Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Niall woke up slowly, and then all at once. Something was different. Outside the window was a noisy city (but that wasn't different, they were back in the UK for now and were spending the night and day on a 24-hour break in a hotel in the middle of London.) Inside the room was Liam (alpha) asleep on the floor, hand outstretched towards Zayn (alpha), also on the floor - no surprise there, the two had been dancing around each other since the beginning of this tour. On the other side of the room was Harry (alpha) curled in a messy bed around Louis (beta) - which was even less of a surprise, as Larry had been something of a world-wide secret since X-Factor. No differences in his band, then, all sleep-mussy and soft in the early morning light.

His phone was vibrating, which also wasn't different. Since becoming One Direction The Mega Hit Pop Band From England Look How Cute And Hot And Available They All Are his phone had been vibrating constantly. Zayn conveniently forgot his cell places and often didn't bother replacing it. Liam changed his number every other week and then accused the others of leaving him out of plans when they were three numbers behind. Niall just scrolled through his notifications until he saw a call from his mum. Well, that wasn't different either, and him not calling back wasn't anything new. Louis bemoaned Niall's relationship (or lack there of) with his mother but Niall was just fine with communicating via voicemail.

What else, then? He was hungry, always, he was a growing boy. He could pee, could deal with the morning wood (the band long over any semblance of modesty) could go workout in the gym, this hotel so exclusive he probably wouldn't even be recognized by upper-class cliental.

But who was he kidding. He wasn't Liam, slipping out of hotel rooms on a new workout regiment that got the tabloids talking. He wasn't Louis and Zayn, who'd get high and get introspective, talking about how different they all were from a year ago. Different was a word that was used enough. Different was almost normal.

He was Niall. He got up to put on the coffee. And left a damp spot on the rented bed.

He was Niall Horan, one of the two betas of One Direction. Beta being the default human setting. Beta being what fifty percent of all people were, neither alpha nor omega. Even-keeled and even-tempered and mischievous and flirty and a billion other things, betas were never wet.

He was only just nineteen. It was possible...rare, but possible.

Niall flew out of the room.

He trusted his bandmates implicitly, of course, they were more brothers than his own brother, he trusted them when he was drunk and when he was sad and when he was angry, but he'd heard stories, stories that when an omega (oh, god, he was an omega) that when an omega first presented the alphas around him (or her), friends or not, mated or not, couldn't help themselves.

He tore the sheets off the bed and ran.

Niall ended up shaking in the hallway outside the hotel room barefoot in sleep pants and a tank top, omega-slick sheets wrapped around his torso. Thank god, phone in hand.

He stared at it, and realized he had no one to call.

"Hey," he imagined saying to whoever was on the end of the line, "yes, this is Niall Horan world famous member of One Direction. Also, this is Niall Horan, omega."

Omega.

He scrabbled on the floor as the phone slipped out of his hand, hadn't even known he was crying until something wet dripped onto the now-cracked screen. "Fuck," he whispered. "Oh god, oh fuck."

He was crouching on the hard tiled floor and then slowly, slowly, dipped, dipped, dipped until he was sitting on his ass outside the hotel room.

His life was over.

Everything would change because he woke up like this, wet and greedy. He put a hand to his stomach. Could a baby really fit inside of him? A baby. He was a teenaged boy bander. Girls had pictures of him on their walls. He was locked into a contract that included multiple tours and multiple albums and millions - maybe billions - of dollars at stake, and he was sitting on his ass outside a hotel room while his best friends slept. He had nowhere to go.

For a wild moment, he wanted to call his mother, the tiny woman who'd dutifully raised him. She used to sing him lullabies. She was the one who spoke Irish Gaelic so fluently she had been called upon to teach his grade school classes. Even now when Harry mumbled the few phrases Niall had taught him the words sounded like home.

But she was hours and an island away. His childhood friends, the lads who he bought pints for when he went home, were all at university or taking a gap year doing important work experience things. Law and business and finance. And Niall was still here on his increasingly cold ass in a hotel room, vibrating with the need for an alpha.

Some pit inside him could smell or feel or remember the three fit unmated alphas just behind the door, but if his life was over now it would be doubly over by exposing himself to his bandmates like this, wanton and needy and omega.

There were London friends, the beautiful famous people who ran in the circles One Direction ran in, who went to the same parties and laughed on the same balconies over the same drinks, young and pretty betas and alphas who would know a scandal when they heard one.

And now his thoughts were running in circles. Call his mother (he could imagine her voice, his father's voice, "an omega for a son?" scandalized and disgusted. "Son?" his mother would say, "Are you even a man anymore if you can carry pups?) Or call his London friends (itching for another piece of gossip to tell in hushed whispers) Or push open the door he was leaning against and tell his best friends (and then his life was really over).

So Niall did what any teenage boy in the 21st century would do. He Googled for an answer.

Omega... he typed, and the search results were instant

Omega suffrage

Omega anatomy

Omega suppresents

Omega help in London

He clicked on the last one. And read.

He'd seen the omega clinics before, of course, constantly under siege from various political parties for providing omega care by way of information, heat help, condoms, abortions, legal advice. "There but for the grace of God," Harry had muttered to Niall as they passed one, relatively recently, and saw the hunched omegas lined up outside. All male. Female omegas were prizes and male omegas were hated. Female omegas were the pride of their families and male omegas were often kicked out the day they presented, turning to drugs or prostitution or throwing themselves off bridges.

