this darling pup who’s become his favourite everything. “I thought I did for a while. ‘Cause you’re so loud and you hit like an alpha and well there’s lots of reasons, Lou…but I don’t want you to hate me. I could never hate you.”

Giggling stuffily, the boy burrows into his chest, “Aren’t you such a charmer? Don’t know what the omegas see in you. Really don’t.”

“Less than you see in me…”

Against him Louis stiffens, then breathes, “Way less. They could never love you like I do. They don’t know you like I do. They can’t help you. I’m the only one that can. You know that. You like to pretend it’s not true because ‘m a bit younger than you, but you know it, that’s why you let me act out and be a little brat to every omega you shove your dick in. You don’t care about them. You don’t knot them.”

It’s so dirty coming from this innocent pup with those damn lovely blue eyes, squirming to lift his face and reveal an ingenuous expression. Ice needles at his skin–confess. He wants to confess it all–how his body reacted to the sight of the subtle changes of Louis’ growing up; how he hadn’t even had a type before watching him make a mess with that bloody Popsicle four months ago; how he forced his attraction to his extreme opposite out of fear.

“They hated me, but you didn’t care, and you never have. Because I’m the most important, aren’t I, Hazza? Even though you don’t fancy my company…I mean more to you than anyone else.”

Fancy your company? I couldn’t even hold a conversation with them because they don’t ramble on and on about footie or fashion or music or pigeons or world domination or any of the trivial shit you do. It was so silent…and I don’t like the silence so much anymore.

He has to stop thinking these thoughts...He has to be better than this.

“Yes, I am more to you. I make you feel better sometimes. I make all the stuff inside stop.”

“Stuff inside?”

Huddling ever close, he breathes, “Don’t be angry…but um…sometimes I overhear you when you…um…when I come over…I stand by the door for a little while and I listen to you um, t-talk to yourself.”

A heartbeat of silence that Louis scrambles to end, “I-I don’t think it’s weird or anything. Okay, I do! It’s weird, Harry! You don’t make any sense! You’re like speaking in another tongue! I’ve tried every night to make out what you’ve been going on about! But it makes no sense! I memorised some so I could ask you ‘bout it.  Nine twenty twenty four-0-seven RTG, forum–,”

“Stop,” Harry interrupts sharply. “You don’t repeat those things ever again, pup. You hear me?”

“But–,”

“Are we clear?”

With an annoyed sound, Louis nods. A small smile softens his features when Harry strokes the hairs at the nape of his neck, staring in awe as his face scrunches adorably. “Once again you’ve impressed me with your dedication.”

“God, H, ‘m not a pup anymore! Stop looking at me like a proud papa! I hate it when you look at me like that,” Louis snarls, baring his canines. Christ, he doesn’t know what ridiculous expression he’s wearing but it’s not one of a Father for his son.

It’s everywhere; Louis’ peak to puberty, and he’s so painfully aware of it. Every time Harry sees him…He knows he’s going to miss it, and it kills him.

Confessions lay heavy on his tongue; he wants to tell it all just to see his reaction. He wants to tell him how many times he’s popped a knot using only his hand, thoughts consumed by the sight of his bare body (the first glimpse he’d caught when he’d walked into the guest bathroom expecting Louis to be in his own). He wants to tell him how he’d been ramming that one omega with the unattractive blonde hair with visions of Louis underneath him, taking him as his hands felt on his soft love-handles...

He wants to tell him that whenever he’s rambling all Harry can hear is a lovely purr, and all he can think to do is shove his trousers down and see if his mouth can trigger his first heat (even knowing it’s not due for some time, and Louis is so convinced he’s an alpha– certainly not with the way all the alphas seem drawn to him like little black flies to his incredible flame– and how the slick leaking out of him will taste, if he’d ride his face–

Intrusively, someone raps on the door. “Times up,” Louis’ Dad, an incredibly tolerant alpha  considering his status, calls from the other side. “Are you two decent?”

“Ugh! Go away, papa!” Louis groans furiously, obviously embarrassed with how his cheeks show pink.

“Louis, that is quite enough. Let the poor fellow–,"

Childish as ever, Louis whines, then mumbles into his neck, “Just ignore him and he’ll go away eventually. That’s what I always do. Works every time.”

“Not surprised, seeing as you are a spoiled brat with no discipline whatsoever,” he says, though Louis simply carries on, “Stay. Tell me what this look is all about.” I love you, but I need to stay away from you. 

“What look.”

“This look,” the boy breathes, leaning back again to stroke his jawline, brows knitted. “You look…hungry. Or guilty. I can’t decide.”

Damn him for being so intuitive sometimes. Affectionately, Harry smooths his brows with his index finger. “You’re beautiful, you know.”

Self-conscious, the boy lowers his eyes, shrugging with a snort like the compliment honestly means nothing. By now, Harry’s an expert Louis-reader, knows the slight tremble to his dismissive hand, the bate of his breath, the lack of constant squirming, means discomfort.

Tucking two digits underneath his chin, Harry tips his face, gazing into his beautiful ocean eyes. “I’m serious. You are so beautiful. Sometimes I look and I feel like it’ll hurt to look away. And I know you think ‘m trying to leave you on a good note or summat. I’ve given you no reason to think otherwise b ut…I don’t know, I just think you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.” So much for detached.

Now his pretty mouth parts to release warm puffs of air, and his eyes are dewy and round and how could anyone think the ice blue shards in his eyes are anything but the waters of paradise?

“Not beautiful enough. Everyone you find beautiful is grown up and really…stunning. But you think ‘m just an exasperating pup. I’m not beautiful; everyone knows that, I do. I’ve never been beautiful. My personality is ugly, nobody really fancies me. I don’t look thin or sexy. I’m short, pudgy, and I have a terrible haircut and little canines. I’m still just a pup to you. Nothing about me is like…them.”

Curving his hand along the left side of Louis’ face, tapered fingers stroking his choppy tuffs of hair, Harry thumbs at his subtle jaw. “I don’t see half the beauty in any of  them that I see in you. You're so real...I love you better than I could ever love anyone no matter what. You're the most beautiful because nothing about you is like them. I don't get it myself sometimes but what we have...It's special. There is nothing more special to me than you, got it?

“You're like...You're my paradise. You make me crazy sometimes...but 's not a bad thing. You're lovely, and you're you, and  when you're old enough you'll make someone really happy, yeah? Stop worrying about it. Worry about making sure you get a real haircut or taking care of yourself...Here or there, you're paradise to me. You always will be. My puppy paradise."

Louis' pretty mouth beckons him on elemental levels and his eyes beg him kiss me kiss me kiss me. More than anything in the world Harry wants to.

More than he wants to leave, more than he wants to make something of himself, more than he wants to make his Father proud. 

As he dips forward, Louis' long eye lashes flutter shut. They’re suddenly so close now, Louis' breath is warm on Harry’s mouth, their noses touch ever-so-slightly. Harry's mind feels fuzzy as Louis' fingers card through his curls...

The door comes open.

Jerking away, he swallows, mouth dry and yearning as Louis turns all delicious shades of pink.

Of course Harry knows who it is, knows what it means. “H, they’re waiting. And you are far too touchy with my son right now,” the council alpha murmurs, far too pleased.

Swallowing, he nods numbly, but doesn’t risk looking over, drinking Louis in these last seconds. “Coming, my lord.”

As Dan’s footsteps retreat, the door remains open.

Harry clears his throat, unsure of what else to say at this point. If he’s honest, he’s trying so hard not to cry. 

Louis slides back onto the mats and mumbles bitterly, “You know I’m going to have to find someone else. Who am I gonna find that will tolerate my pestering for two years?” There’s a line of people waiting for that opportunity. He wants to scream, to go ballistic. 

Stay focused, Styles. Focus, damn it. 

“You’ll find some poor fool,” Harry says, just as bitter as his alpha snarls just beneath the surface. 

Stupidly, he reaches out to him, though Louis flinches away and shakes his head. “There’s always one. Well, at least by then I’ll be all grown up and you can start treating me like it.” 

Harry vocal cords strain hard. He clenches his teeth so hard he wishes they’d break because he’s breaking, tears of fire blurring his vision.

Don’t be so weak...

If only Louis would stop looking at him this way...

“You’d better warn them I’ll be back.”

“Whatever,” the heir doesn’t seem phased by the threat though it’s very real. “You’d better get going. I’ve got a lot of reflecting to do, y’know.... Plus I’d better get busy thinking up some other worthy candidates to claim.”

“Louis–,” 

“Don’t.”  He stops him with a heart-wrenchingly sad smile. “Don’t worry. You’re my first, Haz, which means I’ll always come back to torture you. So go now before they leave your sorry arse. And don’t let General Eats-A-Lot brainwash you anymore. Or I’ll make sure papa isn’t there to stop me from beating you both.”

Understanding this is Louis’ goodbye, Harry stands there in a daze, never allowing his eyes to latch onto the boy again for fear that he might crumble in these last minutes, make promises he surely couldn’t keep, swear to love him better once he’s home again…He knows one day he won’t come home. Physically he might. But that’ll be as deep as it goes.

Making it to the exit on numb legs, Harry mutters, “I’ll hold it to you, paradise.”

Returning, Louis’ Father claps him on the back, obviously on his way to comfort his son. “Safe travels, son. And return in one piece, yes?”

“I intend to, my lord.”

As he’s walking away, the last words Harry catches are, “Don’t die, Haz, I’ll be pissed as hell. I still want you to come home.”

He promises over and over and over to make sure he does just that this time.

&&

                          Alone again Harry wills movement, unable to center on his body tonight because his thoughts refuse to quit. Tonight they aren’t even everywhere. Not at all. His thoughts are directly below him. Directly below where he stands Louis is probably in a tepid daze (because that’s how Louis always leaves his showers; claiming to love how the unbearable heat dizzies him). He’s always so soft when he’s like that too, when he’s wrapped in one of those fluffy towels, skin pink and–

No, not the direction his thoughts should be headed. Not when Louis is damn well taken. Which means he’s…Damn it. Without conscious permission, Harry strides away from his room, unable to acknowledge that his followers trail him, constant shadows in his peripheral vision. It doesn’t ensnare him because they can’t make it into Louis’ room (he counts his blessings).

But fuck, why, why does he do this shit? Why is he like this? Why can’t he just leave the poor boy alone?

Because he’s a selfish obsessive bastard. That’s the only real reason.

In seconds he’s descended the stairway and rounded the first to the first hallway. There, Harry stands before the barrier denying his alpha all he wants.

This is what happens when he’s sober–the animal within is allowed some fragment of control over his actions, his thoughts. A sexual drive the high robs from him.

It’s not that Louis is the aim of his alpha’s fixation–that can’t be it because Harry has constructed those mental boundaries with extreme care and dedication. No, it’s that he hasn’t had sex in years. It’s not that he has trouble finding someone else. It’s that there has been no desire to do so. Right now, the desire is everywhere, it’s flared, but the right thing to do would be to leave. To turn away from this, to find an omega that’s nothing like this one…An omega he can be with.

Except now that he is here, he is stuck, and his hands have planted themselves on the structure. This is what happens when he’s desperate to feel close to the creature on the other side, he indulges in silence, in private. The only way to preserve his steadily decaying sanity, to save the boy from his slippery-slope is to be the bad guy, to distance them, to hurt him just enough that he stays away.

Never enough to do permanent damage, never enough for him to leave for good.

See, the line between best mates and mates, is so fine with Louis it’s difficult to make concrete distinctions because the omega does not draw any; so Harry has to.

Which isn't difficult because his mind works on careful designs and logical progression, how he’s survived those years in the Institution. People are predictable. Most actions are forewarned.

What is difficult: Louis’ spontaneous nature. None of his actions ever seem thoroughly thought over–exactly how he wins. Wins at everything against anyone.

But he’s been with Louis awhile now (ten drawn out years) and he’s been tossed his role one too many times. By now he’s learnt to play his part to perfection.

Yet here he is, senses heightened and focused.

There are more rustles than ever, then it’s quiet and there are soft footfalls. A content “mmm” that backs up the notion that Louis is crawling into bed. Yeah, fuck, he’s in bed. Just the thought of him, petite curves with his soft sun-kissed skin exposed and glowing in pale pink lingerie fattens his cock so that it’s straining hard against his zipper.

Stealing all sober thoughts, Louis’ voice is soft and shy, “Hi.” He wants to remember that the boy isn’t speaking to him, but all he can really hear is his omega voice, all submissive and soft and unreal.

This is the only time he’s ever allowed to hear Louis use it, when he’s in bed on Thursday, describing his nightwear in excruciating detail.

Louis’ scent invades his senses, pheromones sweet and swarming his brain with need.

Words are exchanged, some snickers and snorts. The more Louis talks, the more on edge he becomes because the worst truth is he doesn’t want Louis to really fancy another alpha. He doesn’t think he could take it. 

Knowing Louis will tell someone else all the things he’s told Harry. That he’s competitive and he does silly things when he’s bored like swim in thirty degree weather or snowboard down slopes nobody wants to think of or read Council scriptures in outlandish voices or make up words or–just no. Christ, it’s taken him his whole life to learn these facets of this boy, and he’s still learning, and damn it he does not want anyone else to have that opportunity.

“A lovely outfit, too,” the boy’s voice, reedier than before, pierces his freak-out. “More to this one. A garter slip, panties, and thigh-highs.”

What colour?  Harry wills the fucker on the other line to ask because it's not like he can–that fucks with his head, unscrews one more faulty bolt. “Pale pink.” A breathy response that draws and forces the enduring air from Harry’s lungs in a hiss. 

Mine–the word sets another wild, possessive fire to his body that has his canines extending from his gums, hands fisted with the control it’s costing him to remain here. On the outside.

“Mhm,” the omega agrees to whatever the Grimshaw-fucker says. “‘S all pastel pink and the panties have this pretty lacy trim. The stockings are gossamer material, 's nice. Reaches the tops of my thighs, rubs just right. I like the colour, makes me feel pretty.”

Harry's pretty boy. All this is for him. Just what he asked for, Louis in pale pink skin and lace looking so pretty on a platter. More than ever he wants to see it, to feel the flat expanse of his belly underneath the slip, to trace the tops of his creamy lace-covered thighs, undo the garter so he can drag the slip up over his hips and see the panties all on their own. How well the colour does with his skin, how the panties match the thigh-highs. All for him. 

A growl starts low in his throat as Harry refrains from palming his cock like some pubescent. No, he refuses to be reduced to a fumbling, horny teen for him again.

“Well, I was gonna take it all off for you,” Louis ponders, which fuck no he isn't, “but 'm having too much fun.” Don’t you dare take it off, I want everything on. I want the slip bunched at your hips, and I want to fuck you in those thigh-highs too.

Mouth dry, the alpha doesn’t bother trying to swallow around the sound in his throat, instead breathing that scent urgently into his lungs as the visual of Louis in his little skimpy outfit flowers behind his eyelids. Torment– pure need shooting through his bloodstream, filling his diamond hard cock to it's capacity. 

“Touch me. I want to be touched. With it on.”    

Where? Where do you want to be touched, pup?

Somewhere lost to him, Harry knows he’s spoken out loud, knows because even his voice is nothing like Louis’. 

“Everywhere. All over.”

His hands ache to act it all out. Harry wants to know Louis’ answering him, but the boy just says, real hush-hush, “My belly."

Does Louis realize how much Harry adores his belly? Is he so obvious?

“Why? Why there?” Of course he asks because he has no control over himself right now, and he just…needs to know this.

“You know why,” Louis breathes with a needy note, and it's for him. It's gotta be. 

There is no doubt in his mind that Louis can hear him, knows he's there, listening to him talking to another alpha. Despising it. "There's more I could do in this. Lots even." Louis' offering himself up and a vicious urge to rip the bloody phone away, to destroy it so Louis can only talk to him, only want him, tears through him. It's just that this omega belongs with him, on his knot wearing pale pink satin and silk and diamonds and God -

"Got somethin' else in mind now though."

“Tell me,” Harry demands. “What's on your mind, pup?" 

Harry has no explanations, no excuse for any of his actions or why he's still standing here ignoring all these red flags...but now there's zero chance of walking away. 

Louis giggles girlishly, “wait wait,” before there are shuffled movements. Impatient, the alpha straightens, and works his jaw to strangle the animal sound starting up in his chest. 

The door is thrown backwards, Louis shrieking with Harry stunned. “You just can’t stay away, can you!? I knew it!”  Phone in hand, Louis speaks in a rush, “Aiden! Aiden! Say hi!”

A male voice, confused as Harry feels, comes from the speaker. “Uh, hi?”

With a chiming laugh, Louis hops up and down like a child at the candy store, then, “Now you!” Those amused eyes call to him on instinctive levels as Louis pokes him in the chest, “You bloody creep. Say hello.” 

A voice tells him not to engage in this bullshit, but Harry can't help himself at this point. He's fucking furious. 

Canines exposed, the alpha tries to snatch the phone from him though the boy makes an odd noise, then scrambles back into the room.

“Hey! Stop right here, pal! Ah ah ah!” Disapproving, the omega’s bow mouth is in a provocative pout as those ocean coloured eyes scold him. “Don’t be rude! I’m talkin’!”

“You aren’t anymore.” The timbre coats his voice so that it’s undiluted alpha, and Louis’s pupils visibly dilate.

“Y-Yes, I am."  He loves his fight, his fuse. It's gotta be Harry's kink really, has his cock fat and jerking in his trousers.

Focused on only him Harry stalks into the room. Squealing, the boy scrambles away again. “Aiden! My time's runnin' up but before I go...Get this! My room mate, well my best mate, really, is–,” breathless snickering as Louis makes it to the opposite side of the sumptuous bed. “He’s chasing me! He’s so pissy ‘cause he…he has…this erectile dysfunction. A-And…” Another mad rush, Louis rolls onto the mattress, and somehow once again they’re on the opposite sides. Mocking him, a smirk marks his mouth as the boy carries on.

“Er…” discomfort is thick in Aiden’s voice, “Is this a bad time?”

“Shh!” Louis dismisses him to carry on with his game. “S-See I know this…’cause–oi! Back off!–‘cause he cries ‘bout it all the t-time! Sometimes he likes to listen to me…talk about my pretty lingerie to get…it…up!” At that moment the boy tries to make it to the door, but Harry is quicker and catches him around the waist. Before Louis can thrash, he maneuvers them around the room to pin him on his back.

Lost to his delight, Louis dissolves in mad giggles, trembling as Harry snatches the phone away. “Goodbye, Aiden." Proceeding to hurl his phone at the wall where it shatters on impact, effectively ending the call and all contact.

“Harry, holy shit!” the boy pauses, mouth a perfect O as he cranes his head in order to look at the now destroyed phone. “Harry, what the hell!? You monster!” Like he’s so fuckin’ upset, like the mirth isn’t dancing in his eyes.

Remorseless, the alpha remembers he’s got the omega sprawled out for him. There's hardly any light but the low-watt glows like embers in his wide, dewy eyes. “You owe me a new one,” he says breathily.  A low growl forms in his chest as his knee nudges his miniature legs so the boy spreads them a bit. Mouth dry, Harry forces his hips between them, braces both hands on either side of his face and leans down, hovering.

"Always so aggressive,” Louis whispers as colour spreads on his sharp cheeks.

Always achingly aware of him all Harry knows is this between them. The phone doesn’t exist,  Aiden, the Institution, the followers, the drugs...None of it matters.

His eyes rake over his slim figure to find said outfit blessedly intact, and so, so perfect. More so than he could have ever thought up–the slip so thin, and the pink so does it, contrasts beautifully with his golden skin where the material starts so low, revealing his tight little nipples underneath.

The flat expanse of his belly, his sharp pelvic cradle, the waistline of those damn panties. 

He'd been so on point...

Lifted, his eyes latch onto the sensuous lines of his clavicle where the diamond necklace he’d bought him (for no real reason other than no one else could do it justice) lays between the points.

He traces up to his throat then draws back sharply. Louis’ slender neck is marred with various shades of discolored love-bites.

Dark, vicious fury returns to him, thickening his muscles, strengthening his bones. Mindless, Harry curls his hands into fists and tries to look away. “Who?”

In obvious confusion: "Huh."

“Who the fuck have you been with? Was it him? Grimshaw?” Unable to tear his eyes from the once flawless skin, he watches as his throat undulates with his nervous swallow.

“Nobody,” Louis whispers, hands flying up to his throat, like he’s only now recalling the bites. “Of course not. It was…uh, nunchakus. Uh. N-N-Niall did it. At p-practise. We were…screwing around.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” Harry spits, and it’s like the boy is pouring acid down his throat straight to his chest, eating away at him. “Do better next time.” In a numbed-out state he tries to stand but Louis’s arms round his shoulders, and he’s clinging to him. “No, stop. Wait. Wait. I-I-I’m just scared to tell you. You’ll be angry.”

“’M already angry,” Harry says tightly, reaching around to unhook his slim arms. “Whatever. ’S not my place. Don’t tell me. I just might lose my mind.” Well, it was bound to happen sometime.

“’S not what you think though. I haven't been with anyone else...”

“Explain.” Even so the alpha removes his arms so the boy falls back to the mattress, scrambling to sit up, and whispering with those bloody bottomless, sorry eyes. “I can’t. But I promise I wasn’t…I don’t have anyone. I don’t. Pinky promise. You don’t have to be like this. You don’t have to be jealous.”

Jealous? At the word, his skin becomes tight over his muscles. “Jealous? Hardly. I’m livid. Because some fuck had their dirty mouth on you. You’re an Omega of worth. You know the rules. But you let someone touch you...” And it wasn’t fucking me.

Defensively, Louis crosses his arms, pert features contorted in disbelief, “You are so jealous! For absolutely no reason!”

As his fury intensifies, the acid crawls up his throat and becomes words he doesn’t intend to say, “No, Louis. You know what? You won’t find love like this! You want to be loved so bloody bad, do it the right way and wait for a proper mate! Don’t dirty yourself.”

Abruptly, Louis jerks to a stance on the mattress, hands in little fists as those striking eyes become sharp, voice scissor-sharp, “Are you serious right now? Fuck. You. I haven’t done anything wrong. You are being such a fucking Alpha bastard right now. Are you forgetting ‘m not yours? You never claimed me! You have no say in my love life. I stopped waiting for you to...Nothing has ever happened between us. There is nothing but friendship and fucking friends don’t do this. I’m over it! 

“Fed up the whole I think you’re beautiful, but not beautiful enough for me bullshit! Boo hoo! You never wanted me, and that’s okay. You don’t have to act like you’re my alpha or whatever. I don’t expect that! I never did. But don’t you dare put me down! If I want to spread my legs, I damn well will! It doesn’t make me dirty because there is no reason I shouldn’t do what I want to! You’re so…You know what, H? You want to know what fuckers dirty mouth was on me? Look in the fucking mirror! And get the fuck out of my room while you’re at it!”

The episode jacks Harry’s fury so high he becomes his own ring of fire; the air around his body feels magnetically charged. Mindless, blindly enraged, he storms out of the room, slamming the door so hard behind him the structure shakes weakly. And he just stands there, shaking.

His mind is in overdrive.

Louis’ right, and Harry is wrong. So wrong, always twisted and bent and fucking wrong in every way. All the time Louis is so good for him. And he’s such a wasteland with absolutely no right to feel like this. Like he claimed him, bonded him, like Louis is his and his only.

What bullshit–Louis hadn’t waited for him, they hadn’t played catch-up. The boy had laughed and taunted the mere mention of them together when Harry had been ready to drop on one knee and ask him for the honor. And now he’s over it? Yeah right.

A cold sweat breaks all over his skin as Harry rests his forehead on the jamb of the door. In a rush his anger becomes a yearning that frightens him.

His mind must hotwire because he isn’t aware of his zombie-like movement, but then he is in the bathroom. He faces the doublewide mirror where he blinks wildly, disoriented by the shift in his reflection. An alpha of the worst kind stares back at him.

A mess–his hair is tied back but strands have fallen, damp in his blood-drained face. Since last year he’s lost more weight, and his muscle density has started its inevitable wear-and-tear from the lack of nutrition and the surplus of intoxication.

The shadows beneath his eyes are bruised, almost permanent. A literal fucking mess. With his Alpha prowling underneath his skin, pupils blown, canines exposed.

His mouth is intact, but it’s filthy with the violations he’s committed. Denial screams in his head, screams not me not me not me.

Damn it Louis would never lie about something like that though. He’s not that cruel. So when the fuck had it happened? Surely he would remember something like that. Even past the clouds high. It doesn’t make sense.

As his hands brace on the counterpane, the Alpha thinks, tries to recall the exact day Louis had started to cover his neck with the new-style excuse. 

Saturday.

And the night before... Yeah. It was him. 

Faultless, the puzzle pieces match up, because Friday night is when he’d had that dream while in bed with him. By now, it doesn’t surprise him that he could take advantage sexually, not when he’s been able to choke the boy in his sleep.

Vomit creeps up his throat as Harry screws his lids shut, trying to find an explanation for his behaviour. There isn’t one.

Hell, it makes sense that he would want this omega. Because he’s stifled the desire for him with distance, and now there is none to hold it at bay. So it makes sense that he would end up…trying to bond with him. Because now his scent is a part of the place, driving him mad. And oh, fuck, he’s been acting out, ruining his careful measures. Putting his mouth on Louis without consent like some…some…

Rapist.

The sensation crawls in his chest. A recollection of the past; terror is icy in his veins as grimy hands force him to the sandy floor, trying to shove his trousers down. No. No. A killer, a self-preservation, rips to life.  A knife is hot against his side, the rough breathing and the triumph of escape even as his side bleeds a river and his muscle wear from running, dystrophy conquering after blood loss.

Harry bends over and throws up the apple he’d forced for dinner.

After flushing down his sick, he sinks to the tile, shaky and nauseous. He tries to take some deep, calming breaths, but all he can smell is…Louis. His lovely perfume is all over him from the proximity.

Desperate, he whips the shirt off and tosses it, needing to dim the scent that seems to paint him now.

In a force the past overcomes his vision, it all returns. The attempted rapes placed upon him. The humiliation. The abuse that followed him always until it became him, all but dead expect for the incessant beating of his heart and the rote suck and push of his lugs. 

A weird sound echoes around him. Realisation falls heavy on his shoulders: sobbing.

Oh…paradise…

Quieting the noise, Harry wipes his sweaty forehead on his bicep. Paradise. God, Louis makes him so ashamed of his ugliness, his ruins, and his black, nasty nature.

At every ballroom event, in every situation, the omega effortlessly talks to his Council mates, smiling, laughing, mouthing. Because he has a charm and an easiness about him that speaks of the comfortable life he’s led. Fuck, Harry is the only reason he’s known unkind deeds.

He’s certainly never shown cruelty or harshness by any other alpha, they all worship his every breath. Like Harry does in secret.

He’s an omega of extreme worth, not at all like the trashy, angry people he’s been with and used so many times over.

Disgusted with himself, Harry shudders as his shoulders cave in under the weight of it all.

More than Louis ever lets on, Harry has hurt him time and time over.

Again his stomach heaves and he lurches over the toilet.

“I thought you were just…angry,” a tiny voice says from behind him. “I didn’t think…I actually make you sick.”

Fuck. Of course the first time he doesn’t remember to lock the door...

It never dawned on him Louis would come back to him though, not after what he’s done.

&&

                          Marrow an icy slush from how cold he is inside, Louis wraps his arms protectively over his belly. Of all the crap his active imaginations dreamt up, this pushes the friction envelope. There, sprawled out nearly naked in front of the toilet, dry heaves make Harry twitch.

While he curses, Louis stares at his body in the crisp light. Its been years since he’s seen him so clearly because Harry is private and careful, and this explains that. The broad expanse of his shoulders, the line of his back is streaked with scars. Some barely visible, others deep and shiny…Oh Haz…

“Why are you here? You have your own bathroom,” he says, voice echoing around the porcelain rim.

“I, ah, wanted to yell at you some more,” he admits, but I didn’t expect to find you like…this.

“Mind if I finish purging first?” Water rushes and gurgles as he flushes.

“Are you…alright, Haz?”

“Yeah, this was just loads of fun,” the alpha mutters as Louis scurries into the very clean, very white, very impersonal bathroom.

Back to sarcastic asshole then. Fine, two can play this game. Except in the blink of an eye Harry is up on his feet and facing him.

Oh, no…no, baby.

Though his time away has his increased his body mass, his muscles now stand out in stark relief, the individual fibers striated and visible in the worst ways. For any male his height, he’s thin. Too thin. Close to starvation. But that’s not even what stuns him. It’s the scar that does it. Worse than the others, a thick, telling laceration from his side just to his stomach.

“What h-happened…there?”

“Do the math,” Harry mutters, making it to the sink where the tap runs as he washes his mouth.

“But that’s…”

“Not supposed to happen to someone like me?”

“You’re a noble. Des is the Councils Supreme. Y-You’re the most vital heir the Council has. Y-You had some kind of protection, didn’t you?” How could this happen to you? When there is no reply, Louis shrills, frantic and desperate for reassurance, even aware that there will be none. “Didn’t you, H?”

Please tell me you didn’t request an out. Please tell me you didn’t…  

“Fate is such a cruel bitch. I didn’t need protectors. I’m not dependent on anyone.” God, Louis wants to run, run far away because Harry might as well have handed his life to the Institution. How could he do that? To himself? To Louis? Selfish. He is so selfish.

“You’re such a selfish bastard,” the breath leaves him without permission, but Louis will not take it back. “You set yourself up.”

“Yeah, stupid I know. Trust me, I learnt my lesson.”

Any residual vehemence dissipates into nonexistence as his heart begins to weep. It’s the loss that hurts worse than anything else.

Louis never…God, dad had said it was difficult, a basis of survival of the fittest, but Louis never thought it would leave him scarred like this, in every way. No, he’d thought that Harry just…just couldn’t handle a weight so massive.

This isn’t weight. This is…horrifying. A nightmare. Scars like these aren’t difficult; they’re an indication of cruelty, sickening abuse.

On impulse, Louis takes a step in his direction.

A frantic flare fires in his narrowed stare. “No. Stay…Stay away from me.”

Louis doesn’t listen; Louis closes the distance though Harry retreats until he’s caught in the corner between the glass shower and the wall. God, he could face death, but not Louis…

“What the hell d’you think you’re doing? Are you angry or pitying or what?”

He doesn’t answer because he isn’t sure. Nothing is clear. It’s all blurred and indistinct and he wants is Harry back more than anything else. Needs him right now.

But he’s not here; he’s been replaced by this hostile, hurt man. The notion suffocates him until Louis struggles to breathe around the jagged ache in his throat.

“Back off,” Harry snaps, opening his mouth to bare his white, dangerous canines.

