Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I hate everything.”

Harry’s voice is flat, void of any real emotion, yet heavy with enough entitlement to fill the entire backseat of the car. He stares ahead at the chauffeur, who barely reacts, just a slight raise of his eyebrows in the rearview mirror before looking back at the road like Harry hadn’t spoken at all. Harry huffs, rolls his eyes dramatically and takes a long sip of his iced matcha latte, which to be honest, is the only good thing in his life right now. He'd grabbed it at the airport, hoping the overpriced green sludge would somehow soften the absolute tragedy that is his current situation. Spoiler alert: it doesn’t.

Outside the window, the landscape stretches out endlessly. Rolling hills in shades of gold and green, rows of vineyards neatly lining the countryside and cypress trees standing tall like on postcards. The sky is an offensively bright blue, the kind that would look great on Instagram if he actually cared to take a picture. But he doesn’t. Because he’s stuck here. In the middle of nowhere. In bloody Italy.

The Tuscan countryside is exactly as stunning as people claim it to be, which is precisely the problem. It's picturesque, quiet and slow… completely useless to someone like Harry, who thrives on the buzz of London, the flashing lights of exclusive clubs and the hum of people who matter. His summer was supposed to be filled with rooftop parties, designer pop-ups, overpriced cocktails and dancing till sunrise with his friends. It was supposed to be the summer.

Instead, his parents, who are too busy being rich and important, have decided they simply don’t have the time to oversee the renovations of their latest impulse buy - a grand, but tragically neglected Italian villa. And who better to send in their place than their only son, whose entire personality revolves around not lifting a finger?

Harry exhales loudly - again. So loudly that even the chauffeur, who has impressively ignored him thus far, rolls his eyes this time. But Harry doesn’t care and slouches further into the plush leather seat, stretching his long legs out and tapping his manicured fingers against the cup in his hand. The ice has already melted. Fantastic.

Suddenly his phone buzzes beside him, but when he picks it up, all he sees is a flurry of messages in the group chat he was supposed to be a part of this summer. They're making plans for tonight for some new club opening with a VIP section sorted and a guest list stacked with models and influencers. It should’ve been him pre-ordering bottles, not sitting in the back of a car, watching fucking grapevines pass by.

This is hell.

No, this is worse than hell.

This is rural Italy and he is absolutely, completely alone.

Sulking, Harry watches the landscape pass by the window while his fingers absentmindedly brush away the condensation from his cup. The group chat on his phone keeps lighting up, his friends’ messages filling the screen with plans he’s no longer a part of, but he doesn’t reply. It’s not like any of them will actually miss him. They’ll notice his absence, sure, probably even make a few jokes at his expense about being exiled to the middle of nowhere but at the end of the day, the party goes on without him. It always does.

He should be used to it as he’s been left behind his entire life.

Harry exhales sharply, staring at his reflection in the car window. He tries to ignore the familiar ache creeping up his chest, the one that’s been there since he was a kid, tucked away in massive houses with people paid to look after him. His parents were always busy with meetings, trips, fundraisers, new business start-ups, whatever. They never meant to leave him alone, not really, but when you grow up in a house where your parents’ presence is more of an event than a daily occurrence, you learn to fend for yourself.

Or, in Harry’s case, you had someone like Stevie.

Stevie had been different from the endless rotation of nannies that came and went. She wasn’t soft-spoken and polite like the others. She was sharp and wild, with a husky laugh and stories about a life far more interesting than the one Harry was living. She smelled like lavender and old books, wore flowing skirts that swished when she walked and called him ‘darling boy” like he was the most important thing in the world. She was the one who taught him how to make a proper nest, showed him how to gather blankets and pillows into a perfect little sanctuary, warm and safe, where nothing bad could reach him. She was the one who explained all the things about being an Omega that no one else had bothered to.

Stevie had loved him. Really loved him. Not because she had to. Not because she was paid to. Just because.

And then she retired.

Harry had been sixteen and it had felt like the end of the fucking world. He’d made it his mission to make every new nanny’s life a living hell after that, driving them out one after the other, refusing to let anyone else even try to replace her. If he never let anyone get close, they could never leave him. Simple. His parents hadn’t cared. They just stopped hiring replacements once he turned eighteen, figuring he was old enough to look after himself. And he was, technically. He knew how to order food, how to fill his days with distractions, how to wake up hungover and make it through another mindless, glittering night.

Harry clenches his jaw, blinking hard at the landscape outside. The scenery has changed now, fewer vineyards, more open fields and the occasional cluster of trees. The road they’re on is narrower, winding, leading them further into the middle of actual nowhere.

And then, finally, there it is.

The villa.

Harry lets out a long, slow breath as the car pulls up to the grand, weathered estate. It’s enormous, beautiful in that old-money, effortlessly stunning way, but it’s also... empty.

Not physically, obviously. The house itself is solid, sprawling, all faded stone and tall windows with wrought-iron balconies. There are gardens surrounding it, though they look overgrown and wild, nothing like the perfectly manicured lawns of his family’s London home.

But there’s no life here. No noise. No people.

This isn’t just being alone.

This is a whole new level of alone.

Harry stares at the villa through the window and his stomach twisting unpleasantly.

What the fuck is he supposed to do here?

And so Harry doesn’t move. He should as the car has stopped, the journey is over, and reality is now staring him right in the face… but he can’t. Because the second he steps out of this car, the second his feet touch the dusty gravel of this godforsaken place, it becomes real. This isn’t just some bad dream or a temporary inconvenience. This is his life now. For weeks.

He squeezes his eyes shut, gripping his handbag a little tighter, trying to breathe through the rising panic. His Omega is screaming at him that this is wrong, all wrong. London was loud, crowded, full of people and touch and Alphas. Even when he was alone, he wasn't really alone because there was always the option of slipping into a bar or club, finding a strong pair of hands to hold him down, at least for a night. There was always someone to chase him, to want him.

Here? There’s nothing. No buzzing city, no hands to grab his waist, no warmth pressing against his back after too many drinks.

This place is silent.

It’s suffocating.

Harry presses his knuckles against his closed eyes and exhales shakily. Get it together.

Outside, the chauffeur is already unloading his obscene number of suitcases, working efficiently despite the glaring sun. Harry keeps his eyes shut a second longer, willing himself not to lose his mind. It’s fine. He’ll survive this. He always does.

But then he hears voices and Harry’s eyes snap open. He blinks against the brightness, a frown already forming. There are people here?

He shifts, peering through the car window, and… oh.

Well.

That’s unexpected.

Standing next to the chauffeur, arms crossed over a sweat-dampened tank top, is quite possibly the filthiest man Harry has ever seen. His trousers are worn, torn at the knees, his tanned skin smudged with dirt. There’s a cap perched backwards on his head, dark hair curling messily out from beneath it and he’s sweating. Like, actually dripping with it, like some kind of manual labourer or something equally unglamorous.

And yet…

Harry bites the inside of his cheek, tilting his head slightly. He’s pretty. Rough around the edges, unpolished, but pretty. Sharp jaw, beautiful mouth and an annoyingly perfect nose. There’s something intense about him, something that makes his Omega squirmish. He looks like he belongs here, like he’s part of the landscape itself.

And Harry hates it.

He searches for his tiny mirror in his bag and runs a hand through his curls, fluffing them back into place. His heart-shaped sunglasses are perched beside him and he slides them on with a practiced motion before finally making a show of exiting the car.

One long, tanned leg in tiny shorts first.

Then the other.

He stretches exaggerated and fluid, arching his back just enough to catch attention, before swinging his handbag onto his shoulder and sauntering forward, hips swaying lazily and slurps seductively the last sip of his melted matcha latte through the straw.

The two men turn to look at him as he approaches, but Harry only acknowledges them with a single, barely-there nod before holding out his empty cup to the dirty man in the cap.

“Bin this, would you?” Harry says breezily. Then, without waiting for a response, he gestures vaguely at his mountain of luggage. “And bring those in, yeah?”

The chauffeur barely reacts, by now used to Harry’s antics, but the other man?

Oh.

Harry was expecting something. A stammered ‘yes, of course, sir,’ maybe, or a flustered look, an Alpha’s natural instinct kicking in to do whatever the pretty Omega in front of him asks. He’s used to that kind of reaction and has perfected this exact display to draw it out of people.

But this Alpha?

Nothing.

Just raised eyebrows, an unimpressed look and was that the ghost of an eye roll?

Harry is momentarily stunned but recovers quickly, reaching into his bag and pulling out a few crisp bills, thrusting them into the chauffeur’s hand. His parents had given him more than enough money to keep things running smoothly here, and honestly, at this point, throwing cash at his problems is all he has left.

The chauffeur thanks him, but Harry isn’t paying attention anymore. He’s too busy narrowing his eyes behind his sunglasses at the man who still hasn’t spoken, still hasn’t acknowledged him beyond that stupid eyebrow raise.

The audacity!

Harry shifts his weight onto one hip, running his tongue along his lips. Maybe the man doesn’t realise who he’s dealing with. Maybe he’s new to this. Maybe he’s slow.

Well, he’ll learn.

With an exaggerated sigh, Harry flips his hair over his shoulder and turns towards the villa. This place might be the worst thing to ever happen to him, but at least there’s something pretty to look at. If there wouldn't be the sun beating down mercilessly and the heat wouldn’t cling to Harry’s skin like an unwelcome touch. He shifts on his feet, already feeling the sweat gathering at the back of his neck and resists the urge to groan out loud. How is it this hot? He hadn’t signed up for this.

To be precise, he hadn’t signed up for any of this.

His gaze drifts back to the chauffeur who slams the boot shut with a finality that makes Harry’s stomach drop. His many, expensive, essential suitcases, are piled haphazardly beside the car, still waiting to be carried in. By someone else, obviously.

But instead of moving to bring them inside, the dirty, sweaty, uncooperative man just stands there, exchanging some last words with the chauffeur.

And oh, now he’s smiling.

Not at Harry, of course. But at the chauffeur, nodding as the man claps him on the shoulder like they’re old mates. The sight of it is almost shocking because Harry hadn’t thought that this face was capable of smiling, not after the way he’d looked at him with sharp eyes and disinterest.

And yet, here he is, all easy grins and relaxed shoulders, murmuring something that makes the chauffeur chuckle before stepping back into the car.

Harry watches, increasingly agitated, as the car rolls down the long driveway, dust kicking up in its wake.

And then, just like that, he’s alone.

Alone with the rude, sweaty, silent Alpha who still hasn’t made a move towards Harry’s bags.

Harry waits and finally the man moves.

Away from the luggage. Away from Harry. Just… walking off.

Harry blinks.

What?

“Hey!” he calls out, incredulous, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as the heat burns against his exposed legs. "Where the hell do you think you’re going? And what about my bags?"

The man actually pauses and turns slightly, glancing back over his shoulder, and ugh, he’s smirking.

“Not hey,” he drawls, voice thick with something rough and not the posh, polished accents Harry is used to. “Lou.”

Harry stares.

Lou?

What kind of name is Lou?

“Right,” Harry huffs, crossing his arms. “Well, Lou, my bags aren’t going to carry themselves, are they?”

Lou scoffs, outright scoffs, and Harry’s mouth falls open.

“For fuck’s sake,” Lou mutters, shaking his head. “You think I’m here to be your personal bellboy?” He gestures vaguely at the empty cup still in his hand. “Already got me throwing away your over-priced shite and now you think I’m hauling your designer luggage across the fucking courtyard?”

Harry gapes, scandalised. “Well, yes.”

Lou just lets out a short laugh, looking Harry up and down like he’s something unfortunate he’s stepped in. “Sort yourself out, princess.”

With that he just leaves and walks away like Harry is nothing, like this isn’t the most outrageous thing to ever happen in the history of Omegas and Alphas interacting.

Harry is so stunned he doesn’t even call after him. Just watches, mouth opening and closing like a fish, until Lou disappears behind a side entrance to the villa.

Then, finally, he finds his voice.

"Oh, fuck off," he snaps at nothing, throwing his hands up. "Seriously, fuck right off, you… ugly, sweaty, peasanty Alpha!” 

Harry's breath catches and his hands tremble slightly, and god, he is so close to losing it.

But there’s no one here to witness his tantrum. No one to flinch, no one to apologise, no one to care.

Just him.

And his fucking bags.

Harry groans loudly, throwing his head back in frustration before grabbing the handle of his smallest suitcase. He tugs it sharply and nearly topples over when the gravel beneath his feet shifts. His sunglasses slip slightly down his nose and he shoves them back up with far more force than necessary, jaw clenched.

It’s fine. He’s fine.

Except he’s not, because the path to the villa is uneven as hell and his suitcase refuses to roll properly, the tiny wheels catching on every bump and dip.

"Fucking hell," Harry growls, gripping the handle tighter as he struggles his way towards the entrance. His handbag slips down his shoulder, his shorts ride up uncomfortably, sweat trickles down the back of his neck, and then Harry stumbles, foot twisting slightly, and he barely manages to catch himself before fully face-planting onto the stone steps. His knee scrapes against the rough edge and pain shoots up his leg, sharp and immediate. For a moment he just freezes and his lips part in shock.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

The words echo shrill and furious through the empty courtyard. With red cheeks, Harry grips the railing and his eyes sting as he carefully straightens up. He looks down at his knee which is red, slightly raw, probably bruised and glares at it like it personally offended him.

