Chapter Text
Louis Tomlinson smells good. He’s been told that since he was little, even before he officially presented as an omega as a teenager. Alphas and omegas alike have always commented on his scent, and no one can seem to pin it down. Biology dictates that the better physically matched one is to another, the better they smell. Louis doesn’t really know what to make of the fact that he literally smells like a good mate for nearly every single alpha and, somewhat unnatural, but not unheard of, very many omegas that he’s met as well. Luckily for him, it rarely goes both ways. Louis has quite the peculiar palate, some might say. Others, like his best mates, would say he’s just picky as fuck.
But Louis has already found that one man, one alpha, for whom he very nearly salivates for. His scent is the most intoxicating thing Louis has ever smelled. Unfortunately for him, that man thinks Louis reeks. Even more unfortunately, that man is also his best mate’s best mate.
Louis met Niall, a beta, during his final year at Manchester University, at a party, naturally. They’d hit it off instantly, and regularly hung out, mostly at Louis’s apartment, because Niall was still in campus housing. He sometimes brought along his flatmate Liam, an alpha, and Louis would drag his own beta flatmate Zayn out of his tiny bedroom-turned-art-studio.
They’d all lost touch after Louis had remained in Manchester for a job he hated, and Liam and Niall explored the production side of musicianship in London after Uni. Zayn announced a trip to New York City and remained off the map for nearly a year afterwards, occasionally texting Louis from a random number to assure him he wasn’t dead.
But now, years later, they’re finally all back together again. Louis’d finally managed to bite the bullet and quit his dead-end job, scrubbing together his savings to afford a tiny London flat in Zayn’s neighborhood, just one stop away from Niall and Liam’s –and Harry’s– flat.
Harry is a newer member of their group, having met Niall at an open mic night at a pub, and quickly worming his way into their lives and business and flat. Niall and Liam spoke about him often during their Skype sessions and group chats before Louis and Harry had even met. He’s a commercial photographer, and also the voice Niall and Liam use on some of their demos. (Demos that Louis is not ashamed to listen to on repeat, sometimes preferring them even to the actual artists’ tracks.) Louis had actually been very much looking forward to meeting him, after getting to know him purely through his mates and, ahem, stalking him a bit on Instagram. Among the many artsy shots of food, people, and architecture, are wank-worthy selfies. Harry’s a beautiful alpha, broad-shouldered, but slender, with very long fingers, a jaw that could cut glass, and curly shoulder-length brown locks. He looks simultaneously sweet and dangerous. Just Louis’s type.
It’s a shame it isn’t mutual.
The day they first met, Louis had just jogged several blocks in the cold autumn rain up to their music studio. He was tugging off his jacket with one hand, and desperately trying to do something with his hair with the other, on the way to the lift when he spotted Harry heading in his direction.
“Oh, hi,” Louis said, breathless from the jog and not the vision in front of him, thanks very much. Harry wasn’t as big or tall in person as he looked in photos, but his eyes were much greener, and his skin much more porcelain, and his hands–
Harry gave him a subtle once over, eyes lingering on Louis’s bum.
“Hi,” Harry said back, leaning over to punch the up button Louis had completely forgotten about. His arm brushed Louis’s, accidentally or on purpose, Louis would never know, and they turned towards one another instinctively, apologies on their breaths, but Harry’s polite smile turned into something else instantly. Something pained. “Um,” he said. “Actually, this lift takes forever, I might just take the–“
The lift dinged and the doors opened.
“Not so long a wait after all, eh?” Louis remarked dryly as he watched Harry’s sudden panic morph into resignation as they entered the lift together.
“What floor?” Harry asked through an exhale, punching in his own.
“Same, actually,” Louis said.
Watching Harry’s face journey might actually have been funny if he weren’t the reason for it. He’d gathered by then that, while he recognized Harry, Harry had no idea who he was, and would have liked to keep it that way. He wasn’t entirely sure what had happened in the moment they’d started speaking, because he was certain he hadn’t imagined the spark of interest in Harry’s eyes.
He chanced a glance Harry’s way to find the alpha staring determinedly at the closed doors, jaw and hands clenched, and definitely not breathing.
“Easy, mate, don’t have a coronary over there,” Louis snapped.
This had never, ever happened to him before, that someone, particularly an alpha, would find him so offensive smelling that he had to work hard to keep himself from vomiting.
Harry’s head jerked in Louis’s direction guiltily. “I’m sorry,” he said, breathing heavily through his mouth. “It’s not you, I-“
“Save it.”
He didn’t want to hear any sort of fucking ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ excuse. He was proper pissed about too many things in that moment, the first being that Harry had no bleeding clue who he was, and clearly never bothered to Instagram stalk him like Louis had; the second that no one had ever had such a horrendous reaction to Louis’s natural pheromones. And last of all, the kicker, that Harry was probably the best thing he’d ever fucking smelled. Hands down. Like walking sex. A perfect combination of woodsy, and musky, and sweet.