Sadly, Louis shakes his head and reaches out to put his trembling hand over Harry’s heart.

Of course Harry shrinks from him, flattening against the glass. Now his voice has thinned until it’s barely a sound. “Don’t. Please, don’t touch me. It will…hurt us both.”

“Why?” the boy asks desperately, pausing with his hand outstretched. “It won’t. You know I need…touch. Please.”

“Paradise, stop. Just…go. Leave.” And he can barely get the words out as Louis’ heart constricts. “I’m about to destroy something. And I don’t want it to be you. I’m…I’m done hurting you. Go back h-home. Your dad was right. Everyone was right, okay? This…I shouldn’t have thought this would help. You need to take care of yourself, leave me, and go back home.”

“I am home. I am taking care of myself. You are what I need. You’re my best friend, Harry. You will not hurt me.”

Pained, his eyes close. “Louis, what do I have to do in order for you to see I’m a lost fucking cause? You’re so bloody refined. You must be bred to get off on torturing people. Torturing me.” It’s a sharp lash on his heart because Louis isn’t dense; he isn’t unaware that he’s forced his way into Harry’s heart; that he’s always been unwanted. 

“Haz, we come from the same place. You’re refined, too, silly. And you…you’re…I’m trying to help you heal.”

When he speaks his voice has lost all intonation. “You can’t help me.” The Alpha lunges at him then, taking him down to the tile, and baring his canines. “I could hurt you right now.” It’s true. He’s physically capable of it. Built to snap someone like him in half. But emotionally Louis doesn’t think so; doesn’t think he could consciously lay a hand on him. That’s not Harry, not now, not ever.

His thoughts cannot keep track of the pace of Harry’s actions, nor his emotions. But then all goes absolutely still. And he’s just draped over him, panting, frozen in place, breath a loud rush in Louis’ ear, so loud…Is he sobbing?

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. God, I’m sorry! I want to be better. I want help, Louis. I want to be…I don’t want to be…I don’t want to lose my mind. I don’t want to be lost. I don’t want to be this way. I’m terrified of what I’ve become. But I’m not fuckin’ broken, paradise, I am ruined.” He rolls onto his back, putting his arms over his face. “Please…stop allowing me to hurt you,” it’s a broken sound, “…paradise.”

Louis wants more than anything to reach out to him, but he’s so tense he doesn’t dare. Because he’s terrified the same. But he’s not about to give up. Ruined. Broken. Whatever it is, Louis is here to stay and damn it this is going to end.

Shame causes tears to blur his vision because Louis didn’t help, Louis prodded at his wounds, teased him like it was nothing, hurt him intentionally to get a reaction. So convinced Harry was just going through a rough spot or something. But this…this is real. He’s suffering. And there is nothing entertaining about it.

In an abrupt rush Harry sits up, and looks at him. While the whites of his eyes are bloodshot, he’s not crying. Maybe Louis was just…hearing things. Wouldn’t be the first time.

“Leave.” Composed. Deathly serious.

“You don’t want me to leave. I refuse to leave you alone here. No. I want to be here and I am staying.”

“Please. Louis, don’t let me drag you down too.” You don’t take yourself away from me again.

Unmoved, he says quietly, “Don't you get it by now? I don’t take back my word. I listen to my heart. I want to be here. I'll never let you go again. You’re not allowed to lose your mind. So sorry to ruin your pity-party, but you have been stuck with me, Styles.”

“Louis…” Harry tries again, but Louis lifts his chin and squares his shoulders. “I'm only going to my room. Come find me when you’re ready. I’ll be waiting.” With that he holds his head so high it’s believable that he’s not about to come apart at the seams as he marches to his bedroom and softly shuts the door behind him.

And that is when the inevitable breakdown comes over him. Hyperventilating, Louis curls up small in bed as sobs wreck through him. Sobs he is careful to muffle into the pillows because he doesn’t need Harry any guiltier.

The trauma is why Harry is who he is now.

Louis can’t think of what he must have been through, put himself through, without suffocating. So the boy lets his mind wander back to better times.

Over and over Louis has practised his moves; and he is convinced that this will be what does it, what wins Harry over. Papa even said it was his most stellar move. Papa is pretty smart, almost as smart as Louis.

That’s why when class is dismissed Louis happily follows the older boy out, and like always Harry Styles doesn’t spare him even a look as he goes. Somewhere along the way their bodyguards trail, watching like hawks. Both boys are used to this by now and disregard them easily. Gleeful, Louis tugs on Harry’s arm, “Haz! Haz!”

“What.” So serious all the time. Yuck.

Louis is ten, and he’s a big boy, but Harry is world's bigger. Harry is wonderful and amazing and a whopping twelve years old. Oh how Louis adores him. Sure, they'd had a rough start, but it's been months. Papa assures him Harry will come around, but it's taking too long. Louis wants to be noticed by him so bad, spends all his time thinking up ways to get his attention...

As Harry trudges forward Louis realizes he’s fallen behind, and Harry has paused to look at him with raised brows. Harry has the prettiest eyes. So green and mossy. Rare is what everyone calls them. Louis loves rare. “Coming or not?”

Oh! Right, right.

Excited to be acknowledged, Louis asks tentatively, “You’re not goin’ to make me walk behind?”

“We need to talk.”

“Okay! What about?”

“How I really really really don’t like you,” the older boy grumbles which makes Louis frown, a bit wilted now. “But not here. Let’s go to the field.”

“Oh, that’s perfect! I need to show you summat, too!”

“Sure.”

Louis smiles toothily, and scampers along, hanging on Harry’s arm and prattling about the lad who’d tossed his lunch at him just for talking above him, and how he’d been placed in time-out for punching back. Honest, it’s not fair, Papa says to always defend, and that’s what Louis always does!

Humph. “Well, that’s daft.”

“I know!” the ten year old agrees, pouting. “He even stained me shirt, see!” To prove so Louis shows him the collar of his mandatory white-collar uniform with a huge red ketchup splotch.

“Well I’m glad you cuffed him one proper then. He deserved it.”

Beaming, Louis perks up at the approval in his eyes, then continues to talk about he honestly doesn’t understand how to divide because Mrs. Casey is a rubbish teacher, not because it’s an advanced class.

“You’ll figure it out. You always do.”

Wow, he is so full of compliments today. Louis hugs himself, then complains about how he was forced to read out loud and it was so boring and he truly just wanted to kip. He only misses nap time during English. Otherwise he is so full of energy it’s criminal.

By the time he is finished, they’ve walked most the short way to the impressive manor Louis resides in, not even a mile from Parliament. “Haz. Will you hold my bag? I tripped on my way up the stairs today. And my back hurts so bad,” insert wet, puppy eyes and a pretty pouty lip. “Pleeasse! Please! Oh pleeeaseee–,”

“Okay, okay. Just shut up the rest of the way. My head hurts.”

Not thinking of the agreement, the younger boy hands his bag over, and Harry sighs heavily but shrugs it over his shoulder. "Haz, did I tell you–,”

“Ah, ah ah. No. Not a peep. You agreed.”

Louis sighs in longing but they walk the rest of the way in silence. Once they reach the great gates, he insists on entering the security code, and as the gates slowly come apart his nerves start in until he’s almost hopping he’s so nervous.

When they are open enough to walk through Louis does so, waving happily at the gardener, “Hiya, Mr. Clarke!”

“Afternoon, young master!” Swinging dangerous looking sheers Mr. Clarke calls to Harry, “Master Styles, nice to see ya again!”

“Afternoon, Mr. Clarke!” Harry returns the greeting grudgingly (he does not like anyone below him…which is everyone) where endless landscape stretches on and on and on. Humming, Louis follows Harry through, and they walk on until they’re hidden by the slope of the hill where Harry drops his bag.

“Show me what’s so important then.” Louis is caught off guard and hesitates…because what if Harry thinks he’s a loser, what if he’s unimpressed (that’s always Harry), what if–, “Louis, hurry up.”

“What if you don’t like it?” he mumbles, lowering his eyes to his shoes.

“I don’t like most things you do, but ‘m always surprised. I like that.” Louis brightens. “Really?"

Without answering Harry motions to him so Louis giggles, removes his shoes, and takes two deep breaths. Like he’s practised, the younger boy performs perfect cartwheels, back to back to back to back to back until he’s flushed and dizzy on two feet.  

When he looks at the older boy he’s smiling so wide Louis can see the craters in his cheeks, then he’s applauding, and Louis feels like he’s flying. “Brilliant!”

Louis squeals and throws himself at Harry. “You liked it?!”

“’Course! It was wicked!”

“It was, wasn’t it?” Louis giggles, beside himself with joy even as Harry shoves him away gently. “Yeah, five in a row? I wish.” It doesn’t even sound like he’s being sarcastic.

Oh please, Harry is perfect. He doesn’t need to perform cartwheels for everyone to know so. Plopping backwards with the grass to cushion him, Louis breathes, “I’m so in love with you, Haz.”

It’s quiet before the older boy bursts into laughter, and Louis frowns, looking at him where he’s shaking some measures beside him. “You don’t even know what love is! You’re ten! You’re just a pup, Lou. You can’t be in love. Especially not with me! I don’t even like you.”

Louis’ frown deepens before his eyes flood with tears, stinging with rejection. “Wh-What?”

Peering at him, Harry frowns. “Oh, c’mon, Lou! Don’t cry!”

Bottom lip wobbling, Louis let’s all his tears tumble down his cheeks.

“Louis, stop it!” the boy murmurs frantically. It only makes him wail like the baby he is. “Okay! Alright! I’m in love with you, too! Sheesh. You should know that already.”

At the words Louis sniffles, then looks through blurry eyes at his cherub face. “R-Really?”

“Yes,” Harry sighs, swiping at his tears. “Now quit cryin’ like a babe.”

Louis smiles watery as the tears slowly dry up and happiness flowers all over him. “Here. I got this for you.” Louis sits up when Harry does, bubbling with excitement as Harry snatches his own bag and pulls out a pretty, sparkling diamond the size of a rock. Mesmerized eyes round, Louis scrunches his face up to feign disgust, “Ick! I don’t like that stuff! That’s girly!” Even though he secretly loves sparkly stuff like that, and it’s so pretty and it will look quite nice next to his gemstones in his box. He’s never been allowed to have a diamond. Papa says that’s for grown-ups. And much too precious to be in his ‘careless forgetful’ hands. 

“Why I!” Harry squawks, pinching his sides until Louis is yelping between giggles. “I thought you were oh so in love with me! You won’t even accept my gift! How can you accept my love?”

Suspiciously, Louis sniffles. “Whas' it for? ‘S not my birthday or nothin’.”

“It's my early parting gift. I’m leaving just after my fourteenth birthday. That’s not that far away, 'm almost thirteen now. Plus I know you have that box you hide under your bed with all your girly stuff. I was goin’ to tell you never to talk to me again and leave you with somethin’ nice. But since we are in love now I reckon I can’t do that, huh."

Louis beams, and holds his hands out for the diamond, making a startled noise over the weight, then bringing it close to his face. “Where'd you get this? S' it really for me? To keep?"

“My Dad. I told him it was for you. He likes you a lot. It's yours forever. Dad told me diamonds are forever so."

Louis blushes, then giggles. “Thank you, Curly...I love you forever." Then it’s Harry's turn to blush a pretty pink Louis won't ever forget. “You’re welcome, Louis. Forever.”

When Louis just stares, in awe, he fishes something out of his pocket. “Oh, yeah. There’s this.” He tosses him a folded piece of paper. Louis places the diamond carefully on his knee, and then opens it to read a messy sprawl,

‘I really don’t like you, but since you won’t quit I’m gonna have to. When I'm back, lets go for ice cream.

Your most awesome mate,

H.S.’

Louis squeals and crushes the paper to his chest. This is the best day ever. “A date?!” His first date...

“No!” the other boy crows, looking a little sick suddenly. “Just ice cream! Going on…to…um get ice cream. Like um I’ll buy it for you, but it’s not a date! It’s just a friend thing. Like our dads do sometimes! Like that, yeah. Except not so grown I suppose. More fun. 'M sure you’ll talk a lot and, oh, I’m chatty now…I should shut up. It’s ice cream, not a da-date, yeah?”

“I’ll take it." He flashes him a big smile then tucks the diamond and paper in his backpack. Then he curls up next to Harry who's already basking and closes his eyes, soaking up the sunlight. What a perfect, pretty day. “What flavor will you get, Haz?”

“Vanilla, probably.”

“You’re so plain.”

“Sure am,” the boy says proudly, and lies closer beside him, holding him.

“Hey, Lou? Do you think....Never mind, it doesn't matter .”

“Tell me. Tell me. Tell me. Tell–,”

“Just...Dunno, 'm a little scared I guess. I’m gonna miss you. I wish you could come with me. Why do you have to stay?”

Louis takes his hand. “Don’t be scared. You’ll do great! You’re Harry Styles! You were meant to do great things! I wish I could, too. Mummy told me that’s only for the…the…destined or summat. You’re the destined, Hazza!”

“Why can’t you be destined too,” the older boy grumbles.

“I…” Louis frowns. “I dunno.”

When there is only silence he mumbles, “Will you still be in love with me then?”

“I’m not a fortune teller, Louis. If you stick around I might...You’re lovable. Even when you annoy me."

Louis wants to just explode with hopeful happiness. “I’ll always be in love with you. Forever. Like diamonds.” He means it with all his heart.

“Pinky promise?”

Eagerly, Louis holds out his pinky, and Harry’s takes it. “Pinky promise.”

It’s funny that pinky promises never really did make it through anything. Harry hated him more than ever by the time he returned, and Louis learnt to stop loving him with all his heart and only half of it.

That’s how they worked as two.

As Louis smiles minutely, he wishes he could turn back the hands of time, go back to that day, and make Harry pinky promise to never fall out of love with him.

Because he’s realizing all this time he’s been sitting in his unrequited love.

&&

It’s old tradition; his Father, Supreme Des Styles, has invited his Council companions, along with their families, to stay the week in what used-to-be a comfortable estate.

To say Harry is unhappy with this is an understatement. He is miserable.

Constantly crowded by the hoard of pups carried along. They are everywhere–tittering and daft and simply frustrating.

Harry Styles is basically grown now. He’s bloody thirteen, months away from Institution and does not want to be bothered by all these drooling pups.

Especially the one Harry despises most out of the pack. The cute tiny one in the overalls. The Tomlinson heir who bloodied his nose a last year. 

It’s been so long and the little monster feeds on his misery.

Blessedly, Harry has managed to escape him for the time, having roamed on the trail towards the neighboring estate, now sat cross-legged with his back to an aged tree. It’s quiet, and Harry enjoys the quiet. It’s nice.  

Except the sounds of dead leaves crunching underneath footsteps interrupt his serene. A little blur plops before him on the ground; winded light hair, chubby, flushed cheeks, doe eyes and a huge, silly smile greet him. “Whattayadoin’?”

“How did you find me?” he demands, crossing his arms.

“I’ll always find you,” the boy giggles, immune to his fierce scowl.

“That’s creepy.”

“Is not!” the Tomlinson pup frowns, toying with one of his light blue braces.“Okay! Fine! I watched ya leave the group! Your Daddy is lookin’ for you.”

“My Dad,” Harry corrects snidely. Daddy? What a pup.

“Daddy,” Louis retorts, pouting adorably.

“Dad!”

“Daddy!”

God, Harry doesn’t know why he’s even going on with this. Louis brings out the absolute worst in him, has a way of making him act and feel like such a pup. They go back-and-forth until Louis shucks dead leaves at him, red-faced. “DADDY!”

“DAD!” Ready to strangle him for his attitude, Harry lurches at him, but with that the two go rolling down the slope of dead leaves and little giggles are sweet in his ear. It’s a nice sound, he admits as they finally reach even ground. There’s a tiny body on top of his own.

“Ugh! Get away!” he groans, shoving at him perhaps a bit too hard as Louis plunks backwards. He does not know how it happens but then he’s sitting up, cradling his scraped elbow. Tears flood Louis’s blue eyes, and he starts to cry. Fear squeezes his gut. What is he supposed to do now that he’s bleeding?

As he jerks upright, Harry tries to get a closer look at the scrape, but the boy whimpers and hides it fast. And he’s crying for his Mummy now, bird-like wails.

Swell. Now he is in trouble, too.

“Stop crying!” he rushes frantically. “Please, Louis, don’t cry! It’s just a little cut!”

“I-I-It hurts!” Louis whimpers. It’s a painful sound, even to Harry's ears. It makes his tummy turn. He almost feels sick.

“Let me see,” he murmurs gently. When the boy shakes head, the leaves stuck in his hair fall–then he’s giggling, shaking some more.

Absolutely confused by the three-sixty, Harry cocks his head, then smiles because leaves fall from his own hair, too. For some reason this makes Louis laugh with more mirth…so Harry does it again and again until there are none left and Louis is wiping his snotty nose with the back of his hand. Which, yuck.

At the exact moment Harry says he’ll find Louis’s Mum, his own Father comes rushing down the slope. “What was all that ruckus?”

When he is sure Louis is going to snitch, the boy mumbles, “Laughing too hard, S-Sir. Haz had leaves in his hair!”

The suspicious look on his Father’s face forms into fondness. They all look at Louis like that, the grown-ups. Like he's so sweet and should be sheltered. Little Louis. They've got it all wrong. Aren't they supposed to be the smart ones?

“Did he now?”

“Yuppy!” Louis beams, and Harry thinks that maybe he’s not so awful after all. Maybe he…really likes him. Maybe they're more alike than Harry thought... “It was all sorts of funny!”

“Indeed,” his Dad nods, crouching to ruffle Louis’ feathery hair. “Alrighty, then, pup. Your parents are bound to get sick with worry. You should let them know you’re alright. Harry and I will walk you back, won’t we, Haz?”

Stifling his grimace, Harry nods, and his Dad smiles and straightens. “Come along, little heirs.”

“’M not little,” Harry grumbles, standing.

“Help him up, son,” his Dad motions to where Louis waits with an evil smile. Not understanding why in the world he has to help him up (he’s not crippled), Harry sighs, but sticks his hand out for Louis to take, brushing leaves from his back as he bounces and holds his hand so tight there’s no taking it back.

On their way, Des says, “Louis, I think we might be on the wrong path. Why don’t you go ahead and check? Just follow the path, please, son.”

“C’mon, Haz!” Louis exclaims excitedly. Oh, no.

“Louis, this is your mission. You must do it on your own,” his Dad murmurs. “Can you manage, kiddo?”

“Oh! Oh, yes Sir, I can! I won’t let you down!” The little pup falls for it so easily that Harry smirks, though it’s wiped right off his face when Louis plants a wet kiss to his cheek. He turns all shades of red. “See you, Hazza-bear!”

“O! Gross!” He’s already skipping (hopping) away, laughing delightedly as he goes.

“That boy has his heart set on you, son,” Des says warmly. 

When Harry only grumbles, “I know you want him to leave you alone, but one day you’ll change your mind.”

“I truly doubt that.”

At this his Dad laughs, booming and amused. Harry swears the entire forest shakes because of it. “One day you’ll be on your knees for that boy, son. You’ll never want him to leave again. You would rather have God take the very breath he’s given you, your heart from your chest. It happened to me with your Mother.”

An unwelcome pink heats his face. “No!”

An arm comes around his shoulders, pulling him close. “Yes. You’ll give up anything as long as he doesn’t go. Take any other boy in the world, but not that one.”

“More like PLEASE LORD TAKE HIM AWAY!” The twelve year old bellows, throwing his arms out to the heavens.

“You’re so young. You’ll hit your knees praying to never lose him, I promise you that. You’ll beg to be taken out of this world first.”

Ugh. Why is Dad being so daft? As if.

“Of course I don’t want him to die!” he mumbles grudgingly. “No…I just want him to leave me alone! Not get hurt or nothin’.”

“I don’t doubt it.” The knowing look his Dad gives him has Harry’s face on fire.

“Wait on it, son. That boy will be your whole world one day. Don’t say I didn’t say so.”

It isn’t until it’s time for Louis to go home that Sunday that Harry actually begs the boys Dad not to take him away. “Please! Please, Sir. Don’t take him! I promise I’ll take my best care of him! Just one more night!”

That's the very first night Louis stays with him.

A very nice night.

&&

When finally able, Harry rises to an unsteady stance, muscles screaming in protest to the abrupt use after what feels like hours of restriction. Black crowds the edges of his vision, threatening as he breathes raggedly, dragging his weight. It’s pathetic how many times he has to pause and clutch the railing, working his jaw with the effort it takes to say conscious and functioning.

Fear has come to him, hard and vivid, no shadow of the past anymore, now a very present panic that Louis is revolted by him, growing cold as Harry wastes precious time because he can’t contain how useless he’s become from the lack of everything his body actually needs.

In his room at last, his stare latches onto the desk drawer where his stash is currently calling to him. It’s been two days. Two whole days without. His exhaustion is borderline excruciating; leaving him in tremors and skin that refuses to fit around his bones. In this gluttonous moment, Harry is starved, but not for food. Careful, like the floors might collapse underneath his burden, he takes his first step towards the powder that calls to him like larks call for heaven on a summer morning.

Anticipation churns in his stomach as he kneels before the bottom drawer, yanking urgently to remove a fresh baggie. Yes, the dark voices hiss, do it, do it now.

As the white contrasts in his palm, Harry pauses, and closes his hand around his only out, then closes his eyes to find what he wishes he wouldn’t.

This is how his mind works; at war with madness and clarity.

While his skin becomes tight and his nerves burn with need, the image of Louis standing outside that diner, scrubbing at crystal tears spilling down his paper white cheeks, the betrayal and hurt evident in his wet stare haunts him.

God, he can’t do this. Not when that same boy is expecting him to come back, not the addict with all the bottled shit that can’t seem to stay hidden, that always is directed at the one he cherishes the most.

He’s done what he can to protect Louis. Gone to hell and back for him, bent over backwards for him. Taken knives to people’s backs for him. Chained his inner-alpha for him. Given up his every desire for him. Given up on finding a mate for him because no other meets his expectations like Louis does.

Like shit hadn’t fazed him. But fuck it when he sees his paradise, suddenly he doesn’t feel like he’s fucking crazy anymore.

Abruptly, that’s all he wants. To be worthy–to never have be the source behind the betrayal in those wide ocean eyes, to never feel like razors are slicing away at his heartstrings. Like the world is almost over.

Except…he always comes back to me…

That is all he has to consider in order to pry his hand open, to watch blankly as the baggie falls back into its home with the rest. As his hands shake uncontrollably, physical responses to stress, Harry shoves them through his hair, ripping at the tuffs as agony screams in his body.

Louis Louis Louis. The name is his own sort of sanity that somewhat drowns out the calls of the drug, the calls of the followers lurking in the corners and shadows. Louis Louis Louis.

Harry stands and scrambles to escape what has become necessary to live, to function. Makes it to the bathroom, breathing choppily as he runs the shower then his nails over his arms viciously, needing out out out of the skin that barely fits him anymore.

Steam clouds the space by the time Harry shimmies clumsily out of his trousers and throws his body under the scalding stream. “A problem, a problem, I have a problem. Dad and Lou were right,” his mouth won’t quit, but he’s burning in the worst way. His skin scrubbed raw. “Won’t be me, it won’t be me. God, it can’t be me. I can…I can do this. Just breathe, Styles, breathe.” Really it will be him; he thinks that collapsing and never getting up again will be escape from the broken pieces inside. Except the pieces aren’t even broken anymore; they’re ruined, have been for years now. Because nineteen had been his year, his year of ruin. Where the broken had shattered wholly, irreparable spectacles, too diminutive, too fragmented, too useless.

Even if he could fix them…he doesn’t know that it would be worth all the hassle. Not when they won’t ever fit the same again, when chips and shards will never be able to return to their rightful places.

It’s bearable, though, has to be. For a little while it’s bearable because he’s been living on the cusp of death a long time now. 

With his hair soaked in his face Harry focuses on his habitual tasks, and once he’s clean on the outside (the inside grime just won’t wash away), makes his way out because he really can’t prolong the inevitable. Soon Louis will come looking for him.

Snatching a towel from the bracket, he ties it to his waist and brushes his teeth, desperate to be clean enough to touch Louis in any way, to dare. The man in the reflection looks no cleaner though, no different; not that he expected otherwise.

He can’t even believe what he’s become; remembers when he used to think he’d never fall victim to a drug. Growing up, Harry swore he’d be someone, someone as great as the mighty Desmond Styles.

And here he is: sinking to the bottom, twenty one and headed straight into the nothing, unable to face the world or his parents, his Council, his friends.

Except Louis. Louis who matters more than any of them. And were the omega not so stubbornly attached to him, Harry would have succeeded in pushing him away too.

Now he has the only one he wants, and the drugs, to keep him up.

Unable to stand the sight anymore, to see the demons lurking in his sunken eyes, the Alpha makes a beeline for his bedroom only to make it out, dressed and decent, in less than two minutes because that’s the capacity of time before he is forced to change his mind, before it’s all too much again.

Nerves frayed, the pain is not easily left behind, but tonight he is going to be what Louis wants. A quick stop in the kitchen to guzzle three bottles of water, quenching something else within, is all he allows to delay what he’s approaching.

Christ, then Harry is there again, at his door. But he cannot breach the barrier, throat seized up with the devastation in his chest, the anxiety drenching him.

This is going to be a mistake. A very bad one.

It’s going to happen anyway, has to.

A few minutes of deep breaths are what it takes for his fist to rap on the door in announcement. “You don’t have to knock, Haz.” Voice soft and sleepy from the other side; his bones ache for something more than coke, for Louis.

Nervously, Harry opens the entrance to be saturated with the warmth of his breezy vanilla scented safe-place.

His eyes scan the room out of habit. Empty. 

The only light comes from the flat-screen mounted on the wall, playing Skins on mute, and the hallway spilling from the door’s bottom.

In the center of his canopied bed, Louis sits with his legs tucked underneath his bum and his hands in his lap. He hasn’t taken off the bloody slip either, and the spaghetti-strap hangs loose on his right arm, obviously having slid down his fragile shoulder. He’s peering at him through soft sea-eyes. “C'mere,” Louis beckons gently, wayward fringe wilted in his face.

In some trance Harry locks the door and approaches the mattress. “Turn off the telly,” he orders briskly, in need of some sort of control, and desperate to obscure his shame. For once Louis doesn’t question him, and then there is the darkness he wanted.

Harry crawls onto the plush mattress, quick to pull the thick, sparkly canopy closed again ( in case a follower does manage to intrude…Better safe than sorry). “Underneath me.” Like nothing else it calms him to have the omega concealed by his body, hidden from the outside.

Obediently, the boy settles on his back, but he’s so stiff, and Harry figures it’s because he’s so exposed, and as far as Harry knows he’s never let anyone see his beautiful body like this (talking about it is nothing like having someone see it). His eyes are screwed shut, bottom lip between his canines. Harry knows he’s trying not to speak (he appreciates it so much too).

Alas, Louis has never been the most restrained creature, and blurts, “Can you take off your shirt? I don’t want to be the only one basically stark right now. Even if it’s dark.”

Swallowing thickly, the alpha does so. “Don’t look and I won’t.”

“I wanna look.”

A bitter smile tilts his mouth as Harry shakes his head. “Sure.”

Nonetheless he doesn’t let that happen, “Open.”

Bottom lip between his canines, the boy parts his creamy thighs a bit. Not nearly enough for him to fit. Permission enough for Harry to spread them to his approval, keeping his eyes shut as to not invade his privacy any more than he is as he settles between his thigh-high clad thighs, and circles his waist in flexed arms. Like this, the boy feels so soft and tame, and his mouth just does, “Paradise, you feel…nice under me.” So breakable. Don’t let me break you.

Little hands curl on his biceps as Louis gets to the point, “Talk to me.”

Dread caves in on him as Harry buries his face in the neck his mouth had taken. God, it’s so fucked up how knowing this suddenly makes him proud. Because he thinks everyone will know he has someone. Has him. “Dunno what to tell you,” his voice is a rasp as his arms constrict, and he relishes in the proximity.

“Can I ask then? Will you answer me honestly?”

“Yes,” Harry says, meaning it.

With an uneven breath the omega asks in a tiny voice, “Do I really make you sick, Harry?”

“No.” That Louis doubts this makes him want to shove his fist through a wall and then show him how much he loves him. But he’s done more than enough. With all he’s done there is all the reason for Louis to doubt him.

Another unsteady breath. “Then why are you so mean all the time? Why do you act like you don’t want anything to do with me? Like I don’t matter? Why does the idea of your mouth on me make you vomit?”

To anchor himself, Harry inhales his scent rapidly, until he’s also running his mouth along his skin in silent apology. God, he’s so smooth and silky and… “I have to be. I have to be careful. You’ve seen what happens when I’m not. When we’re together and I let myself...” Stop. With a sharp intake of breath Harry steels himself, trying to get back on track. “‘M gonna fuck things up and hurt you so badly you’ll leave and I...I could never let that happen, paradise. I couldn’t live with myself if I...I scare myself sometimes, ‘m dissociating! I mean I touched you ! I violated you and I-I put my hands on you and that’s what makes me sick. That’s what’s sick, Lou, God I-I hate this, me, I am so fucked up just like you said.” 

Bile burns his throat.

“Haz... stop. I was angry I-I didn’t mean that. Any of it. What happened...it was an accident, it wasn't your fault. What hurts me worse than anything is when you hurt yourself, Haz. I feel that shit, don't you see? What hurts me is when you push me away, or stay away. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

Stemming the moisture lining his eyes, Harry mutters, “Of course it does, but I can’t have both. And I have to…I know what will hurt you more at the end of the day.”

“Hardly,” Louis chides, nails biting into his skin now. “You can’t make choices for me. You can’t.”

At war with his better judgement Harry agrees, not that it changes his consistent mind. If there is one measly thing Harry knows how to do right it’s protect. “I have to.”

Underneath him, Louis tense. “Sometimes I really hate you.” Ironic how the tables have turned; at the start of their friendship he had really hated Louis a lot of the time. Now Harry adores him, breathes him, and Louis is suffocated by him. Which is for the best.

“I know, ‘m sorry.” He is. So sorry for being this way. Especially towards Louis.

“Not sorry enough, apparently. It doesn’t change anything, does it?” Well, he has always been scarily attuned to him, and sometimes Harry wishes they ran on different frequencies; but they really don’t. Over the years they’ve leeched onto each other for everything; disappointment, anger, pain, love, happiness, comfort. They have traded and shared and fed on each other’s every emotion. Every time Harry returned home they became more inseparable.

“No." He hates to have to confirm it.

“Okay,” Louis says, obviously upset as his nails draw up his shoulders in silent reproof. “What about right now then? While we are being honest, and not dickheads. Can I make my own decisions right now, Mr. Control-Freak?”