This is a nightmare. An actual nightmare.

His breathing is unsteady as he drags his suitcase inside, dumping it onto the cool, tiled floor before stepping back out. His heart is hammering, too fast, too fragile, and his Omega is scratching at the inside of his ribs. It's unhappy, unsettled, unwell.

He can’t do this.

But he has to.

Jaw tight, he stomps back towards the remaining bags. And if his eyes burn a little as he grabs another suitcase… Well, there’s no one here to see it.

As he steps finally into the entrance hall, it's cool, the air inside a blessed relief from the relentless heat outside. Harry steps in properly, dropping his handbag onto one of the marble-topped side tables with a thunk and shoves his sunglasses up into his curls.

The place is… grand, at least. He’ll give it that.

High ceilings, intricate crown moulding, a chandelier that looks like it could concuss someone if it ever came loose. A wide staircase sweeps up to the second floor and archways lead off into rooms he hasn’t yet explored. The floors are polished stone and his shoes click against them as he slowly walks further inside, leaving his suitcases abandoned by the door.

It’s beautiful.

Harry lets out a long sigh, pressing his lips together. Right.

He knows his parents hired workers to fix the place up while they were too busy doing whatever it is they do. They’d assured him his room would be ready first, at the very least. Which means, somewhere in this massive, empty house, there’s a perfectly made bed waiting for him. Harry just has to find it.

Dragging a hand through his curls, he starts wandering through the villa. He passes through a sitting room with tall windows and antique furniture covered in dust sheets, then into what must be a dining room, a long, polished table stretching across it. He barely glances at the décor - too tired, too hot, too irritated to appreciate it properly - before stepping through another doorway where he finds the kitchen.

It’s one of the only spaces that seems to have people in it, a handful of workers lounging around the large wooden table in the centre, their conversation a low murmur of rapid Italian. Harry perks up slightly as he steps forward.

“Hello,” he says, adding a small, charming smile for good measure. He’s been told before that his smile is devastating. He may as well use it.

There’s a pause. Then one of the men who is older, balding and with a smirk that Harry instantly dislikes, leans back in his chair and says something in Italian.

Harry blinks. “Um… English? Does anyone here speak English?”

More murmuring, a few smirks exchanged but they’re only looking at him.

Not in the usual way people do, not like in London, where he can control it, where he can direct it and make them work for it. This is different.

It’s appraising. Casual. Like he’s just some… thing to be assessed. Harry shifts his weight and the hairs on the back of his neck prickle.

“Right,” he says, clearing his throat. “Uhm… my luggage is by the door. Could one of you…” He gestures vaguely, lifting his brows expectantly. “Bring it to my room?”

Silence.

Then another string of Italian, some quiet chuckling.

Harry huffs. “Okay, fine. Can someone at least tell me where my room is?”

Another smirk and Harry rolls his eyes so hard it almost hurts.

"Brilliant.”

Spinning on his heel, he stalks back out of the kitchen, deciding immediately that he hates every single one of those men and will be avoiding them at all costs for the remainder of the summer.

Now, where the fuck is his room?

It could be anywhere as the villa is a maze of rooms, corridors stretching out in all directions. Harry peeks into what seems to be a study, then a sitting room, then another sitting room, then a bathroom so unnecessarily large it has a freestanding tub in the centre of it. Sighing, he heads for the grand staircase and climbs up. The second floor is just as sprawling, door after door lining the hallway.

Harry frowns, pausing as something shifts in his chest.

For a brief, ridiculous second, he has a memory of being small, standing in the hallways of his childhood home, staring at the rows of closed doors and knowing there was no one behind any of them. No mum. No dad. Just emptiness. Just him.

The feeling settles uneasily inside himself. Shaking it off, he presses forward, pushing open door after door.

But as he steps into the next room, Harry stills.

This one is different.

This one is his and it's stunning.

A massive bed sits in the centre, draped in crisp, cream-coloured linens. There’s a sitting area near the far wall, a sleek vanity against another and the air smells new, like fresh paint and expensive furniture polish. A massive set of glass doors leads out onto a balcony, sunlight spilling in and making the space glow. It’s luxurious. Carefully curated. Exactly the kind of place an Omega of his status should be staying in.

And yet… Harry just stares at it.

Too perfect. Too pristine. Too… empty.

His throat tightens and before he can think too hard about it, he strides forward and flops dramatically onto the bed, arms spread wide, inhaling the fresh scent of the linens.

It’s fine.

He’s fine.

His bags are still downstairs, but he’ll deal with that later. Right now, all he wants to do is lie here, pretend this isn’t his life for the foreseeable future and ignore the horrible feeling curling in his chest.

For a moment, he lets himself go still and lets the quiet settle around him. Then, with a deep sigh, he drags himself up. Because if he doesn’t, no one else is going to bring his things and he’s not about to spend the entire summer wearing yesterday’s clothes.

After he has dragged all the suitcases up the stairs, swearing under his breath, he comes to one conclusion only a short time later: Unpacking is a nightmare.

Harry knew it would be, but somehow, in his head, it had all seemed slightly more… glamorous.

Like, oh, look at me, setting up my summer wardrobe in my luxurious Tuscan villa, how quaint, how posh, how utterly chic.

Instead, it’s him sweating through his t-shirt as he wrestles with zippers, struggling to shove his silk shirts onto wooden hangers and scowling at the single, meagre chest of drawers provided for his many pairs of designer swim shorts.

But, eventually, he finishes. His suitcases are empty, his shoes are lined up neatly and all of his expensive skincare is displayed in the ensuite like an art installation. He surveys his work with a final look and places his hands on his hips.

Okay. That was exhausting.

And after all that effort, he deserves - no, he requires - a break.

Preferably one that involves a pool, a cocktail and absolutely no further physical exertion.

His parents had been very clear about the pool situation, using it as one of their key arguments back when they were forcing him into this situation. "Just think, darling! You can spend all day sunbathing by the pool! It’ll be like a retreat!”

So.

A retreat it is.

He digs through his drawer, pulling out his favourite pair of swim shorts, the ones that fit just right, snug around his waist and very flattering on his ass. They’re bright pink, of course, because if he’s going to suffer, he may as well look incredible while doing it.

Once changed, he twists his curls into a quick bun, grabs his sunglasses and a bottle of tanning oil, then heads downstairs.

The sun is still blistering, golden light bouncing off the stone pathways as he steps outside. The house is surrounded by sprawling gardens, most of them in desperate need of upkeep, from what little he’s bothered to notice, but the pool, when he finally finds it, is perfect. Long, rectangular, gorgeous. The water is impossibly clear, the tiles around it cool and smooth beneath his feet.

Finally.

Harry goes to one of the plush loungers, sprawling out dramatically and lets his limbs go heavy. Then he's pulling out his phone and his mother answers on the third ring.

“Harry, darling,” she says, clipped and not at all like she’s missed him. “How’s the house?”

Harry scoffs, pushing his sunglasses up his nose. “Oh, just fabulous,” he deadpans. “There are strange men in the kitchen who don’t speak English, no one’s helped me with anything and I nearly died carrying my own luggage upstairs.”

His mother hums, distracted. “You didn’t die, though.”

Harry scowls. “That’s not the point.”

“Mmm.” There’s some shuffling on the other end, voices in the background and his mother sighs. “Darling, I’ve got a meeting in a minute…”

“Oh, shocking,” Harry cuts in, voice dripping with sarcasm.

His mother barely acknowledges it. “... make yourself comfortable, all right?”

“Comfortable?” Harry echoes, sitting up slightly. “Mother, I don’t think you understand. I-”

“Love you, darling, must go.”

And then the line goes dead. Harry just stares at his phone, lips parted and fury builds in his chest.

With a sharp breath, he throws his phone away.

Not far, not into the pool, but onto the stone tiles with a satisfying clatter. He really doesn’t care if it cracks. Doesn’t care if it smashes into a thousand tiny pieces. Because of course she doesn’t have time. Of course she doesn’t care. Of course he’s here, alone, and no one - not even his own mother - gives a single shit about it.

Harry flops back down, pressing his lips together as he glares up at the sky and he's sure this summer is going to kill him.

Still glaring at the sky, suddenly movement catches his eye. He shifts slightly, adjusting his sunglasses and sees him.

The man from earlier, the one with the attitude and the stupid backwards cap. What was his name again? Lewis?

Harry watches as the man steps around the corner, his brows pulling together as he looks down at something on the ground and Harry follows his gaze.

Oh. His phone.

The man crouches down, picking it up, turning it over in his dirty fingers. His expression is unimpressed and borders on judgmental.

"Do you always treat expensive things like this?” he asks dryly. “Or are you just too posh to pick it up yourself?”

Harry slowly lowers his sunglasses, just enough to shoot the man an unimpressed look.

“And what exactly does it have to do with you, Lewis?”

The man exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “It’s Lou,” he corrects, stepping closer and holds the phone out. “And I’m just wondering if you’re always this spoiled or if I’m lucky enough to be witnessing a special performance.”

Harry narrows his eyes as he snatches the phone from Lou’s hand. His fingers brush against Lou’s - just briefly, just a second of contact - but that’s enough.

Harry stills. Because… because Lou smells like sun-warmed earth, like green things and salt and something faintly spiced, a scent that’s grounding and warm and unexpectedly… good.

It’s…

No.

Harry shakes himself, tilting his chin up, forcing his expression back into its usual I’m-too-good-for-this demeanour and stretches out along the lounger, one arm draping over his stomach, the other pushing his sunglasses back into place. His pink shorts ride up just enough to show off the length of his thighs and he knows he looks good like this.

If Lou is affected, he doesn’t show it and Harry purses his lips.

“And what exactly is your purpose here, then?” Harry asks, lazily dragging his gaze over Lou. “Besides being nosy and rude, obviously.”

Lou snorts.

"I do the gardens,” he says, gesturing vaguely around them. “I’m here to fix this place up and keep it that way.” He pauses, then adds, “And, apparently, to tolerate bratty, entitled Omegas.”

Harry sits up abruptly, affronted. “Excuse me?”

Lou lifts a brow. “What? Don’t like hearing the truth?”

Harry glares.

Oh, he hates this man.

Arrogant, smug and completely immune to Harry’s usual charm. It’s actually insulting.

Harry is gorgeous.

Harry is wanted.

Harry is…

Still being ignored, apparently, because Lou is already turning away, making his way toward a row of overgrown bushes near the pool, pulling on his work gloves.

"You're so rude,” Harry crosses his arms and calls after him.

Lou just lifts a hand in a mock wave, not even sparing him a glance and Harry huffs, flopping back onto the lounger.

He really hates this place.

Chapter Text

Morning in this place is awful.

Harry knew it would be, as everything here is awful, but somehow, it’s even worse than he expected.

Wrapped in his silk robe, he walks barefoot through the house, frowning at everything. Dust, debris, furniture covered in sheets, a distinct smell of old wood and - ugh - damp. The workers were supposed to be fixing this, weren’t they? He’s certainly not going to start dusting shelves himself.

Harry wrinkles his nose, stepping carefully over a patch of dirt on the floor as he makes his way to the kitchen, already dreading whatever disaster awaits him there.

And, sure enough, it’s a mess.

Worse than yesterday, even.

How is that possible?

Harry stops in the doorway, arms crossed and looks at it scandalised. The countertops are littered with tools, a pile of tiles is stacked near the fridge and there’s dust on nearly every surface.

And not a single worker in sight.

Unbelievable!

It’s barely morning and he’s already stressed. Sighing dramatically, he makes his way to one of the only clear sections of the counter, setting down the small bag of organic, gluten-free and sugar-free granola he thankfully had the foresight to pack.

As he prepares his breakfast, he mutters to himself irritated.

“This is ridiculous,” he grumbles, pouring, in lack of his almond milk, tap water over his granola. “They should at least be working at this time.”

He scoffs, stirring his spoon through the bowl. “Honestly, what do I pay them for?”

Not that it’s his money, exactly, but still.

He takes a bite, chewing furiously and then it hits him.

Lou.

Maybe he speaks Italian? Maybe he can tell these useless workers to get their act together. Maybe, hopefully, if they finish faster, Harry can just go home earlier because he really doesn't want to spend an entire summer in this dusty hellscape.

Decision made, Harry abandons his half-eaten breakfast, brushing imaginary crumbs off his robe as he spins on his heel, already mentally drafting the speech he’s going to give Lou about standards.

Outside, he looks around. Where is he even? Out in the dirt somewhere, probably. 

But Lou is nowhere to be found at first and Harry is not amused. He’s stomping through the overgrown garden, his silk robe fluttering around his legs and his patience is gone before the morning has even properly started. 

“Lou!” he calls out every few steps in frustration while he wanders around with bare feet.

But no answer.

“Lou! Where the hell are you?”

Still nothing.

Harry stops, hands on his hips and lips pursed. Because this is beneath him, this is not his standard and if he were in London, he would have people waiting on him hand and foot and not playing some ridiculous game of hide and seek.

But then he smells him.

It’s a bit embarrassing, how quickly his Omega perks up, delighted by the unique scent. 

Harry huffs. He’s definitely not delighted and his Omega needs to get a grip.