The only consolation of it all was watching Harry’s face when he realized that they were heading in the same direction off the lift. And that they were entering PH Music together. And that Liam was waiting for them in the lobby with a grin and a loud, “Brilliant, you two’ve met already!”
Harry’s eyes, which had been wide and cautious ever since they’d exited the lift together, nearly bulged out of his head.
"You’re Louis?” And then, to Liam he hissed, “You didn’t tell me he was–”
“A real person,” Louis interrupted, because he wasn’t interested in hearing this knothead’s feelings on male omegas. “Stood in front of you. With working ears.”
Harry gaped from one man to the other.
“Oh God,” he moaned. “No. I’m so sorry, I’m not usually so rude.”
“He’s really not,” Liam agreed, frowning. “What’s wrong with you, H? Weren’t you leaving?”
“I was only coming back for my umbrella. So I’m just gonna go. And get it.”
And he hurried off down the hallway, disappearing into a back office and slamming the door.
And so began a long, awkward acquaintanceship.
The two months Louis spends job-searching and broke as fuck, means he has dinner at the lads’ flat nearly every weekend. The first time they see one another again, weeks after their first official meeting, Harry just sort of… pretends like he’d never nearly suffocated himself to avoid inhaling Louis’s filthy pheromones. He does it with a big smile, a handshake, and a compliment on Louis’s band tee, all the while mouth breathing next to an open window. But Louis can’t forget. He supposes his ego is bruised, having been used to his scent getting largely positive reactions, even if the occasional misogynistic response to his obvious gender status is less than.
Harry seems to waffle between two extremes of making excessive, serial killer level eye contact, and not looking Louis in the face at all. He never really has much to say, either, preferring to let the rest of them lead the conversation. He once asked Louis directly if he was alright, after Louis’d had a terrible blind date that had ended in a bit of unwanted groping, and Louis nearly fell over at the strength of Harry’s gaze, eyes mostly concerned with a hint of alpha anger, and so very green.
It’s a shame, really, that they can’t seem to bridge that gap, because Louis thinks they’d actually be good friends otherwise. Louis’s crippling attraction to him, and Harry’s utter revulsion aside, of course. They share a similar taste in television and films (the only two of their friend group who vote for romcoms at every movie night opportunity), and overlapping taste in music. Harry’s got a peculiar, quirky sense of humor that the rest of them rarely find funny, but his occasional sarcastic zingers shoot straight to Louis’s dry-humored heart. And no one makes Harry honk in abrupt laughter quite like Louis does. But anyway, it doesn’t matter. It’s alright. Louis has plenty of friends, and maintaining the ones he has are exhausting enough.
Tonight, they’re going out in celebration, even Zayn, because Louis got a job in his chosen career path as a copywriter in a moderately sized London advert firm. It’s several steps up from his peanuts-paying, no-recognition, behind-the-curtain job in Manchester. He’ll actually get to interact with clients, and pitch his own ideas, rather than just hand his work off to the closer, without being able to explain his own vision. The interview team had been impressed by his portfolio, edgier than they’d expected, they’d said. They’d even gone so far as to intimate they were hopeful his signing on would help them with their overall image. Advertising is cutthroat, and having a male omega as a prominent visible member of their team is certain to turn some heads.
Times have changed drastically since the days omegas, male and female alike, were treated as lesser class citizens– at least, in the western world. But these days, as alphas and omegas become more and more rare, and betas outnumber them nearly 5 to 1, they’re sometimes afforded special privileges just because of their sex. Louis embraces being an omega in all ways, save for one.
His old work friend, Jacquie, frequently laments how male omegas get all the fun of being a girl with none of the bullshit. And while she’s correct that Louis doesn’t have to deal with periods or pregnancy, he still has to deal with sexism, crude catcalls from bold alphas suggesting he come sit on their knot, or old-school men (like his former bosses) assuming he hasn’t got the brain cells to complete a simple task without help from a beta or alpha.
And then there are the heats. The bane of his existence. The heats that make no biological sense in sticking around, when the pregnancy gene died away long ago. Every single month while not on suppressants, Louis endures a crippling five days of intense, debilitating sexual desire. Alone, always alone. Jacquie tells him he’ll have much more fun and shorten his heats significantly if he finds someone to share them with, but Louis won’t do that anymore. Hasn’t ever since his old boyfriend Matt when he was twenty. Unsurprisingly, he’s also not had a serious relationship that’s lasted longer than a few months. Sue him, he likes alphas– and alphas like helping their boyfriends through heats, apparently. They like it enough for it to be a dealbreaker when Louis refuses.
So, he usually rides them out (literally) alone. But he hasn’t got a choice this time. His heat comes every three months like clockwork thanks to his suppressants, and it’s scheduled to arrive just a few days short of his very first day at his brand new dream job. His dream job that he cannot request heat leave from on his first week. Or preferably, ever. He’s desperate not to fuck this up for himself.
Thus, he’s come to his own celebration with two things in mind: Firstly, to get pissed. But before he does that, he’s got to ask an alpha to go through his heat with him.
And that alpha is Harry Styles.