“That’s a shit idea. You already have enough power over me without decision making.” It’s true. His damn heart is stuck underneath Louis’ little shoes 

“Don’t take this from me, or so help me God I will never talk to you again.”

“That’s kinda hard,” he smiles slowly. “We share the same living space.”

“Don’t underestimate my ability to be as cruel as you.” A concrete thought that kills any amusement.

“I don’t. You’re cruel, and I know it.” But you’re not so cruel because too many times I’ve made you cry being the crueler one.

“Ace. Now. I have another question. Will you have my sachet?”

As his brows knit in confusion Harry takes the moment to search for any trace of such a thing in his memory. Realisation is a thousand bricks to the head. The box in their hidden safe where the omega preserves his collection of precious jewels–gems, diamonds, gold, pearls, the whole package. A secret collection Louis hasn’t let anyone see (aside from Harry).

“No. That’s yours. You love your box. You’ve been adding to that collection forever. Since when? Seven?”

“Yeah. And I don’t want it anymore.” Louis sounds so thoughtful. With his constant unpredictable nature Harry might actually believe it. But it’s been fourteen years that the boy’s been improving his collection, and once Louis is truly attached, it’s a permanent bond.

“Liar,” he says softly, tracing the lacy tops of the thigh-highs over his left thigh. “What’s the real reason? ‘Cause I am not buying that. Once you love, it’s hard and endless. You don’t let anything you love so much go.”

“I just…I want you to have it. Watch over it for me.” So sincere, so soft.

“I don’t want it.” I’ll fuck it up. I’ll ruin it.

“I know…but it’s either you or I give it away.” The mere mention of Louis giving his most prized possessions away bashes at him.

“That box is worth a fortune. You can’t just…give it away.”

“I’m worth more than those bloody jewels. I’m bloody wealthy enough. It’s nothin’ I can’t afford to lose.” God, that’s fake, Louis is worth so much more, because he is who he is. A male omega heir. That’s not what matters to Harry though. Hell, Louis could have presented Alpha or Beta, a nobody, a beggar on the streets, whatever, and he would still be worth more than jewels. “I will just have to give it away then. Moving on.” He isn’t bluffing. It’s in his tone.

“Wait,” Harry mutters, and takes a deep breath before, “Alright. Have it your way. I’ll write you a check for it tomorrow.”

“What,” the boy sputters, and that he’s stunned him streaks satisfaction through him. “No! No! This isn’t a damn sale. It’s…Ugh. Don’t twist this around on me! You want to play? Fine. Forget it. I am giving it away.”

“No, you’re not,” he growls, lifting his face to stare down at critically. Even under the intensity, Louis is bold. “You aren’t the only wealthy one, paradise. I’m paying. It’s not up for negotiation.”

“I refuse. It’s mine. I do what I want with it. Therefore, you can piss off,” Louis hisses, bottom lip jutting in a petulant pout.

In this moment their eyes bore. The bottomless pools are heated with a stubborn flare. Somehow his stare falls to the boy’s mouth. “You’re so annoying.” And his lips are definitely kissable; red and bitten raw.

“Says you, queen of annoying.” How his mouth parts to form words, how his breath is warm on Harry’s mouth, mesmerizes him. Those lips would look so sexy stretched around his cock. “And will you look at me? Not my mouth.”

Damn it. Leave it to Louis to call him out on his perverted thoughts. Instantly, he returns to his ocean eyes, narrow and stormy with kittenish fury. “Yeah, thanks. Now, moving on.”

“This isn’t over.”

“Whatever,” Louis dismisses, then, candidly, “Am I ugly to you? Not only physically, but on the inside too.”

Like he’s been slapped, Harry recoils from the question, tries to get the fuck away, but Louis clutches him close. “No! Answer me, damn it!”

“That has nothing to do with anything.”

Now, the boy shrinks back into the mattress; and vicious waves are crashing into his ribcage with the hurt look Louis tries so hard to hide. 

“Why?”  His voice is so small now. “What's so wrong with me?”

“Louis, I–,”

“Please, just tell me the truth. What about me is such a turn off?” 

“Nothing. Goddamn it, you're too good for me, paradise…Wanting more,” Harry’s voice is hoarse, grated. "I could never do that to you. Put that pressure on you, this stress...I can't have you, that's always been the problem. I don't deserve more."

His tongue darts across his bottom lip, and Harry almost repeats the movement with his own, arousal starting to fire off in his nerves.

Louis looks at him weirdly. Everything is going to be so weird now... “Says who?”

Is that an offer? “I don’t want to talk about this,” he mutters uncomfortably.

“Of course not. You don’t want to talk about anything ever. Well I don't buy it, H. Any of it. I was built for this, you.” Glassy, the blue solidifies into ice. “And you know…I think it’s so funny that you find those trashy sluts better than me. Like they could ever amount.”

“I don’t. They couldn’t.” You’re Louis Tomlinson, my paradise. 

“Shut up. I’m not finished.” When he clenches his jaw, Louis persists, “You make no sense. You want me so bad, it kills you to think ‘m with anyone else.  You think I don’t see it? I’m not stupid, and 'm not a pup anymore. I’m here, naked and open for you, and you can’t even get hard. 'M all dressed up for you, and you still don’t want me. God, what is it about me?" 

“I’m not…'S not you, paradise. You're...perfect. You deserve so much better than this...What you're trying to bring back...it's better off left alone.” Please, don’t tell me things like that. Don’t let darkness into your body. Please, don’t make me want it any more...

“I know…” Louis says, sounding out of breath. “I know that.”

The weight of those words is crushing. “Don’t stop,” his voice trembles as he buries his face in the boy’s neck, needing the reassurance that even without any reason, the boy is staying. “Be brutal. I deserve it. Don't take it easy on me. Make me feel how I always make you feel. Don’t let this be something good.”

“Y-You’ve been around. You’re probably festering with disease.”

Disease of the mind, yeah. I’m so fucking sick.

“Monthly tests,” Harry informs blankly. “I’m clean.”

“Don’t defend yourself. Not when I’m trying to make you feel like dirt,” Louis hisses.

“I am dirt.”

With a sharp breath, Louis pauses, then, “No. You’re not. You’re bett’ah than that.” Yeah right.

“Just continue with your questions, paradise.”

There is no further pressing needed as Louis asks, “Have you ever…like been attracted to me, at all?”

Irritation shimmers to life, a curtain to shield the panic. “What the fuck is up with these irrelevant questions?” Harry spits. “The answer changes nothing. It means nothing.”

“Please…” Like he knows Harry can’t stand to not grant his every desire. He probably does. Soft, barely-there fingertips leave heated trails across his shoulder blades. “Please, H. It means something to me.”

“God damn it, Lou, yes. Yes I was attracted to you.” I always will be.

Louis whispers, “You promised to be honest.”

“And I am,” the alpha mumbles hoarsely, burning up at the mere thought. “Too honest. I meant it when I said you were beautiful. Every time I meant it. I couldn’t stop…feeling it. All I could think when I popped my first knot was you. God and after I always felt so sick, because you were so young still. You didn’t even think about that shit. Yet whenever you were rambling all wild and hyper I was trying not to tackle you and find out if you’d taste like vanilla breeze too.” By now his heart threatens to beat out of his chest, and he’s almost hyperventilating with the confession.

“Oh…” the omega mumbles, seemingly in a daze. “You’re…really serious.”

“Yeah. Yeah I am. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I did that. I’m sorry that any time you were angry at me I wanted to bend you over and fuck you ‘til you were screaming my name. I’m sorry I thought about you every single time up until I learnt self-control. I’m sorry I…couldn’t control it. I swear I tried. I was…I was just always with you in my head. I couldn’t get you out. I’m sorry when you called me crying because you presented omega all I could think was mine. I’m sorry I wanted to love you like that. And I don’t blame you if you want to kill me. It was wrong...but I promise after…after I left again I stopped. I didn’t ever do it again. Pinky promise.”

“I think…I think I need a moment to…not kill you.” When he lifts his face to look at him he’s slapped so hard across the face that blood shades his mouth, and stunned he does nothing to stop the boy from shoving him so he’s on his back. Nail’s catch and leave marks as Louis strikes out time and time and time again, in a vengeful fury. “Years!” he shouts into his face, followed by another slap. “For years you acted like you cared about my feelings and all you were thinking about was how I’d be in bed? So help me God I am going to cut your dick off! I told you everything! I poured my heart and soul out to you! I was s-so lost! I needed you to...to...Oh, God, H, this is bad. This is…This is so fucked!” With a broken noise, the omega starts at him and through the sharp pain Harry is lost to his magnificence.

Little chest heaving hurt breaths. Tears streaming down his flushed face. Hair sweat dampened from exertion and stress. Trying to make Harry hurt like he is.

Until Louis collapses on his chest from exhaustion, breathless. “I thought…I thought I was so disgusting because you wanted everyone else. And y-y-you let me think that! How could you d-d-do that to me? I thought you cared about me. H-How could you want my body, but not me?”

“I did care,” Harry says, equally out of breath, and his face throbs like hell. "You are all I've ever given two shits about, Louis! Because I wanted you does not mean I didn’t care. I wanted you. I hung on your every snarky word. I remember everything you told me ever.”

He only cries harder, trembling with the force. This is why I don’t talk. “Paradise…”

“Don’t call me that! Please, just don’t.”

“No, because you aren’t listening to me,” he says fiercely, staring up at the ceiling, wishing it would collapse and just end this. "Stop crying. Stop acting like you're the only one who... I gave you my all too. I listened to you for hours on hours when I really didn’t want to. I love when you get lost in that head of yours. I loved it then. I love it now. I remember how you were fifteen and still wanted bedtime stories. I remember how many times I read to you that summer. I took you stargazing because you begged to come. And I was happy I did because everyone was so quiet and into it. I liked it better when you were talking and I liked that we had to leave the group because you and Justin got into it. I taught you how to swim, Lou. I let you drag me snowboarding only for you to fuck up your foot. I held you when you were bawling your eyes out after or any time you didn’t get your way.

“I promised to be with you always. There was nothing sexual about any of it. Nothing sexual about watching you do your happy dances or cartwheels or when you got me to tell you my worst fear, which I refuse to ever say out loud again, or when I got you to tell me your biggest dream. Nothing sexual about when you told me you peed the bed twice dreaming about the Teletubbies or when I snuck into the Meditation Center because you couldn’t control your mouth with your dad. Or…or…when we had our first slow dance at your coming of age! I remember everything, Louis. All of it. Don’t say I never cared. C’mon, you know that’s bullshit. Give in to me.” 

“U-Unchained Melody,” is all Louis says through ragged sounds.

“I know,” Harry breathes soundlessly, letting his eyes slide shut just to find the memory again. “I remember." 

Honest, Harry doesn’t know why he’s showed up–certainly not to stand on the sidelines with swarming Mothers attempting to introduce their children (whom they claim to be perfect matches), or to watch Louis flirt shamelessly with other Alphas. Why the boy feels the need to throw himself at them when he’s so certain he’s going to present Alpha is beyond him.

Louis always has been. To this day, Harry doubts there’s an Alpha gene in his body.

Because Louis Tomlinson simply screams omega–even without having a prominent fragrance omega radiates from his pores, a beaming luminosity that draws every alpha within a five feet vicinity. Which explains why Harry can’t seem to stay away either–an instinctive attraction. Not to mention Louis won’t leave him alone–a stray puppy that seems to think Harry is his owner.

At the spiteful thoughts Harry winces; that would certainly have hurt Louis’ feelings. Which brings him to his next through: where is the little pest anyway?

It’s been ten minutes with no sight of him. This sets him on edge; Louis is not cautious whatsoever of the people around him, and Harry knows he’s been handed more than enough alcohol tonight. Sadly, even nobles have their perverts.

With a heavy sigh Harry waves away yet another ‘ideal match’ and motions to one of the stoic security guards lining the wall ask above the music, “Louis?”

Wordless, the male tilts his chin in direction of the archway leading out onto one of the many balconies. In seconds Harry starts that way, inwardly panicking because the thoughts he’s conjuring up aren’t pretty.

A grueling five minutes is what it takes to shove through the throng, and when he takes his first step outside the chill of winter greets him unkindly. Mercifully, the space is not very stretchy and opens directly onto the balcony.

And there he is; leaning on the stone frost laden railing with his face in his little hands, looking up at the partly veiled moon. It’s the most still and quiet Harry’s ever seen him: which means something’s wrong.

Even so…this is why everyone is so mesmerized by him.

Because he’s gorgeous. So damn Godly. With perfectly teased hair and golden features that have chiseled slightly over the years with maturity, though the eyes are what sets it all off. Clear bottomless blues that Harry’s always wanted to wash his soul in. Or drown in, that might be the best way to end all this.

“Why are you out here all alone, paradise? Shouldn’t you be enjoying your party? I mean, it’s your coming of age. You’re not supposed to be alone.”

Especially not with me...

The boy does not startle, nor does he spare him a look at those eyes as he sighs sadly, “Why’re you here? Really. Maxine told me what you said,” the slight slur to his voice symbols his intoxication. Without permission, Harry makes it over to him, where his warmth caresses his skin. Always warm, his Louis is.

“What exactly did Maxine say I said?” he asks, following his stare–tonight the moon is quite lovely. However, it’s plain in comparison to the lustrous boy beside him.

“You don’t wanna be here. With me.” Another oh-so-sad sigh as his body sways. A fool for him, Harry places a hand on his side, steadying him. “I thought me growing up would change your mind.”

“No. I don’t. And there is nothing to change.” There never has been, not on Louis' side. 

“Why’d you bother then?”

“Because you’re here,” he admits softly, trying to hate himself for the words. “Because you want me to be here. If you want me then I’m here. Always. You know this." 

“You shouldn’t pity me, ‘Az. I don’t need to be looked aft’ah anymore. So you can jus’…leave and do whatever you’d rather be doin’.” God, they fuck around too much...mostly because it feels so right.

Louis must be more mindful of his reputation though...

Closing his eyes, Harry inhales a reassuring breath. A scent fires at his olfactory sense. It’s so thin, and faint, that if he were inside with all the others he wouldn’t have caught it. It’s beach-y. A breeze. Or vanilla. Or both.

It's utterly lovely, starting a roaring fire in his body, even in this weather.  

A mere moment of lapsed control is all it takes for Harry to act out; somehow his hands circle Louis’ slim arms, and he forces his back to the balcony’s edge, dipping forward to nose at his jaw.

“What the hell, Haz?” the boy hisses, hands shoving at his shoulders though Harry inhales urgently, seeking the fragrance out. Wanting to live in it. 

It’s there on his skin; beach-breeze vanilla or something equally as compelling that steals his Alpha’s attention, causes his trousers to feel too tight.

“'S lovely ,” Harry whispers dumbly. “Are you wearing perfume?”

“When have I ever worn perfume?” Louis asks frostily. “Get off of me already!”

Reality always ruins it. In a haze, Harry jerks away, and Louis’ wide eyed stare makes him feel like a right blockhead. “Sorry, I just…You smell nice.”

A lovely pink kisses his pale cheek as Louis squirms, batting at his fringe nervously. “Oh. Huh. Ah, okay. Well, um, see ya inside!” He actually tries to make for the crowd inside but of course Harry takes his arm again fast. “Wait, wait.” When the boy snarls, slightly panicked, “No, I have…guests to entertain! Get lo–,”

“What is it? What are you hiding from me?” he asks intensely, reeling him in to tuck two fingers underneath his chin so he has no choice but to look him in the eye. The icy specks of fear in his sapphire eyes makes his throat feel tight though it doesn’t stop him from pressing, “Tell me. Right now. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, God," he snaps grudgingly. “Get your paws off ah me.” 

“Something's going on. You're never like this with me. You aren’t ever scared to talk to me,” Harry breathes in confusion, and the doubt in Louis’ darting eyes are wasp stings to his chest. “What did I do? Y’know Maxine was just talking shit. I don’t even talk to her. Ever.”

“I-It’s not that,” Louis mutters, and Jesus his face is scarlet now. “It’s…I dunno, I feel…weird, okay?”

Concern lances through his veins. “Weird how? Sick? Are you feeling ill, pup? Do you need–?  

“No,” the boy raises his voice a little to cut through his. “No. I’m not sick. Relax. I’m just…feeling off.”

Realisation settles over him in a rush of lucidity. “Off like…presentation off?” So soon? I can't miss it...

“No! No, it’s not that! Not yet. You just…You smell nice, too, okay. And you’re making me feel weird. Like, um, like soft? And I am not soft!” You are so soft. “I’m n-not, okay? I’m not soft. Please…I…” the panic is deep in his voice, and his lashes are becoming wet with it too.

“Hush,” Harry breathes, nosing at his temple to do what he does best lately: lie. “You aren’t soft, baby. Not soft at all.” Christ, why does he always go out of his way to please him like this? Never will Harry understand the aspects of them, or what they are. Never will he understand Louis’ inability to accept who he is meant to be. His utter fear of it...himself. 

With a heavy breath, the boy sinks into him, and he loves when Louis allows him the privilege of touch. Nobody else receives it. Not like this. Not with Louis’ hands small fists against his chest, his mouth against his collarbone, for once quiet and simply there to savor, all soft and–the spell is shattered when Louis mumbles, “I gotta go. For real. My slow dance is coming up. I-I need to be there. James is waiting for me.”

Tension clasps his shoulders as Harry murmurs tightly, constricting his arms around Louis’ waist (when had this happened?). “Screw James. All your slow dances belong to me.”

“But that's so rude and–,”

“No. You already made me pinky promise. So either you run along and tell James to fuck off or I will. And if I do it, it’s not going to be pretty.” Because two teenage alpha claiming the same mate (presented or not) would be a bloody mess to deal with, literally. 

The boy distances them just enough to unleash round eyes, though after minutes realizes Harry is serious and placates, “Okay, okay! I’ll tell him it’s off. Just don’t getcha knickers in a bunch. Jeez.”

At the entry, Louis pauses, looking back at him with soft, affectionate eyes that reminds Harry that in the end he is still him. Paradise. Even if Louis can’t see it yet...

“Thanks, Haz. For always telling me what I need to hear. I guess thank you for being such a liar.” With a whimsical giggle, Louis scampers off, slender form fitting into the crowd. Harry has the damnedest urge to to tear himself to shreds.

Fifteen minutes pass with no reappearance from Louis.

As his Alpha’s agitation intensifies, Harry decides to seek him out, plowing through bodies of laughter and activity. Except then it’s quiet, and those on the crowded dance floor disperse like roaches in the light. What this reveals clouds his vision in a deep, deadly crimson.

Rage infests his entire system as Harry storms over to where James holds him around the waist in the middle of the dance floor. By now his canines have pushed further out of his gums, and his eyes must be red with the murder he aches to commit as James looks ready to piss his pants. “You wanna step away,” Harry suggests through clenched teeth. “Or do I have to move you myself?”

“ Harry!” Louis hisses, grabbing his arm though Harry shrugs out of his weak hold to crowd the other boy, standing proud and tall. “Well?”

“Hey, mate, chill!  I didn’t know he was with you!” James squeaks, dark eyes darting from him to Louis in confusion.

“I’m not!” Louis cries angrily. “H, back off!”

Disregarding him, the Alpha murmurs, “This is it, Jordan. I really don’t want to have to do anything–,” before he’s even finished the other scurries away, and his Alpha snarls in victory though Harry straightens and offers his hand to Louis. A smaller one lands in his, little fingers tight and crushing as Harry reels him in, finding his slim, soft waist and leaning in to speak into the curve of his ear. “That wasn’t very nice. I hate you for that. Satisfied?”

"Quite actually." 

One arm slides around his shoulders. An old, slow tune sweeps over the atmosphere, “I do enjoy it when you’re all alpha-y. Total turn-on.”

Such an omega. Honestly, Louis is lying to himself when he looks in the mirror and doesn’t see a manipulative, achingly soft omega staring back.

‘Oooooh, my lo-looove,’ a man sings softly. ‘My darling…”

“Yeah well I don’t appreciate you purposely making me all alpha-y.” Which is nothing new.

‘And time can do so much, are you still mine? I need your love…’ By now he’s moving to the tune with his nose buried in Louis’ soft hair  

“Wait for me, wait for me,” Harry breathes, the lyrics tattooed to his damn heart. “I’ll be coming home, wait for me…”

Louis sways elegantly, breathing back, “You’re making me feel weird again.”

Good. He rests his head on Harry’s shoulder nonetheless. It feels right. They fit. “I love it when you’re all Omega,” the Alpha sneers because this is how he gets when he’s scared. Mean.

The boy goes right and misses a beat. Really, not right. “I didn’t really mean that…”

“Just shut up,” Louis sighs. “Shut up, and make me feel omega some more.”

“Styles, are you even listening to me?” An enraged shriek tears through his reverie, hauls him back here, where he’d rather not be. It is what it is.

Rapidly, the alpha blinks to find Louis on his knees beside him, flushed pretty. “Of course not. Well while you weren’t listening, I asked why it didn’t last.”

It’s honestly such a pathetic story. One that burns behind his eyes, that broke his damn thrown. To his ears his own voice with excruciating clarity, “’Cause, I mean why would it last? I had nothing to offer you. I didn’t want you to be some meaningless lay and destroy our friendship. I would never do that. Plus, I wasn’t there for you…and you were aware of that.” Though Harry means to shut the fuck up… “Do you remember how your dad would always mention our inevitable union?” Christ, this is so not happening–his eyes burn (more due to the lack of blinking than any tears) as Louis says, “Yes?” There’s also an anxiety in his voice that leaves the impression that he knows where this is headed. What particular time he speaks of.

“Summer ’09. You were fifteen. I dunno when or how it really happened, but I remember one night you slept over and I told you, like I always did, that I really didn’t like you. Before you laughed it off, like you always did, you looked like I’d crushed all your hopes and dreams. I realized those words actually hurt you, that I was being pretty ridiculous. I mean…you were perfect. You were brimming with life and youth. You loved the little things. You were optimistic. Loud. Hyper. A little cruel. Still so humble. I loved it all. I loved you. Like loved-loved you. I couldn’t stand thinking you might find someone else while I way away if I didn’t do something..."

A bitter laugh crawls up his throat as he blinks away the tears. “I was leaving that day, but I just had to ask. To know. I couldn’t wait. One of the butlers let me in, nice bloke. You and your parents were in the third floor sitting room. I was about to come in when I heard you dad bring it up again. Us. I didn’t mean to listen in or anything. But,” Another useless laugh. “I obviously did. I wanted to hear what you’d say, y’know? It wasn’t like you hadn’t shot down the idea before, but this time you laughed like it was so…ridiculous. You weren’t uncomfortable or shy or nervous... D’you remember what you said, paradise?”

Harry could never seem to forget... “Yeah, so. Don't worry, 'm over it now, but just so you know, because I never did explain myself, I didn’t mean to leave like that without a goodbye. But you can imagine I wouldn’t stick around after... Like what that fuck would I say? I have a shit temper. It would've made everything a lot worse. It was better off left like that.”

With a crystal-clear clarity Harry remembers that day; a memory he’d rather not delve into ever again.

There’s a crowd of silence before, “You heard me...”

Harry scowls at him. Of course he looks a wreck, like this hurts him so much. With his hand trembling over his mouth, and his eyes, already red rimmed and puffy, collecting enough tears to flood the whole house. “Don’t you dare cry for me, Louis. Don’t you dare feel bad for being true. Or so help me God I will lose my shit. I never treated you right. You had no reason to love me like that. Everything you said…It was right. I didn’t deserve your bond. I still don’t. But I am over it.” I have to be.

“No,” his voice breaks as he shakes his head wildly. “I-I didn’t know, Haz. I…Why didn’t you tell me before? I…Oh, no.”

Damn it, no, he’s not the one who fucked up. Wired, Harry diverts his stare and sits up to rub at the back of his neck. “So. There, now you know...”

With nothing more to say, Harry swallows, then shrugs helplessly. Yeah, time to go…Definitely. Yet, “I reckon you’re ready to leave now. ‘Cause that’s a lot of shit. I just... please don’t look at me different now. 'M really sorry about all this... I can drive you home? No, let me not. ‘M sure you probably want to not see me for a while anyway. Understandable. I will call one of the drivers. ‘Cause you shouldn’t drive right now. So, yeah, I’ll go…do that. Uh, I’m really sorry, for everything. I hope you can forgive me ‘cause I really need that. O-O-Or maybe I can like…Shit. Now I’m making you feel sorry for me. I just…I want you to know it wasn’t your fault. ‘S all on me.” Everything must be meant to be broken for me.

When there is only more nothing, Harry nods numbly. “Okay, going now.”

Yeah. Sure.

Zombie-like, Harry creeps towards the door, but a little broken noise reaches him first. Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore–

He’s never been able to leave Louis–who is the closest to heaven he’ll ever be.

It’s no shocker than he’s selfishly staying.

With an unsteady breath, and the weight of the world threatening to snap his neck, Harry lies back down slowly on the mattress, head towards the foot. What feels like miles away, Louis is curled up in a ball of limbs and tears. “I’m sorry I’m not sorry for the time I called you a tiny bug. That was possibly the best day of my life. Meeting you definitely makes top ten at least.”

Another wrecked noise.

“You know when you cry, I always feel like crying. You hurt, I hurt. You smile, I do too. I wish you’d smile right now.” It might make me feel like you understand that what doesn’t kill you makes you wish you were dead.

“H-How can I smile wh-when I feel so sick?” Louis gasps around all Harry’s wear-and-tear. 

“Well, remember all those better times? Like two weeks after you turned eleven you ran around your house in your Mum’s robes telling all the staff we were to be mated. You were stark underneath. That was funny. I wish I could’ve seen that, even though the idea was damn gross back then. And then a few months before that we were in love. God, we were in love, Lou.” A raincloud must be over him because his face is pretty wet. “I was counting on forever, too. Even though I didn’t really think it was love-love. Remember?"

“O-Of course.”

“We've got a shit ton of history, babe,” he smiles softly. “All the best times of my life." All buried beneath the ash of a fire that burned out before it ever had a chance to really rise. Harry just never stopped thinking it might re-ignite, always wanting him a little closer, a little longer. “All these drugs don't even really kill any of the pain. I wanted them to. I've needed them to...but I’m breaking everyone I love by trying to save myself in the wrong ways, aren't I? My parents…Dad. I-I saw him a few months ago. Well, I sought him out really. Dunno what I was looking for, going to his estate in London. He was pretty surprised to see me ‘cause it’s been…so long. I know you two talk like every day, but…

”He cried, Lou. I made Supreme Styles cry! He told me…it’s time to stop living for yesterday. ‘Cause apparently it’s over now, and I can fix it now. And if I can't then I can't be his heir anymore. Who the fuck will I be then? What will all this have been for? I wanna listen, I want to so bad...I don’t want to wake up one day and find I have nothing because I wasted my life away. B-But I just can’t seem to find anything reparable.”

“I-It’s there,” Louis breathes erratically. “It’s there. You’re still here, Haz. We're g-g-oing to make this work.” I want to believe that.

“Mmm. How ‘bout that time I was so convinced I failed my admissions. You forced me to come flower picking with you. I didn’t understand how that was supposed to make anything better. Somehow having that bloody flower crown in my hair did. Or maybe it was how many times you told me how brill I was. I believed it, ‘cause you were ten, and still believed honesty was the best policy.” Salty wet trickles down his face, between his lips.

“I always tried to make up for all that missing time, y’know. Remember I took you to that one party on the beach...God, you were so lovely, dancing, living your life...not giving a damn, breaking your parents' rules, society's rules, mine. I watched the entire time. I had some bird in my lap but all I could see was you. And I wasn’t the only one either. It's always been like that with you though for everyone. You've always been so…effortless and untouchable. There was nothin’ wrong in the world when your toes were in the sand and a bottle in your hand. Then you started running towards the shoreline and I had to tackle you in the water. You said we were playin’, but I was freaked out. That really freaked me out. You scared the hell out of me.

“And you’re such a blackout drunk I reckon you don’t remember this ‘cause I never mentioned it, but you begged me to fuck you in the sand. You whispered the words I'd always wanted to hear. But you were plastered, and you didn’t know what the hell you were saying. I had to carry you, drunk and loud and soaking wet, to the car, and then upstairs to my room because we couldn’t go to yours without your Dad skinning me ‘cause you were only seventeen and it was damn well past your curfew. You were so pissed. You know I’ve always hated when you didn’t get your way or what you wanted. Not because your attitude or how you’d act after. I want you to always have whatever it is you desire.” And I want to be the one to give whatever it is to you. 

“You’ve always spoiled m-me. 'S probably why we vibe the way we do."

“I know. You can’t imagine how I hated not being able to make love to you in the sand.”

Louis snivels, and then whimpers, “Y-You weren’t even tipsy.” That’s what makes it worse.

“At the end of the night I really didn’t care about anything else. Nothing was as special to me as knowing you were safe and in my bed asleep. You’re so beautiful. So unaware of your beauty, your strengths...I think that was the only time I really took care of you. Believe me...I never wanted to stop after that.” Christ, lovely, now he sounds pathetic.

“I-I wish I c-could remember.” Would things have been different? If I gave you the impression I could have done it?

“'M happy you don’t. It’s mine. You just have to trust me when I say it was one of the best moment’s we’ve had.”

“I don’t.” I don’t blame you.

“I really can’t choose a best,.. I quite enjoyed when you told your Dad we were in love and eloping, though. I almost spit tea all over the place. I swore he was going into cardiac arrest when you dragged me out of that room. He was going to kill me, Louis. You knew it, didn’t you? Loved that us being in love was so believable.”

“Yes.” Have we been living in sin because we’ve been really in love and living as friends?

I should’ve just asked your Dad for permission that day. We wouldn’t have needed to elope. Our love would have been easy.

&&

Curled up, Louis suffocates his sobs in order to listen to the thick drawl of Harry’s voice. The words are echoes of the past, of what they were. As his heart weeps, the denial that had become a thin film over Louis’ vision…clears. Shedding an entirely new light on his memories...

Even in shambles, an irreplaceable emotion builds within him; shimmers in his veins, warms his blood, supports his sensitive heart. And oh God suddenly it’s not all so bad.

Because Harry is here, with him, reminding him of who they are, who they’ve always been. As the omega shakes, his Harry shows him what he couldn’t see back then in quiet, fond words that rattle his bones.

They are not a tragedy.

Not then, not now.

It all feels like so long ago, so far away, but it’s never disappeared because they won't let it.

Louis feels like a demon from the darkest pits of hell, because he’d always thought it was Harry. Harry who ruined their chances, who turned his back on any bonded future for them…but no, no it was him. Louis gave up. They had been so close to what he’d always begged God for every night before bed, what he longed for. 