Still, he follows the scent, stepping off the path and through the untamed grass while his robe brushing against his thighs. And that’s when he sees a small house, tucked away at the edge of the property, partially hidden by a cluster of olive trees. It’s old, the walls pale and sun-worn, but it looks some kind of cosy.

And sitting right outside it, perfectly relaxed, is Lou.

Drinking tea and smirking. Like he’s been waiting for Harry to find him.

Harry stops dead in his tracks, absolutely outraged.

“You!”

Lou raises an eyebrow, taking another slow sip of his tea.

“Morning,” he says, casually. “You’re up early.”

Harry stalks closer, glaring. “Did you not hear me calling you?”

Lou grins. “Oh, I did.”

Harry gapes at him. “You… you heard me the whole time?”

Lou just shrugs, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Wanted to see how long it’d take you to find me.”

Harry lets out an incredulous scoff, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. “The audacity!”

But Lou isn’t even listening. His gaze flickers down Harry’s body, sweeping over his exposed legs, the loose tie of his robe and the smooth skin of his collarbone. And Harry, who knows exactly what he looks like right now (gorgeous, obviously) shifts his weight, posing just a little, tilting his chin up. Lou just rolls his eyes and takes another sip of his tea while Harry bristles.

“So?” Lou asks in amusement. “What exactly do you want, running around like this first thing in the morning?”

“The workers,” Harry says, exasperated. “It’s already morning and they’re still not here and this house is a disaster!”

Lou snorts and Harry narrows his eyes.

“What?”

Lou shakes his head, setting his mug down on the table beside him.

“You really need to learn how Italians work,” he says, still smirking. “They’ll come when they come. It’s not London, sweetheart.”

Harry glares. “You’re not Italian.”

‘No I'm not. “

“Good, then don't sit here and sip your tea but instead work your fucking ass off,” Harry orders and scrunches his nose.

Lou chuckles as he stands up.
“No,” he says, voice smooth, easy. He takes a step forward, slowly and then, before Harry can react, his hand is around Harry’s wrist, fingers firm and warm against his skin.

Harry blinks, caught off guard.

“My name’s Lou Williams,” Lou says, his voice a little lower now, a little sharper. “I am English. But-” his grip tightens slightly, not enough to hurt, just enough to make Harry feel held. “I’m not your lapdog and you don’t get to boss me around.”

Louis even mocks a bow and gives a kiss on the back of his hand so that Harry’s breath catches.

His Omega shivers.

And Harry really hates that.

Because Lou’s fingers are rough and calloused, and his scent is stronger this close, and his blue eyes are locked on Harry’s like he’s daring him to say something. Harry just stares at him, lips parted, completely thrown off.

Lou raises an eyebrow as he stands up straight again, smirks and lets go of his hand.

Then he picks up his tea and walks straight past him but Harry refuses to let Lou walk away like that. Not with that smug little smirk, not after daring to touch him and certainly not after speaking to him like… like he’s just some brat throwing a tantrum.

Which, okay, maybe he is throwing a little tantrum, but that’s beside the point.

Harry storms after him, the soft grass warm under his bare feet, his silk robe swishing dramatically around his legs.

“Well, actually,” he snaps, catching up to Lou, “you are my parents’ little lapdog, whether you like it or not.”

Lou keeps walking fully unbothered. 

“They pay you, don’t they?” Harry presses. “Which means you do what they want. And they want this house sorted as soon as possible, so-” He gestures dramatically. “Chop chop.”

Lou huffs a laugh, shaking his head.

“That may be,” he agrees, still far too amused for Harry’s liking. “But correct me if I’m wrong… they’re not here, are they?”

“No,” Harry mutters.

“Right,” Lou says. “So technically, I don’t have to listen to you.”

Harry gasps but Lou just shrugs.

They walk in silence for a moment, until Lou side-eyes him and asks casually, “Though, if I did listen to you and tell the workers they should start right in the morning, wouldn’t that mean you’d be woken up even earlier every morning by all the noise?”

Harry frowns, unsure where this is going and decides to say nothing.

“I mean, surely,” Louis continues, “someone as high maintenance as you needs his beauty sleep?”

Harry stops dead and Lou takes two more steps before noticing and glancing back at him, eyebrow raised.

Harry gapes at him, utterly offended.
“Are you saying,” he demands, “that I’m not beautiful?”

Lou sighs, dragging a hand down his face like Harry is the exhausting one here.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Because I am,” Harry insists, stepping closer, one hand on his hip. “Very beautiful, actually. Incredibly desirable. In very high demand.”

Lou rolls his eyes. “Mhm.”

Harry narrows his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m just wondering,” Lou says and smirks, “how much of that is true and how much is just you saying it.”

Harry glares.

It’s not just him saying it, thank you very much. It’s common knowledge. He has an entire queue of Alphas desperate for his attention, back home. He could have any of them right now if he weren’t stuck in this godforsaken place.

But before he can say any of that, Lou suddenly sighs and shakes his head.

“You are a very pretty Omega.”

Harry blinks, caught off guard. “Oh.”

“But,” Lou continues, glancing at him, “your personality is absolutely fucking rotten.”

Harry’s mouth drops open in outrage.
“You-”

“Oh, and by the way,” Lou adds, cutting him off, nodding toward Harry’s feet, “your pedicure is chipped.”

Harry gasps again, this time in sheer horror, snaps his gaze down and sure enough - his big toe. It's a disaster. A sliver of pink missing from the otherwise perfect coat of polish.

No. No. No!

This can’t be happening.

Harry whimpers and even his Omega is whining in distress at the absolute crisis this is. There’s no nail salon here. No emergency appointment he can book. No one to fix it. His entire aesthetic is ruined and he looks up again.

But Lou?

Lou is already walking away.

Laughing.

Loudly.

━━━━🌻━━━━

Harry is bored out of his mind.

The sun is warm, his skin is glowing and the pool water is the perfect shade of crystal blue, but none of it is entertaining. He’s been lying here for an hour, flipping between sulking and reapplying sunscreen and it’s doing nothing to make this place any less dreadful. At least the worker finally showed up. He could hear them when he walked past earlier, talking loudly in rapid Italian, ignoring him completely. 

Harry sighs dramatically, adjusting his sunglasses. Maybe he should text someone back home. Maybe he could convince someone to fly out and keep him company. Or maybe…

He pauses, frowning.

Out of the corner of his eye, across the garden, someone is moving.

Lou.

Tanned skin, messy hair, still in that awful, beat-up cap. There’s dirt on his arms, sweat clinging to his shirt, but he’s moving with ease, strong and focused, using tools Harry doesn’t even know the names of. He watches for a moment with his lips pressed together.

Of course his Omega is immediately interested.

Harry rolls his eyes.

Honestly. Honestly?

Lou is not even his type. Just a grumpy, sweaty, probably ill-mannered gardener. But his Omega seems to have other ideas, all but preening at the sight of a strong, capable Alpha, working under the sun like some rugged protagonist in a romance novel.

Absolutely not.

If his Omega thinks he’s going to let it make any decisions for him, it’s sorely mistaken.

But…

Well.

Maybe a little attention wouldn’t hurt.

Harry stands, stretching leisurely, knowing full well how good he looks in his today's yellow swim shorts. Then he walks to the pool, slow and purposeful, before slipping into the water with a soft sigh. It’s cool, refreshing and really not that bad, he has to admit. He takes his time, swimming a few laps, making a very obvious show of it. Strong strokes, graceful movements, flicking his curls back when water drips into his eyes. He doesn’t check if Lou is watching, but he must be… right?

Finally, after one last lap, he makes his way to the edge, pushing himself up with an effortless movement and the water cascades off his body. For a moment he just stands there, droplets glistening on his golden skin while he's catching his breath.

Then he turns.

Lou is kneeling in the grass, digging at something. Not looking at him at all.

Fine.

He steps closer before stopping just next to Lou, still dripping. It takes a few seconds, but eventually, Lou glances up. His expression stays neutral, just the tiniest twitch of an eyebrow as he takes in Harry’s wet, mostly naked form standing right beside him.

“Can I help you?” Lou asks dryly.

Harry tilts his head, considering. Then he wrinkles his nose.

“You’re all sweaty.”

Lou huffs a soft laugh, shaking his head.

“That happens when you work,” he says. “Not that you’d know anything about that.”

“I do work!”

Lou snorts. “Shopping doesn’t count.”

Harry gasps. “How dare you?”

Lou just smirks, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

“Is that all, then?” he asks. “Did you come all the way over here just to comment on my sweat?”

Harry crosses his arms. “Actually, no. I was just getting out of the pool.”

Lou hums, unconvinced which only makes Harry narrowing his eyes, shifting his weight to one leg. 

“Besides,” Harry adds, “you could at least make an effort to look more presentable.”

Lou lets out a short, amused breath. “I could,” he agrees. “But I don’t care.”

Harry opens his mouth, then closes it again, unsure what to say to that while Lou only grins and is definitely too smug. Then he turns back to his work, focused once again, like Harry is nothing more than an afterthought.

Harry stares for a moment before he huffs, flipping his wet curls over one shoulder and stomps back to his lounger.

An Alpha who doesn't know what's good! 

Shaking his head, Harry sprawls out on his lounger, flipping through Instagram with the same sulky expression he’s worn all day.

His timeline is painful. There’s a picture of Sarah, all dolled up in a shimmering dress, clutching a bottle of champagne. A video of Mitch, sunglasses perched on his nose as he takes a shot straight from the bottle, the VIP section of their favourite club glowing behind him. Their club. Harry wants all that too! Late nights, expensive drinks, exclusive parties with the kind of people who mattered. It was supposed to be perfect, their little group causing chaos all over London, living their best lives. Instead, he’s here. Like stranded.

He sighs, heavy and miserable, tossing his phone onto his chest. Then, after a moment of hesitation, he picks it up again and dials his father. It rings only twice before he answers.

“Make it quick, Harry. I’m in a meeting.”

Harry barely manages to swallow back the click of his tongue. Of course, always so busy. Nevertheless, he carries on.

“You know, this house is an absolute disaster,” Harry complains, stretching his legs out in front of him. “The workers show up whenever they feel like it, no one speaks English, and even the gardener is completely useless.”

At that, Lou, who’s still digging at something in the grass, lifts a hand and casually flips him off without even turning around.

Harry gasps. “The gardener flipped me just off!” he exclaims. “Completely unprofessional. He just-”

His father exhales sharply, cutting him off.

“Harry.” His tone is clipped, impatient. “I don’t have time for this.”

Harry pouts. “I just thought you should know…”

“I know that you’re sitting by a pool in sunny Italy while I work day and night to provide for you. I know that you are in a luxury villa, free of responsibility, while I’m dealing with actual problems.” His voice is cold, irritated. “So forgive me if I don’t have the patience to listen to you whine.”

Harry blinks, lips parting slightly.
“That’s not-”

His father exhales again. “I don’t want any more of these calls, Harry. Do not waste my time again.”

And then he hangs up.

Harry stares at his screen as the call abruptly ends and suddenly the silence settles thick around him.

His throat feels tight and he swallows hard, but it doesn’t help. And then, before he can stop it, tears well up in his eyes. He bites his lip, blinking rapidly, but a few spill over anyway, trailing hot down his cheeks.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

He quickly swipes them away, refusing to let them fall properly. 

He’s fine. He doesn’t care.

But when he glances up, Lou is already looking at him. Just… looking. Not smirking, not rolling his eyes. Just watching. And Harry absolutely hates the pity in his eyes.

He won’t be pitied.

So he looks at him stubbornly through his watery eyes, wiping furiously at his face. “What?” he snaps.

Lou just blinks, unreadable. Harry huffs, shoving himself up from the lounger and storming inside before anything else humiliating can happen. In his room it's cool and dark when he shuts the door behind him. He throws himself onto the bed, pressing his face into a pillow. And this time, he lets himself cry properly. Silent, shaking sobs with his chest tight and everything crashes over him all at once.

The loneliness, the frustration, the bone-deep exhaustion from constantly keeping up the performance… because that’s what it is, isn’t it? A performance. The perfect, untouchable Omega, too high-maintenance for anyone to get close. But underneath all of it, beneath the designer clothes, the sharp tongue, the dramatic eye-rolls, he is so tired.

His face is by now damp with tears, his breathing uneven as he clutches at the expensive duvet beneath him. His chest aches in a way he refuses to name. And his Omega aches too, curling in on itself like a wounded thing, desperate for warmth, for reassurance, for someone.

It’s humiliating. Pathetic.

Once again he admonishes himself because Harry really should be used to this by now. He learned early that wanting something as simple as a touch, as a kind word, would only make the lack of it worse. So he built his walls. Made himself untouchable before he could be denied.

Better to be desired from a distance than to risk rejection.

Better to be admired than to be loved… because love is fragile. Love leaves.

Stevie was the only exception. She had held him when he cried, stroked his curls when he was sick, cooed soft reassurances when his Omega instincts became too overwhelming to bear alone. She had understood him in ways no one else had.

And then she had left too.

Not by choice - he knows that. But gone is gone and Harry has refused to let anyone get that close since.

Because it hurts.

It hurts so much.