(Niall had been surprised when Harry said that, Harry, who'd admitted all those months ago in the bungalow that he suspected he was an omega, that he wanted about a billion kids, that he dreamed of carrying pups and - most surprisingly - that his mother wanted him to be an omega, too).

His ass was getting astonishingly wet, and there was something else, a pain on his pelvis, in his pelvis, like being punched in the gut. He called the number.

At the time, he didn't think there was anything else that could be done.

In brief:

A van pulled up to the hotel and Niall hurried in, moving quickly across the hall but keeping his head up, he'd realized long ago that if you act confident no one assumes anything is wrong. He got into the van and met a nice woman named Jamie who said that she was a beta and she volunteered at the Omega Clinic of London and oh, by the way, are you by any chance Niall Horan? Don't worry, patient information is utterly private. Have you had a heat before? Are you in any pain? Will you be wanting to see an alpha (totally clean, no strings attached, no payment, of course, this isn't a brothel, the alphas are also volunteers, knots being the only things that can stop a heat, it will take about twenty-four hours).

No alpha? Are you looking for suppressants then? Here's a list of side effect. Mood swings. Decreased appetite. Decreased energy. Suicidal thoughts or actions. Depression. Weight gain. You must not use these for more than six months, Niall Horan. They are emergency use only.

Suppressants? Are you sure? You'll need to see a doctor. Once they prescribe suppressants you will need to take them every day. No skipping. This heat will be over in no more than three hours. It will be painful.

Is there someone we can call?

Would you like to talk to someone? There are some excellent people on-site. It can be scary, what you're going through. How old are you? Late presentations are often hard to handle.

You're not a minor, so, no, we don't have to call your parents.

Are you afraid to go home? Are you afraid to go to your place of work?

Do you plan to tell anybody of your presentation? Of course it's not required, but it is recommended. The truth will set you free. The truth will out. Yes, Mr. Horan, we are confidential, but people have their ways. You would be the most famous omega in the world.

Here are your suppressants. You can wait in that room for your heat to die.

Niall felt like there was a storm in his abdomen a hundred times worse than any work out. He put his head between his knees and told himself yes, this was actually happening. He was Niall Horan, omega. He was on suppressants in a clinic in the middle of London where anyone could see him.

His phone vibrated again. Liam had sent the first message, then Harry, then Louis. This one was from Zayn. Babes, rehearsal starts in fifteen.

"Niall?"

He smelled him first. Fresh, clean scents. Mint and fresh mown lawns. Niall had never smelled anyone so strongly before. He rubbed his nose. Wondered if he could pretend to be anyone else. Wondered why the world hadn't swallowed him into the cool dark abyss yet.

Niall pocketed the phone. Put on his very best face. "'Lo, Ed."

Ed Sheeran, all red hair and concerned eyes, sat down across from him. "Didn't except to see you here."

"Same to you." Ed was a beta through and through. A couple years older than Niall, Louis's age, Ed's gender was as fixed as the trajectory of the moon.

"My friend volunteers. I think he just likes getting laid. I don't like picking him up because of random encounters like these." Ed looked down. It wasn't his fault. It was Niall's fault. He was holding his phone in one hand and clutching the packets of pills in a death-grip in the other.

"Fuck," Ed whispered.

"Yeah," Niall said. "You said it."

Ed hustled Niall into his car (what about your friend? Screw him, he's screwing everyone else) and in the closed-in space the mint was even stronger, coming from the seats and windows and Ed. "Christ, Ni, you should know better than going to a public clinic. What if someone saw you? Some alpha? Anything could have happened to you! Even I can smell that heat!"

"I didn't know," Niall moaned. "It's - it just happened this morning, okay? I panicked!"

"What?" Ed practically squawked. "You mean you just presented this morning?" His eyes so wide that Niall had to look down, submitting to a beta. "And you're already on suppressants? That shit's dangerous! My cousin killed himself, and he was only on them for three weeks!"

"What the hell else am I supposed to do?" Niall snapped. "I don't exactly have an alpha, and, yeah, not like I can hire one. Be all over the Sun tomorrow. Niall Horan's an omega, and I'm out of One Direction by Sunday."

"I can think of three alphas who'd be more than willing you help you out."

"Shut up," Niall felt his ears burn. Why the fuck had he ever told Ed that he fancied his bandmates? (there might have been tequila involved).

Ed frowned. "You gonna answer that phone?"

Liam was ringing him now. Great. "What if -"

"They won't be able to tell by your voice. Say you're sick. Say that you're crashing with me so you don't give them the plague. And you'll see them in the morning."

Niall told Liam just that, and the alpha shouted, "you were sick and you just snuck out?"

"I hardly snuck out," Niall said, even though, yeah, he'd basically snuck out, "I tripped over your big head on the way out, didn't I?"

"You need some chicken soup?" that was Louis, sounding tinny and far away over the speaker, and even though they'd been together non-stop for months on end Niall found himself missing them, missing the way the band fit together like missing pieces.

"See you tomorrow," Niall's voice already choking. He hung up before he sobbed.

Ed was driving. Ed couldn't comfort him. Ed said, "Oh, sweetheart, it's the hormones."

No one had called him sweetheart before today. Maybe it came with the omega territory. Maybe he was a sweetheart now.

That thought made Niall cry more. He couldn't help it. He couldn't help anything anymore.

This wasn't just the end of Niall Horan, member of One Direction. This stupid, uncontrollable, biological thing was going to make the carefully built dream crash down on their heads. He'd kill his best friends' careers before they even started.

And there was nothing he could do about it.