So close.

But, of course, Louis just couldn’t shut his fat fucking mouth. What Harry didn’t hear couldn’t hurt him, right?

Of course he could never forget that day either because Harry had left him without any goodbye; not a word or a note or an anything. He stayed up the whole night with the frantic hope that maybe he hadn’t even left, or maybe he sent something, for anything to comfort him that he hadn’t just up and left.

When the sun peaked through any faith was shattered. Louis remembers spiraling into a conniption. Remember storming into Harry’s bloody room at 7 A.M. and destroying all his shit

Records. Clothes. Jewelry. Pictures. Furniture (don’t ask how that happened because Louis doesn’t recall doing it, just knows his hands bled afterwards). Anything his hands touched. Remembers locking himself in his wardrobe, and leaving a voicemail that still shames him to this day; ‘I destroyed you, really. You’re going to be s-s-s-so angry when you’re back. You wanna be free of me so bloody bad? Fine. I’m gone! I’m n-never calling you again! A-And don’t expect me to b-b-be here when you come home! I’m glad you left, too! I w-won’t miss you. There’s nothin’ to m-miss anymore. You sh-should just stay there! ‘Cause that’s all that matt’ahs, y-yeah! You’re makin’ me look crazy too! Your parents are t-trying to break the d-d-oor down! Y-You’re such a l-liar. You d-don’t love me! You just used me for your s-sick pleasure! Let’s see how I can break Louis this time! Hahahaha! Good fun! You sick motherfucker! I-I hope you regret this! Go die in a hole! I hate you! I hate you! I HATE YOU, HARRY STYLES.”

Remembers the door had been broken down, and the phone confiscated. Louis refused to cry in front of Harry’s parents, because they’d surely make a story out of Louis’ meltdown. So, he held his head so high, marching through his ruins in his batman pajamas, and promptly ran five miles home in the pouring rain.

The rain had been his savior on that day; because you honestly couldn’t tell raindrops from tears.

Remembers how scared he’d been when the Styles’ reported to his parents; how scared he’d been when Harry called him back–too scared to answer the one hundred plus calls.

“Remember that costume party as Niall’s?” his voice pierces the imprints of hurt. Oh, no. Anything but that disaster. “You were so upset because Li thought you were supposed to be an angel. You worked so hard on those costumes... You were so cute in your primadonna stage.” Oh, yeah. Louis was right pissed. Because an angel? An angel? Harry was the one with the bloody wings! 

Really, they were supposed to be Peter and Tinkerbell. Louis was bloody Peter. Only some minor adjustments had been made. Dressing Harry in black because that’s his colour, and black and green didn’t really match so Louis had opted for white instead. So the makeup hadn’t been ideal for Harry and Louis had thrown on some glitter. Louis was not, and never has been, a bloody makeup artist. He will always think Harry looked so fit in all black with little fairy wings, drippy eyeliner and flat ironed hair. It was a very good night for the nineteen year old alpha. “I looked ridiculous. Absolutely gross, paradise. My worst look yet. Meanwhile you looked gorgeous. In your white tights and boots. All glittery and flushed.”

But you didn’t even look at me like the others had?

At least Louis hadn’t noticed, not then. Now that he thinks back on it…yeah it was right in front of my stupid face. It was everywhere. Harry always looked so deliciously Alpha with blown pupils that made the mossy green of his irises thin rings, and thrillingly pointed canines that flashed whenever he spoke.

And he looked at him with an expression Louis always thought to be disgust, but in this light Louis thinks it was hungrier, and he had looked him up and down again and again.

Another soul-sucking sound wrings through him though Harry mutters, “Hey, I thought we looked like a Goth Peter and Tink. People are just wankers. Even Liam. That night was just rough though. I mean you poured fruit punch all over me! I still don't even know what I did.”

Louis can’t help the heat that creeps up on his cheeks. “Y-You tried to leave me for that bloody waffle.”

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah, I don’t know who let her dress like that, honest.”

“Well, you seemed to like it. Nasty.”

“I liked making you jealous. You’re adorable. But I didn’t expect an entire punch bowl to be dumped over my head. I think I nearly spanked the hell out of you right then and there. You remember how livid I was?” Yes. Scary. Even Niall, who encouraged him, had scurried away; the traitor had all but fed him to one angry shark.

“Yeah, you must. Because I definitely dragged you up to Ni’s room and tried it.”

Oh, no, no, no. Louis cannot think about that; but he can’t stop either.

He liked being manhandled and tasting fruit punch where he bit Harry in attempts to escape. He liked being tossed onto the bed in the dark and having Harry look at him like a target. He liked when being sprawled out on Harry’s knees and involuntarily perking his bum out for it.

But he did not like how Harry stopped without touching him. Or how he left. Or how he didn’t touch him ever again afterwards.

“I couldn’t look you in the eye for weeks after,” Harry whispers like it's a secret. “I was so ashamed. C-Cause I’d never…force you...”

Louis snivels. “I know. I know. You didn’t, H. You didn’t hurt me like that. You never have.”

“Except the other night…” he sounds so sick with himself that Louis shakes his head anxiously.

“You weren’t even awake. You didn’t mean to. And I…I wasn’t hurt. Anything but hurt. Not because you were um…touchin’ me at least. I was just upset because you wouldn’t ever do it awake. You think…I’m ugly or summat.” You don’t know how to love me when you’re sober.

“Don’t say that, Louis. I don’t think you’re ugly. How many times must I say you are beautiful before you believe me? You don’t need me to say it for it to be true, anyway. You should already know that.”

A fresh bout of tears tumble down his cheeks as Louis whispers, “I-If I tell you something, will you promise not to look at me d-differently?”

“You can tell me anything. I will never see anything less than the bloody stars out of you.”

Louis smiles watery and begs any God listening to let this be true. “I, ah, I just want you to know I know…I know how you must feel all the time. Maybe not so bad, but I, ah, I realized I actually do know what you mean by followers.” I just had one.

Louis doesn’t see it coming, but then Harry Styles looms over him, and he is trapped by long, lean muscle. Above him, the alpha looks…ominous, haunted.

“What does that mean?” his thin voice is frantic.

All the residual shame from being reduced to such a helpless creature torrents through him as Louis closes his eyes, and decides this is a bad idea when the scene comes to life behind his eyes. No.

Louis can’t go back there.

So, the boy seeks out Harry’s eyes, the irises still so clear, the mossy colour lightened towards emerald with his alarm. It’s in these seconds that Louis’ bones are still, all the strength he needs is right there, in Harry’s eyes. “I was there once, too,” Louis mumbles, toying with the ends of his curls.

“This man…Robert…that was his name. H-He, um…Well, I shouldn’t skip detail so. You were away. I was seventeen at the time. I d-dunno. He stalked me for two whole years. You know m-me…I never bothered to be aware of my surroundings so it was kind of my own fault I never realized until…I-It happened a week before you came h-home. I was just walking back home from Zayn’s. I took a bloody shortcut. I forgot to inform the guards that I was going.

I realized he was following me three blocks down, but I figured I could make it home because I run pretty fast. T-then he started using that voice... And I…I won’t bring you into the gruesome details. I was just scared, H. I was really scared for a long time afterwards. I thought he was still following me. I knew rationally he wasn’t because he was locked away, still is, b-b-but I just…I felt like he was always there. All the time. Every second of every day. I know…I know how it feels to be scared to close your eyes or step outside your house. I just…I know how that feels.”

“That’s not possible,” Harry says, and the wild focus in his eyes makes Louis feel small. “That’s not possible, Louis. That’s not…nobody…how?”

“I felt ashamed. I felt helpless and pathetic. Dad made sure it was okay. So the press…the story was never leaked. I don’t remember most of it, so it’s...I've moved on now. I forget what the doctors called it, but I think my brains blocked it out.”

“Paradise…” his voice is so much more alpha, thick and dominant. And there is a darkness in his eyes that Louis doesn’t want there, that nobody wants there. Louis feels the walls of his skull caving in because the crystals trapped in Harry’s eyes look so much like the ones to help suppress his sorrows. “Paradise, no…Not you. Please, not you…”

He’s shaking with an earthquake that’s hurting all the best parts of him.

Louis feels like molding to him, like crawling into his heart, and spreading all his love through his body to heal his soul, to make his mind the place it used to be. To be his. Because this is it; this is the only alpha fate’s given him.

And he wouldn’t let him go if any other ever came along.

&&

Every razor Harry once used to disperse his precious powder slices away at his brain. Excruciating. Painful. Awakening.

God, he’s so awake. Louis’ eyes have become mirrors; and the reflection is so clear. The greens of his eyes are so clear.

“I’ll kill him,” his voice is so broken, and he needs to alleviate this sickness now. “I’ll murder him. I’ll…I’ll…”

“No,” Louis breathes, caring fingers tacking back the emotional outlet. Stroking the tears from his face. “I want him to know he didn’t ruin me. I want him to know I’m okay. I’m happy. I want him to live knowing that I’ll never be his.” Always so strong. A solider.

“I wasn’t there…I wasn’t there. There would be…nothing to…if I just…”

“It was meant to happen. I wouldn’t have been able to understand you if it hadn’t,” Louis disagrees softly.

“I don’t care,” Harry shouts. “I would rather you not understand me. I never wanted…Louis…” and it breaks and cracks and becomes something worse; a sob. “No. You’re so good. You’re so…You aren’t supposed to go through shit like that. You’re…You’re…"

“Why are you letting this break you, Harry?”

“Because nobody should ever haunt you! You should know nothing but kindness! And I failed to make sure it was maintained. I wasn’t here…I wasn’t…I left you…I…left…” When we were together, we never turned our backs on each other…but every time I left I turned mine on you.

“Stop it! This is why nothing changes, H. You live in the past. You don’t let anything go. You left me! But it would’ve happened anyway! You couldn’t be with me every minute! You need to…realise you can’t change what’s already happened.” By the time he’s finished his chest is heaving and Harry is clinging to him.

“You shouldn’t be sorry, silly,” Louis says breathlessly. “Everyone thinks it won’t be them. I didn’t think it’d be me. I didn’t think it’d be you. But it is what it is. Until you understand that it’s over, you’re stuck. You can’t save everyone. You just can’t. But there is nothing irreparable about you. And I’m sorry you can’t look in the mirror and see yourself right now. I’m sorry you think about putting bullets through your head because you don’t want to watch yourself deteriorate. I’m sorry you can’t just be fixed in the blink of an eye.” Which means he’s read the notes.

“Yeah, I read ‘em. They scared the fuck out of me. You terrify me with those thoughts! And you know what,” Wide, serious blue eyes stare back at him through the blur. “I will follow your arse to the grave, Styles. I’m not meant to be without you. Don’t you get it by now? So help me God if you try to be a natural disaster and leave gunpowder all over your mouth I’m going to have to be a self-induced disaster and throw myself off a fuckin’ bridge.”

The mere thought terrifies him, has him holding Louis so tight he can’t breathe. He’s gasping. “No. Don’t do that. Never ever do that, paradise.”  

“Get better. Please. Please, don’t leave me alone again… Don’t make it permanent this time. ‘M so scared all the time that I’m going to come home a-and you’re not going to be breathing. Please, stop giving me panic attacks when you don’t answer the phone. Please, stop giving me panic attacks when you take a whole minute to tell me you’re coming to greet me at the door. Please, don’t lock yourself in your room. Don’t leave me to a written I love you goodbye. Because you won’t be killing your demons, Harry, you’ll be leaving them to me.”

He doesn’t know at which part he falls apart, but then he’s on his side with Louis tucked small against him. He’s still clinging to the small boy. “I won’t, I won’t,” breaking over and over with the demons looking for out of his skull, wanting out at the prospect of having Louis instead, pure and innocent. “I won’t leave you with them.”

Sometime during this Harry blacks out. Exhausted from withdrawal, from overload, from life.

The escape is momentary, but it’s what he needs to find some semblance of himself again.

&&

Ice rains down on Harry, drowning him. With a disgruntled groan he tosses onto his side, trying to escape the cold.

“Oh! Oh! Okay! Movement! Sound! That’s good. You’re not dead…” A whimsical voice his alpha knows immediately chimes. “Yet.”

“Not anytime soon, Louis,” Harry mutters, burying his face in ocean breeze vanilla scented pillows. Smells so lovely, he could sleep here all day.

“And you said my name!” the boy gushes in relief. “And you aren’t crying! Progress.”

“Paradise, please. Let me sleep. ‘M so tired.”

“Okay,” Louis whispers nervously, shuffling. “Sleep, baby. But promise to get up and eat soon. ‘M going to get ready for class, yeah?”

“No. Stay. Skip the day.”

A shy, tiny giggle. “I can’t. I've got a group presentation today."

“Group presentation?"

“Mhm. On a PR campaign on illegal organ transportation." 

“Sounds like fun. I’m coming.” Despite the screams of his weak body, Harry sits up, anchored by the headboard as there are two Louis’s in his vision. Two very worried looking Louis’–ah, well, the more the merrier.

After blinking wildly, Harry’s vision finally focuses and Louis is damn well close to his face now. “No. Please. Stay, sleep. Sleep the entire day. Eat a cow. And then wait for me to come home because we have an appointment with your desk.”

Panic threatens to devour him at the thought of Louis discarding his sanity, before his palm greets his face. “Hey. Hey. We’ll talk about it first. Just…stay in my room today? ‘S comfy. There’s a telly. A stereo system with wicked bass. A mini fridge in the wardrobe for Niall. I’m sure there’s something in there. He won’t mind. The loo is right there. There’s this comfy bed with the canopy and…”

He zones out. Just closes his eyes and listens to the sound of Louis’ voice. It’s quite calming—even so pitchy. “Okay, Mum,” he mumbles, pink hitting his cheeks. “I’ll be fine. You’re forgetting I spend 95 percent of the time alone.”

Louis jerks away, and when Harry goes to reprimand him for taking back what grounds him, the boy is biting his lip and blushing beautifully. “Sorry.”

“Wait, I–,” but somehow in his mad scramble to reel the rushing boy back he falls over him, and knocks their foreheads.

They both wince. Louis glares, and Harry smiles sheepishly, “Oops.”

His face melts into a mischievous smile. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Harry breathes.

“You’re very wet right now,” Louis purrs suggestively.

It’s only then that Harry realizes he is, his hair is falling in his face and his chest is trickling with in. “You got me wet, pup.”

It’s serious—but he’s laughing. Really laughing as Louis giggles in delight, and lurches up to kiss his cheek. It’s so warm. His mouth is. So are Harry’s cheeks.

“I did, didn’t I?” The sound dies immediately as his nerves spark. Which Louis catches, “Hey. Hey, no. Don’t stop. You haven’t witch cackled in a long time.

Which, lovely, not like he needed the reminder. “Oh, damn it. That was the wrong thing to say, wasn’t it? I’m such a knothead…I don’t…”

There he goes again, a bullet released from its chamber. Something aches in his chest. He’s missed this so much. Missed touching him. Really feeling the contact, and listening to him ramble.

“Louis,” he interrupts, watching the Omega’s mouth go lax and his eyes round. “I was rambling, wasn’t I? I don’t know why I do that. It’s not even like–,”

“God, paradise, shut up,” but it’s fond, and he can’t help his grin.

“Hi stranger,” Louis whispers, all dreamy like.

“Huh.”

“Hi, Haz.”

“Okay, hi, Louis?”

They boy wears a weird expression now. All silly and adorable. Not that it doesn’t make him feel lighter. A few tons off the weight. “Stay, yeah? I missed you. Stay.”

Oh. Right. The mood. This mood is way too nice–the drugs would never allow this. “If we’re lucky,” Harry mutters, and rolls away. “You’re gonna be late."

“You don’t even know the time,” Louis points out petulantly.

“I’m implying that I’d like you to leave.” 

"'M sure you can't wait to get rid of me."

Harry rolls his eyes then stares at the ceiling of the bed frame. Mahogany. Classy. 

“And fyi this is still my room, I come and go as I please. You can borrow it. If you can stay sober.” Louis gets out of bed then rushes to get ready, humming an old tune he's heard many times before. I miss your voice, I miss your smile that I used to get lost in. I hate myself for running from you, for losing touch...

Harry turns his face to watch him through the slit in the thick canopy.

“I know you’re lookin’. I get it now, 's a good look for me." Too good to be true really. 

Harry should look away, but he doesn't. Can't even. 

Louis sits up so straight on his vanity chair, undoes the garter with quick fingers and peels the thigh-highs down. Showing off inch by inch of creamy skin then parting his legs to present him with an erotic view of silky panties that hardly cover his pretty cock. His blood runs hot with dangerous desire. 

The material flutters to the floor.

All at once he’s up again and sashaying to the drawer bare-arsed. What an arse too, so perky and full with no sign of the panties, just lace around his thin waist. A killer arse. 

Head spinning, Harry doesn’t breathe–his knot full as his dick begs get up in him.

And the sweetest part: how Louis stumbles around squeezing into those ripped jeans. How they hug his hips and thighs as he giggles, fumbling with the button.

“They’re new,” Louis whispers shyly, “And very very tight apparently.”

“They look…nice,” Harry croaks.

The omega snorts. “They’ll have to do. Now a shirt, hmm,” he smiles wickedly, scampering back over to the bed and crawling to the other side where Harry’s shirt, a plain white V-neck is caught in the blankets. “Perfect, now, I–,”

Mindless, railed with instinct, Harry pins the boy on his back, braced over him as he gasps. “Haz stop doin’ that!” He doesn’t push him away nonetheless. Harry searches his face for any traces of fear or discomfort, but there’s nothing but round oceans that dance with curiosity, and sharp cheeks that are kissed by a delicious rose, and a parted supple mouth...

Tracing down his body Harry at last discovers the last bit of pink remaining; loose over his soft torso and belly. The sparkle of the diamond nestled between his collarbones catches his attention.

At the sight, an overwhelming, possessive instinct flares within him once again.

At the wrong time, the alpha realizes he wants to mark him. Mark him as his. Christ, he wants that special scent all over him so no other will even go near him. So that they will know whom he belongs to. So that they will fear the repercussions of wanting to possess him for themselves.

Except he knows he has no right to do that. This boy ain’t his. Despite all the night has unfolded…Louis is not his.

Underneath him, the omega squirms, and when Harry forces his stare to meet his round, innocent eyes, bottomless in their shade of sapphire. “Haz?” Concern drips in his voice. “What’s wrong?”

Harry makes to pull away, but the boy catches his face in small, dainty hands. “You okay?”

“No,” it’s his voice, but wrong, unstable as his weight sinks into Louis. A gasp floods their space as his cock, tenting his trousers, presses tight to his soft belly. “No, ‘m not. I haven’t been for a while.” On their own accord his hands work; somehow his fingers sweep his ruffled fringe from his face, and he palms the sharp jut of his hipbone over the denim, squeezing to carry the lacy top up. Desperate to savor this, Harry buries his nose in Louis’ thin silky hair, inhaling the scent.

Cruel, his ribcage constricts around his heart, but it’s barely felt with the soft pressure on his cock as Louis lets out a tiny noise that makes his eyes roll into the back of his head. “Remember what happened when I gave you those tags?”

“Yes,” Louis mumbles, breathing shallowly.

His body has definitely taken its power over the situation. “I want that again. I want to kiss you. Will you let me?”

When the boy hesitates Harry can’t say he blames him. This isn’t them. This has never been them. Clearly Louis knows this, too. It could have been them. But it can’t be anymore.

“Ignore me. I’m sorry, I–,”

“No. It’s just…new. Why d’you want to kiss me?”

Because my Alpha thinks you’re mine. I’m starved for you. “Was stupid, I was…I don’t know. I’m sorry.” Yet his nose is still in his hair, and his hand is still toying with his lacy little slip.

Once Harry musters the strength to start away, Louis’ hand land on his biceps, then whispers, “Do it, please. Kiss me.” Do you think you’ll ever need me, love, more than I need you?

A moment of weakness. A moment of need. Whatever it is…it is.

Harry leans into him and puts his mouth right on the omegas, brushing his lips hesitantly.

Louis runs his hands up his arms, leaving goosebumps as he encourages breathily, “’S okay. More.”

Clinging to control, Harry strokes his mouth with more pressure then tries to ease back. Louis follows, keeping them together, and before he can stop himself he runs his tongue across the velvet flesh of his bottom lip.

With a soft sigh Louis parts his mouth and he has no choice but to take a taste, couldn’t possibly turn away...

His tongue is in Louis’ soft wet mouth, tasting the delicious contours as the boy lets out a breathless mewl that straights need through him. His tongue meets Harrys with a soft flick that sets a fire off in his groin.

As he tries to get even closer, alarms ring in his head, reminding Harry just how desperate an alphas bond can be when he has his omega horizontal and underneath him.

“Paradise, I…should stop.” In another minute he’s going to have him on his belly and his jeans down his thighs.

“No,” the omega mumbles, beseeching. “Just a little more.”

“Louis, ‘m getting raw. You aren’t thinking–,”

“Don’t stop, Haz...” Cared for nails dig into his shoulders, the sting cutting in a series of delicious flares. With a ragged breath Harry takes his mouth. Bad idea.

The harder Harry kisses him, the harder Louis kisses back until he’s dominating his mouth, teeth clamping down on his bottom lip.

“Oh,” Louis sighs, so puzzled, so sexual, the alpha rewards him by sucking softly, every muscle twitching to mount him proper.

Because the boy is squirming underneath him, and moaning breathily into his mouth until he painful line of his cock swells at the base. It’s the taste of him, the taste of his mouth, so sweet, taking his mind to another place that’s so wet the perfume is everywhere; spellbinding, for him. Knowing this, the pleasure that shouldn’t exist is deep, endless. Terrifying.

Already on edge, Harry tears away, considers running, considers carrying on with this, and settles on holding him because neither are possible when his Alpha is crazed and possessive like this. As his mouth rises to Louis’ temple, the boy pants underneath him. “T-That was nice.”

“Yeah,” his voice is raspy.

“C-Can we do that again?”

“Yeah.” His hands spread his thighs as his tongue teases Louis’ again. Responsive, the boy’s legs circle his waist, heels digging into his back as his hands fist his hair, anchoring them. The sharp pain from the yanking thrills him, causes his cock to throb as he holds his weight again, keeping his hands to himself. “You’re so sweet,” he groans into his mouth, taking his bottom lip between his teeth again just to hear that gasping whimper.

‘I gotta pocket gotta pocket full of sunshine,’ pierces through their haze as Louis mumbles, “No, no, not now…”

“Time to get ready?” Harry asks, which gives him fifteen more minutes to strip 

“No. Time to go, that’s my second alarm!” Louis moan miserably.

“Stay.”

“Let me up or I have to leave with this slip on,” Louis threatens, even as his hands stroke the sharp blades of Harry’s shoulders, causing his muscles to bunch.

Not willing to risk that, Harry rolls away, staring blindly and trying to ignore the obvious bulge in his trousers.

Louis giggles, eyeing it suspiciously as Harry goes pink. “I’ll make it up to you when I get home.”

Which ain’t happening.

Harry doesn’t answer, just keeps staring because he hates watching Louis leave and foreshadow the future. Oblivious, Louis stands, fumbles around to finish dressing and slip into his white shoes while grabbing his bag and keys.

“Please, H,” Louis mumbles before going. “Don’t relapse today.”

“Pinky promise,” Harry mutters just to get him out.

“I’ve given up on those,” Louis whispers sadly, and doesn’t wait on an answer.

Without his presence, Harry lies there, listening to the whispered conversations starting from behind the entrance. The knocking. The scratching. How the door shakes under the force of their beckoning.

We’re supposed to be in love, he thinks again and again.

It’s only thirty minutes that he’s been alone when he finally finds his phone lying on the side table (had he left it there?).

‘Let us help you, help you, let us help you.’

Everyone wants to help him now. Funny.

Their calls become screeches until he’s nauseous trying to sleep, until he’s sitting up torn between scrubbing his skin raw and covering his ears.

Well. At least he tried–what’s behind the door greets him the second he opens it. And fuck it’ll help him alright. Without looking back, he takes its hand, smiles back and starts towards his only available help.

∞∞∞ 

“My, my, someone’s cramming,” it’s Liam who startles Louis whose nose is buried in a book he’d meant to finish weeks before his exam this evening. He’s always been such a bloody procrastinator. Awful habit.

“You’re sitting with me sixth hour,” Louis murmurs distractedly.

“Why ever?” Smug twat.

“I need to cheat off you, that’s why.”

“You know, Lou-Lou, cheating is–,”

“Never the way. Yeah, got it, Li-Li. Either way I’ll finish with better scores.” He smiles sweetly. It’s true, it’s one of his finest talents–coming out on top with little to no effort.

Shoulders slumping Liam mumbles glumly, “Twat.”

“Did someone say twat?” Aiden singsongs, plopping down beside Louis. “What was last night ‘bout, Tommo?”

An unflattering colour greets his face as Louis trains his eyes on his book, not really reading the words. “Nothing. Just fuckin’ around with H. Things got a little heated.”

“Is that what this is about?” Anger bleeds into his voice as his fingertips touch the faded bruise on his neck, then lowers to an almost nonexistent love-bite.  Louis flinches, then mutters without explaining, “No.”

Scrolling through his phone Liam asks conversationally, “Harry? How is he these days? Doin’ okay?”

“Yes, Harry,” Louis snaps uncomfortably, closing his book with more force than necessary. “No, Liam, he is not okay. And no I do not want to talk about it.”

“Woah, chill, love,” Aiden murmurs like that tone doesn’t make his blood boil.

“Oh, this is always how he acts when you bring up you-know-who,” Liam says simply, whistling low and loud when Louis clenches his teeth and shoves his book in his backpack.

As Louis is walking away Aiden calls, “Aw, c’mon, Lou, baby, come back! We didn’t mean no harm!”

Louis wants to tell Aiden he’s not his bloody baby, but opts to shoot them both the middle finger. Getting the hell out of there before the Alpha can follow, Louis trudges through Parliament only quitting when the coast is clear. Leaning in the Omega presses his forehead on some random, but blessedly cool wall.

In a whirlwind of thoughts Louis just is, stress and exhaustion toying with the raveled ends of his nerves.

“You ain’t sinking into that wall any time soon, Lou,” an Irish voice pipes up once he’s just gotten comfortable with his wall.

Louis groans, “Won’t anyone just leave me the hell alone?”

A hand takes his upper arm. “I’d never! Let’s go.”

“Where are we off to exactly?” Louis mumbles, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. Lights burst behind his lids and light up his lagging brain.

“We’re off to meet the Wizard! The wonderful Wizard of Oz! Who is in the loo with a lot of happy-smoke!”

“In the loo?” Louis gasps in hoax fascination. “With happy-smoke? Why I never!”

With one of those laughs that works wonders on his mood, Niall tows him into the bathroom on the outskirts of the vast estate. Rarely does anyone come around these parts–it’s just spare space.

Its ten minutes in that Louis’ back is to the wall, doubled over as their laughter shakes the stalls. It’s this mad laughter that summons Zayn, who crams in with them as they pass a spliff back and forth.

Taking it between his artist fingers the other Omega regards them through low lids, “I can’t believe I wasn’t invited to this little get together.”

“Cool kids only,” Louis giggles, already spacey.

“I wish that I could be like the cool kids,” Niall sings softly, red-rimmed eyes glassy.

As his thin lips take the roll up, with every drag, gold lights up Zayn’s usually chocolate eyes. Smoke begins to crowd them, suffocating and inescapable. Annoyed, Louis bats at it, though Niall beckons him over so they can shotgun. As the Omega locks the clouds in his lungs he feels like he’s floating, giddy and out-of-this-world.

“Omega on Omega. Hot,” Zayn comments around melting laughter, rifling through his backpack all the while.

“Aye, want some of this, Zaynie?” Louis giggles, running his hands down his chest suggestively.

“I’d rather not have me head offed by Styles.”

Louis’ smile wavers, but he laughs anyway and tosses the roach into the toilet.

Lighting another Niall asks, “Did you ever get into Harry’s phone, Tommo?”

Zayn takes a swing of a fresh bottle of Jack, then passes it to Louis, “’Ere, mate, thought you might need this after earlier with Li and Aiden.”

“What happened with them?”

Louis sips, then sputters at the searing taste of liquor. “I did. And they were takin’ the piss. Motherfuckin’ alphas, hate them all.” As he passes Zayn returns the light up.

“You did what ‘xactly?” Niall asks after impressive chugs. “And I’ll ‘ave you know I love my Joshie.”

“I agree with Lou,” Zayn mutters as Niall passes the bottle to him. “Not all of us have alphas that think our arse is made of gold.”

“No, yer just a prude!” Niall giggles, smoke floating from his nostrils. Niall is one sexy dragon Louis think hazily. “Louis has an alpha that thinks his arse is made of gold!”

“Louis’ supposed alpha is just fifty shades of fucked up!” Louis’ giggles are cathartic, bubbling in his belly with alcohol. Brilliance, pure brilliance.

“Lord, this lad still can’t handle his liquor,” Niall sighs solemnly, bowing his head. Louis slaps a hand over his mouth but every time his eyes skitter over Niall’s unimpressed face he just loses it. Gah–I’m a mess.

“Louis, Louis, mate,” Zayn intervenes with much more concern when Louis’ been laughing ten minutes. “Calm down. It’s not…funny…”

It really really isn’t.

With a sharp, painful breath, Louis carries his shaky hand up to cover his teary eyes. He could play the tears off as laughing too hard. But that’d be bullshit, and they’d all know it.

“There, there,” Niall coos softly, “Take this, my little bird. And fly free.”

Louis peeks through his fingers to take the joint again and pull in a drag that has his heartbeat flying for sure.

Zayn squeezes his shoulder as his body sags again, loose by intoxication. “Love is such a bad habit, Louis. Sex is what you need. Sex is a way to feel a little less lonely.”

“Aiden’s up to bat!”

“I don’t think sex or Aiden could fill up this emptiness,” Louis sighs bitterly once he’s through burning the tips of his fingers with the clip.

“Naaaaaah,” Niall stresses the word funnily. “Probably not. But ‘ey it feels good. Sex is a stress reliever."

“Choking you would be a stress reliever,” Louis mumbles, tossing him a saucy smile.

“If only,” Zayn sighs longingly.

“You love me!” Niall blows smoke into his face.

Waving it away, the other murmurs, “That I do, Nialler.”

“We’re totally failing Politics.”

“No! We have Leyum!” Louis fist pumps with cherry lipped conviction.

Giggling, Zayn tosses the second roach into the toilet. “We do! And if he asks we are straight as lines!”

“You two aren’t very convincing,” Niall points out around a huge yawn.

“Whateva that means,” Louis’ words slur slightly.