His fingers curl into the fabric beneath him till his knuckles get white. It’s not fair. He should be happy. He has everything… money, beauty, status. And yet, lying here in this empty, too-big room in the middle of nowhere, all of it feels so useless. No amount of designer clothes can make up for the fact that no one cares. No amount of luxury can fill the aching void in his chest, the one that whispers “you’re alone, you’re alone, you’re alone” every time the world goes quiet.

And God, he’s touch-starved. His Omega is practically wailing, desperate for even the illusion of closeness, of belonging. Back home, it had been easy… falling into warm arms for a night, letting some Alpha stroke his skin, press kisses to his throat, whisper pretty lies he’d pretend to believe.

Here, there’s nothing. No clubs, no easy distraction, no meaningless warmth to chase away the cold.

Just him.

Him and his stupid, broken heart, and his equally pathetic Omega curled up inside him like a neglected pet.

Another sob catches in his throat, and he buries his face deeper into the pillow, willing himself to stop. But the tears keep coming, silent and endless, and eventually, exhaustion takes over. His body goes limp and before he can think another self-destructive thought, he drifts into uneasy sleep, his Omega curled tight around the only thing it has left.

Itself.

━━━━🌻━━━━

When Harry blinks awake, the room is dark. For a moment, he’s disoriented, the heaviness of sleep still clinging to his limbs. The duvet is twisted around him and his face warm from where it’s been pressed into the pillow. His mouth feels dry and his lashes are stiff with the remnants of his earlier tears. He reaches blindly for his phone, squinting against the brightness as the screen lights up. Half past nine.

“What the fuck,” Harry mutters, pushing himself up on his elbows.

He slept the whole day away. On one hand, that’s tragic. On the other, at least he didn’t have to spend it being bored out of his mind. A whole day successfully avoided. Yay, self-care.

But his stomach lets out a low, insistent growl. Right… The downside of skipping an entire day is that now he’s starving. He shuffles out of bed, stretching his arms above his head and letting his joints pop. His body feels heavy, his hair a mess from sleep, but food takes priority. Barefoot and still in his bathing shorts, he makes his way downstairs and straight to the kitchen.

Or at least, what should be a kitchen.

Instead, it still looks like a fucking construction zone. Half-finished counters, tools scattered everywhere and an empty fridge that hums uselessly in the corner. Harry tugs at the handle, peering inside with a deep frown.

Nothing. Not even a sad little bottle of water.

He shuts it with an irritated huff, tapping his nails against the surface. Okay. No fridge. No working kitchen. No food.

What the fuck do people do in situations like this?

His stomach grumbles again, loud enough to make him glare down at himself.

“Well, I’d love to help, but apparently, I live in a fucking wasteland,” he tells it, crossing his arms.

If the goddamn workers had been doing their jobs properly, the kitchen might actually be finished by now.

Ugh, fine.

Harry is not an idiot. He knows what people do when they need food and don’t have a whole kitchen staff at home. They go in search of food. Or whatever.

With newfound determination, he sweeps through the house and out into the garden, arms wrapped around himself against the evening breeze.

It’s a very pretty garden and there has to be something edible here. It’s Italy. They grow stuff.

Harry wanders between the plants, scanning them like he has the first clue what he’s looking for. Grapes? Apples? Olives? Do olives grow on trees or bushes? And are they even edible straight off the plant?

After a few frustrating minutes, it becomes painfully obvious that he has no fucking idea what he’s doing. He turns in a slow circle, stomach twisting with hunger but still nothing.

“Well, this is just… great,” he mutters to himself, throwing his hands up. “The fucking dream.”

Which means he’s left with exactly one option.

Harry exhales through his nose, rolling his shoulders back, psyching himself up. Because unfortunately, the only person who definitely has food right now is the one person Harry doesn’t want to ask for help.

Lou.

Harry grimaces, toes curling against the cool ground. God, this is going to be humiliating. But what’s the alternative? Starve? Wander the Italian countryside until he’s found days later, dramatically collapsed in some tragic, poetic fashion?

No. If he’s suffering, Lou should have to suffer with him.

With a bracing breath, he straightens his posture, tilts his chin up and strides towards the small worker’s house. In front of it, Harry hesitates for exactly half a second before knocking.

The door swings open almost immediately and Lou leans lazily against the frame, one brow raised. "Yeah, princess?"

Harry exhales through his nose, crossing his arms. "Do you have any food?"

Lou blinks. "Food?"

"Yes, food," Harry says impatiently, stepping closer. "Because there is literally nothing in that house and I have not eaten all day… and I am not about to starve to death in some tragic, historical way just because the kitchen is a fucking disaster zone…"

He doesn’t stop. He can’t stop. Now that he’s talking, it’s like everything spills out… how there’s no filled up fridge, no fruit in the garden, no service that magically provides food like in London and how the actual fuck is he supposed to get anything in the middle of nowhere?

Lou listens without interrupting, arms crossed over his chest, expression unreadable. Then, when Harry finally pauses for air, Lou simply says, "Then I guess you should go shopping tomorrow."

Harry stares at him. "Shopping?"

"Yeah," Lou shrugs. "Supermarket. You’ve heard of them, right?"

"And how exactly am I supposed to get there?"

"There’s a bike in the shed."

Harry recoils like Lou just suggested he walk to the nearest city. "A bike?"

"Mhm."

"You’re joking."

"Nope." Lou smirks, clearly enjoying this. "What, don’t want to ruin your manicure?"

"That doesn’t help me right now, Lou!" Harry snaps. "I’m hungry!"

Lou sighs, tilting his head back like he’s searching for patience, then steps aside. "Fine. Come in."

Harry doesn’t need to be told twice.

Inside, it’s… small. And definitely not up to his usual standards. The furniture is mismatched, there are some dishes left in the sink and the air smells like warm spices and something undeniably Alpha.

But it’s cosy, in a way. Lived-in. Not that he’s about to admit that.

Lou gestures vaguely toward the small table in the corner. "Help yourself."

Harry looks and there, sitting innocently on the table, is a pizza box.

"Oh, come on," Harry groans. "I could’ve ordered food?"

"What, that didn’t occur to you?" Lou asks, amused. "Thought you were a genius."

Harry glares at him but doesn’t say anything because… fuck, he really should’ve thought of that.

Lou smirks, pushing the box toward him. "I’m not a bad Alpha, you know. So go ahead, take a slice."

Harry pouts, eyes darting to the pizza. "Pizza is unhealthy," he points out. "Greasy. And terrible for my figure."

Lou shrugs, grabbing a slice for himself. "Then I guess you’ll just have to starve." 

He takes a slow, deliberate bite, watching Harry with that infuriating smirk while Harry’s stomach growls loudly and he clenches his jaw. 

"Fine. But just one piece."

"Sure, princess. Whatever you say."

Harry takes a bite, fully prepared to grimace at the grease, to roll his eyes and make some snarky comment… But oh. The flavours burst on his tongue. Rich tomato, gooey cheese, perfectly crispy crust and before he can stop himself, a loud, unabashed moan escapes his lips. Across the table, Lou freezes mid-chew, eyes widening in stunned silence. For a second, they just stare at each other. Then Lou slaps a hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking as he bursts into laughter.

"Jesus Christ," he chokes out between laughs. "Was it really that good?"

Harry nods furiously, already taking another bite. "Yeah, bloody hell, this is amazing," he mumbles around a mouthful.

Lou only laughs harder, dropping his slice onto the box as he leans back in his chair. "Wait a minute…" he gasps. "Is this your first pizza?"

Harry hesitates, cheeks turning pink and begrudgingly, he nods. "Yeah."

Lou stares at him like he’s grown two heads. "You’re what? Twenty? And you’ve never had pizza?"

"I'm twenty-four. And I eat healthy," Harry defends, lifting his chin. "I have to maintain my figure. You don’t just wake up looking perfect like this, you know."

Lou snorts, shaking his head. "Right. Because being ‘perfect’ is more important than eating good food."

Harry opens his mouth to argue but then stops.

Is it?

He frowns, chewing slowly. The idea of not obsessing over his diet is so foreign to him that he doesn’t even know how to respond. Lou watches him, something softer in his gaze now, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he simply goes back to eating. For a while, they sit in silence, the only sounds in the room are the occasional rustle of the pizza box and the quiet hum of the night outside. While he chews, Harry glances at Lou. He’s clean now, his hair still damp from a shower, dressed in fresh clothes. It's just a simple t-shirt and comfortable shorts, but fuck if he doesn’t look good. More put together than Harry is used to seeing him.

And Harry hates to admit it, but he’s actually been… nice.

With barely a glance, Lou slides another slice towards him and Harry hesitates only a second before murmuring, "Thanks."

Lou smirks. "Huh. So you can be polite."

Harry lifts his chin, swallowing the last bite of his pizza with dramatic flair. "I can be polite," he insists. "I just choose not to waste it on people who don’t deserve it."

Lou huffs a quiet laugh but doesn’t argue. They fall into silence again, the occasional sound of chewing the only thing filling the small space.

After a moment, Harry sets his crust down and sighs. "How do I even get to the next town?"

Lou wipes his hands on a napkin and leans back in his chair. "Depends. You walking? Cycling? Hitchhiking?” He smirks at Harry’s horrified expression. "It’s not that far, just follow the road. There’s a bus too, if you can figure out the schedule."

Harry frowns. "Do you know where I can find a place that does pedicures? Or at least somewhere that sells nail polish?"

Lou blinks at him. "You think I know?" He gestures at himself. "Do I look like the kind of Alpha who gets pedicures?"

"No," Harry says immediately, "but I also wasn’t expecting you to be so proud of being unhygienic."

Lou raises an eyebrow. "Unhygienic? Because I work for a living?"

"Because you sweat."

"Everyone sweats, princess."

"Stop calling me princess. My name is Harry! And not everyone sweats like that," Harry argues, nose wrinkling. "It’s like… constant when you're working."

"We had that discussion before, Harry. Why does my sweat bother you at all? Does it look too sexy? Is that why you keep looking?"

"In your dreams!"

"Sure,” Lou replies, completely unbothered. "By the way… hard work builds character."

"Hard work builds sweat and I’d rather die," Harry shoots back. "Besides, what’s the point of all that character if you end up looking like…" He gestures vaguely at Lou. "That."

Lou just shakes his head, smirking. "And yet you were practically posing for me this morning."

Harry scoffs, lifting his chin. "I was not. I was standing naturally."

"Right. That’s why your robe was barely covering your thighs and you were flipping your hair like you were in a shampoo commercial."

Harry glares at him. "You’re impossible."

"And you’re ridiculous."

Harry sighs. And with an actual dramatic flip of his curls, he stands, smoothing down his bath shorts. "Whatever. Thank you for the pizza, I suppose."

"Wow. Such heartfelt gratitude," Lou deadpans.

"You’re still an awful Alpha," Harry continues, ignoring him, "completely incapable of appreciating an Omega’s beauty."

Lou leans back in his chair, looking up at him with something unreadable in his expression. "You think beauty matters when your soul is ugly?"

For a moment, Harry can’t think of a single response. The second time that Lou said something like that to him that day and it hurts! Swallowing, Harry turns on his heel and storms out, slamming the door.

By the time he collapses onto his bed, hot, frustrated tears prick at his eyes. Also for the second time that day. Lou’s words replay over and over in his mind, lodging themselves in places Harry doesn’t want to examine. Because that’s not true. It can’t be true.

His soul isn’t ugly. He’s not some wretched, hollow thing. 

But then, what is he?

The thought terrifies him and Harry grips his duvet, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. He knows he can be demanding. Spoiled, even. But that’s not his fault. He was raised this way. He didn’t choose to be born into wealth, to have everything handed to him. People always act like it’s some kind of gift, like he’s lucky.

But they don’t understand what it costs. What it has always cost.

Harry has spent his entire life being perfect. Perfect son, perfect friend, perfect Omega. He’s been polished and groomed and shaped into exactly what his parents wanted, paraded through their world like some gleaming, golden trophy.

And for what?

So that when he calls them, aching and lonely and so desperately out of place, they only brush him off like he’s nothing more than an afterthought?

Lou doesn’t know anything about that. He doesn’t know what it’s like to grow up under a microscope, to have expectations so heavy they feel like chains, to smile and pose and perform until you forget where the mask ends and you begin.

And yet… Harry knows that Lou sees right through him. That’s what unsettles him the most.

With a trembling breath, Harry wipes at his wet cheeks and turns onto his side, curling into himself.

"Let him think what he wants," he tells himself. "He doesn’t know me."

But then why does it feel like he does only from their few encounters? And why does that bother Harry so much?

The thought lingers as his breathing slows, exhaustion pulling him under. And just before he slips into sleep, one last, bitter realisation settles deep in his chest.

Sometimes, the worst part of hearing the truth is knowing that, deep down, you were already aware of it. And maybe that's why there's no real love for him.

Chapter Text

Harry swirls the deep red liquid in his glass, watching how it clings to the sides before taking another slow sip. It burns slightly as it slides down his throat, but he barely notices anymore. He’s already well past the stage of tasting it. His limbs are warm, his mind fuzzy and yet somehow, the heavy weight in his chest hasn’t lifted. If anything, it’s gotten worse.

He looks at the bottle sitting beside him on the balcony floor, half-empty… no, more than half. And the third one at that. When had he drunk so much? Not that it matters. He lets his head fall back against the lounge chair, staring up at the darkening sky, where the first few stars have begun to appear. It should be beautiful. Italy is beautiful. His parents had told him that a hundred times when they tried to convince him that this summer wouldn’t be hell.

"You’ll love it, darling."
"It’s a break from all that nonsense in London."
"You can detox from that unhealthy lifestyle."

Harry snorts bitterly and lifts his glass in a mock toast. Cheers to that. To his so-called detox, which involves bribing an Italian worker with the help of a translator on his phone and with far too much money just so he wouldn’t have to walk or bike or, god forbid, figure out public transport. Harry Styles, the vision of independence.

The man had come back with enough wine, a few overpriced protein bars and some sad-looking vegetables that Harry had shoved into the fridge without interest. The wine, however, had been opened immediately. And now here he is, drunk and alone, sitting in the golden glow of an expensive villa that feels nothing like home.

Maybe he’s in some kind of depressive episode. Because what does he even have?

Not his friends. Not his family. Not his usual distractions. No clubs, no admirers, no eager hands stroking down his body, no whispered reassurances that he is wanted, adored and needed.

His Omega whines deep inside him, restless and aching. Harry feels it too, deep in his bones. That awful hollowness, the gnawing emptiness that no amount of money or luxury can fill. He curls his fingers around his wine glass a little tighter, takes another sip just to have something to do, something to quiet the pain inside him. But it doesn’t work and with a frustrated sigh, he sets the glass down, then flops back fully against the lounge chair, pressing his arm over his eyes. He should go to bed, sleep this off and pretend tomorrow will be better. But right now, the thought of dragging himself back inside, back to that too-big, too-empty bed, makes him want to scream.

So instead, he raises his glass again and mumbles under his breath, “To my absolutely fucking tragic life.”

Then, he drains the rest of the glass and barely registers the buzzing of his phone at first, too lost in his drunken haze. It takes him a few seconds to fumble for it, nearly knocking over the wine bottle in the process. His vision swims slightly as he squints at the screen. It's Niall. A small, genuine smile tugs at his lips. At least someone still remembers he exists.

He answers with a lazy drawl. “Niall, darling.”

"Harry!" Niall shouts over what sounds like deafening club music. "Holy fuck, I miss you, mate. How's Italy?"

Harry chuckles, already feeling lighter just from hearing his voice. "Oh, you know. Living my best life in this sun-drenched paradise."

Niall barks out a laugh. "Bullshit."

Harry hums, swirling the last drops of wine in his glass. "No, really. It’s all pool parties and Italian Alphas throwing themselves at my feet. You’d love it."

There’s a loud crash on Niall’s end, followed by a burst of laughter. “Sounds fake, babe. We’re the ones throwing pool parties. And guess what? Some Alpha here asked about you.”

Harry frowns, trying to focus through the alcohol-induced fog. “Who?”

"Dunno, some tall bloke with brown hair. Said he definitely had you in his bed once."

Harry groans, rubbing a hand down his face. "Darling, you’re gonna have to be more specific than that."

Niall howls with laughter. "I knew you wouldn’t remember. You’re such a slut, Haz."

Harry gasps dramatically. "Excuse me?"

"Don’t act all innocent now," Niall teases. "You’d love it here. Everyone’s asking about you."

Harry swallows around the lump in his throat. 

"Yeah, well," he says, forcing a smirk that Niall can’t even see. "I’m too busy being worshipped by the locals to worry about some nameless Alpha."

Niall snorts. "You wish, babe. I bet you’re miserable."

Harry laughs, too loudly, too forced. "Please." He waves his hand, despite no one being there to see. "I am thriving. I’ve practically got the whole of Italy wrapped around my finger."

"Liar."

"Rude."

"Come home."

The words hit Harry harder than he expects, a sharp pang deep in his chest. He swallows, pasting on his best indifferent tone. "Can’t, darling. Stuck here. Drunk and suffering."

"Exactly."

There’s a pause where neither of them speak, just the distant thrum of music on Niall’s end and the quiet chirping of crickets on Harry’s. The contrast is painful.

"Anyway," Niall finally says, voice softer now, "don’t get too drunk and fall in the fancy Italian pool, yeah?"

"I make no promises."

They say their goodbyes and when the call ends, Harry stares at his phone screen, the brightness stinging his eyes as the loneliness creeps back in instantly, heavier than before. He sighs, setting the phone down beside him, and lets his head fall back while his Omega stirs unhappily inside him, restless and unsatisfied.

To numb them both, Harry reaches for a new wine bottle beside him on the floor, hands shaking as he struggles to twist it open. He lets out a frustrated huff, blinking rapidly to clear his vision. The moment the cork gives way with a dull pop, he doesn’t bother with a glass and just lifts the bottle straight to his lips, taking a long, burning swig. The alcohol scorches down his throat, but he barely registers it. His chest is too tight, his Omega too restless, clawing at him from the inside. 

Another gulp. And another.

Then the tears start. Hot, messy and unstoppable. Harry curls in on himself, knees drawn up as sobs wrack his body. 

"I just want love," he whispers hoarsely, clutching the bottle as if it can hold him together. 

His Omega keens in agreement as the emptiness inside him is almost unbearable. Suddenly his body trembles as an overwhelming urge takes hold, an instinct so deep-rooted that he can’t fight it, not even if he wanted to. He needs comfort. Safety. A nest. 

He staggers to his feet, storming towards his bed, grabbing every pillow and blanket he can find. But none of them feel right. They’re too stiff, too cold, too wrong. With a frustrated whimper, he throws one across the room. Then another. And another. His sobs turn frantic as he claws at the bedding, desperate for something soft, something warm, something that will soothe the aching void inside him. He grabs another pillow and, in a final dramatic burst of anger, hurls it blindly through the open balcony doors.

"Oi… what the fuck?!"

Harry freezes.

That was a voice. A very familiar voice.

Hiccupping, he stumbles toward the railing and peers over the edge. And there, standing in the dim glow of the garden lights, is Lou. Holding his pillow. Looking both confused and mildly offended.

Lou squints up at him. "Did you just throw a fucking pillow at me?"

Harry blinks at him through wet lashes. He’s still crying, but now there’s a strange, almost hysterical laughter bubbling up in his chest. 

"I…" Harry's voice cracks and he swipes aggressively at his cheeks. "I didn’t mean to hit you, I just-" 

He breaks off, shaking his head as another sob rips from his throat and Lou’s expression shifts instantly. His brows furrow and he takes a step closer, gripping the pillow. 

"Are you okay? I could smell your distress all the way over to my house."

Harry lets out a strangled, wet laugh, wrapping his arms around himself. "Of course I’m not okay! I am…" He hiccups again, stumbling back a step. "I am the furthest thing from okay!"

Lou stares up at him, still holding the damn pillow. His mouth opens, like he’s about to say something. But Harry doesn’t wait to hear it. Instead, he just turns on his heel, stumbles back into his room and slams the balcony doors shut.

Once again Harry clutches at the useless, stiff blankets on his bed and floor. None of them feel right. None of them are soft enough, warm enough or safe enough. His Omega whines desperately inside him, demanding more, demanding comfort, but nothing he touches brings him even the slightest sense of relief.

He kicks at a pillow on the floor, frustration bubbling over. "Fucking useless " 

Raking a trembling hand through his hair, he lets out a high, broken sound of distress. His entire body hurts with how much he wants to be held, to be surrounded by warmth and scent and…

The doorbell rings.

No. Not rings. Explodes.

The sharp, aggressive chime cuts through the house, making Harry flinch violently. His heart slams against his ribs, and for a moment, he just stares toward the hallway, disoriented, the sound still echoing in his skull.

Then it rings again and again.

"Alright, alright!" he snaps. 

He stumbles forward, his feet unsteady as he makes his way down the stairs, gripping the banister to keep himself upright. The moment he yanks the front door open, Lou is right there. Harry barely has time to process it before Lou steps inside, pushing past him without hesitation, like he owns the place.

"What the fuck?" Harry starts, but his voice gives out, and his chin wobbles as fresh tears spill over.

Lou turns to face him, expression tight with concern. "What the hell is going on?” he mutters, giving him a once-over. 

Harry lets out a messy, gasping sob and just waves a weak hand toward the staircase, toward the wreckage of blankets and pillows he’d left upstairs. 

"I’m drunk. And I… I want to build a nest but nothing is good enough and my Omega is losing its mind and-"

"Hey, hey, hey," Lou cuts in, stepping closer. "Breathe, alright?" He places his hands gently on Harry’s shoulders. "You need to breathe, yeah? In and out, just like that."

Harry tries. He really does. But all that comes out is a sharp, broken inhale, and then another sob that shakes his entire body. 

"What’s the fucking point?" Harry whimpers. "It’s all useless anyway."

Lou exhales sharply, then, with surprising gentleness, guides Harry down onto the bottom step of the staircase. 

"Stay here," he instructs, "Don’t move. I’ll be right back."

Harry doesn’t argue. He doesn’t roll his eyes, doesn’t make some snarky comment like he usually would. Instead he just nods weakly, curling in on himself, watching as Lou strides back out the door. Drooping his head into his hands, he cries silently, feeling all wrecked and miserable, because he doesn’t even know why Lou is coming back or what he’s doing… but his Omega trusts him. And that thought alone makes Harry cry even harder. Only a short time later the front door swings open again, and this time, Lou is loaded. His arms are overflowing with blankets, pillows and what looks like a pile of his own clothes. He barely manages to shove the door shut with his foot before stepping back toward Harry, gaze softer than before.

"Alright, princess," he says. "Where do you want to build it?"

Harry sniffles, dazed, and blinks up at him. Then, without a word, he stands and stumbles up the staircase, making a small, pathetic sound as he grips the banister for support again.

"Lead the way, then," Lou murmurs behind him.

Harry doesn’t look back. He’s too focused on climbing the stairs without face-planting, on the sheer warmth radiating from Lou right behind him, and most of all, on the scent that fills the space between them.

Lou smells really sooooo good.

Not like the fancy bottled scents of expensive Alphas back in London. Not like cologne or aftershave or chemically manufactured attraction.
He smells real and it makes his Omega purr inside him.

By the time they reach his bedroom, Harry is downright dizzy. Whether from the alcohol or the scent or something else entirely, he doesn’t know. He staggers toward the bed and flops onto it, turning his face into the expensive sheets with a deep sigh. 

"Just so you know," he slurs, "I’m not gonna shag you."

Lou snorts. "Wasn’t looking for that."

"Sure," Harry mutters, rolling onto his back and squinting at him. "Alphas always say that. They always pretend to want to help, but really…" He waves a clumsy hand through the air, nearly smacking himself in the face. "They just want a pretty little Omega in their bed."

"You're far from little,” Louis smiles and then asks, raising an eyebrow. “And you usually let them?" 

Harry shrugs. "Sometimes. But not tonight. I’m too drunk."

Lou shakes his head, looking vaguely amused as he dumps the pile of blankets and clothes beside Harry on the bed. 

"Good to know," he says dryly. "Now, go on then."

Harry blinks. "Go on what?"

"Build your nest," Lou says simply, nodding toward the pile. "Before you drop."

Harry scoffs. "I’m not gonna drop. That’s never happened to me."

"Let’s keep it that way," Lou replies, clearly unimpressed. "Now, go on. Build your nest, princess."

He turns as if to leave, but before he can take a full step, Harry's fingers close around his wrist.

"Stay," he whispers and Lou stills.

Harry doesn’t look at him. Just clings, barely aware of his own actions, heart racing for reasons that have nothing to do with the alcohol in his system.

"Please," Harry breathes.

"That’s the first time you’ve ever said please to me," Lou notes, voice carrying the tiniest hint of amusement.

Harry lets out a breathy giggle, still gripping Lou's wrist. "Must be the wine.”

"Must be." Lou chuckles 

And then, just like that, the pull toward his nest becomes unbearable. The need thrums through Harry's entire being, his Omega clawing at him from the inside, urging him to move, to create, to surround himself with softness and warmth and comfort. Without another word, he drops Lou’s wrist and turns to the pile of blankets, pillows, and most precious of all, Lou’s clothes. He barely registers Lou stepping onto the balcony, giving him space, his presence still close but unobtrusive. The scent lingers, though. Strong. Reassuring. Right.

Harry lets out a slow exhale and buries his face into the first shirt he grabs. Lou's scent is all over it, warm and rich and calming. He inhales deeply, the tension in his body easing as his scent fills his lungs.

Perfect.

One by one, he sniffs each piece of clothing, nuzzling into them as he decides where they belong in his nest. A soft jumper? That goes near the centre, where he can curl around it. A t-shirt? Draped over the pillows. A hoodie? Perfect for layering over the blankets, creating a cocoon of warmth. Every pillow is fluffed, every blanket arranged just right. His hands move on instinct, smoothing fabric, shifting things until it feels like his own little paradise. Finally his breathing slows and his heart rate evens out.

For the first time in days, his mind is quiet.

When he finally sits inside, the nest surrounds him in a comforting embrace, like a warm hug. A deep sigh escapes him, and he sinks into the softness, eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment. But then, drawn by something beyond logic, he turns his head toward the balcony. Lou is still there, perched on the railing, his profile illuminated by the moonlight. His gaze is fixed on the sky, something thoughtful in the set of his features. And his Omega wants him closer.