“C’mon, lads, let’s get this over with so we can come back and really bake.”

“I’m game!”

“We can see that, Louis,” Zayn mutters, standing to reach down and help Louis up (to which Niall whines, “how come I don’t get a helping hand?” and Zayn replies smugly, “because you can handle your drugs” and Louis squeaks, “Hey! I can handle my drugs! Though nobody is proper as Harry fookin’ Styles!” More mad giggles.)

And if Niall and Zayn share a disturbed look over his head Louis is glad to never know.

&&

“Wasn’t that bad,” Louis mumbles once they step out of class, only just a bit buzzed by now. Aiden, to his right, groans, “Louis, that was castration! I lost my balls in there.”

“You lost your manhood,” Zayn corrects dryly. “Cause Louis aced.”

“I don’t know that I aced,” the Omega mumbles modestly. “I think I did alright, yeah.”

“Mr. Modest, over ‘ere,” Niall snorts, scrubbing at his bloodshot eyes. “I for one am ready to forget that nightmare.”

“Your place?” Liam asks, joining them with Sophia beside him. When Louis crows, “hey there, lovely lady,” she waves shyly and Aiden chuckles fondly then swoops down to whisper into the shell of his ear, “You’re makin’ me jealous. Flirting with all the fit birds.”

Louis elbows him playfully, but otherwise doesn’t respond. Niall does, however, “Sure.” He retrieves him phone from his pocket. “I’ll just tell Josh to get ready. Hey, Lou, why don’t you invite Haz?” Beside him Aiden stiffens and Louis kind of wants to deck the Irish Omega in the forehead.

Stalling just a bit, Louis mumbles (sinking into Aiden’s possessive arm; just one more false impression), “No phone. Broke it yesterday.” How the fuck am I surviving this mess?

“Get on that. For now I’ll text the fucker.”

Louis shrugs one-shouldered and smiles sneakily into Aiden’s shoulder. See, Harry just doesn’t do social group things that involve personal enjoyment. So, at least for now, Louis is safe.

&&

Twisted with his right foot on the yellow dot and his left on the blue, the Omega is bent with both arms splayed out in front of him to match the colors he’s dealt.

“It hurts, it hurts,” Niall whines, legs spread and stretched underneath Louis to reach the green and blue dots. His twisted arm does look quite painful. “At least your arse ain’t in the air,” Louis giggles breathlessly. “Don’t give up, Ni!”

“I will go down with this ship!” the Irish lad giggles, swaying dangerously even so.

“Aiden! Left foot green! Josh left foot…green! Double-whammey.” Staggering a bit the alphas do as Zayn tells them to. Smokey as the room is Louis is having trouble seeing who is where. “Right foot…yellow, A!”

Soon they’re a tangle of limbs. Someone keeps putting joints to their mouths–Louis’ is so dry he wishes the bottle across from him were in reach. Damn twister.

Niall is all dramatics, “Me leg! Me leg! Cramping!” And Louis is all intoxicated laughter, chanting, “Council Capable! Council Capable!” Aiden is all, “I can’t…I can’t…Please, Lord, end my suffering.”

Bass bounces on the walls; a rap Louis’ never heard before trips him out. It’s the deep, dreamy vibe.

“Beautiful fall…I know we all ain’t perfect but you was close as I could hope for. So I try to make it work but now it’s time I let it go…Beautiful fall…But I every time I try you tell me no. Tell me where to go…”

Must everything remind him?

Damp (its sweat, damn it) lashes fluttering Louis almost doesn’t notice, but God he couldn’t not. Eyes of sea mist folded into glimmering orbs overflow his vision.

“...Found myself and got lost in you…”

“Haz,” Louis gasps, and crumbles, effectively taking Aiden, Josh, and Niall down with him.

&&

“’Az,” is all Harry hears despite the drum of the music on the walls before the boy, in an odd pretzel around Josh and Niall and an Alpha only part of his high brain recognizes, go down to the floor.

Such a beautiful fall.

As everything winds in slow motion Harry is launched into fast forward. In second Harry carries the boy’s liquor loose body away from the others.

In the smoggy shade the omega’s face is sheen with perspiration and his silky hair is in his face. Jesus, he takes Harry’s ever breath away, with those eyes of sea foam, lit up like the joints being passed around.

And Harry swears if he were to cut him open, honey would flow from his veins. This is why he could never vocalize his love. He couldn’t bear to ruin him.

So they fight and they fight and God damn it Harry thinks he’s in love with it.

“Hey, dopey,” he says once he’s caught his breath.

“Hi, Haz,” Louis giggles, lips so wet and welcoming. “Everyone Hazza is here!”

A round of drunken cheers ripples through the room. At the new noise Harry flinches, but otherwise ignores the lot of strangers.

“So this is the infamous Harry Styles,” someone speaks up, then mutters under his breath, “Supreme Styles don’t speak much of the mystery man.” Those indifferent words reopen an ugly wound; infection oozes like the layer of lies oozes from his mouth with every word.

“The one and only!” Louis trills happily, obliviously, hand fluttering up to his mouth. He wants to stare at him all night long but has to regard the other alpha first. “Aiden,” the bloke shoves a hand down towards where Harry’s crouched. “Aiden Grimshaw.”

Ignoring him rather than snatching the beer bottle not too far away and smashing it over his head, Harry murmurs to Louis, “C’mon, paradise. Let’s get out here.”

“No, you guys should stay! You’ve only just gotten here. I haven’t even mean mugged you yet, Styles,” Aiden disagrees airily but with an undertone of steel that riles the animal in his chest, the one that’s foaming at the mouth for a taste of blood.

“Louis,” he prompts quietly, standing with the boy’s hand lax in his own. Louis follows easily, then sways, but stays on two feet with an utterly torn expression.

A hand that ain’t his curls around his boy’s frail shoulder. Harry’s gaze zeros in on it as the other alpha pleads pathetically, “Lou, c’mon, don’t go. He ain’t worth it.”

“I’ll wait out front for you.” If there is one thing Harry isn’t, it’s a bloody stealer. He won’t steal Louis’ choice, not now, not ever.

So he turns on his heels without waiting on a response further than the party-goers ‘boo's' in his wake.

Once out front in the brisk evening air Harry lights the cigarette he’d tucked behind his ear just in case (he isn't a smoker, but he’s already a massacre inside, might as well speed up the process) and just waits.

He’ll always wait.

&&

                          Spaced out Louis watches Harry’s back as the tall alpha goes. Like always, his damn heart follows him right on out the backdoor, staining the plush carpet with a stream of blood nobody else seems to see.         

“Louis…” A different hand closes around his free shoulder. He stands very still as Niall breathes shrewdly, “Let ‘m go. He doesn't want to be here, but you have someone who does.” With bleary eyes Louis glances at Aiden as Niall sinks back into the background. Aiden who is still staring at him with those serious, sad eyes.

“I’ll be right back,” Louis croaks, squeezing Aiden’s hand with a watery smile he hopes conveys his honesty. “Have a drink ready for me.”

With an uncanny grace the boy does not feel he follows Harry out minutes later. He finds the alpha leaning on the banister on the front porch with a kill-stick between his lips and dark ringlets of his frizzy hair falling into his shady eyes.

Ignoring how his chest aches Louis steps beside him to pluck the cigarette and slip it between his own lips. At the same time he hops up onto the banister so his legs dangle, waiting for Harry to acknowledge his presence.

He doesn’t (Sometimes Louis really feels like a ghost).

Obnoxiously, he blows smoke in his handsome, brooding face. “Pay attention to me, wanker.”

With a slow smile that steals the air from his lungs Harry murmurs throatily, “You are so shitfaced.”

“Really? Was it something I said?” Louis gasps, then tosses his head back to giggle around another drag of toxins.

When there isn’t any response the boy peeks at him again to find he’s staring at him. Staring like he’s never seen him before. Like he is entirely new, and–

Before his thoughts can get ahead of him Louis mutters, “What’s that look for?” and averts his gaze nervously.

“I just…You are so–,”

God they’re still playing the same game every night. I've been shot through the heart enough...

Tossing it, Louis hops down and snaps over his shoulder, “On second thought I don’t care. It is what it is. Catch you later, H.” With nothing left but his memories the boy walks in and over to where Aiden’s holding his drink as asked. A smile lights up his face and Louis wishes he could feel something for the Mr. Right–Aiden who is healthy, kind, sweet, and fun.

Aiden who is passionless, who plays by the rules, who has no skeletons in his closet or demons in his eyes.

Tears jab at his eyes. Louis closes them, ignores the drinks to stretch on his tiptoes and kiss him with a mouth that must taste like cigarette heartbreak.

Even sighing into the contact once Aiden finally kisses him back he feels nothing.

Not one spark, not one butterfly, not anything.

“Incoming! Incoming! Abort mission! God damn it, Louis, get–,” Niall drags him backwards just as soon as a beer bottle shatters against Aiden’s head. 

Silence.

Petrified, Louis shrinks as Aiden drops with a disturbing thud and Harry climbs on top of his chest to pummel his face with his fist. He can see Aiden’s deflecting with his arms. He can see blood.

Clambering upright with his heart skyrocketing and all the blood drained from his face panic seizes him. “Fuck,” Louis shrills as chaos erupts everywhere, making to throw himself at the alpha he despises right now.

Sooner than Louis can, Harry stands and faces him. He wipes his bloody face with the back of his hand, smearing it. He looks like the Dead-Man-Walking. The Reaper. He looks like everything that’s ever caused him pain.  

Reckless and lifeless all at once.

Traces of powder on his nose.

Louis almost wonders when he had time for another line. His chest is heaving and his dilated stare is flat. Bloods also stained his shirt.

Louis’ chest feels broken.

“You’re mine. Don’t pull that shit again. ‘Cause next time I’ll kill him." 

Seeing red, the omega storms up and backhands him so hard Harry's blood splatters along his own nose and cheeks. This is why Louis can’t have nice fucking things.

With a sloppy smirk Harry spits the blood near Aiden and adjusts his jacket. “I'll see you at home."

“Get out! You fucking psycho! Get the fuck away from him!” Niall gets all up his Harry’s face as Louis stands there, malfunctioning. “Don’t fucking count on it! He won’t be anywhere near–,”

At this point Josh steps between them and says evenly to Harry, “Out of my house, Styles. In fact, everyone! Arses out! March motherfuckers!”

Never turning his back or looking anywhere but Louis, Harry backs out with his hands stuffed in his pockets and his stare so sick and sorry it makes him want to scream.

As soon as everyone is gone that’s just what Louis does.

&&

Louis avoids their ‘home’ for three weeks. In this time the boy apologizes to Aiden profusely who waves him off each time with, “Lou, I get it, you’re sorry. It really ain’t your fault, relax. I’m cool,” or “But if I ever see Styles again…He won’t get me with a beer bottle first. I’ll break his coke nose,” and so on. Mostly, Louis stays at Niall’s, just to avoid going to his parents’ and explaining the whole tragic throw-down.

Tonight, he is curled up in Zayn’s bed with his thumbs furiously darting on an X-Box controller.

COD is the best stress reliever–what better way to let loose than shoot zombies that remind him of Harry.

“Y’know you could always kill him for real,” Zayn comments beside him once Louis’ quit his manic cursing.

Louis hesitates and almost loses for it, shooting the runner at the last moment. “Oh? Like I’d let him take me to lock up! Over me dead body!”

“I mean…like kill the killer.”

Louis only eyes him suspiciously once the round is over. “Meaning?”

“Just like it sounds, genius. Cut ‘im off.” Here we go again.

Focusing his stare on the telly, Louis says blankly, "No such thing. And his addiction doesn’t even cover how fucked he is, if you couldn't tell, Z. Cutting him off wouldn’t fix him.”

“I ain’t tellin’ you to fix him, mate.”

“Then what are you telling me, Zayn?” Louis groans, temples throbbing as he flops down onto the mattress and tosses his arm over his eyes.

“Louis, how fucked is fucked?" 

“Fucked,” Louis laughs bitterly. “Like I don't know, Zayn. He's...This goes so deep. This much further than just a drug problem. H has serious psychotic tendencies such as beating blokes with beer bottles.”

“Be serious!” the other omega presses, nudging his left thigh.

“I am. The Institution...hurt him so bad, but he won't talk about it so I don't really know how fucked is fucked. I don't...In my psychiatric opinion he's suffering from major PTSD and paranoia, maybe a possible schizo. Insomniac. Add sadist in there somewhere.”

“And yet you still love him,” Zayn murmurs softly. Hearing those words coming from one of his closest friends Louis’ chest feels like it’s filled with needles. “A-At least he doesn’t sleepwalk,” Louis breathes once his body’s gone numb.

“I’m not on Styles’ side, far from it, but I don’t agree with Niall or the lot of them either, Louis. Sure, H might not be a danger to you physically, but he is emotionally and mentally. Trust me, you do not want to end up where Harry is, mate. That’s just a given. But I mean…I remember Harry too, you know. Cheeky motherfucker. I remember, and I miss, but I don’t mourn. Nothing to mourn. He’s still hanging around. Sadly.” Zayn puts his hands up with one of those model smiles when Louis glares through narrowed eyes. “Joking. I just…I don’t want you to make the decision to give up because someone else told you to. You make that decision if that’s where your heart is, Tommo. And you and I both know where your heart is.”

“What if there is nobody to find?” Louis breathes with an anxiety creeping into his voice.

Zayn smiles, then shrugs. “I think a lot of Harry has died, but you keep the best parts of him alive. That’s worth something more, isn't it?”

&&

As Harry disappears down the foggy lamp lit street Louis walks up to their drive. Sadly, the boy waves at his back, and almost wishes he’d realise there’s something he forgot and come back. Maybe Louis might even be the something he forgot.

Without even a glance backwards, he rounds the corner. So much for that.

“The Eagle has left the nest! I repeat the Eagle has left the nest!” Niall’s words aren’t even whispered. Bloody bogus spies, Louis swears he cannot take these animals anywhere.

“Roger that, Sugar-Spice!”

“Alright, squad, let’s break through the backdoor,” Liam whispers conspiratorially.

Already up the steps before the front door Louis mutters, helpfully if you ask him, “Or we could not break my doors and go through the front?” Rocking backwards on his heels the omega dangles his keys in direction of the car parked only across the street.

“Leave it to negative Nancy to ruin all the fun,” one of them scoffs before the doors open and three bodies pile out.

Rolling his eyes he ends the call, jumping to undo the locks and entire the security code, “Bloody hell, Tommo, could you have any more security?” Niall asks skeptically.

Louis’ smile is fake. But that’s the point. “Be grateful I convinced him not to install all those bloody cameras.”

“Is this place booby-trapped? Should I expect a bullet through my leg or anything of the sort?” Liam asks, naturally good-natured. Bless his pure heart.

“Ha-Ha,” Zayn deadpans as Louis shows the door open. It’s dimly lit with the smoggy weather.

“Shit, its cold,” Liam hisses once he’s put one foot through the door, hugging himself.

Unfazed by now Louis sidesteps him to warn, “Watch out for–,” Zayn trips over an untouched box before Louis can even finish. Niall goes plummeting right behind.

“Wow,” Liam snickers, admiring the view of the two Omegas talking shit on the floor, then scanning the room, “Talk about a fixer-upper.”

“Listen here you snobby little twats,” Louis threatens with his index finger jabbing the air at each of them. “Quit trash mouthin’ my place. Or I’ll get ‘Az on you.”

“Don’t play like that, Tommo! I nearly pissed me pants and I ain’t joking!” Niall’s face scrunches up in disgust before the Irish Omega stands and helps Zayn up, who smirks, “I think I could take him.”

“You could take his fist up ya arse, Z,” Louis mumbles, gaze raking over the room to make sure nothing has changed while he’s been away (to make sure he’s not been replaced). Nothing has. It’s just the same. Worn, and falling apart. Oh, and messy. Just like Louis. Jeez, like he needed the reminder.

“It has potential,” Liam comments kindly.

“Yeah,” Zayn snorts playfully, “If you knocked it down and started new.”

Smiling incredulously, Louis shoves his shoulder, then sighs, “Alright, fuckers. Let’s get this over with.”

With cheers and “fuck yeah”s Louis shows them up to Harry’s room.

“Jesus, could these floors be any more rotten?” Liam asks critically.

Bitching the Alpha out the wood groans and Louis chuckles sheepishly, “That’s what I say, but H blabbers on and on about history and value and now I’m stuck with it.”

“I feel yer pain, Lou. Josh still won’t get rid of those ancient sofas his Nan give him three fookin’ years ago.”

“Tragic,” Louis shakes his head sadly.

“And this is why I’m single,” Zayn singsongs as Louis toes Harry’s ajar door all the way open. Zayn is first to curse, shivering, “I thought it was cold downstairs. This is Hell on Ice, Lou. How’s he even sleep in here?”

“He doesn’t,” Louis mutters blandly, then explains thoughtlessly, “Some ventilation issues.” Analyzing the room Louis feels creeped out to the max like maybe there is something nasty in here that isn’t just Harry.

Swell, now I’m losing it, too.

“So, if I was a cokehead where would I hide my stash?” Niall interrupts his imminent freak-out with his musing. He’s posed as if in deep thought, rubbing his chin with his thumb.

“Check the desk,” Zayn offers, tilting his head in direction of the barred window. Louis pretends not to notice.

“On it,” Liam mutters, then once he’s through rifling through meaningless junk comes up empty. “Shit. Got nothing.”

Louis nods, not very surprised. “That’d be too obvious. He ain’t dumb.”

“Really?” the Irish boy scoffs, staring with icy eyes. “Somehow I’m not convinced.”

Resentment rears its ugly head, and Louis feels like he’s been chewed up and spit out. Seeing red, he just…acts out, throwing shit around with all his strength. Doing so, destroying Harry’s room like Harry’s destroyed too many parts of him, let’s off more than enough steam. It’s gratifying once the boy’s join in because there’s so much more he can do then.

They shove the bed into the middle of the room, toss the mattress, haul the desk away from the wall and empty all the drawers, and rummage through the closet and the shelves. They go through every square inch of space.

Some time passes before Louis sits in a pile of Harry’s scented clothes, out of breath and crushed. “Fuck,” he blows out a ragged breath. “I got nothing. Anyone else?”

“Maybe it’s not in here,” Liam suggests, painfully pitiful. 

“Where else would it be, Li?” Zayn snaps, then settles beside Louis to wrap an arm around his quivering shoulders. “I’m sorry, babe. We ought to get out of ‘ere before H comes back. We can try again.” No, by then it will be too late, and Harry will know what’s been done and confront me. And oh God Louis is not ready to fight if he doesn’t do what he came here to do.

“C’mon, babers,” Niall backs Zayn up, “It’ll be okay.”

With no other choice Louis stands and walks the walk of shame towards the door. It’s strange, how quiet his steps are–seems the wood treats Harry just fine.

It’s a rush of blood to the head. A lightning bolt even. “The wood,” Louis breathes, stopping dead in his tracks.

Niall crashes into him but Louis is so set his body does not budge even a bit. “What the fuck, Lou?”

“T-The wood, guys!” Louis cries, almost passing out with relief. I did it. I did it…

Realisation lights up Niall’s features. “It’s in the fookin’ wood! What a genius!” Didn’t I just say so only an hour ago? “What are we waitin’ for? Move move move! Find something and let’s pry this shit up!” Niall cackles madly with an all-too-pleased expression.

Conveniently enough Zayn tosses a damn crowbar at Niall who gives him an incredulous look, “Hey, don’t give me that look, mate, it was in the corner!”

Seeming to accept this Niall wastes no time getting to work–they pry and they pry until Louis’ palms are sweaty and anxiety is swarming in his chest.

After the tenth vain attempt Zayn crows, “Aha! Got you now motherfucker!”

Niall tosses the crowbar aside to bark at Liam, “C’mon, Payne, show us those muscles.” With an excited grin, eager to help Liam leans down and reaches into the wood, grunting with an appalled expression. “It won’t fit like this. Lift the other two.” And so the other two Omegas do as Louis stands there stuck in his own skin, paralyzed.

A bag the size of three heads is towed out by Liam.

Acidic bile crawls up his throat, and the Omega has to look away before it spills out onto the wood. “D’you need us to do this?” Zayn asks softly, kissing his forehead.

After three deep breaths Louis shakes his head a bit madly, and mumbles, “No. No…just a bit overwhelmed. I have to do this. C-Can we do this and go?”

“Of course, babe. Come on, help us get this to the toilet,” Niall assures him.

Numb, Louis does so. It’s so unbelievably heavy. Almost as much as Louis’ heart–must be why Harry can’t ever carry the bloody thing.

At last they stagger into the bathroom. Louis holds his breath as they begin to pour the powder into the toilet. “Christ did he really need a fookin’ lifetime supply?” Niall grumbles.

Once the white is nearly overflowing the porcelain rim Louis realizes there is still more than half the bag remaining. They don’t have the time to pour-flush-repeat, so the boy orders tonelessly, “Toss the rest into the tub and run the water. Cold.”

Not questioning him, Liam and Niall do so. Once they’ve finished Zayn asks smugly, “Would you do Harry the honor, Louis?”

With still hands Louis smiles, “Gladly,” and promptly flushes the toilet.

&&

                          With people all around, Harry walks alone. Needing an exorcism Harry wheels around towards their home and soon tears through the front door and up to his room. It’s a shattering scene–how his room is ruined yet the same as his insides.

He feels smothered by the spider web of addiction, but moves through the room like breathing is easy.

Without coming to terms with any of it, he leaves the room feeling ice cold.

And he runs, pretending he’s running to wherever happiness is. In reality, he falls down before the railroad just a mile away from their place, completely out of air. 

Never progressing, wrestling with himself, Harry almost thinks to pray. But can’t even bring himself to do that because how does he know his prayers will work?

They haven’t before. He’s never been able to rely on any God.

In a blaze of pain, Harry can’t make anything of his own thoughts–not that he’d listen anyway. Honest, what is a brain without a mind? 

He thinks the Devils ripped his soul apart.

On his knees, doubled over with his hands on either side of his coke head, Harry shouts until only silence emerges. Panting, he drops back onto his back and lays there blanketed by darkness.

What feels like a long time Harry stays in this out-of-body disorder with his arms spread to the heavens. He doesn’t expect to be jabbed in the side. Luckily for the jabber his senses are too stunted, and his body too sluggish to react aggressively as his alpha urges on.

“What ah sore sight,” a voice he hasn’t heard in a while comments. Something pats his stomach. He wants to say fuck off, but just squeezes his eyes shut and hopes to be left to his own sorrows. It’s the least he deserves.

“Sore and sorry,” a different accent pipes up–that one he’s heard one too many times. He still has nothing for any of them. “Unresponsive. Maybe we’ve lost him. Wouldn’t be surprised after that breakdown.”

Someone snorts, “Yeah right! Watch and learn, little ones! Tommo! Louis, get o’er here! Revive this sorry bastard! Put ‘im out of his misery!” Louis. The word is a white-hot shrapnel ricocheting throughout his whole body. It overrides everything. All he knows is the heart-freezing impact of it and the electric throbbing that comes right after.

An instinct, his head tilts to the side so paradise, standing only a distance away, is in his line of vision.

“Viola! What’d I tell ya?”

“Paradise.” Just the word is such a power-trip. “Paradise, baby.” Light reflects from his shadow, more than Harry thought could exist. Christ, he thinks no one could ever be as in love with paradise as he is.

Without knowing it, Harry stands and staggers over to where Louis stands under the dangling moonlight, far too close to the train tracks. Mere inches away, drowning in his ocean eyes, the alpha wishes he could go back to when all his pieces were intact. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel so fucked up for cupping his beautiful face in one hand and thinking again, nobody could be as in love with you as I am.

As the train runs through the tracks just measures away they miss it because Harry’s mouth has latched onto Louis’. And he’ll never make it right if the boy doesn’t want him around. Til then they’ll knock around and see.

He doesn’t see a fake reflection in Louis’ eyes when he breaks the kiss before it ever really begins, and cries madly over the whistling wind, “Let’s go! We’re missing it!” He bolts in the direction the trains headed. Just like always, Harry tears after him. So do the others.

Breathing is easy when Louis glances backwards with eyes so vividly alive Harry chases the light. He chases happiness. He chases paradise.

&&

                          Since that night nothing that matters has changed. For the most part Harry’s resumed avoiding Louis and their (well just Louis’ now) mates, sticking to strangers Louis would rather be caught on an alpha’s knot then hanging about. They never stick around for long. Why, the omega couldn’t begin to guess.

And so life goes on.

Harry isn’t around much to confirm his fears, but Louis knows. He is not stupid, and God damn it he is not blind. He has learnt the ways of Harry’s highs, and just can’t ignore it. Hence why the omega dragged his sad-sorry arse out of bed (who pretends to be asleep to ditch out on family-time?) to join him today.

At last Harry helps him from the Tahoe so Louis is welcomed to the sight of the ostentatious manor he once called home. The Jacobethan designed manor, a unique pale green is one Louis has walked through thousands upon thousands of times.  

Though it’s composed of seven edifices the architectural tone remains as it always has: brick detailed, balustrades and parapets, pillars supporting the entryways and high chimneys hardly in use by now as it’s not yet the season and very much for show at this point.

Sure, the structure is technically what holds everything up, but Louis considers it to be more built on memories, kindness and love.

In the heart of the manor is noise. Boisterous, all the time.

With nannies and butlers and maids all attempting (in vain) to tame noble brats (okay, mostly him) so determined to undermine them all. And noble parents with the utmost respect received by all, juggling the weight of their Council and their five rowdy pups.

Parents with only unconditional love for them; Louis as an omega, Lottie much the same. Fliss just presented alpha, the twins two precious little girls, Phoebe and Daisy, with no worry over presentation, and their most recent addition: two more tiny precious twins, Ernest and Doris.

All-in-all their family has become a grand total of two noble heirs and five noble heiresses.

At one point Louis had longed for a younger brother; and don’t get him wrong he adores the one he has now.

It’s just a tad too late. Now, Louis longs for a boy of his own, to rid him of this soul-sucking loneliness.

See, he just knows with every fiber of his elastic being that he will carry twins or triplets in the future because that runs in his royal blood and he yearns for it.

Bittersweet, the omega ducks his head. How he misses the depth of a family. Now all there seems to be is silence, and it’s stifling him. Has been for years now. Louis needs to fill that void. To win, to build his own family, and pronto because walking through empty halls with no raucous music is–, “What now?”

A soft blush blooms on his cheekbones as Louis shrugs shyly. “Nothin’.”

“Sure? You look like someone just kicked a puppy.” Or someone who’s been alone too long. 

“That would be you,” Louis grumbles, but takes Harry’s offered arm and lets himself be led up the stairs, past the pillars to the grand entrance.

“Well then let’s reestablish dear papa’s colossal hatred for me, shall we?” Harry mutters, already jabbing on the doorbell. It chimes, and from within shrieks can be heard all across England.

“He doesn’t hate you,” Louis hisses through an all-too-perfect smile, though it’s a blatant lie, and like everyone else Harry knows, retorting, “Hate is putting it mildly.”

Long ago Dan lost his soft-spot for Harry Styles–which might have to do with waking up in the dead of night to Louis’ terrified screams as Harry succumbed to one of his first night-terrors and cozied his fingers around Louis’ neck.

Louis’ mostly forgotten about it, but Dan might not ever. Who knows—maybe he’ll come around because Louis always does.  

It wasn’t even Harry who scared him so very badly that he pissed his own pants. It was waking up from his own nightmare, the one that plagued him nightly, the one that still makes him want to curl in on himself and hide from the world (naked and beaten in a dark, dingy, dirty space where Robert slithered through the darkness and tried to force him–,) and Louis hadn’t woken up to Harry.

In his mind there was only Robert, and he couldn’t contain his terror anymore. Not when Harry looked like Robert, not when it was dark like a prison, not when he couldn’t seem to breathe, not when his Dad tackled Harry to the floor.

Louis couldn’t stop screaming even as the reality that his Dad was pummeling his best mate who was just trying to stare at Louis with petrified, lost eyes.

Curling up the smallest Louis had ever seen, “I’m sorry, so sorry, I’m sorry so sorry,” all Harry seemed capable of crying out, even when Des arrived to take his estranged son home and Dan swore to kill him if ever he showed his face again.

“He thinks I’m a demon. A demon who has manipulated and taken advantage of his prince. A demon who locks you away so I can–,” before Harry can finish that God awful sentence one of the great doors is shown open to reveal a nameless butler asking their names.

Louis sputters, “Excuse me?” more than slightly scandalized.

Beside him Harry winces when Mr. Know-Nothing repeats, uptight and practiced with his cravat strangling his chicken neck. “Your name, Sir.”

“Oh, my name,” he seethes, pissed beyond reason. It’s a slight exaggeration, but he’s always been one for dramatics. “My name. He wants to know my name, H. How about fuck you, you’re fired–,”

“This, Charles, is Louis,” interrupts a proper northern English accent. The person responsible widens the door in welcoming. “My most pleasant heir.”

“Papa!” Louis cries happily, shoving poor Charles out of the way to embrace his Father.

Entirely posh and proper, Dan is an alpha not to be reckoned with. Wise with age, a stature of unimaginable power of mind. Louis’ missed him more than words could ever tell.

Affectionately, the older ruffles his hair and grabs his arms in comforting, firm hands to set him down and examine him (like Louis could have grown three heads in the two months they’ve not seen each other). “You look…different. Changed.”

Nervously, Louis chuckles. “Well I did trim my hair. And I shaved too, see?”

“Not what I’m referring to. It’s in your eyes. Is there something you’d like to tell me?” Suspiciously his narrowed gaze wonders over to Harry, who’s yet to step in.

Louis panics a little inside, unable to grasp what could have changed.

Someone clears their throats pointedly–Charles. “I do not mean to intrude, Sir. But this one?” Okay, that’s it, Charles: foe not friend.

Physically Harry looks achingly stone cold. His appearance perfect even in an oddly colored peach Cuban Valentino. Something about it, about his arms and all the black ink and scars...

He’s avoiding their stares until (after a whole minute) he looks up. Directly into his eyes. Flames of shame sway there, and Louis aches to touch him, to play with his tied up hair and tell him how beautiful he is even though his Dad just can’t get it.

Louis also knows better.

“Oh, that’s just my son’s lapd–,”

“Dad,” Louis says sharply, “Be. Nice.” Then to Charles, “Sir, have you been dead under a rock the last two decades or so? This is my best bloody friend,” because that’s more important than the other titles, “and our most vital heir to Council. Harry Edward Styles. Supreme Desmond Styles’ only heir.”

In a matter of seconds Charles turns impressive shades of red. “Y-Y-Your grace, forgive me for my insolence. I meant no offen–,”

“No problem,” Harry dismisses him to step into the entryway. Faced with his rigid Father the Alpha stares straight on, meeting his stare resolutely and sticking his hand out. “My lord.”