"Lou," he whispers. "Can you?" He hesitates, licking his lips. "Can you come here?"

For a second, Lou doesn’t move. But then, slowly, he glances over and smiles. Small, barely there, but genuine.

"Yeah, alright," Lou says, pushing off the railing and stepping back inside.

Harry watches as Lou approaches. He doesn’t climb into the nest, doesn’t push any boundaries. Instead, he simply lowers himself onto the edge of the bed, close but not too close.

And something in Harry cracks wide open. A sudden wave of gratitude crashes over him, so intense it makes his chest ache. His breath catches, and before he can stop it, tears spill down his cheeks.

"Oh, for fuck’s sake," Harry chokes out. "I’m crying again."

Lou's laughs quietly, shaking his head and says gently, "You’re a mess, princess.”

Harry lets out a long, shaky breath, his eyes drifting toward the balcony where his half-finished bottle of wine still sits. He wants it. No… needs it. Anything to dull the rawness of this moment.

"Can you grab my wine?" Harry asks.

"You’ve had enough."

"You’re not my Alpha," he snaps, wiping at his damp cheeks. "You don’t get to decide what I do. I just want to finish the damn bottle. Is that such a crime?"

Lou exhales sharply through his nose, but to Harry’s surprise, he stands and heads toward the balcony. 

"You’re a brat, you know that?" Lou says as he retrieves the bottle.

"Yeah, yeah," Harry grumbles, stretching out a hand. "Give it here. You can have a sip too, if you want."

"I’m good," Lou says, passing it to him.

Harry scoffs but doesn’t argue. Instead, he tips the bottle back and takes a long drink. Sniffing, another tear slips free, but he’s too exhausted to wipe it away. All while Lou doesn’t say anything. Just watches.

For a while, the only sounds in the room are Harry’s quiet, uneven breaths and the occasional gulp of wine. When the bottle is finally empty, Harry lets it rest on the floor beside the bed, then burrows deeper into his nest.

"I don’t think anyone’s ever really loved me," he murmurs suddenly.

Lou doesn’t respond. He doesn’t fill the silence with empty reassurances or meaningless words. He just listens.

"Stevie did," Harry continues after a beat. "She was the only one who ever made me feel like I mattered.” 

His fingers stroke over one of Lou's shirts.

"She was amazing," Harry sighs, eyes fluttering shut. "And I miss her. I miss her so much it hurts. And maybe it’s stupid because it’s been years, but I still think about her all the time. About how she always smelled like vanilla and mint and how she always used to sing."

He lets out a shaky laugh, then sniffles. "I just want someone to love me. Properly. Not because of who my family is or what I look like. I just…" A heavy sigh. "I just want someone to stay."

A long silence stretches between them. But it's okay because he is so tired. And so drunk. Slowly, Harry’s breathing calms down and his body grows heavier with sleep. He barely registers the quiet rustling of fabric, the gentle weight of a blanket being draped over his shoulders. And just before he slips into unconsciousness, he hears it, soft and barely above a whisper.

"Goodnight, Harry."

━━━━🌻━━━━

Harry wakes up to a pounding headache, his mouth dry as sandpaper and a stomach that feels like it’s doing somersaults in the worst way. Groaning, he squeezes his eyes shut against the sunlight streaming through the windows. He doesn’t need a mirror to know he looks like shit. His head is throbbing, his limbs feel like lead and the sheer force of his hangover makes him want to wither away into his nest and never move again.

But suddenly he notices something. There, on the floor beside his bed, curled up awkwardly with his back against the wall is Lou.

Harry just stares.

Lou’s wearing the same clothes from last night, his arm is bent uncomfortably beneath his head as a makeshift pillow and his face looks so relaxed in sleep.

What the actual fuck?

Memories from the night before rush in, hitting him all at once. The balcony. The wine. The crying. The desperate need to build his nest. Lou bringing him things for it. Lou staying. And oh god, Harry probably saying way too much.

He cringes, but honestly? He feels too awful to fully process the embarrassment. Instead, he licks his dry lips and croaks out, "Lou."

Lou doesn’t stir while Harry swallows against the nausea and tries again, a bit louder this time. "Lou!"

This time, Lou groans softly, shifting before cracking open one sleepy eye. His gaze lands on Harry before he stretches with a wince. "Morning, princess."

"Why the hell are you sleeping on my floor?" Harry frowns.

Lou rubs his eyes, looking far too put together for someone who just slept sitting up. "Had a feeling you’d either drop or choke on your own vomit, so I stuck around. Must have dozed off."

Harry blinks at him, his brain sluggish. Lou stayed? Because he was worried? Lou? Worried about him? He doesn’t know what to say. He just gapes, too stunned to fully compute it. Before he can even attempt to respond, Lou pushes himself up with another groan and rolls his shoulders. 

"Go shower and get dressed. We’re leaving in an hour."

Harry looks confused, rubbing at his aching temple. "Leaving? Where?"

"Into town," Lou says simply, brushing off his pants. "So you can buy yourself some proper pillows and blankets. Thought you might want ones that actually fit your high standards."

Harry’s mouth falls open slightly. Oh.

His throat tightens unexpectedly as his Omega literally preens at the thoughtfulness of it.

Lou claps him on the knee as he passes and sends him a wink before heading for the door. "One hour, princess."

Harry watches him go, still too shocked to say anything, his chest feeling too full, his body still heavy with exhaustion and last night’s emotions.

And fuck… he already feels like crying again.

Sighing, he drags himself out of bed, every step towards the bathroom feeling like a personal attack but he refuses to be defeated by a simple hangover. He’s had worse. Probably.

The cold tiles under his feet send a shiver up his spine as he steps into the bathroom. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and winces. His curls are a mess, his eyes puffy and red-rimmed from all the crying and his lips are still slightly stained from last night’s wine. He looks like a proper disaster. With a determined huff, he turns the shower on and after he stripped out of last night’s clothes, he steps under the warm spray, sighing as it soothes his aching muscles. His head tilts back, letting the water drench his curls and for a moment, he just stands there, breathing. Washing away the remnants of last night, the emotions, the vulnerability.

Then, his routine kicks in. Shampoo first, massaging it into his scalp, making sure every strand gets the attention it deserves. Rinse and conditioner next, running it through his curls with delicate precision before letting it sit while he lathers his body in his expensive, Omega-specific body wash. Something light and floral, designed to be enticing. Not that he’s trying to be enticing for anyone.

Especially not for a certain Alpha whose scent still lingers faintly in the air.

After rinsing the conditioner out, he steps out and wraps himself in the fluffiest towel he owns, patting his skin dry before turning to his curls. He treats them with utmost care, applying his leave-in products and scrunching them gently, ensuring they form the perfect glossy ringlets. By the time he’s done, he already feels like himself again. Hangover who?

After that, he moves back into his room and pulls open his closet, rifling through the clothes before settling on something that makes him feel like he’s back in control.

A sheer, white lace top, delicate and extravagant, draping over his frame perfectly. Paired with white denim shorts, like really short shorts, because if he’s going into town, he’s going to make an impression. Next he slides into a pair of white platform heels, adding the final touch to his look. He admires himself in the mirror for a moment, turning slightly to assess every angle. If Lou will like it?

Scowling at his reflection, he shakes his head at himself. He's not getting dressed up for Lou. No. This is just who he is. He always looks perfect. And definitely not for Lou. He’s just dressing like this because he’s finally going to see something other than this godforsaken villa and he needs to feel like himself again. That’s all.
Harry smooths his hands down his top, lifts his chin and steps out of his room, ready to pretend he doesn’t care about whatever Lou thinks.

━━━━🌻━━━━

Harry walks out into the sunlight, stomach still unsettled from his pathetic attempt at breakfast in an empty kitchen because of course the workers still aren't there. It was one of the protein bars and a few sips of water before the nausea won the battle. But any residual discomfort is swiftly replaced by a completely different kind of problem when he spots Lou.

Leaning against a sleek black motorcycle and arms crossed over his chest while the sunlight catches in his impossibly blue eyes, making them seem even brighter against his tanned skin. He’s wearing a simple white tank top, slightly loose, exposing toned arms covered in tattoos and the subtle outline of muscle shifting underneath. The fabric clings just enough to his chest and makes the dip of his collar bones visible. His jeans are black, tight, low on his hips, paired with worn black Vans that somehow make him look even more effortlessly cool.

Harry swallows. Since when is the sweaty gardener sexy?

Lou’s eyes flick down, sweeping over Harry’s outfit and his gaze is unreadable for a beat before he exhales through his nose, shaking his head slightly, and reaches for a pair of sunglasses hanging off the bike’s handlebars. He slides them on smoothly, the dark lenses obscuring his eyes but somehow making him even more attractive.

Harry’s brain short-circuits. Help!

Lou smirks, shifting his weight off the bike. "So, you just gonna stand there and stare, or are you actually getting on?"

Harry scoffs, snapping out of whatever ridiculous spell he was just under. "I am not getting on that death trap."

Lou raises a brow. "Death trap?"

"Yes! A death trap. It’s dangerous. What if we crash? What if I die? What if I just… oh, I don’t know… fall off?" Harry gestures wildly. "And where’s my helmet? Or do Alphas in Italy not care if their passengers get brain damage?"

Lou tilts his head, looking amused. "You’re not gonna die, Harry."

"You don’t know that!" Harry exclaims, eyes wide. "Also, I am not about to ruin my outfit by getting covered in dirt or bugs. I am used to better transport than this."

Lou sighs, removing his sunglasses just to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Harry," he drawls, voice dripping with patience. "I’m a good rider. You’re not gonna get dirty. And I already decided that you can have my helmet."

Harry eyes him suspiciously, arms crossed and Lou laughs, the sound low and warm. He steps forward, pressing the helmet into Harry’s hands. "Trust me."

Harry glares at the helmet like it personally insulted him. 

"Fine," he grumbles, snatching it. "But if my hair gets ruined, you owe me-"

"You’re already getting a free ride to town," Lou smirks. "Seems fair."

Harry huffs dramatically, shoving the helmet onto his head and wincing immediately. "Oh my God. This is awful. It’s squeezing my brain."

Lou grins, stepping back and nodding approvingly. "Looks good on you."

Harry glares, the effect ruined by the way the helmet shifts slightly on his head. "I hate you."

"Sure you do." Lou pats the seat of the bike. "Now get on."

Harry hesitates for a moment longer before stepping closer. Lou helps him - actually helps him, hands steady as he guides Harry onto the seat, which is both mortifying and... weirdly reassuring. Harry ignores the warmth in his chest, focusing instead on the way Lou swings onto the bike effortlessly in front of him.

Then Lou holds out his hands. "Give me your arms."

Harry frowns. "Why?"

"So you don’t fall off and die, obviously," Lou teases.

Harry scrunches his nose, but when Lou grabs his wrists and firmly wraps them around his waist, he doesn’t protest.

"Hold on tight," Lou says, and then, just as the bike rumbles to life beneath them, he adds with a smirk, "Wouldn’t want you ruining that fancy white outfit."

Harry barely has time to retort before they take off. He has no choice but to hold tight, pressing against Lou’s back as the wind rushes past them. His stomach flips, but whether it’s from the speed or the way Lou feels under his hands, he can’t tell. His lace top does nothing against the wind, the chill biting at his skin and his curls are surely a disaster under the helmet.

But his Omega?

His Omega loves this. Loves being pressed against Lou, loves the steady, controlled strength of him, the scent of Alpha filling his lungs. And Harry, despite the cold, despite the ruin of his hair, despite the sheer absurdity of it all, finds himself grinning.

Because for the first time in forever, he feels free.

━━━━🌻━━━━

The roar of the engine is deafening, but Harry barely hears it over the rush of everything else. The world is alive around him, the sun golden and warm against his skin, the blur of green hills and winding roads passing by like in a dream.

And then suddenly sunflowers appear like a wave, stretching endlessly on either side of them, golden heads turned toward the sky, swaying gently in the wind. It’s breathtaking - utterly breathtaking - and Harry feels it everywhere. In his chest, in his fingertips, in the way his breath catches and his lips part in wonder. He shifts, pressing closer against Lou’s back, wrapping his arms tighter around his waist. 

"Lou!" he shouts over the wind, voice filled with something so raw and real it surprises even him. "It’s so beautiful!"

Lou laughs, and shit, it’s the best sound. Warm and free, carried away by the rushing air. Harry even dares to loosen his grip, just a little. He tilts his head back, breath hitching at the feeling of it all. And then, without thinking, he lifts his arms. The wind catches him immediately, rushing over his skin, pressing against his chest like a second heartbeat. He laughs out loud, uninhibited, wild and real, bubbling straight from his soul.
For the first time in so long, he’s not thinking. Not about England, not about loneliness, not about aching for something he can’t even name. There’s only this.

And Lou… Lou laughs too. A genuine, delighted sound, like he feels it too.

The bike slows as they approach the very edge of the field, the sunflowers taller now, their golden faces swaying gently under the bright blue sky. Lou brings them to a smooth stop on a dirt path running alongside the flowers and cuts the engine. The sudden silence is almost startling, but the world is not quiet. Cicadas hum in the heat and the distant rustle of leaves whisper through the air. Harry’s heart is pounding, his hands trembling slightly as Lou shifts forward and turns to face him.