“Son,” his Dad murmurs frigidly, taking his hands in a grip that looks painful. “I trust you’ve been taking care of my boy.”

“Yes, Sir. As much as I can with a boy like Louis, Sir.” The fond smile Harry directs at him turns Louis’ insides soupy (which of course his Father doesn’t miss).

“Yes, well we have all faced more trying obstacles.”

Louis is too busy grinning back at Harry smiling goofily at him to really comprehend Dan’s tone. Louis wishes more than anything he could despise him for this; for making him feel like he’s melting and soaring all at once, and oh no no no, not happening. “I don’t know, Papa, I’m pretty difficult,” Louis jokes just to distract his heart from Harry.

“I can imagine Harry has more difficult issues to take care of,” Dan’s tone is light, but the implication is concrete. Harry stiffens, and the smile vanishes immediately as he responds coolly, “Louis isn’t an issue, Sir. I’m blessed with his company.”

Liar–the Omega wants to call him out on his bullshit, but not in front of his already skeptical Father. Any more disaster in his life, one more shot to the heart, might just send him into cardiac arrest.

“I should hope so.” And at this point the two are just staring at each other, stiff and stubborn. Such stupid Alphas.

“Alrighty. This is gettin’ weird,” Louis comments uselessly, then when there isn’t any response from either, “So where’s Mum?”

“Kitchen.” Still in a piss-contest, gazing not-so-lovingly into each other’s eyes.

“Right. Well, I guess I’ll go…say hi?” the boy asks uncomfortably. 

“K. Bye,” they both allow at the exact same time in the exact same (rude) dismissive voice. Honest, how can they not see they’re almost the same person sometimes?

Which, ew, not okay.

Louis winces, but doesn’t bother to comment, scurrying through the corridors and skipping the visit wish his Mother (she’ll see him soon anyhow) to cross the botanic bridge will all sorts of exotic flowers along glass walls to the third building to dash for the spiral stairway.

Breathlessly, the Omega makes it to the seventh story (why the hell had he ever thought this was a good idea?) and makes it sluggishly through the maze of corridors (purposely confusing to deter any unwanted visitors) until locating the midnight blue, beaten-to-hell, door with all sorts of signs; Louis’ palace, Louis’ hallway, Louis’ building.

STAY OUT. 

Etcetera, etcetera. Gee, he was such a loser back then, it’s no wonder Harry never wanted anything to do with him. Oh, well.

With a sad smile Louis creeps inside and shuts the door softly behind him. It’s quite cold–bare of his warmth by now, but still his.

His childhood room is more than one pup should have been allowed–the one he’d had since seven, and maintained until eighteen. So the childlike decorations remain, though the walls painted red with little football prints remain most of the wall consists of jerseys, autographs, graffiti (courtesy of Zayn) and damage. There are still notes like ‘H.S. is Louis’ bitch”, from Niall and “Niall is anyone’s bitch,’ from Harry and ‘STOP WRITING ON MY WALL,” from Louis and, “our wall now,” from Zayn, and “I told them to stop dicking round,” from Liam. There are far more from Harry, which Louis always wrote back to,

H: still don’t like u

L: u love this arse

H: I hope ur dad reads this (sir I do not)

L: me 2 thn u have to have me 4ever, arse-eater

H: u dream bout trapping some stupid alpha into a mating

To that Louis hadn’t responded; mostly because it hurt his feelings, but also because it held a scary visage of truth. Louis always has been spiteful, and if Harry wouldn’t come to him willingly, he’s always imagined seducing him into bed because Harry was pretty old-school, and would’ve felt obligated to him once the deed had been done (because Louis was not only his best mate, but an omega of extreme worth). One does not omega fuck a proper omega without mating (fine he’s a bit twisted, but it was a dream of his, to tempt and test him until his alpha  pounced, and fucked him in his parents’ house in his childhood bed for not being good).

Yikes. Moving on.

His carpet still sinks a little beneath his feet; and there’s still the stain in the corner from when Harry spilt coolaid; yes Louis made the idiot try to scrub the red from his carpet (he’s always been a bit of a princess). After about two minutes he was bored of it and started tossing chips at his head until Harry riled up and quit.

How abused his room is really shows with it being clean like this. Spotless.

In the left corner is the bed Louis refused to get rid of because when Harry slept with him it was such a tight squeeze he’d always end up sprawled out on the Alpha and he lived for it. He remembers pulling the blankets over their heads and pretending to be strangers, how Harry would reluctantly play along until Louis finally fell asleep.

He remembers doing far too much to keep his attention, begging inwardly to be shown some sign that he wasn’t a pity-pal. Somehow Harry always come through for him; always kissed his hair, and held him, and told him all his secrets and all his (stupid, really) jokes and beautiful dreams. However it was forbidden to talk about any of this unless they were alone under those blankets, when they weren’t Louis and Harry but two strangers (then again Louis might’ve just been convincing himself, hopelessly in love, these happenstances were proof).

Sighing, Louis peers up at the ceiling where little footies dangle and glow like fireflies in the darkness (he hadn’t wanted windows–why? He can’t recall).

Emotion sweeps through him; sentimental as can be he sits on the worn mattress and leans over to trace the lip of the chest at the foot of his childhood bed. In there all the stuff he’d left behind rests. Wool blankets, stuffed animals and bears, board games, a footie, amongst other trinkets he’d thought better laid to rest.

A teddy bear sounds just the thing right now actually. Silent acceptance and open ears who won’t complain about him complaining.

So that’s what Louis goes for, crouching before the old heavy wooden thing and heaving it open. Collected dust attacks him at first, and Louis sneezes, waving at the air until he’s able to breathe better. Like this the boy peers curiously inside.

A wool blanket in grey greets him first. Called it. Louis smiles, then places its neat fold beside him on the carpet to continue foraging. A worn, beaten teddy bear comes up beside his dirty footie with most his memories of sports lives. Louis places the sad thing in his lap because something else catches his attention. Aside from the board games and all the journals, DVDs and CDs, there are birthday cards.

Years’ worth of them in a stack at the very top. Oh, Haz…

Emotion swells in his tight throat as the Omega snatches his hands away, shakes his head, and decides he does not need the heartache that will come with going through those; the past must be kept the past.

With his lip caught between his teeth Louis shoves everything back where everything will stay and locks the chest up for good, clutching the silly stuffed animal to his chest and crawling into bed.

Even all worn and springy it’s comforting, more so with his old bear against his chest as he winds up and squeezes his stinging eyes shut.

In these moments Louis feels like a little lad again; but with the worries and responsibilities and pain and all the shit his privileged life hadn’t allowed him to know existed back then. All of which he’d give up in a heartbeat to go back to fifteen and tell his Dad the truth so things might be different. Maybe his love would’ve been enough to keep Harry home, maybe they would have been happy, maybe Harry wouldn’t be such a broken cokehead.

God, in those days, he’d been so sure of himself, his life’s path. An invincible heir. That's the old him. Now he’s learnt nobody is invincible, especially not the heirs of the Council. At least it’s not quite so disappointing anymore.

Even knowing he should at least greet his family, Louis just wants to stay locked away in here forever. Doesn’t want to face any more scrutiny. Doesn’t want to own up to the reality that he will never have what he’s wanted since ten but some morphed, miserable friendship version.

That he misses the old him.

Doesn’t want them to know he’s let himself stoop so low to this pathetic brokenhearted bug. Because Louis can't be that person either.

So, the boy decides it’s time to be selfish with himself just to preserve his strength for dinner. He closes his eyes to let all his hopes and dreams come to life in sleep.

&&

                Even in sleep Louis knows when Harry has found him because the frost coating his skin melts under the force of his body heat. Arms circle his waist so unreasonably large hands can link over his belly, and his sleepy senses come alive as the dark scent of evergreen and cologne and alpha bundles him in a blanket of Harry Harry Harry.

A tiny sound tumbles past his lips as Louis squirms to escape what his body aches for already. “Get ‘way,” he mumbles, hands settling on the ones over his belly to pry them from his skin. One hand simply takes his and intertwines their fingers. Louis’ surrender is speedy with the knowledge of what he plans to announce tonight returns to him

Abruptly the boy is so desperate to be close to him, to leech onto him and love him.

With softly sad sigh, Louis squeezes his hand, begging him inwardly, don’t be too upset, I’m still yours.

“Why would I be angry?” Curse his inability to refrain from opening his fat mouth.

“’M sleep talkin’,” Louis whispers, meaning: you’ll know soon enough. “Ignore me.”

“You don’t sleep talk.” It’s said with such an anxiety that Louis squirms to re-position. Reluctantly, Harry gives enough for this, and Louis fists his stupid shirt, burying his face in the slope of his shoulder. “I don’t know why I am always so worried about hurting you when all you do anymore is hurt me.”

“Because you know what it means to love someone.” It’s so resigned that Louis knows it’s time to let go of their ashes. “I’m a failure. Trust me, I’m headed nowhere.”

“But you do! You…do. You just have to find the right person. You have to find the right reason. You are not hopeless. Living is not hopeless, Harry, it’s hard,” the words feel like steroid-ridden fiberglass embedding itself into the walls of his throat. His tears are almost impossible to stem.

“But I’ve had him,” Harry whispers hoarsely. “I had him this whole time, and I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t love him right. I still can’t. And in time I’ll be in the same place. Probably worse...”

His breath catches in his throat. Don’t make this worse for me, Haz.

Desperation caves in on him as Louis looks up at him through blurry eyes. You said move on, where do I go? What am I supposed to do when you’re the one I spend all my nights with? What am I supposed to do when I start wishing I was looking into your eyes instead of his?

I’m trying to test the waters for other fish, but I don’t want any fish. I want a shark. An insane, bloodthirsty coked up shark.

All I can think of is you...

But the lesson has been learnt, and Louis can't make the same mistake so many times.

“You'll be where you're meant to be,” the boy hears his voice, its borderline broken. “I just want to stay in your eyes.”

When Harry pulls him in Louis is disgusted with himself. Except once the Alpha’s mouth is on his it’s the sweetest escape from all and any the tormenting thoughts.

Need surges between them as Harry’s tongue teases his mouth until his lips are parted enough to possess. Louis doesn’t even try to be the dominant, doesn’t want to win, wants to lose and lose badly.

In flames Louis doesn’t know he’s crying until the kiss is salty with his tears. He doesn’t care, not when he’s being consumed, and shivers are wrecking up his spine. All he wants to focus on is this, wants to scar this moment into the most vital crevasse of his soul. Wants to make this their best last moment; his blood has warmed into the thickest honey, and his skin feels hypersensitive to how Harry’s fingers yank his button up from his trousers to run up his sides.

And then: this pleasure will never amount too that of Harry’s precious fix. This kiss will never be so healing. Suddenly it’s not the sensation that runs chills up his spine, but the reality.

Lacking the heart to end it like this Louis lies there, numb and motionless. He waits for Harry to catch up. It doesn’t end without resistance; Harry's tongue traces the contours of his mouth with purpose, teases his own insensitive tongue, tries and tries and tries to seduce another reaction out of him.

It’s too late. The attraction, passions flame, has died with the lack of air, with the reminder of who they are now. Still, the Omega lets the Alpha try, wishing he could feel at all.

Actually, no, he doesn’t because all he can think to taste in Harry’s mouth anymore is chemical. It’s like pouring bleach down his throat.

“Please,” the Alpha almost sobs, like he feels Louis’ torment, “P-Please, paradise. Please! Please! Just…fucking feel me!” His shoulders are being shaken as Harry’s voice climbs in wild, desperate strength. Louis just can’t.

“That’s quite enough!” A sharp feminine voice rescues him. Well until Louis realizes it’s his Mother.

Helpless, Louis jerks vertical, and scrubs anxiously at his tears while avoiding eye contact. He doesn’t need to see the truth in his Mother’s eyes to know it.

“I–,” of course Harry tries to remedy the circumstances, but slaps a shaking hand over his mouth as Jay interrupts shrewdly. “Quiet, H. I won’t speak a word of this. It is no business of mine. You two are adults now. I suppose. Anyhow, supper is being served. Louis, love, come escort your dear elderly Mother.”

Gratitude mines within him as Louis nods, and doesn’t hesitate to side Jay and offer his arm. Wordless, the two leave the room, and his Mother steers him in the wrong direction. Louis doesn’t question, desperate for privacy. “W-Why?” Louis asks almost soundlessly.

A hand settles over his as Jay murmurs softly, “I know when my pup is in distress. I’ve come to rescue you.”

Voice lost, Louis just nods, unable to follow their travels until they’ve entered an unknown room (there are many more like this one). Around his distress, he tries to explain, to laugh it off like he does, but his Mum sits down and says quietly, “Hush, love. You don’t need to explain. Just take deep breaths and calm yourself. Would you like me to step outside?”

Unwilling to hurt his Mother’s feelings, Louis starts to shake his head but his Mum only laughs airily, “Oh when will you learn I know all? Always thinkin’ of everyone else. I’ll be look out, yeah.”

“T-Thank you, Mum,” Louis mumbles though it isn’t near enough to voice his appreciation to her for being the most accepting, gracious Mother a person could ask for. With a gentle smile that tells him she understands, Jay exits, and Louis puts his hot face in his hands, gasping around the jagged ache in his throat.

It’s horrific that he wants to wash his mouth with acid to rid it of the taste of mint. It’s horrific that he wants to bathe in bleach to rid his body of Harry’s touch. It’s horrific that he wants to cleanse his brain of its love with hatred? It’s horrific that it’s horrific.

Louis laughs stuffily, madly.

God, Z had been right when he said sex is a way to feel less lonely–the emptiness that so often hollows him had, for the minute, been filled with an endless love.

Endless. Right.

“Oh, God,” Louis whimpers, hastily dabbing at the oozing tears (any evidence must be terminated least his Dad try to tear Harry’s throat out. Then where will they be? Nowhere. Louis has to keep them civil until Harry can manage to win his Dad over again. It will take a lot of work. But Harry has taken worse, obviously). “Let it go. Let it go before you screw everything up.”

Louis is very much an opportunist, and to say this moment isn’t the chance to set the last of his plan in motion would be ridiculous. Step one is to get not Harry’s, but his alpha’s, attention, because the odds of winning him over are better. And God damn it, Louis will put the odds against it all.

This is to help Harry. This is to help them. This is–, “I just need to see him,” a frantic rasp rusts the nails holding the door, the blood in his veins. “I need to make sure…to make sure…”

“You’ve done enough. Think long and hard before you make your next move,” his Mum warns form the other side calmly. “He needs a moment to himself. You'll see him at dinner in just five minutes.”

“Please, he…I just need to make sure. Just ten seconds. I’ll leave as soon as I hear his voice.”

Louis is beginning to think Harry really expects him to fold himself in half until he snaps. He almost wants to feed him the same shit he’s made Louis eat so many years.

But the eerie edge to his voice causes the boy to shiver, and it’s no surprise when his Mum soothingly allows this. Only ten seconds though–Jay is a woman of her word, bless her.

There’s a hesitate knock on the door, and Louis shuffles over to the barrier, rests his forehead on the jamb and whispers, “’M sorry.” For what I have to do to us. You probably won’t like me much for a while. But it’s to help you, I pinky promise it will be okay.

“Don’t say that. I’m the one who should be sorry.” Louis agrees, he should be. He is, just not enough.

“You should go,” Louis says softly.

“Don’t shut me out. I…I promise, paradise, I’m sorry.” On the other side Louis knows the Alpha’s forehead is hot on the cold too.

“Go,” the Omega repeats blankly. “You don’t get to ask things of me. You don’t get to be my Alpha. You don’t even get my trust. You are a liar. You’ll mean it now, but later when you’re feelin’ some type of way…”

There’s a thump that marks Harry’s head slamming into the door. “I–,”

“Time’s up, H, downstairs.”

There is a hurt noise that makes Louis want to shove his face in boiling hot water (pain has always been a thing for Harry–Louis knows because years ago the Alpha would show up places reeking of sex with a bloody mouth, bruises and streaks of angry red along his skin. He must be picking up on it). “See ya, Haz.” It’s a goodbye that will cost him.

“Paradise.” It’s only when his footsteps have faded (H used to be a bloke of his word. That is until he started lying straight through his rotting teeth) that Louis wraps his arms around his tummy as his heartrate nosedives.

All too soon his five minutes are up as Jay knocks gently, “Ready? Everyone’s waiting.”

Certainly not–but damn it Louis is no coward, though it does take him a minute more to tuck in his shirt again, button the top two again (when had they come undone) and run his fingers through his hair to smooth the gel out the best he can.

Decent, Louis opens the door with his sunniest smile and kisses his Mother’s cheek. “Thank you, Mummy.”

“Is that boy alright, Louis?” his Mother asks, tone coloured with concern as she regards him with those creepily familiar eyes. “I’ve heard some awful things.” All of which probably come from Papa, Louis bites back.

Though his belly sinks, Louis brightens his smile, “He’s absolutely losing it, Mum. Danced with the Devil or summat.”

She smiles back tightly. It’s their way of lightening–security cameras are far too invasive these days. “And what are you going to do about this?”

She’s so very sure in him–so confident. It’s exactly what Louis needs to feel like that invincible heir again. He will not let their love lose the will to live. He will not.

“What I’ve always done, Mum. Win.”

&&

It’s an eternal wait; the seconds drip until he’s bathed in anxiety with creeping impression that the followers have followed him here. Soulless entities slithering through the corridors, on the hunt for his fatal flaw: paradise.

Christ, here he is, between his Father and his Mother, with his sister across from him, rather than protecting–

Louis is not him, not in this lifetime.

Yet he is Harry’s to look after, always has been, and every second the blue eyed beauty doesn’t step through the entrance is another that Harry’s rattled bones dissolve under his own venom.

A sinkhole would be quite appreciated right now–especially when Louis’ Father, Des’ best mate, walks through with those hellfire eyes that see straight to his black core, sees the filthy bastard that’s coveted his eldest son, his prince.

“Champ,” Dan greets lightly to Des as he settles in his seat across the grand table.

Oddly enough his Father does not have the chance to respond as the older Alpha’s stare focuses on him. “Harry, do quit that tapping.” It’s only then does Harry realise his fingers are in a rhythm with his foot. Which big fucking deal. Still, to appease Louis’ Father, Harry stills, though it’s hardly over, “Tell me, H, what’ve you been up to while you aren’t in Council?”

Tension builds in his shoulders as Harry straights from his slouch. “Just living life, Sir. Taking it one day at a time.” If that’s what you want to call it.

“With my son in your presence?” the other Alpha asks sharply enough that Harry’s animal riles in response. “That is not the environment I wish for him.”

“Dan, that’s–,” Des tries to interrupt, always the peace-keeper, but for the first time tonight the Alpha looks his Father in the eye and murmurs earnestly, “I can handle it, Sir.” Des’ aging features disagree, especially when Harry redirects his attention to Dan.

“Sir, I am in no position to influence your son,” Harry doesn’t miss a beat, can’t afford to. “Louis' his own person, an adult who makes his own decisions and who has continued to do what is expected of him. You're aware that there is no controlling that boy, and shouldn't insult him by implying otherwise. He's more than I'll ever be so do not imply that I can guide him wrong when all he has ever done is guide me right. I would never try to force him into any environment. It may be against his upbringing, it may be considered scandalous to be living in the same space as an unmated alpha, let alone one like me, but as long as I’m in the picture he'll do whatever he pleases. When he wishes to leave or put me out, I won't dare try to stop him. Until then you'll have to deal with it.”

Silence bears down between them as Dan assess him skeptically (will anything please this man besides Harry ditching?), as Des does so with a shocked pride that Harry does not deserve for merely speaking the truth.

“Well then,” his kind, soft-spoken mum breaks the silence. “Now that we’ve established that.”

Before anyone else can speak (convenient really) Gemma and Lottie come through the entrance, take in the scene, and wince. “Looks like everyone’s taken it up the arse! And none of you are Omegas! So there’s some explaining to do,” Lottie, small and petite like her brother, snickers.

“Spill!” Gemma seconds. “At least I have an excuse to–,”

“Silence!” a reedy, embroidered shriek comes from behind them. If the alpha breaks his neck to make sure it’s really him, not some morphed version with followers hanging on his back, nobody comments. Petite and pretty, Louis stands with his button up in wrinkled ruins, and his eyes like newly cut glass (which always happens once he’s finished crying).

At the thought his stomach clenches up, and he has to look away before he falls apart with his heart talking out of his head. God, just looking still makes him feel lit up.

His eyes pinpoint a large, round glass vase, tucked into the very furthest corner of the room, though it’s overflowing with a foliage of freshly picked tulips. He thinks about the one before this one. The one they’d broken before Harry broke them. 

“Give it back!” the younger boy shrieks at the top of his little lungs as Harry tears down the stairs with the leatherback journal held high in his hands. It’s difficult to read when he’s struggling to remain upright, but damn if he doesn’t manage. This is truly Louis’ fault–to try and tell him he couldn’t read the bloody thing while waving it around like an offering. Yeah right, screw honor. This is just too tempting.

“Dear Other-Me,

I can’t sleep tonight. Harry’s out with some skanky whore. His girlfriend or whatever. Still skanky–,”

“Please, Haz, stop it!” Louis cries angrily as Harry rounds the corner into the kitchen, catching his side against the counterpane (fuck that’s dangerous, surely it shouldn’t be so sharp?) and dodging the Cook to maintain his pace as Louis closes in. “This isn’t funny, fucker!”

Probably not. But…he cannot resist now that he’s had a taste of his thoughts.

“–and still a whore. I hate her. She’s too perfect, all leggy and blonde. She’s not for him. She doesn’t love him or care ‘bout him or kno him or anything. Not like me. Nobody will ever kno Harry Styles like I do, not–,”

Unable to help it, winded by now, Harry stops and holds the journal too high for the other boy, who rams into him. Harry refuses to budge, reading between his cackling laughter, “Nobody ever will. Because he’s mine. And I’m his. And…” Okay, this really isn’t funny. This is sort of…terrifying. His amusement die as he reads on with Louis whimpering, “No! Please, don’t!”

“And I kno I’m not his #1 choice, I dnt have what they do at all, ‘cause I’m not meek and quiet and nice…but I just want him to look at me. LOOK LOOK at me. With alpha eyes. And make me feel more beautiful than any of them. Like I’m #1. I wished on a star tonight. Just any one ‘cause I can do whatever I want. But anyway I just want him to see me I know I’m cool ‘cause I act thick and everyone likes it…but it’s not the same. I want him to want to stay with me more than his want to leave and look at me all the time like other alphas do. I don’t want them to look at me like I want this alpha to. Like an omega. I want to feel like a beautiful omega. I want him to feel like how I feel when I’m listening to love songs I want to be his–,”

Without warning, before he can finish, Louis slams into him with so much force he topples over. In the process the priceless vase goes with them, becoming priceless pieces of a vase.

Absorbing the impact, the alpha groans just as another weight falls onto him with an “oomph.”

“I hate you!” the boy starts to scramble for the journal that’s slid across the room, and Harry panics on an Alpha level. “No, no, no. You’ll hurt yourself,” and makes quick work of taking him around the slim waist and to the floor on the opposite side where it’s spotless and safe from the danger zone Louis was headed straight into mindlessly.

On his knees, Harry stares at him stupidly–the slim boy is so still and small, hiding his face in the polished Cherrywood (like he might just disappear if he holds still enough).

The written sprawl on that journal burns behind his eyes with every blink as the Alpha tries to think fast, but damn it he’s never been able to think fast on matter that deserve nightlong mulling.

“You’re always my number one choice,” is what he comes up with. Gee, helpful, Haz.

Louis lets out a tiny, hurt noise that marks his embarrassment, his disbelief. Oh, love…

With his knuckles Harry strokes his fine hair from his soft face. Whispers, “You’re everyone’s number one. When I look into the future you are all I can see. None of them, just you. Only you.”

Just like that the boy, who only weeks ago presented Omega, melts for him and turns his face to reveal round dewy eyes. He looks so fairylike, sharp cheekbones rosy, childlike cerulean eyes, and a bow mouth all parted and moist. He’s staring at those lips, wanting to devour him, right here in his parent’s dining room, on the table; wants his breezy scent, still so fresh and lovely (will it ever not be?) thick in the air, and his gasps all he hears as the Omega experiences pleasures first touch and–

“You’re lookin’ at me with Alpha eyes,” so breathlessly put as Louis squirms, the blush fiery as his little canines chew on his bottom lip. “Are you doin’ that to prove somethin’?”

“Doin’ it ‘cause I see a beautiful Omega,” Harry murmurs huskily.

On the floor the boy shivers, then even breathier, “That’s a first.” I want all your firsts. I will have them, I swear it.

Christ, his cock fattens in his trousers as Harry lowers his eyes once again and braces over him, muscles straining. “Paradise.”

“Twat.” Leave it to Louis.

“Can I have you on your family’s dining table?”

An invitation Louis’ mouth parts a bit. “Yes.”

So willing… “Naughty boy. Bad.”

Louis’ thick lashes flutter as he mumbles with an Omega note to his voice, so soft and eager, “I can be so good, I can be.”

“For who?” Harry asks seriously, daring to close a fraction of the space between them so Louis’ breath is warm on his face, and their gazes cling. It’s not been like this, not made him feel like this before. Not with anyone. He’s never been on the verge of knotting from a warm, compact and achingly Omega body underneath his, or fluttering lashes, or shivers. They’ve not touched, and his skin has begun to crave it, his receptors on alert as his heartbeat pounds in sync with his cock. Pleasure proximity wrecks through him.  It feels…not right. Too not right to be as right as his body is telling. Something is not–

“You,” a soft mewl that intensifies the fire as Harry dips low, “You, alpha. You're my alpha.” Savoring him, his words, his feel, Harry closes his eyes, and his mouth barely brushes against Louis' pretty lips, ever-so-slightly parted. “Tell me you love me.” He’s never wanted to hear Louis say it so badly, never felt such significance, never like this anyway. Not any other time Louis’ said them. Now it’s a need. He needs to hear it or he might kill every Alpha Louis has ever looked at for no reason other than Louis is his.

Mine. A grenade obliterating all logical thoughts or confusion. It’s simply. This boy is his. Mine.

The word becomes a fierce primal mantra in his head, drowning out everything but how Louis feels underneath him, how he sounds, all sweet sharp breaths, how his scent mingles with the bonding scent softly emanating from his lit up skin. He can smell it, stronger than his proper scent, dark and prominent and owning.

You're my alpha.

Fuck yes he is. And he's about to be his alpha forever too.

A firm, offensive hand clamps onto his right shoulder. Without meaning to, in a blind rage he'll never understand, Harry lurches at the intruder, doesn’t know where this wild strength comes from (or how even) but then he has Dan on the table, cruel hands fixed around his thick throat. Baring his canines, the snarl doesn’t even sound like it’s his, “Mine!”

As awareness replaces the shock on the older male’s face, he pries himself free despite Harry’s struggle to snap his neck. They’re both breathing choppily by the time Dan’s pinned him police-style to the table, his hands fastened to his lower back. Harry just…can’t stop. Has to protect, possess. Has to, has to, has to.

“Louis,” a sharp alpha voice, mirroring his own, commands. “Tell your Mother to call Harry’s Dad.”

“B-But Papa,” the boy hiccups, and with a feral sound Harry snaps his teeth at the older alpha, like a rabid animal. “Mine!” He’s torn between looking at the beautiful, glowing creature with a scent that calls to him on highly instinctive levels, sweet and rich and made perfectly, and the fucker that’s keeping him away.

“Do as I say, Louis, or it’s the meditation center for the summer no visitation!” Dan roars with such a force that Louis vanishes in seconds. Which fuck no.

A fresh shitload of white-wash fury has Harry kicking into Institution action, knocking his face into Dan’s, whirling around once the grip on his neck has loosened (with more grace than he’s ever had) to knee him where it counts, not even watching him crumble with wheezy, “Harry, son, stop!”

Like he ever would.

Tearing after the source of his need, he follows the alluring fragrance that follows Louis. And before the Omega makes it anywhere close to wherever his Mum must be, his arms hook underneath his thighs and heft his weight as Louis gasps, “Haz?! What the fuck! Where’s my Dad?”

“Paradise,” he pants, burying his face in Louis’ slender neck, aiming for that sweet spot to sink his canines into. “Puppy paradise.” Uncontrollable, his hips work until his tented cock is rutting the boy’s tight arse, denim and cloth in the way of the wet hot place he needs to be.

Frantically his fingers fumble with his fly. It has to be now. He has to knot him now before they’re back to take him away.

“H-az, babe,” Louis breathes, the sound so needy his cock is almost too fat to possibly fit inside his little virgin paradise. No, inside first, breed him first, a voice roars behind his ears. “Please, y-you…you’re scarin’ me. Are you…alright?”

“Need to, pup. Need to, need–,” to stop now would be like shedding his own skin. It’s that scent. It’s making him crazy.

“Need to what!” the Omega asks anxiously as the button gives. Close, close, close…

“Need to…to…” he doesn’t know, fuck he does know, “I gotta have you,” he groans low in his throat, starting for his fucking zipper that’s jammed. “Let me in. Let me have you. You’re mine, y’know. I have to have you. I’ll take the best care of you, pup. I’ll never stop. Just say yes.”

Something quick pierces his neck without warning and Harry just…blanks out the moment foreign liquid rushes, entering his bloodstream surely.

He’s going to die. They’re back. They’re back.

Panic for his Paradise beats in his blood, but before the insanity breaks his brain for the last time everything fades out. He wants to tell Louis to run, but the boy is screaming murder, “Papa! What’s going on? Is he okay? Oh, God, did you kill him? Is he hurt?”

What is going on?

What happened?

That’s right: the journal. He read Louis’ journal. The vase broke–Jay is going to have their heads, or hunt him down in Hell and demand his soul.

Afterwards? Static. So much static.

What the bloody Hell is going on?

An unwarranted hurt noise forms somewhere in his chest, an indication of heart hurt possibly.

A heavy hand strokes his soaked hair, “It’s alright, son, you’re alright. You’re gonna be just fine,” that must be Dan, though he sounds a bit rucked up.

“Louis, love, can you please take the scent suppressant from your Mother and spray it all over yourself? Do this for Harry, he’s in a rut. He needs you to do this for him to make the pain go away.” I do?

“W-What’s a rut?” A rut? He wasn’t schedule for a rut, not for another month. There’s been a mistake. That’s wrong. And anyway didn’t this boy listen in biology?

“Louis. Do as I say without question now.”

There isn’t a response, just clicks. Suddenly the drive dissipates and his heartbeat slows with whatever it is dragging him down down down. No, don’t go…he thinks, wanting to panic, don’t leave me… Please, don’t leave me to the darkness like this…

It does. Like most good things.

Without, he has no reason to be, and lets himself to freefall.

Afterwards they never did truly talk about it, because Louis had started in with the selfless, “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” and Harry just couldn’t say yes so he never answered, acting revolted (“It was just a rut, I did shit I wouldn’t have. It didn’t mean anything, get over it already”) by him so Louis would leave him to rut into the mattress like a dog until the final dregs of his most intense rut finally left his system. Triggered, not due. Though he never told one soul of it.

Because then it would mean something. Back then, before snorting, shooting, smoking came along to make it all better, denial had been his go to.

“I don’t know how my arse got into the conversation–,”

“Obviously because you flaunt the bloody thing,” Lottie snickers.

“There are pups present,” Anne warns in Mummy-Mode.

“Yeah, Lottie! There are pups present,” Louis sneers friskily.

When he blinks back into reality it’s to realise everyone’s taken their seats; the pups are all sandwiched between the ‘adults’ with the subtraction of the twins who are probably asleep by now. Louis is seated to the left of Dan on the opposite end of the table as is Harry beside Des, Jay on Dan’s right and Anne on Des’. Lottie is seated beside Anne and Gemma beside Jay and so on with the pups on either side, chattering amongst themselves.

Most of the time Harry spends in silence with his stare glued to his greens, stuffing his mouth to avoid opening the bloody thing. He answers generically to whatever is launched his way by the grownups and fondly to whatever the pups ask of him. He’s attacked by peas, and is tempted to fork some back when the twins and giggle and praise each other (Dan is in on it, he is sure).  

Once the children are sent to wait for dessert in the great room Louis stands, tapping his wine glass. “So I have an announcement to make.”

“This can’t be good,” Fliss comments dryly.

He catches Louis’ dark glare before he looks to his Father who smiles warmly, “We’re listening, son.”

“I’ve agreed to be courted,” is what comes out of the boy’s mouth in such a giddy burst. Pain hits Harry like he’s been doused in gasoline and matched up, like his skin is being taken off in strips. Especially when all (aside from Dan’s furious, I’m-Gonna-Kill-You stare) hopeful eyes land on him.

“What! Who?” Lottie is the first to dare ask, slightly shocked.

None of the Styles’ say a single word as Harry closes his eyes, despising himself when Louis answers airily, “Aiden Grimshaw.” Swallowing the flare of pain, the alpha holds it in his gut, using it as a reminder that he is a fucked-up freak, and freaks deserve to get hurt.

“Oh,” Anne breathes like the airs been vacuumed out of her. “Why, that’s wonderful, love!” It’s as fake as can be.

As the table erupts in cheers and tries for toasts Harry stands, hoping in vain that he goes unnoticed. He silences their celebration, and murmurs blankly, “He’s a keeper, Lou. Congrats. I uh have somewhere to be, sorry. Here’s my keys,” he places them jerkily on the table, “I’ll uh have one of the drivers get me out of here. Have a nice night everyone.” He only pauses to mutter, “Mum. Goodnight,” out of respect and kiss his Mother’s hair.

Otherwise he doesn’t dare look at any of them, or wait on a reaction (doubts there’d be one), just makes his swift exit. He’s outside waiting on the driver to retrieve the family car when someone steps in beside him. “Here. You need this more than I do, love,” his sister speaks up, holding out an unlit cigarette.

With trembling fingers Harry takes it, and lets her light it up, inhaling so the toxins replace the oxygen in his lungs. “I’m not the Alpha that he needs, y’know.”

“Well he doesn’t love that Aiden fellow, babe,” Gemma tells him using that big-sister tone.

He smiles blandly. “He’ll have to. These things happen for a reason, Gems, and nobody can change shit.” It isn’t fun to lose him is what Harry wants to shout, but just takes another drag.

Once the driver rolls up he lets the fag out like the fire in his heart. As he’s getting in Gemma speaks up suddenly, “You’re wrong.”

He pauses. “You’re wrong, Haz. You can change. You can change it.”

But Goddamn it nobody can ever tell him how to.

&&

            Way too early in the morning, Louis sits cross-legged on the window seat with yet another Council scripture propped on his knees, pretending not to notice Harry standing in just his pants in the doorway (seems he’s through hiding his body). This goes on until Harry yawns pointedly.

Peering through his lashes Louis comments quietly, “You’re up mighty early.”

“So are you,” his voice is husky with the lack of use.

Louis gives this to him just because, “Well the early bird gets the worm,” before training his gaze on the words he has to have memorized by next Monday. In mere months Louis will have earned his place in society as heir to his Father’s seat in Council, and he’ll be damned if he lets distractions like Harry Styles keep him from his commencement.

Heavy footsteps tell of Harry’s approach, and low-and-behold the alpha snatches his coffee mug and takes a sip before sputtering, “Shit that’s bitter.”

Louis flips another page he hasn’t even read just to look like he’s succeeding somehow. “Like my arse.”

Hitching one dark brow Harry muses, “I always wondered how that arse must taste. Glad I didn’t try.” Hearing this, a lick of pain goes off in his chest, and Louis bites back between clenched teeth, “Yeah well who says I’d ever let you?”

“I certainly didn’t,” he mutters before nudging his knee, “Scoot.”

Sighing in extreme exasperation Louis sits up from his slouch so Harry can settle beside him. “What’s that?”

“Nothin’ you’d know of.”

“Ah, politics. Boring. I can brief you on everything in that Scripture.”

“Please,” Louis snorts, not believing him.

“I can.” He sounds scarily serious. Louis closes the book and looks at him expectantly, calling his bluff. He is more than disturbed when the Alpha delivers without missing one beat, running through all Louis has read thus far and shit he hasn’t even gotten to yet. It goes on for three minutes.

With a smug smile Harry leans forward to tap his chin. “Close your mouth, love, gonna catch flies.”

Louis gulps, then sputters in slight shock, “H-How? Haz, how’d you know all that?” It just doesn’t make sense. He hasn’t even gone through Politics yet. That is the one and only course Harry is missing.

“Free time I reckon.”

“That…That’s not free time, Harry. That’s…”

“It’s nothin’, paradise. I know all those Scriptures.”

Testing him Louis fires, “Edition Eleven.”

Curiously Harry tilts his head, then murmurs softly, “A well-known favourite detailing the equality and rights of A/B/O. It was dedicated to alpha supremacy up until the late 50’s when my Grandad amongst the Brothers amended the Scriptures to fit the régime of Council. C’mon, my mum didn’t raise no fool. You already knows this, don’t you?” Yes, but you shouldn’t.

“Haz…You only need Politics to ratify your heirship. What are you waiting for?”

Averting his gaze, Harry shrugs. “I just…I can’t do it, Lou. I ain’t mentally fit for that life. I will never amount to my Father or his. I ain’t Supreme. I’ve proven so many times. Once upon I might’ve been, but I lost that light a long time ago, paradise.  But you,” he twists to face him properly, giving him that look, with those mossy eyes so tired yet so confident. “You’ll make it, paradise. You have the world goin’ for you, rooting for you. You’re goin’ places, and I’ll always be with you. Just look over your shoulder, love.”

Louis opens his mouth to give it to him, but the Alpha smiles lopsidedly and stands, “Good luck with that. Need any help let me know but I’m headed out.”

“Where to?” the boy asks with his heart strangled in his chest. “Snorting up again?”

“Actually, paradise, I have a date,” Harry says simply.

Rage makes him lose his voice just long enough that Harry leaves the room. With teary eyes Louis hurls his book at the wall and holds his head in his sticky hands, hyperventilating.

Why are they still doing this?

A while passes until Louis learns to breathe again, rebuilding his will just as Aiden’s call comes. He agrees to something, he doesn’t know what.

On his way out of the room the omega almost misses the teddy bear seated beside the door with the card that reads, ‘I’m sorry, I love you.’ Rebellious as can be against a teddy bear Louis walks past it without any fucks to give.

&&

“Have I ever been in love?” Aiden muses, walking him up to his front door with the sun steadily setting behind them. “Once.”

Louis gives him an encouraging look though the alpha swallows audibly, then shrugs. “I only knew her a few weeks before…She was killed in Institution. Only fifteen.” He glances at Louis’ face and smiles a sad, shifting smile. “I know…but tragedy doesn’t discriminate, y’know. Everyone’s subject to the same whims of fate. No matter what your skin colour or how much money you have, whether you’re Alpha or Omega, or an atheist or a true believer…Everyone’s loved by someone, somewhere.”

“I’m sorry.”

“We all are. I’d wonder why particulars were drafted. Why it wasn’t me, y’know. This generation is going to enlighten the whole, and the Institution will be shut down. When it is time for Supreme Des to stand down, whoever takes his place…if Harry takes his place it'll be brought to an end… ’M sure after all those years he'll see eye to eye with me this one time. We don't need sufferers…we need soldiers.”

Louis is struck by emotion, and it’s one that brings tears to his eyes. “You have my support.”

“I know,” Aiden breathes as they stop before the entrance, reaching forward to stroke the hair out of his eyes. “I know, love. I know I’m not the one for you... That’s okay. You will always find a friend in me, and I you. For now…” A sneaky smile Louis’ worn most his life transforms his features, “We can pretend for the fun of it. I have a cokehead to fuck with.”

Louis stretches on his tiptoes to plant a soft kiss of apology to his lips, then buries his face in Aiden’s shoulder when the alpha embraces him. “Thank you, Aiden. You…You’re the best. You’ll find someone you’ll love better, who will love you better. My heart obviously sucks.”

“You have a heart?” Aiden laughs silently, kissing his temple to convey his tease.

”Only the purest there is,” Louis says firmly before grinning toothily when Aiden flicks his ear, “I’d be a fool to believe that.”

“True, but at least you’d still be my perfect pretend boyfriend,” he grumbles, fishing out his keys.

“I better not get my arse beat for this again,” the alpha starts backwards with his hands stuffed in his pockets.

“Get out of here, Grimshaw! Before I beat your arse !”

“Going! See ya bright and early, Tommo!”

Blowing him a few kisses Louis waits until Aiden’s in his car to wave goodbye and enter the cold icebox that is his house.

Here, like always, a wave of loneliness comes contempt over him, and he closes his eyes. Utterly alone Louis starts towards his bedroom to plug the depression.

Ever since he left his Mother it’s so much harder to know how to make his own life here, how to make his own home. And ever since he left his Father it’s been so much harder to know how to live his own life when all he needs is home.

As the boy goes his adjusted eyes land on the teddy bear leaned against the door jam. Sinking beside it Louis puts an arm over his face and begins to weep uncontrollably. He spirals into all the pain he’s tolerated in his heart, all the burden on him and in him.

When all that remains is tear tracks and hiccups, the front door opens and Louis holds very, very still in hopes that the alpha will miss him and just head up the stairs.

“Paradise?”

Of course not.

Louis only hiccups in response. Starting in his direction, Harry turns on the lights, which make his eyes sting like he’d been crying sand.

Crouching beside him, Harry’s blown pupils focus on him. “You been crying, love?”

“I n-never cry, you know that.” He glares at him through swollen eyes. “Ever.”

Wordless with those unforgiving eyes never leaving his, Harry reaches out, then holds out the teddy bear and a single daffodil. “It means new beginnings,” he whispers with traces of something sad and sorry in his voice. Helpless to him, Louis takes what Harry is offering, stands on shakily legs and flees to his room.

&&

            Watching the boy leave like this, a numb blanket settles on Harry’s shoulders before sweeping up and down his body–it does nothing to quiet his mind, but his bones and muscles do ease out. After five eternal minutes of grueling contemplation his alpha succeeds in getting him across the hall and into Louis’ room without even knocking first.

“W-What do you think you’re doing!” the boy squeaks, scrambling out of bed with such an adorable, wide-eyed expression of shock. “I didn’t let you in! Be gone, demon of the night!”

“I ain’t a vampire, paradise,” he chuckles quietly, going over to the record player on his dresser and fiddling with it, “We’re goin’ to dance. To all these dusty old records you’re hoarding.”

“What makes you think I’ll say yes to that?” Louis asks petulantly.

Rising to his feet, Harry looks at him with an intensity he feels everywhere all at once, and uses his most swaying voice, “Please, paradise.”

See, life had beaten the shit out of him, and instead of folding, each strike and blow had forged him harder and stronger and tougher until his inevitable break. Now nothing lingers of the boy he’d once been, but that’s growing up. Not only does your body change; your head does, too. Sometimes for the worst.

Staring at his boy now (who is swimming in his shirt, chewing on his bottom lip and shuffling his little feet) the loss of innocence seems a crime. “Why?”

“You fancy dancin’, yeah?”

“Not with you,” the boy mumbles with an edge to his voice–not tonight.

Not tonight–he’s hurting and he’s defensive and he might mean that but damn it Harry will not give up so easy. If there is one thing worth fighting for it’s his paradise. And if he’s going to stand tall it’ll be for him.

“Well, darlin’,” Harry murmurs in an American southern drawl. “I would fancy a dance with you.”

As the static mutes, the record at last starts up, and Harry goes to him and holds out his hand with his most charming smile. “Dance with me.”

Goddamn Louis is so damn pretty too, all sleepy with rosy cheeks and stormy eyes. When his dainty palm settles in Harry’s, he doesn’t give him a chance to pull away or change his mind. In response to the sharp current that comes with the contact, his fingers curl firmly.

Johnny Cash doesn’t wait for them to collect themselves; so neither does Harry, drawing Louis close and swaying them in time with the building beat.

“I find it very, very easy to be true. I find myself alone when each day is through,” he leans down to breathe into the shell of his ear as he takes them around the room in slightly unsure circles (see he’s not much good at dancing or cheesy romance so this isn’t his best act). “Yes, I’ll admit that I’m a fool for you, because you’re mine. I walk the line.” As he hums along the tension between them melts–it’s so easy to forget the circumstances of their lives like this in the dim light of Louis’ safe haven room.

“As sure as night is dark and day is light, I keep you on my mind both day and night. And happiness I’ve known proves that it’s right because you’re mine, I walk the line.”

The boy’s gentle breaths hitch in his ear when he noses at his temple, inhales so that his heart slows and calms itself and this is right. This is where Louis belongs. This…them is right.

“You’ve got a way to keep me on your side. You give me cause for love that I can’t hide. For you I know I’d even try to turn the tide, because you’re mine, I walk the line.”

More sweet, placid swaying as Louis’ palm, damp like he’s nervous, squeezes his with more strength than Harry thought he possessed.

“I keep a close watch on this heart of mine, I keep my eyes wide open all the time,” his mouth is hot on the curve of Louis’ pixy ear in attempts to bring the words to life, to give them the meaning Louis needs. “I keep the ends out for the tie that binds, because you’re mine. I walk the line.”

As the tune closes Harry crushes him close until their heartbeats seem to fuse and beat the same. As they stand there in the middle of the room Louis breathes, “Duet. Let’s do the one with June Carter. So I can kick your sorry arse.”

“You’re on,” Harry allows but can’t seem to take his arms back. “Just give me a mo'. I haven’t…held you in a while.”

“I shouldn’t,” Louis sighs tiredly, the words another few jagged daggers to the chest. “I really shouldn’t. This isn’t healthy.”

“But you will,” he retorts unsteadily, burying his nose in Louis’ feathery hair and just breathing him into his lungs, spreading wildflowers in his chest all the while. Unfortunately the minute doesn’t last nearly long enough before Louis shoves at his shoulders, “Don’t be a pussy. Start the song.”

At the challenge Harry forces himself to do so; starts the record and watches as Louis teases his hair in the vanity mirror, a proper June Carter impersonator.

Harry paces until the beat starts up in unison, playing along.

Louis beams but otherwise ignores him as Harry sings, “I’m goin’ to Jackson, I’m gonna mess around. Yeah, I’m goin’ to Jackson, look out Jackson town.”

Then Louis turns to him and storm up to him with his bitch-face on (so damn cute). “Well, go on down to Jackson; go ahead and wreck your health,” his little hands shove at his shoulders. “Go play your hands you big talkin’ man, make a big fool of yourself. Yeah, go to Jackson; go comb,” he yanks at the stray curls in his face, “your hair!”

“Honey, I’m gonna snowball Jackson,” Harry says easily, stroking his cheek with fingertips though the omega smacks his hand away.

“See if I care!” And waves a dismissive hand.

“When I breeze into that city people gonna stoop and bow.” Harry bows, grinning cheekily.

“Hah!” Louis says sharply, starting away.

He follows him around the room, watching how he moves in waves and twirls and sways like he knows how to let his body do the talking. He always has, hasn't he? Yeah, and Harry's always loved this about him, his complete capability. Suddenly the room is hot as fuck and Harry's fucking losing his grip

“Goodbye, that’s all he wrote!” Louis squeaks, laughing breezily. “But they’ll laugh at you in Jackson, and I’ll be dancin’ on a Pong Keg,” the boy wiggles his bum playfully. Christ, that’s mine. Luscious and perky and all mine. “They’ll lead you ‘round like a scolded hound,” and he barks pertly for effect which makes Harry snort, “With your little tail tucked between your legs. Yeah, go to Jackson, you big-talkin’-man,” he tugs at the collar of his shirt playfully. “And I’ll be waitin’ in Jackson, behind my Japan Fan.”

His arms hook underneath the boy’s thighs in these moments so his legs connect them and they’re nose-to-nose with Louis’ hands up in his hair.

He hums softly to the beat, brushing their noses back and forth, his eyes luminous with affection.

“Well, we got mated in a fever, hotter than any out there. We’ve been talkin’ about escape ever since this fire went out,” Harry finishes in a heavy breath as Louis inhales sharply, yanking at his hair in retaliation though it only makes his cock twitch, steadily taking interest.

It’s so quiet, their hushed breaths the only sound as Louis blinks owlishly, then mumbles, “Down.”

“Why were you cryin’ earlier?”

“You were with some bitch today,” the boy almost pouts, then realizes he does as does as his expression hardens, and he shoves at Harry’s shoulders. “Let me go, damn it.”

“Stop it. You were with Aiden today,” he bites back; and the jealousy must rage in his eyes because Louis ceases his struggle in seconds, stroking his jaw with sad eyes.

“But you were with her.” Like he’s trying to get impossibly closer, his miniature legs constrict around his waist, heels digging into his back. “You were away from me. You always are...”

“What is the difference between my being with someone and you being with someone?” he demands, irritated with this boys mind-fucks.

“You’re…just not supposed to be with someone else,” Louis whispers, burying his face in Harry’s neck. His uneven breaths are so warm on his skin, spreading tingles and zings down his spine.

“You’re not supposed to be with Aiden,” he whispers gruffly, toying with the fine hairs at the nape of his neck.

“’S n-not the same,” Louis mumbles sullenly.

“I didn’t dance with her,” Harry murmurs, spinning them just to. “Didn’t spin her ‘round and ‘round in circles like this.”

Louis laughs stuffily, “That doesn’t mean shit.”

“I have two left feet, paradise. I wouldn’t ever show her what I show you. I’d do anything with you anywhere. I’d probably sing Your Song if you asked nicely.” (He really fucking hates that song.)

“D-D-Do it,” Louis demands, then at Harry’s expectant look, “Please.”

So Harry does. He would do mostly anything Louis asked, and happily too.

Louis giggles, “Not your song.”

“I know.” He doesn’t stop though, because he loves making him laugh, and it’s rare these days.

“If you don’t like it so much why do you know the lyrics so well?”

“Shhh,” Harry quiets him, “’S our secret.”

“We’re so musical tonight,” Louis whispers shyly. “I love it.” I love you.

“I’ve been sober four days now,” Harry blurts stupidly. “I know it doesn’t mean much but I just…I wanted you to know. I don’t know that I can do it.”

“I don’t know that I believe you." He made it like this, made himself deceitful.

An unsteady laugh crawls up his throat. “I know, I don’t blame you.” But I’m not lying.

Backed up a bit, the omega looks at him with those sad, all-too-knowing eyes, and asks unevenly, “Can you make it a week?”

“I don’t know,” he says honestly.

A little hand curls at his jaw as the omega whispers, “Make it a week. You do that, I’ll call off my date with Aiden on Sunday and we can go Niall’s bonfire instead.” Fuck, a cold sweat breaks over his skin because that’s three more days. Oh God there’s no way…yet–

“Like a…MeandYou?” A date?

“If you still want that,” Louis whispers, with round pleading eyes. “A MeandYou. If not ‘m taking Aiden. 'V got options and I need to let loose.” Christ, drunk Louis is bad Louis, bad and a tad slutty Louis.

“Okay. I’ll try. I’ll…I’ll try, paradise.”

It’s going to be the longest three days of my life.

&&

            “I’m buzzing!” Louis chirps, settling shades low on his nose to peer up at him, pulling an adorable face. “You need some sun, Mr. You’re startin’ to remind me of a vampire. You know I’d be a proper vampire. I could be so badass. In some world I’m meant to be a vampire, and suck your blood and–,”

“I think you’re more a werewolf,” Harry teases, unable to help himself. “All scruffy and eager.”

Louis sniffs haughtily, tipping the shades up so his eyes are hidden then shoving their bag at him. He catches it with a cheeky grin. “Shut up, I just shaved for this event. So eat ass.”

When Harry doesn’t answer, stifling his answering smile, Louis lowers the shades on his nose to pin him with another soft look. That does it. He’s grinning like an idiot, shrugging the duffle onto one shoulder. Some measures in the distance, the villa is swarming with people, and the ocean roars along with him, all riptides and swells of water.

“C’mon then, Vampy,” Harry murmurs quietly, “You’re the life of the party, yeah? Show me what you’re all about these days.”

Before the boy repositions the shades the blues of his eyes shimmer with so much sweet emotion that it’s almost easy to ignore that he’s not had a fix in a week, that his entire body is in panic mode, that it’s an agonizing wait.

“Well I will need a buzz to get me there,” Louis chirps quietly, brushing his hand hesitantly. He shouldn’t do it, shouldn’t take his hand and act like his alpha…because Louis is taken, Louis has someone. But damn it he’s not honorable, and he doesn’t care because Louis was his first and he just…

As his hand envelopes the Omega’s small, dainty one, it doesn’t feel wrong–he doesn’t want to worry about the damage done tonight. Tonight is his night–his night to be the cause behind Louis’ every smile, and his giggles and his snarky attitude.

In his chest his heart jackhammers, accelerating and crashing into his chest with every second they stand here, observing the boy with stupid wanderlust and trust and excitement. “Don’t think about Aiden tonight,” is the possessive shit comes from his mouth.

“Don’t think about anyone but me tonight,” Louis quips. “No waffles, or sluts or Grimshaw’s or anything. Just me.” 

“I can do that,” the Alpha murmurs quietly, squeezing his hand. “I can so do that.”

“Then let’s throw Ni into the ocean and watch him drown,” Louis crows, adorably fist pumping and grinning evilly.

“You’re twisted, y’know that?” Harry questions quietly as he yanks on his arm so he’s stumbling behind him.

“But you’d do it if I asked, wouldn’t you?” the Omega asks pertly, looking over his should with an artful arch to his brow. Probably, sorry, Ni. “Mhm,” the boy hums knowingly. “Who’s the twisted one, really?”

“Still you,” Harry mutters lamely, then elaborates, “I would toss him, but I wouldn’t stick around to watch the poor lad drown.”

By now they’re in the sand, and the Alpha regrets wearing trainers because they’re bound to be ruined by the end of the night. Then again so is he because bliss is hidden in the pocket of his bag and bliss has been waiting for him all week. If he can just get away from Louis for ten minutes, lock–

“What?” Louis slows down.

Smoothing his expression Harry fists his hands to hide how his fingers tremor, “What?”

“What?” he asks again carefully, and behind his shades those eyes must be scrutinizing him. “You look…guilty? It’s just Ni. We can live without ‘im surely.”

With a rueful smile Harry argues, “But poor Niall thinks we’re his friends.”

“Correction we are his pals. Everyone knows pals don’t matter all that much,” Louis waves a dismissive hand.

“That’s your logic,” he murmurs, but starts to trudge through the sand some more. “’Sides, he’s probably expecting some Bonnie and Clyde shit from us anyway.”

With a delighted peal of laughter Louis hops up and down, effectively sidetracked. “We are like Bonnie and Clyde. I’m the mastermind Bonnie and you’re the idiot Clyde that does my bidding.”

“You’re manlier, you be Clyde.”

“Hah! But you’re more Alpha which means you’re the idiot that thinks like an animal, and doesn’t think logically.”

“Let’s remember your logic,” he air-quotes.

“Aiden fucked me on the wall yesterday,” the boy remarks nonchalantly.

Worse than the blazing sun fury is set to his insides as Harry clenches his jaw to stifle the sound sprouting in his chest. It must be evident on his face because Louis continues, “It was real hot and sweaty, too. And his mouth was all over–,” Without reason Harry snatches his hand back and turns on his heels.

“Wait!” Louis cries, confusion leaching into his tone. “Where are you goin’?”

“First,” Harry snarls, scattering sand, “’m grabbing my gun from the boot. Second ‘m hunting him down and ‘m sure once his blood is all over my face I’ll be doin’ some time.”

“See!” the boy giggles, running to catch up. “Look at you! You are such an Alpha idiot!”

“Funny,” Harry sneers, yanking his arm away from Louis’ tugging.

“It is funny! You’re just too Alpha idiot to see the humor!” he says breathlessly.

“Y’know, maybe I need some time. Won’t be able to snort up, yeah? That’s what you want so bad, innit? To tear me down and watch me crumble?” At the thought Harry laughs bitterly, shaking him off again. “You play too many games. You fuck with my already fucked-up head.”

The boy steps in his path, and Harry stops before he runs him down, watching as he removes the shades, tosses them to the sand peels out of his shirt. “What the fuck–?”

Before Harry can react, to drink in the sight of his, Louis flashes a little come-and-get-me grin and bolts in the opposite direction towards the shoreline. Quick, effortless in his rush.

As out of control as he’s feeling Harry doesn’t even notice that he’s tearing after him until his vision files down on his figure. And then he’s catching him around the waist, slipping up so they tumble to the sand with Louis’ sweet, animated laughter.

“Alpha idiot,” the boy breathes from underneath him, all sandy and beautiful with sun-kissed skin flawless and smooth. He reaches up, stroking his hair from his face with that stupid, dreamy smile. “You don’t think you’d have scented him on me if I let him in me?”

The mere prospect cloud his vision in crimson so Harry bites back, “Scent suppressants. You’re manipulative enough to use them.”

“I am,” Louis allows, “but I still didn’t let him in.”

A shudder wrecks through him as he braces on his elbows in the sand that pitches his skin painfully. “You kissed him,” is the fuming breath that spears him.

“I kissed you, too. I didn’t let you in.”

“I don’t know what you do. You spend ninety percent of your time with him.”

“You’re just trying to make yourself not look like an Alpha idiot right now,” Louis says slowly, the tips of his fingers tracing the circles underneath his eyes. “’S not working.”

“You’re lonely, I dunno how you want to fill that void,” Harry grumbles.

At this the boy blinks owlishly, bites his bottom lip, and thinks this over. “I am,” he admits softly. “I wish I could let you hold me so I don’t feel so lonely anymore…but.”

“But,” he prompts through clenched teeth.

“You’re a mess...”

“I’m not incapable of comforting you.”

“Yeah, H, you are.”

Before Harry can retort something just as stupid as everything else, an Irish squawk cuts him off, “Ay! No fuckin’ on my beach, fuckers!”

“That was the last thing I would do with him, Horan,” Harry sneers, staring at Louis, who arches an eyebrow and turns his face in Niall’s direction. “Hey, Ni! What's good?” All the while his hands slide softly down his taunt shoulders, feeling on his biceps and squirming only a bit, but enough that his belly his flush to his hips. A sharp breath catches in his throat, and his eyes shut as he wills his cock to stay uninterested.

“Ya know, tryin’ to make sure you two don’t fuck on me beach, the usual,” the Irish boy murmurs flippantly.

“Didn’t you hear? Harry has an erectile dysfunction,” Louis jeers, not stopping his tiny movements once, his scent heavy in the ocean breeze, roaring in his nose. His cock expands and swells, bulging like the bloody thing needs to be noticed.

“I ‘ear a lot ah shit, Lou,” Niall is unimpressed. “I also hear you’re into omegas. Yet you’re currently suckin’ alpha dick.”

A pout pushes his bottom lip though there's the faintest hint of a smile there. "And not mine."

Jealously possess him and Harry lowers his hips in retaliation, hard. Louis feels it, of course he does. His nails bite at the skin of his biceps, no doubt leaving half-moons, as he says, slightly out of breath, “No dick…yet. Yours will be on my mind the whole time though, I promise.”

Niall licks his lips, never breaking eye-contact with Louis. Blue on blue. Beauty on beauty. Bestie on bestie.

They're playing with him, and Goddamn Harry can't believe he's got these images floating in his head.

“Give it to him hard, 'Az. He likes it best like that.

“Piss off,” the alpha mutters, glancing down Louis’ face for any traces of what he's thinking. There’s only a dewy light to his eyes as he keeps looking at Niall. “Oh Ni…I think we've got someone's attention. What d'you think's making him hard? Because it seems his penis is workin’ just fine.”

I'm tryin' to fuck you and your bestie....

What. The fuck.

“I can see that, boo. Can you blame him? 'S hot. Us, together." Amusement seeps into his voice. “Mmmm, 's too bad we... Oh well, this is a party not a porno. There's always a time and a place though.” The Irish lad talks he’s strolling away, snickering under his breath. Unable to help it, Harry buries his face in Louis’ throat, sand and all, groaning stupidly, “Paradise, baby.”

“Harry,” Louis breathes dejectedly. “I…” God, he hates how all he can do these days is make him sad.

“I’m sorry,” he says desperately. “Let me make this better.” He’s so twisted, like the way his hips gyrate, the way Louis lets out this beautiful noise, could make this better. “Haz, you’re–,” 

“I just…I need you, paradise. I need you.”

“’S not happenin’,” the boy whispers with an ache to his voice that crawls along his prickling skin.

“Please,” he wants to stop begging like a dog, but he can’t, “Please…I…Please.”

“No. You’re being pathetic, H, just stop.” Recoiling from the sting of those sharp words, Harry rolls onto his back and screws his eyes shut.

“I’m sorry,” Louis mutters shakily. “I didn’t mean it like it came out. I just…suck at the sympathy shit.”

“No. You’re just cruel.”

“Yeah, you too. I’ll just go get the duffle and put it in the villa, yeah?”

“No,” Harry says in an abrupt rush, upright in seconds with the sun searing his eyes as he tries to look at him. “No, I’ll get it. You can’t…carry all that.”