"Alright?" Lou asks.

Harry exhales a shaky breath. "Yeah."

Lou nods, then reaches out as he helps Harry off the bike. The ground is solid beneath his shoes, but the world still feels like it’s moving. Harry sways slightly, blinking up at the endless stretch of sunflowers before them. Lou steps back, shoving his hands into his pockets, standing just close enough for Harry to feel the warmth of him. For a long moment, neither of them speak and Harry just lets his gaze roam over all the sunflowers. Harry’s heart is still racing, but differently now. Slower, deeper, curling into something soft.

"My soul’s not ugly,” Harry whispers suddenly.

Lou turns his head, eyes flicking toward Harry and he just looks at him. The blue of them is stunning in this light, bright and clear against the warm hues of the field. Harry meets his gaze, his breath catching again, but this time for a whole other reason.

Neither of them move.
The moment stretches between them - silent, golden, something.

“No, your soul is not ugly,” Louis whispers finally back. “I'm sorry I said that.”

It settles in Harry’s chest, warm and gentle, wrapping around something fragile inside him. He nods slowly, looking away from Lou and back out over the sunflowers. 

Lou shifts beside him, and then, voice still quiet but somehow so sure, he says, "You know… a sunflower starts as a tiny seed, buried in the dirt. It spends so long in the dark, alone, before it even realises what it could be. But then…" Lou pauses, nodding toward the field in front of them. "One day, it breaks through. Grows towards the light. It doesn’t stay in the dark forever, Harry. It becomes something strong, something golden. Something that people stop and look at and-" He glances at Harry now, eyes soft. "-something beautiful."

Harry’s breath stutters and he grips the hem of his top, fingers tightening against the delicate fabric. His throat feels thick, like something is lodged there, something too big to swallow down. Lou isn’t even looking at him anymore. His gaze is back on the field, like he didn’t just say something that cracked Harry’s entire foundation.

Harry doesn’t know how to take this. Because Lou isn’t talking about sunflowers. Not really. He’s talking about Harry. And he’s saying or more like implying, that there’s something more to him. Beyond the glamour, beyond the styling and beyond the way people see him. And he’s saying that Harry hasn’t even realised what he could be yet.

"So you think I’m a sunflower?" Harry asks, forcing his voice to sound light, teasing.

Lou huffs a small laugh. "No," he says simply. Then he tilts his head, side-eyeing Harry. "I think you’re still growing into one."

It’s stupid. It’s ridiculous.

Harry has no reason to feel like his chest is caving in, like he suddenly wants to bury himself in Lou's arms.
And God, Lou makes it hard to breathe.

So Harry just nods, turns back to the sunflowers and lets the silence stretch between them again.

Chapter Text

Harry has never been more grateful for money in his life. Because, honestly, without it, there’s no way the shop assistant would have agreed to load his tiny car with an unreasonable number of pillows and blankets and drive them all the way to the villa after his shift. Lou had tried his best with broken Italian, Harry had waved his phone around with his translator, and in the end, a hefty tip had sealed the deal. Problem solved, because there was no way they could have transported all this on Lou's motorbike.

Now, they’re in a small drugstore and Harry is standing in front of an overwhelming display of nail polish, his arms crossed, bottom lip jutted out in thought. Which colour would look best on his toes? Lou, on the other hand, is standing beside him and looks as if he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Just pick one,” Lou sighs, crossing his arms. “It’s nail polish, not a life-altering decision.”

Harry gasps, clutching his chest. “Excuse you. Nail colour is a deeply personal expression of one’s soul.”

Lou snorts. “Yeah? And what does your soul wanna be today?”

Harry hums as he thinks about it. His soul wants to be something beautiful. Something warm. Something alive.

“Don't know yet,” he mumbles, scanning the rows of bottles again.

Lou huffs, then grabs a random one off the shelf a bright, neon pink. He holds it up with an arched brow. “What about this one?”

Harry wrinkles his nose. “No.”

Lou grabs another. “Orange?”

Harry shakes his head.

“Black?”

Harry glares. “You’re just picking the ugliest ones on purpose.”

Lou smirks, tossing the black one back into the display. “I’d never.”

Harry sighs and picks up a pastel lilac, holding it down to his foot. “Do you think this would look good?”

Lou actually looks and then grins. “You could pull it off.”

Harry preens. “Of course I could.”

Still, he hesitates, scanning the display again. There are too many choices. He taps his fingers against his hip, unsure, when Lou - clearly fed up - leans against the shelf and drawls, “Just buy all of them. You’re rich, aren’t you?”

Harry narrows his eyes at him. “That’s not the point.”

Lou shrugs. “Sure seems like the point.”

Harry pouts, looking back at the shelves. And then his gaze lands on a soft, buttery yellow. The exact shade of the sunflowers from earlier. Warm, gentle and bright. He plucks it off the shelf, turning it over in his hand.

“This one,” he says quietly.

Lou leans in, looking at it and his lips twitch in approval. “Good choice.”

Harry’s Omega melts. The praise does something inexplicable to him, making warmth bloom in his chest, settling right under his ribcage. As a result, his Omega leaves him with little choice and Harry definitely does not intend to grab more bottles. He swears it. He’s perfectly happy with the sunflower yellow. But his Omega starts whispering and before he knows it, his hands are full. The lilac one? Yes. A deep, glossy red? Also yes. A glittery silver? Why not. And oh... The neon pink Lou had held up earlier? This one absolutely as it was the Alpha’s choice.

Lou notices. Of course, he does.

“You’re unbelievable,” he says, shaking his head as they make their way to the checkout. “I thought it wasn't about you being rich and being able to buy them all? And now you sure are buying half the shop.”

Harry lifts his chin. “It’s not my fault. My Omega is very persuasive.”

Lou snorts. “Oh yeah? Convenient.”

“Extremely.”

Lou keeps grinning, teasing him all the way to the register. Right up until Harry levels him with a single, unimpressed look. It’s sharp and effective, stopping Lou mid-sentence. He blinks, lips twitching like he’s holding back a laugh, then sighs and raises his hands in surrender. Silent at last.

Still, the amused grin doesn’t leave Lou's face.

Once they step outside, midday heat wraps around them like a thick, lazy blanket. The streets are lively, filled with the murmur of voices, the hum of passing Vespas and the clinking of coffee cups at a nearby café. Harry is just about to suggest heading back to the motorbike when Lou suddenly stops and points across the street.

“There,” he says, eyes bright. “The best gelato in the world.”

“Absolutely not.”

Lou frowns. “What? Why?”

Harry sighs like it should be obvious. “Ice cream has sugar. Sugar ruins my figure.”

Lou gapes. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Harry, you're not a Victoria’s Secret model. Enjoy your life!”

Harry gasps. “How dare you?”

Lou throws his arms out. “How dare you! Denying yourself one of life’s greatest pleasures over what? A few calories?”

“Yes, exactly!”

“That’s ridiculous.”

Harry crosses his arms. “You wouldn’t understand. You’re an Alpha. You can eat whatever you want.”

Lou narrows his eyes. “That’s not how that works.”

“It is in my world.”

The argument escalates. They go back and forth, hands waving, feet stomping, voices carrying enough that people begin to turn and watch. But neither of them cares. This is war.

Until Lou suddenly stops and says very deliberately, “Harry, you have a beautiful figure.”

Harry freezes and his cheeks turn crimson, while his Omega maybe dies out of pure happiness inside him. 

And then Lou gives him puppy eyes on top of that - the menace.

Harry groans. Loudly. He can actually feel himself losing the battle.

“Fine,” he grits out. “One scoop.”

Lou grins. “Two.”

“One. And I’m swimming extra laps in the pool later.”

Lou shrugs, already leading him across the street. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, princess.”

Harry rolls his eyes, but his lips twitch. He’ll never admit it, but he’s already looking forward to his gelato.
Only a minute later, Harry stares at the endless options behind the glass counter. Too many choices. He taps a finger against his chin, reading each flavour carefully, weighing the calorie counts in his head. Eventually, he settles on something on a scoop greek yoghurt with a drizzle of honey. Safe, light and still enjoyable.

Lou, on the other hand, doesn’t hesitate. He orders three scoops, (three!) in a waffle cone - chocolate, mint and something bright pink that Harry is too horrified to ask about.

“You’re actually disgusting,” Harry comments as Lou takes the cone from the vendor.

Lou just winks. “And yet, you can’t look away.”

Harry rolls his eyes and grabs his own cup. They find a shaded bench near the square, away from the crowds but close enough that Harry can still observe. The town is alive and lovely. Harry absentmindedly licks his spoon, savouring the sweetness of his yoghurt ice cream. Better than expected.

Till Lou suddenly moves beside him. Before Harry can react, there’s a hand in his peripheral vision and a cone held out, right in front of his lips.

“Try it,” Lou says, voice low, too low.

Harry blinks and looks up. Lou is watching him and the weight of his gaze is heavy, like the sun pressing against bare skin, hot and unrelenting. Harry’s pulse jumps while his Omega shivers, uncertain whether to flee or purr.

“I-”

“Come on,” Lou murmurs. “Lick.”

Harry’s eyes widen.

What the fuck.

Lou’s expression doesn’t change. He just holds the cone steady, patient, like he has all the time in the world.

The tension is suffocating.

Harry knows what this looks like. Feels what it is. This isn’t just some casual taste test… this is an Alpha holding something to an Omega’s mouth, commanding without force, waiting to be obeyed.

Harry shouldn’t.

He really shouldn’t.

But Lou is still looking at him.

Harry swallows and parts his lips. And slowly, deliberately, drags his tongue over the ice cream. He barely registers the taste. What he does register is Lou’s eyes darkening, his fingers flexing just slightly around the cone and his chest expanding with a slow inhale.

Harry feels too hot.

His Omega shakes inside him, all nerves and excitement and a rush of something too primal to name.

And then he feels something different.

Slick.

A sharp, humiliating awareness blooms in Harry’s gut. His body - his traitorous, desperate Omega body - reacting to something as simple as this. Lou must smell it!

Harry snaps out of it and clears his throat, breaking eye contact so fast it nearly gives him whiplash. 

“I… uhm, I think we should head back,” he mutters, already standing, brushing invisible dust off his shorts.

Lou watches him for a beat longer. Then he hums, amused. “Yeah?”

Harry nods far too quickly while Lou licks his own ice cream, the motion unnecessarily slow, then stands as well.

Harry doesn’t look at him. Absolutely not.

He walks ahead, ignoring the smug heat prickling at the back of his neck, pretending his bum doesn't feel just a little too damp.

━━━━🌻━━━━

Harry’s patience is hanging by a thread.

His phone is clutched tightly in one hand, the translation app butchering Italian as he gestures wildly at the workers inside the villa. They’re too slow, too unbothered and too focused on each other instead of the task at hand.

"Come on!" he snaps, waving his free hand like a conductor leading a chaotic orchestra. "Move it!"

The men, finally finished with the kitchen, now start peeling back the outdated wallpaper in the living room, and Harry rolls his eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t get stuck.

Jesus. He’s surrounded by incompetence.

But before he can really get into it, the doorbell rings. Harry exhales sharply, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from his top before heading for the door. As expected, his delivery has arrived, or more like a mountain of pillows and blankets.

"Finally," he sighs, stepping aside and motioning towards the garden with a graceful flick of his wrist. The man looks mildly bewildered at Harry but follows him towards the pool.
Once there, Harry gestures vaguely at the sun loungers. “There. Just put it all there.”

The man does as he’s shown, stacking the soft bundles neatly before nodding and leaving. Immediately his Omega stirs and something inside Harry shifts. Once again a deep, instinctual pull takes over, guiding him towards the shady spot beneath the large tree, where the dappled sunlight filters through the leaves. It’s perfect. Safe. Quiet.

Harry doesn’t even question it. He drags over the cushions from the loungers, arranging them carefully to create a solid base. Then come the blankets, each one precisely placed, layered in a way that should feel comfortable, secure.

But it’s not right.

Harry growls under his breath, shifting things around, fluffing the pillows, adjusting the edges of the blankets - again and again.

Still, something is missing. Something essential. From someone essential.

His Omega knows, even before his conscious mind catches up. Harry pauses, staring down at his half-built nest, and then his eyes flicker around the garden, looking for Lou.

“Lou!”

Harry’s voice cuts through the warm afternoon air like a blade. He’s already pacing with his Omega buzzing under his skin. Where is he?

“Lou!” he shouts again, louder this time. He barely registers the way the workers inside the villa startledly glance his way through the open doors. Not his problem.

His nest isn’t right.

And Lou has the missing piece.

It takes him a frustratingly long moment to find him - shirt damp with sweat, hose in hand, watering the flowers along the edge of the garden like some fucking domestic dream. Harry marches straight up to him, stopping just short of where the damp ground starts.

“Give me your tank top.”

Lou pauses, thumb pressing over the nozzle to adjust the spray. He lifts an eyebrow, looking Harry up and down.

"Bold." He deadpans but his eyes glint with amusement. "Is this some kind of London pick-up line? Because if you wanted to see me naked, princess, there are easier ways to go about it."

Harry’s Omega flips inside him.

“Oh, shut up.” Harry glares, arms crossed tightly over his chest. “It’s dirty anyway. I don’t see why it matters.”