Louis shoots him an annoyed look. “Yes, I can.”

“I don’t want you to have to.” It’s honest, Harry really doesn’t. Because his little bit of bliss is hidden in there, and if Louis happens to stumble upon it (he can be quite nosy) he will not hesitate to discard all of what he has to get him through tonight.

“Is this Alpha idiot Harry again?”

It’s Harry turn to make a face. “This is my being a gentleman.” Ha-Ha.

Louis gives him the same heartrending look he’s given him one too many times, and his skin crawls: there’s no doubt in the awareness that creeps into his sad stare. “Okay.”

Okay?

As his heart guns at his ribs and his palms slicken up, anticipation hungers in his bones. He doesn’t even question him, rising to an unbalanced stance and forcing his limbs to stay at a low, leisure pace though he really just wants to tear across this sandy place to where his duffle is left in plain sight.

Just two lines, he promises, just two. That’s not quite so ba–

A blur of body rockets past him, quick and determined. Which fuck, of course not. Why make it easy on him?

Always graceful on his feet, a proper player, it doesn’t surprise the Alpha when Louis dives onto his knees and paws at his duffle.

Panic creeps up on him, but the logic remains: the pocket isn’t visible, and he had chosen that bag just for its disclosure.

“You won’t find anything,” Harry tries not to lie. It’s true, he won’t find it. Not when he’s like this: desperate and grappling. On his knees, shoving their clothing onto the sand, Louis is silent, then looks at him with an utterly betrayed expression. “Where is it?” Like I’d tell you.

Alarm bells sound in his head when Louis shouts with an out-of-control edge, “God damn it, answer me!” Nowhere near that of an Alpha, but urgently commanding in an anxious way.

“I’m not hiding anything.”

“So this is how you planned it all out, huh!” he laughs, the sound shattered glass that shatters him.  “Stay sober a week to make stupid Louis believe I’m getting better. But the moment he turns his stupid back I’m gonna snort up like nothing matters!”

At that Harry flinches, but can’t answer because Louis stands, scrubs at his red-rimmed eyes and speaks with more strength, “I think you forget I always win.” With a spiteful gleam to his eyes the Omega turns over the duffle so all the content thud to the sand–shampoo, body wash, jewelry, clothes. As his muscles twitch Harry says impassively, “This ain’t a game.” Anxiety is spiraling dangerously through him even so.

“You won’t ruin my night. We are on a MeandYou, and God damn it you are not relapsing today.” With his delicate shoulders squared the Omega starts towards the shoreline.

“What are you doin’?” Act calm, act calm.

Louis doesn’t react. “What I ‘ave to.”

“I like that bag.”

“You like what’s in the bag.”

“You aren’t allowed to throw the bloody bag, Louis.”

Louis glances at him and though Harry tries not to flinch, the furious fire in his eyes turns the situation from minor to major crisis. “Yeah? How d’you plan on stopping me, Styles? Gonna use the voice? You Robert now? Not obsessed with me though, your fix. Do it. Use the voice! Show me exactly who you are now!” 

Humiliation slits the shield against the monster who taunts: do it, show him what a pathetic addict you’ve become. Show him nothing matters more than our little bit of bliss. SHOW HIM. “That’s not fair! I’d never…” strip you of your dignity too.

“Not fair?” Louis snarls frigidly. “What’s not fair, Harry, is that I have to live with this too! I’ve been living with it for years and I am through. I’ve sacrificed everything, everything I’ve ever hoped for, to help you! You don’t even want the help, but I’m just so stupid. I can’t stop! It’s not fair that I care more about you then you’ll ever care about me. What’s not fair is that my best fucking mate, my first love, my only, doesn’t fucking give a shit, and a drug is my fucking replacement!” Oh, God.

“Please, don’t,” he begs frantically, ankle deep in the water by now. He cannot comprehend Louis’ words at this point, consumed by his body’s panic: the red alert shrieking monstrously, no longer comforted by the idea of receiving what he needs.

“And still…it’s all you care about,” Louis whispers so broken that Harry wills his body to numb the anguish, to just use Louis instead. But he simply cannot suffice, Louis will only be in danger, bound to be hurt and–

“Well let’s see how it is when I am all you have!” He continues into the icy water that’s a brief relief on his fired-up skin. Helpless, Harry follows, waves slapping him even as his blurry vision stays on how Louis wrestles them, holding the duffle high in his hands.

Just barley keeping it above water.

“I’ll stop! Just paradise please–,” Let me know it’s there at least.

“What’s one more fucking day with–?” A contempt wave swallows them whole for a moment, and it’s over.

As his nails rake over his skin Harry breaches the surface with Louis gasping some measures ahead of him. He doesn’t want to watch this disaster play out, doesn’t want to be this person, but he can’t stop searching, can’t trust himself.

It’s floating, wilted and sad, away. It doesn’t sink like the decent side of him thought it might, it stays on the surface. As if the drug refuses to leave unless Harry goes down with it. God, he almost wants to.

Without realizing he’s submerged in water, thrashing wildly towards it, tearing the bag open and rambling, “nononono,” while undoing the thickly saturated zipper. The three baggies have gotten wet, moisture dissolves the powder into milky substance which okay okay, he can cook it, crack is better than nothing…He can, he can…

“Were…you lyin’ to me? When you said you made it a week without?” A small, hurt voice asks.

He wants to lash out, to snarl and sneer and spit words that will hurt him as much as he’s hurt Harry by trying to help him. As if. What’s one more lie anyway? What the fuck is one more hurtful lie? Let him feel the burn. “Yes.” I don’t even care to look worthy right now, you reduced me to the desperate cokehead I am.

And he doesn’t look back to see Louis’ crushed expression, doesn’t flinch from the sharp, dry sob. “I s-should’ve never believed you.”

As the Alpha stares at the milky packets in his hands, his eyes burn from how hungry his stare is. The whole foundation is cracked by now, Louis has broken it. Without listening to him continue Harry fists the first one, forces his arm back and hurls it away. As it goes the lack of drugs sitting on his lungs causes him to inhale on a gasp, nearly hyperventilating as he tosses the next. Except he can’t do it…Not the last one.

With a ragged noise Harry turns around to shove his hand out. Whispers around its hisses, you need us you need us, “I can’t do it. I-I’m sorry. Please just get it away from me. It…hurts.”

Water splashes and ripples as a dainty hand curls around his, the baggie cozy between their palms. “I’m so sorry,” it’s a faint breath as those fingers curl around the baggie, and slowly takes it from his palm. He doesn’t want to watch, couldn’t stand to. If his body doesn’t know…

“Aye, how ‘bout we do somethin’ else with this?”

Hope lights up in his chest, followed by fury because no Louis will never be this way. He won’t allow it.

“No, idiot, I don’t want to snort–,”

“You can’t now,” he croaks pitifully. “It’s wet. It’ll have to be…”

“I don’t need to hear your expertise, baby,” Louis breathes, and his sopping hair tickles his sensitive skin, makes it itch in the worst ways. As his hand reaches up, the Omega hushes him (though he hasn’t spoken) and smooths his hair back, “Come. So we don’t hurt your precious sea creatures. Let’s bury it.”

Somehow the touch doesn’t hurt, doesn’t scald him, in fact it’s almost like he can breathe a bit better. God, he’s so easily hooked on any inkling of understanding Louis shows him. Unable to find his voice for fear that it’s been ripped from his throat, the monster trying to keep him from agreeing, Harry nods.

It’s almost hard to let Louis draw him out of the water, but he does so, burying his face in the slope of his neck and holding him around the waist so his back is to his chest and Louis’ head is on his shoulder. “We’re goin’ to get plastered tonight,” the boy whispers gently. “And we’re goin’ to pretend we are right where we wanna be in life. Nice thought, yeah?”

This boy just can’t shoot him down because he’s already knocked him dead. His mind already taking backroads, away from the main drug way, thinking that sounds so damn appealing.

“It’d sure be cool,” he agrees hoarsely as they emerge, drenched.

Louis shivers, then a mere breath. “How would you make your life what you want it to be, Haz?”

I’d love you more than I’ve loved anything. I’d think if I loved you this much, you wouldn’t be gone. “I’d take you home from school every night, sit you on the counter and cook for you. I’d pick all the wildflowers I could find and bring them home to you even though you don’t fancy flowers all that much. I’d drive so we could chase the sunset, like you always have wanted to do. I’d stop being so stubborn and selfish. I’d think about you more and me less. I’d make you laugh more. I’d hold you when you cry because I’d have your trust.”

“Mmm,” Louis hums, and it’s so content that he wants to sob because he wants that more than he wants any fucking escape. “But what about for you? How would you like to be?” I know you’re warning me that if I don’t change you’re leaving, but I just…I’m trying not to believe it.

Emotion swells in his throat and it takes three dry swallows before he can tell, “Well, for starters, I’d get my shit together. I imagine it’s goin’ to have to be me who man’s up. All on my own. I don’t know, but I imagine one day you’re going to call me, years later, and you’ll tell you’re happy and you found someone. I’ll have to be happy for you because you deserve the very best. And I think…I think I’ll have found someone too.” Louis tenses up, but Harry continues wistfully, “It’ll be like a new life, a new me, and it’ll take a lot of tears and sweat and time down on my knees but I hope…I hope I’ll have found someone in the mirror, just looking back at me, out of the blue. It might take me losin’ you, but I swear on any ounce of Harry left in me, you’ll always have my heart. I just…I’ll look for my place under the sun, and I’ll find myself. I will be…okay. So will you. You will be okay.”

There’s a tiny sniffle. “We’ll be under different suns, worlds apart maybe, but I’ll never not see your eyes right before I fall asleep, I’ll never stop hoping maybe you find the same someone in my reflection, and I’ll always hope to have a special place in your heart. I know I don’t deserve that…but I hope maybe one day I will.”

“B-B-But I wanna help.” Louis turns without warning so his mouth is tight against Harry’s collarbone, and he’s trembling but Harry doesn’t think it’s from the cold. “Don’t let me go. Please…” I’ve already made a mess of me. I’m not who I want to be, that’s why I don’t know why you bother.

Obeying Louis’ every wish and desire is one of Harry’s guiltiest pleasures. “You’re my wildest dream come true,” he breathes, nosing at his drenched hair and smiling despite it all. “Remember when I told you it was to make it through the Institution seven times? Well been there, done that. You know what? I don’t think I’d have even made it without you. You’re all that kept me goin’ ‘cause I was coming home to paradise. Paradise with soft blue eyes and the best love ever.” When Louis only snivels some more, all choked up, “I think I’m finally gonna get your name tattoed on the spare space on my arm. You...You’re the one thing I’d rather die than lose, Lou, I need you to know that. I need you close so at least that way I’ll always have you here somehow.”

“’Az,” Louis shakes his head, fisting his sopping shirt. “You can’t be sweet to me when you’ve b-b-been stabbing me in the back.” Pain is growing like a vine, strangling his heart as Louis cries soundlessly. All the memories of what used to be, what can still be, cuts him a like a thorn. “Y-You could’ve just stayed home with me! Y-You had all these chances to love me right!” When you say you love me, no, paradise, I love you more. “And n-nothing’s changed–,”

“Can you still love me another day?”

“I…What.”

Taking the dime bag from his damp palm, Harry tosses it (and doesn’t even care), gets on his knees and shoves his hair back. He ignores how his body hasn’t quit, how his jeans stick to his skin, how he is wishing he was home with him. In record time Louis has scrubbed away any evidence of tears, and all that is left is his paper white cheeks, tear streaks, a moist mouth and glassy eyes staring down at him fearfully. “Can you love me another day, paradise?”

“If you’re lucky,” Louis mumbles, hiding his face behind his hands. “Either way I don’t like you more.”

Resting his head on the expanse of his belly Harry whispers, “You’re so beautiful. Don’t ever change.”

His bubbling giggle is felt all the way down to the tips of his fingers. “I’ve waited a long time for you to say that and feel it. Don’t want me to change even when I’m a little shit?”

“Especially don’t then.” I wish I could make it as easy to love me.

With only a sigh the Omega unhooks his arms. Harry just sits there with his head bowed low because he knows what’s coming when the boy settles before him, reaching over for his watered down bit of bliss. “You’re doin’ most of the work. Start digging, Clyde.”

Working his jaw, he does so, letting his nails dirty with sand as he creates a deep ugly hole, terrified that he’s going to be digging in the sane for it the rest of the night.

“Alright that’s enough.” Though he would rather focus on this Louis’ hand lands on his forearm and he halts instantly, peering up at him for direction. “’S okay, baby. Gimme your hand.”

“I can’t…”

“Yes,” the boy chides. “You can. I wasn’t asking. That’s an order.”

Biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste blood, Harry hands the shaking thing over. When the packet lands in it, he wants to recoil but Louis makes a no noise, closing his stiff fingers around the baggie and holding his hand. “Just follow me for once, okay? Let me take control. Right now, H, I’m your General.” Okay. Okay.

It shouldn’t be this hard to let go, but God it is, and Louis must be exerting some effort to force his arm forward. Their hands hover over the pit, and his fingers are pried apart to reveal his deteriorated powder. “I think you should name your first heir Sue,” Louis persists randomly, “It'll be legendary and I‘ll defo get a laugh out it. You live to keep me laughing, yeah? Your whole life’s purpose.”

“I’m defo not doin’ that,” he says slowly, holding Louis’ eyes, freefalling in them, like spiraling down from the sky. “Though I’d be lying if I said the rest wasn’t true.” 

Do you still feel it too? 

“Careful your sweet side is showing. Which is the only reason I’ll offer up Theodore as an alternative. Can’t possibly find a reason out of that one.”

“Teddy. Not bad.”

Louis smiles broadly. “Or Theo. Theo James Styles-Tomlinson.”

His breath catches–fuck now he feels like a bloody heretic because his heart feels burnt but not buried this time. “Nice ring to it I’d say.” Suddenly his hand is limp in his lap, and Louis is smoothing the sand over the hole, patting it happily. “See. Easy. All done. Now, the party ain’t loud enough so I think it’s time to get to it.”

“Alright,” his rasps, deciding not to talk about what just happened because his mind can’t handle going there. Instead, Harry thinks about what a pup would look like with Louis; like every other Alpha he hopes he looks just like his Omega…but wants evidence that the babe is his, his Louis, his pup, and he wants to see his eyes staring back at him, innocent and pure like both theirs had once been. There’s just a fifty-fifty shot with both their genes particularly strong and pureblooded. He just…he hopes. Every other attribute can belong to Louis, but the eyes…he’ll never look back on these days if he could just see his eyes on another living creature, one he helped create, and he’ll remember what it means to be a someone. “Alright. I’m ready to have you tonight.”

Rising to an elegant stance Louis sighs wistfully, “I think that’s a homeless fellow scavenging through our stuff. Wonder how he got in.”

“I guess stark it is.”

“We should’ve just went clubbing,” the Omega mutters, obviously annoyed. “I fancy that bett’ah. All strangers, no strings attached, the likes.” Of course Harry knows of his preference as he’s gone plenty times before.

“Scared to be seen with me?” he wonders.

“Shut up. You’re so ridiculous.”

“Are you, paradise?” he presses because now it’ll nag at him.

“Give me your hand,” Louis demands with a steely light to his stare.

“You have an Alpha. Speaking of where is the twat?”

“Aiden’s away on family affairs. And, yes Harry, I do have an Alpha alright and I want his fucking hand.” His nerves drum with anticipation as his hand encapsulates the Omega’s tiny one. “Mine,” he says seriously, then tact’s on nervously, “For tonight.”

“What happens at Niall’s stays at Niall’s, capeesh?”

Harry nods solemnly. “Can I just…wrap my arm around you instead?” I don’t want you to lose your Alpha because I’m territorial. At least that’s somewhat platonic.

As his arm snakes around Louis’ shoulders Harry doesn’t feel a thing but mine. It’s a feeling. The this-is-mine sensation, a warm glow that is somewhat like the endorphin rush he’s depended on to live. Not quite, but in the same playing field. 

Their pace is slow as to delay the inevitable separation that still seems to come all too soon when they step onto the swarming sundeck. Tension grasps his shoulders because all at once from every which way prying eyes latch onto him.

God, they could at least act like this isn’t a thing.

Harry has been holed up in the house far away from Council attendants for an entire year. He knows the rumors: Harry Styles MIA, Harry Styles OD, Harry Styles run away with non-royal, Harry Styles admitted to Bedlam, etcetera etcetera.

“What the fook is everyone lookin’ at?” Louis snarls, pinning everyone with a reproachful glower.

Not even a second after the stares stray the whispers start up, “Are they like back together?”

“So he ain’t dead, I see.”
“No, Robert, you twat.”

Robert.

As his eyes hunt down the face to that name and voice Harry locates the source and stalks towards the nasty bastard that dared– A hand grips him hard. “Haz, stop. It’s not him. Don’t fuel their fire. Let’s go.”

With murder in his gaze Harry swallows and mutters, “Any Robert deserves to die. He can be collateral.”

“Alpha idiot,” Louis singsongs, knocking him slightly.

“Well well well! If it ain’t Styles! Showing his face in daylight!” A familiar voice crows, directing his attention to none other than Nick Grimshaw, fashionably dressed and grinning like God’s come down to Earth.

Unable to help it Harry grins back–Louis tries to step aside so the other Alpha (who he saw only a week or so ago) can embrace him, but no. He holds Louis firm to his side and greets friendly as possible with all his agitation, “How’s it, Grimmy?” Besides, this is their night, and everyone else can piss off.

“Yeah, Grimmy,” Louis chirps smugly. “How’s the crabs?”

“Louis,” Nick says with a shit-eating grin. “You haven’t changed much.”

“Piss off. I just saw you like yesterday.”

Gaze trained on him, Grimmy murmurs carefully, “Nice to see you out and about, Hazza. All thanks to Louis I’m sure.”

“I owe everything to my little mastermind,” he agrees shamelessly.

Thanks to that remark everything seems to smooth over until Grimmy is off on the hunt for fresh prey. Louis calls, “Whore!” which Harry can’t help but laugh at when Grimmy tosses back lightly, “Jealous whore!” It hasn’t been a secret that their relationships been tense, but from what he’s seen they aren’t on bad terms. In fact they seem lighter than anything else at this point.

“Leeeyuuuum!” Louis cries happily, shoveling through the sweat scented bodies straight to Liam who isn’t looking in their direction. At ease, the Omega lets go of his hand to toss himself at the other Alpha who staggers and curses, “Lou, why! Why must you–?”

“Li, look! Look who’s here!” He does, turning with Louis all but hanging on his back, to find Harry watching them blankly. His jaw slackens, chocolate eyes wide and ready to fall out of their sockets.

“Harry? Mate, wow,” he says all emotionally. Uncomfortable Harry swallows, then tries to wave but is yanked forward into an embrace. It’s so tight his body aches, and he has to force himself not to shove Liam away and bare his canines. Louis giggles on Liam’s other side and kisses his nose quick, stunning him as he falls back to his feet. “Awe, Li! Don’t cry!”

This is why Harry’s avoided this so long; he doesn’t like the idea that people are missing him…because he ain’t himself anymore, and he hates to cheat them. Returning the hug awkwardly, the Alpha waits. Fortunately Liam soon notices his discomfort and tears away. “How ya holding up, bud?”

“I’ve seen better days,” he mumbles quietly, not sure why he’s bothering with honesty when he’s so blatantly a liar. Rubbing at the back of his neck Harry stares at his shoes so those kind eyes don’t sever his skull. “I…uh, ‘m trying.”

“I know, H. No need to justify to me.” It sounds honest, and sad. So Liam. Christ, all of a sudden he feels like the tragedy he tried to be miles from.

With stinging eyes Harry almost passes out in relief when Louis settles at his side and huddles underneath his arm. “We’ll catch you later, okay, Li? We need to grab ourselves a nice glass of Henny. You goin’ swimming tonight?”

When Liam confirms the Omega chirps excitedly, “Alrighty! See ya then!”

As they hurry away Liam calls, “Hey, Haz!” When he dares to look back, he’s smiling sheepishly as a beautiful girl joins him. “Welcome back!” I don’t know that I am…

Without offering words Harry just smiles weakly and shrugs before Louis tows him away. “Gee! So emotional! Like why?”

Unbidden his smile strengthens and he pulls him closer. “I know, why can’t we all just be robots? I quite like that idea.”

Louis pokes him in the face where his dimple must be in view. “They just missed you, arsehole.” I’m not me anymore.

“Oh, hallelujah! The pap are swarming the beach! Don’t know how they got in but security is out there now! I just thought you two were still dickin’ around,” Niall hops in front of them, relieved. “Speakin’ of! Nice to see you in the daylight! I was beginnin’ to think you like a vampire or summat. Where’ve you been.” At least the Irish boy doesn’t look the least bit concerned or sympathetic. It’s a refreshing change even when Niall cocks his hip.

“Around?” Harry shrugs.

“Just tell me one thing! Answer me this!” the Irish boy demands. Both ignore Louis’ protests. “Shoot.”

“Are you going to fucking tell this loser you’re in love with him already and work your shit out? ‘Cause let me tell you I am dying of the waiting-game. It’s so annoying to find all the telegraphs about you two with other twats. Just please for the sake of my sanity give me life!”

Louis hisses defensively, “Ni! That’s none–,”

“I want to tell you a lie. But I’m pretty dried up on them right now, and I’m tired of all this speculation so I’ll come out with it. I’ll just tell you what I know. I haven’t been with anyone in over a year for many reasons. One: I’m stuck on someone else as we all know. Two: I have this paranoia that I’m being watched every second of the day. I didn’t die…not physically at least. For anyone who’s still wondering I didn’t drop out, I took break. Mostly because I am in mental ruins, addicted to cocaine and I–,” A hand covers his mouth. “At the time you need to lie!” Louis hisses, so furious it makes him want to burst into laughter, to crowd the silence that’s taken over the cramped, heaving room.

“I, for one, need a drink,” Niall coughs with an overwhelmed expression: like Louis hadn’t told him all this. “Who’s in?”

“Me! Me, fuck, I am so in!” Louis seconds eagerly, and Niall smiles tightly before dragging Louis who drags him into another room. Niall snarls to everyone in the vicinity, “Out of my kitchen, fuckers!” The place is emptied in under two minutes so Louis sits on the island stool before the bar and puts his face in his hands, moaning. “Why? Why would you do that?”

“’S not like they didn’t already know,” Harry attempts comfort, brushing his bunched shoulders. “’S okay, paradise, I don’t care what they say or think.”

“Well ya shouldn’t,” Niall backs him up, crouching behind the bar. “’Cause they’re going to fuck the tale up anyway. ‘Sides no phones allowed here. Nobody taped that.”

He is grateful to him though Louis sighs, “I just…H, they didn’t deserve to know all that…”

“I’m being honest…” Isn’t that what you wanted? “Isn’t that…Don’t you want that?”

Louis peeks through his fingers. “I want you to be honest with me. With the people who matter enough to know the truth and you. Not those tools.”

“Oh,” he winces. “I misunderstood.”

With a sheepish smile, Harry ignores Niall’s snort. “I’m sorry, paradise. I thought…”

Louis smiles, pained. “You thought that might make me happy?”

Stupidly, Harry nods, running his nails against his wrist because cocaine ants are leaving itchy bites. “It’s a nice thought, er gesture, baby, but next time just me, yeah?”

“Baby?” Niall snorts again, poking to a stance with three bottled cradled to his chest. “Am I missing something?”

“Louis has an Alpha,” Harry argues lamely.

“You didn’t tell him?” Niall looks at Louis with an odd expression Harry can’t make out. Louis mirrors that except looking more like a deer caught in the headlights.

With his brows furrowed, the Alpha stiffens as Louis mutters, “I don’t think there’s anything to tell, Ni…”

“Harry, cokehead, whatever it is you go by these days, Louis and Aiden had a bit of a row the other night.”

“What’s he talkin’ about, Lou?”

Louis answers seconds too late, “It’s…nothing?”

“Louis…” the Irish Omega warns pointedly–why Niall is ratting Louis out to him Harry hasn’t a clue.

“Jesus, it was a little row! Everyone has bumps in their relationships!” Louis finally gives. It’s weird, whatever is going on between the two Omegas.

“Not pot holes!” Niall singsongs wickedly. “Why don’t you tell him what it was about?”

“Yeah, paradise, why don’t you,” he prompts tightly.

Louis doesn’t even seem to know, chewing nervously on his bottom lip before blurting, “Like any sane Alpha he’s not too keen on the idea of our living situation is all. I kindly told him for now it’s not up for negotiation. Simple.”

“And what was his kind response?” He’s thrown by how Louis lowers his eyes submissively.

“It was just a row, alright. I don’t want to talk about it.” But the low, upset tone to his voice, how he refuses to look up, says more than just a row.

Ugly emotion balloons in his throat, and he blinks rapidly to alleviate his eyes sudden strain.

“Well now that I’ve made things proper awkward,” Niall giggles. “How about some doubles, eh? To start us off.”

“Please,” Louis mumbles, and Harry wants to shield him from all the horrors of the world. Including himself.

Just as soon as they’ve downed them Zayn sashays into the room, headed straight for the bar. “Again I am left out. Don’t I matter at all?”

Niall laughs around a swing of beer. “As if!”

“I feel the love.”

“Really?” Niall asks skeptically. “All I’m getting is sexual tension and unrequited love.”

Beside him Louis glares and sasses them both, “Well at least I ain’t alone.”

“Aren’t you?” Zayn smirks, taking his own beer to settle on the counter across from them.

“Now, now, pups,” Niall interrupts, pacifying the two. “Can’t we all get along?”

“Not with all the pheromones going around.” Zayn fans himself.

He is barely able to keep up with the three, slightly overwhelmed and more than uncomfortable, looking between the three (he’s unable to even join in). It’s isolation at its finest. It’s the way he’s learnt to be. He figures it’s true: monsters aren’t born, they’re definitely created.

“You’re babysitting yer drink!” He almost doesn’t realise Niall is speaking to him, not over him.

“Someone has to play adult tonight.”

“That’s your problem,” Zayn chimes in. “Loosen up, mate! You’re so stiff all the time! It’s sad to see.”

“Z!” Louis tries to come to his defense.

“No…He’s right,” Harry nods, bringing his drink up to his mouth and chugging like they’ve been doing one beer at a time.

“Atta boy!” Niall claps him on the back–he tries really hard not to jump out of his skin.

“Such shit influences,” the Omega sighs, though he’s smiling with his lips wrapped around the lip of his beer.

“Harry is the ancient one ‘ere!”

“I’m twenty one,” he scoffs, heating up in a much different way. It’s been a while since his last liquor intoxication. It’s different in a way Harry remembers not enjoying. Still, he doesn’t though the other’s seem to.

“Don’t listen to ‘em, Hazza,” Louis giggles around wet lips, stroking his arm. “You’re still ripe!”

“You still can’t handle your liquor,” Harry chuckles around a wide grin. And…surprisingly Zayn and Niall burst into delighted peals of laughter as Niall crows, “I told you! I so said that like a week ago, Haz!”

“He did, he did!” Zayn agrees around laughter, tilting his beer at him (whatever that means).

Louis pouts, crossing his arms though it’s obvious he’s not truly offended by the crinkles around his pretty ocean eyes.

“Another round!” Niall exclaims which has Louis climbing on the counter in fitful cheers.

He smiles in thanks when Niall slides his over to him and tips it out to Louis before they down the alcohol that burns on the way down.  

From there he just…goes by example this once, just to make Louis happy: to let him have his bliss if only Harry can give it to him tonight.

&&

                “’S s-so c-cold!” Louis giggles adorably as Harry shakes his sopping hair out of his face.

“You asked for this,” the Alpha mutters around a sloppy smirk as they get waist deep in the water.

In the pale moonlight droplets trickle down Louis’ slender neck. “Warm me up,” the boy breathes, batting his thick, spiky lashes.

“How?” he whispers, slurring slightly–the world is still spinning aside from the shivering creature swaying with the waves.

“Like thiiiisss!” he stretches the word cutely, paddling over to him and lurching upwards to wrap his slim arms around Harry’s shoulders and hook his legs around his waist, giggling when Harry stumbles a bit in the water, then rubbing their noses. “K-Knew it! I knew you’d be warm! You’re always so warm, ‘Azzy.”

“Dunno watcha mean, ‘m bloody freezing,” he laughs erratically, avoiding his sapphire stare.

“You should get high on me,” Louis offers, slurring enough that Harry thinks the water hasn’t shocked either of them sober yet. Except the word high makes his stomach churn and clench up. “Oh,” Louis gasps, expression crumbling in the most terrifying ways. “Oh, no. I’m sorr’eh, ‘Az. I didn’t me–,”

“I wish I could get high on you,” he interrupts softly, thumbing at his moist bottom lip because he can’t not touch when it’s all pouty and cherry red from wine. “I’d be addicted after the first hit.”

Louis sighs gently, and his eyes gleam mischievously. “Why don’t ya try it?”

“I should,” he breathes huskily. “But–,”

Without warning something shoves him by the shoulders, and as he scrambles to stay upright Louis falls free, gasping.

When he’s in the water Harry doesn’t fight his collapse, submerged underneath the water the same. A little body thrashes and settles over his in the cold, unforgiving water as his arms snake around his slim, soft waist. For this still, sound moment, its right, the only warmth in the sea has found him, and he won’t let the tide take it back. Except, not even seconds swim by before they break the surface.

Around the swooshing in his ears, Harry can hear Louis is laughing madly, splashing around with someone.

As he catches his breath, blinking wildly, a dark instinct leaving him reeling, and he just…Out of the water in seconds, Harry scrapes at his crawling skin, feeling that something wants to tear free of his too-tight skin. And he has to get away from this, from him.

“Heeey!” Louis squawks, plastered to his bare back (he’d forced him out of his shirt somehow). “Where ya gooooin’?”

As walking like this is difficult, with a body worse than the tide dragging him backwards, Harry pauses. Stiffly whispers, “I need to…go, paradise. Go away. Far…away.”

“You need to stay, baby. Stay right ‘ere. With me.” His breath warms Harry’s skin. “’Az I‘ll do anythin’ to stay with you…to keep you wi’ me.”

A monster fires up in his chest. “Anything?”

“Anyythiiing,” Louis giggles.

Without looking at him, Harry whispers desperately, “Share my little bit of bliss wi’ me”

Against his back Louis inhales sharply, nails biting into his skin as his hands clutching his biceps.

“I…I dunno…I…”

“You won’t ever understand why I fight so hard to hold onto it,” the addict says silkily.

Neither are breathing; the wind is caressing his damp skin, teasing the curls veiling his view of the outside world. A damp, trembling hand slides down his arm to take his hand.

“Show me…” a wrecked breath that glorifies the monster in his heart. “Show me.”