Lou hums, letting the hose hang loose in his grip. "So, just to be clear… you want the sweaty, grass-stained tank top off my body."

Harry huffs impatiently, shifting his weight. “Yes.”

Lou makes a thoughtful noise, like he’s genuinely considering it, before smirking.

“Bit gross, isn’t it? Thought you had an expensive taste.”

“It’s for my nest, you absolute twat!” Harry snaps, throwing his hands up. “Are you giving it to me or not?”

Lou grins, like this is the best entertainment he’s had in weeks. And then, slowly, he grabs the hem of his tank top and pulls it up, revealing the toned, sun-kissed skin beneath.

Harry doesn’t mean to stare.

But.

Fuck.

He swallows hard as Lou peels it off completely, muscles shifting, a faint sheen of sweat catching the light. He’s tan, lean, strong and also the tattoos on his arms and chest look obscenely good in the sun. Lou knows exactly what he’s doing as he drags a hand across his chest, fingers brushing over his stomach like he’s casually showing off.

“Hope this was worth all the yelling.” He tosses the shirt at Harry with a lazy smirk, eyes gleaming with amusement. "Try not to pass out, yeah?"

Harry barely catches it as his Omega is feral. His skin is too hot. His fingers tighten in the fabric, still warm from Lou’s body, the scent strong, overwhelming, all-consuming.

This was a bad idea.

A very bad idea.

With zero grace, Harry spins on his heel and power-walks back toward his nest, face burning while his nails digging into the soft material.

He immediately stifles the naughty ideas of his Omega. Absolutely not.
Lou is so beneath his standards. So beneath him.

Even for a meaningless fuck.

No. Absolutely not.

He buries his face in the tank top anyway.

━━━━🌻━━━━

Harry sighs and stretches out in his nest. It’s perfect here, really. The softest cushions, the warmth of the afternoon sun filtering through the leaves, and, most importantly, Lou’s tank top, which still smells like Alpha and earth and something infuriatingly comforting. His Omega is more than satisfied, curled up in contentment inside him.

But Harry himself?

Harry is bored out of his fucking mind.

He could paint his nails, but he doesn't feel like it. He could scroll through his phone, but there’s no drama exciting enough to hold his attention.

Maybe he should check what Lou is doing. Just to make sure he's not neglecting his work, of course.

With that excuse firmly in place, Harry pushes himself up, brushing through his curls as he strides toward the other end of the garden. He spots Lou easily - shirt still off, of course, because the man apparently has no shame and his tanned skin is literally glowing under the sun as he trims the rose bushes. Harry barely has time to open his mouth before Lou glances up and grins.

“Perfect timing, princess.”

Harry pauses, immediately suspicious. "Why?"

Lou gestures toward the pile of trimmed branches and cuttings at his feet.

“I need a second pair of hands.”

Harry blinks at him, then at the thorn-covered mess on the ground.

“Absolutely not.”

Lou’s grin widens. "Thought you might say that." 

He tosses a pair of gardening gloves at him anyway and Harry stares at them like they might bite him. 

“Do I look like someone who does manual labour?”

“You look like someone who’s currently not doing anything better.”

“Excuse me, I was very busy enjoying my afternoon.”

Lou raises his eyebrows, gaze deliberate, assessing and Harry can feel himself getting defensive before Lou even speaks.

“Mhm. Thought you might be bored.”

Harry scowls. He is bored, but he won’t admit it. Lou, of course, sees right through him.

“Come on, just help me gather this lot. It’ll be quick.”

Harry glares, crossing his arms. “I’ll get dirty.”

Lou shrugs. “Yeah. That tends to happen when you actually do things.”

“It’s not my job.”

Lou just looks at him, calm and unbothered, until Harry huffs dramatically and nods but throws the gloves away as they would definitely destroy his aesthetic.

“I hate you.”

Lou’s laugh is low and infuriatingly pleased. "You say that a lot."

Harry pointedly ignores him as he bends down to start picking up the trimmings. But only a few seconds later, disaster takes its course.

"Shit!"

Harry's sharp cry echoes through the garden as he snatches his hand back, glaring at the tiny cut on his finger.

“I am BLEEDING.” He waves his hand dramatically, even though it's barely a scratch. “This is a DISASTER.”

Lou doesn’t even flinch. Doesn't even have the decency to look concerned. Instead, he glances over, completely unbothered and has the audacity to look amused.

"It’s a thorn, Harry. They do that."

Harry’s scandalised gasp is Oscar-worthy.

“Oh, so now it’s MY FAULT? I suppose you just conveniently forgot to WARN me that these demonic little plants have RAZOR BLADES sticking out of them?!”

Lou blinks. “You mean the roses?”

Harry glares.

"Yeah, I think most people know about that," Lou grins.

Harry swipes his bloody finger in Lou’s direction and is fuming. "This is on YOU."

“I… how?”

"Because you made me do this stupid chore! What kind of Alpha even lets an Omega do hard labour? That’s ABUSE, you should be ARRESTED!”

Lou rubs a hand down his face, clearly holding back laughter, which makes Harry even angrier.

“I swear to God, Lou, if this leaves a scar, I will SUE YOU."

Lou just watches him. Doesn't argue, doesn't roll his eyes, doesn't even tell him to stop being ridiculous. He just... looks at him.

And then, softly, he says, "Glad to see you’re back to normal."

Harry pauses mid-rant, thrown off. "What?"

Lou shrugs. "You’ve been… different today. Thought maybe you were still feeling rough from last night." He tilts his head. "But nope. There he is. My spoiled little brat."

Harry sputters. "I… EXCUSE ME?"

Lou smirks, stepping closer. "Thought I lost you for a second."

Harry stiffens, suddenly hyper-aware of the way Lou is looking at him and then Lou leans in, just a breath away, and lowers his voice to something dangerously soft.

"If you were mine, I'd put you over my knee for that tantrum."

Harry stops breathing.

WHAT?!

Lou steps back, completely casual, like he didn’t just drop a fucking nuclear bomb into Harry’s central nervous system.

"Now stop whining and go clean your finger."

Then he just turns and his focus is back on his work, like he didn’t just break Harry’s brain. Harry stands there, stunned, burning, furious, flustered, desperately turned on and completely incapable of forming words.

And so Harry does the only logical thing. He spins on his heel, storms back into the villa and hunts down the nearest worker like a man on a mission.

“YOU!”

The poor man freezes and looks alarmed.

Harry throws up his hands, still fuming. "Can you BELIEVE the ABSOLUTE DISRESPECT I am being subjected to in my own HOME?"

The worker blinks. Looks at his colleague. Looks back at Harry while he barrels on, undeterred. "He actually said he’d put me over his KNEE. His KNEE! Like I’m some misbehaving CHILD!"

The man hesitantly opens his mouth, then closes it again.

“And the worst part? He said it all CASUAL. Like it was NORMAL. Just dropped that little gem and then went back to work!” Harry gestures wildly. "What the ACTUAL fuck?!"

The workers exchange glances, clearly not understanding a word, but Harry keeps going anyway because he has nowhere else to put his rage.

“And you know what else?! I am in PAIN.” He dramatically holds up his hand, pointing at the tiny cut. "This is a SERIOUS INJURY. I could get infected. I could DIE."

One of the men tentatively nods and Harry exhales sharply. "And do you think he cared? NO! He just stood there all smug and sweaty and shirtless and sexy"

Harry stops dead. He did not mean to say that.

The men are now just watching him, a little concerned, a little confused, but definitely not paid enough for this.

Harry snaps his mouth shut, gathers what’s left of his dignity and whirls around with a flourish. "You know what? FORGET IT."

And with that, he makes a quick exit, storming up the stairs with all the fury which is still thrumming inside him. In his bedroom, he slams the door shut, leans against it and exhales sharply. The silence is deafening with no audience to perform for, no workers to vent at, no Lou standing there being all whatever the fuck Lou is and Harry finally allows himself to just breathe.

And that’s when it hits him. He overreacted.

Like, seriously overreacted.

It wasn’t even that big of a deal. Lou was just being Lou, saying things to get a reaction out of him and it had worked spectacularly.

But… but the way he’d said it.

Like he meant it.

Like he’d actually thought about it.

Like he would do it in a heartbeat if Harry let him.

And the way that made Harry feel…

Harry groans out loud, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. "No, no, no, we are NOT going there."

This is ridiculous. Lou is beneath him. Lou is just some sweaty gardener who happens to be annoyingly attractive and infuriatingly confident and -

Harry slaps his own cheek lightly, snapping himself out of it. Enough.

With a sigh, he heads to his ensuite bathroom, yanks open the cabinet, and grabs a plaster. Carefully, he cleans his tiny, insignificant wound, then sticks the plaster on, examining his finger like it’s something out of a war story.

“Disastrous,” he mutters.

Then he exhales deeply and flops onto his bed, staring at the ceiling.

What the hell is Lou doing to him?

Harry drags a hand down his face, decides he needs a distraction and his eyes land on the shopping bag from earlier with the bright yellow nail polish in it. Snatching up the bottle and the nail polish remover, he settles himself back on his bed. He’s never done this himself before, always had someone do it for him, but how hard can it be?

He uncaps the remover, soaking a cotton pad before pressing it to his toenails, wiping away the old polish. It's something oddly satisfying about it. About doing this himself, instead of letting some overpriced spa technician handle it while he scrolls through his phone.

As he works, his mind wanders. To the motorcycle ride. The wind in his hair, the scent of wildflowers and sun-warmed earth, the way the world blurred past in streaks of yellow and green. To the way he’d felt in that moment, so light and free. To what Lou had said about the sunflowers.

Just a tiny seed at first, buried in dirt, with no sunlight, no beauty, no promise. How it pushes through and breaks the surface, fights for space, stretches towards warmth, until one day it blooms. Bright, bold, golden - it becomes something worth looking at.

Harry swallows, staring down at his own hands, at the half-painted nails on his toes.

Could he do that?

Could he be that?

Because he’s never really tried.

He’s always played his role well, always been what people expected - pretty, polished, extravagant, a little difficult, a little dramatic. Always the most expensive thing in the room, but never the most real. But today for a short while, he’d been something else. A version of himself he doesn’t fully recognise, but doesn’t entirely dislike, either. Maybe this place isn’t a punishment. Maybe it’s a chance. A chance to figure out who he is when there’s no audience, no expectations, no cameras waiting for a perfect shot. The thought is terrifying, but also intriguing.

Harry blinks, realising he’s been sitting still for too long. With a soft exhale, he focuses back on his nails, carefully stroking on the bright yellow polish, layer by layer. When he’s finished, he examines his work. It’s not perfect, a little messy at the edges, a bit uneven, but it’s his own.

For the first time ever, he did this himself. And it wasn’t even terrible.

━━━━🌻━━━━

The second time Harry steps out of the shower, steam curling around his ankles as he pads barefoot across the cool floor, he feels significantly better. The heat has calmed him down fully, washed away the last remnants of his bratty outburst and his freshly moisturised skin smells of citrus and vanilla. His satin sleep romper slides over his damp skin as he pulls it on, the silky fabric cool and weightless. It’s ridiculous and extravagant, barely covering his thighs, but Harry loves it. Loves the way it clings, the way it feels like luxury itself. He’s already mentally prepared to sink into his nest on the bed. Lou’s clothes are still there, and though Harry would never admit it, his Omega has been humming in satisfaction all evening because of it.

But suddenly the doorbell rings. Harry frowns, adjusting the strap of his romper before going down to the door. When he pulls it open, he’s not sure what he expected, but it certainly isn’t Lou standing there, barefoot on the cool stone, still slightly damp from a shower of his own, his hair curling faintly at the ends.

And in his hands a small bouquet of roses.

Harry’s mouth parts slightly, his gaze flickering between Lou’s serious expression and the delicate flowers in his grip.

“I, uh.. ” Lou clears his throat, holding them out between them. “Wanted to apologise. For earlier. The, um, spanking comment. It was…” He scratches the back of his neck, looking uncharacteristically uncertain. “It was inappropriate.”

Harry just blinks. Out of all the things Lou could have done, out of all the possible ways this evening could have gone, this was not one of them.
Harry slowly takes the flowers, his fingers brushing over the soft petals, his brain struggling to catch up. 

“You’re apologising?”

Lou nods, eyes flickering over Harry’s expression carefully. “Yeah. Shouldn’t have said it.”

Harry’s gaze drops to the roses in his hands. They’re perfect, in a way store-bought roses never are. Each petal is lush and fragrant, their natural imperfections making them even more beautiful. And as Harry’s fingers trail down the stems, he's realising there’s not a single thorn in sight. Lou must have meticulously removed them all, one by one, before bringing them here.

Something in Harry’s stomach tugs sharply and he glances back up at Lou.

“They’re beautiful, thank you,” Harry murmurs, thumb running gently over a soft red petal. “I suppose… all your sweat and work in that garden is actually worth something, then.”

Lou huffs a quiet laugh, something almost shy about it. “Yeah?”

Harry nods and smiles. For a moment, they just stand there, the warm night air buzzing softly around them, the distant scent of lavender mixing with the roses between Harry’s fingers. There’s something oddly delicate about the moment, like if Harry moves too suddenly, the spell of it will break.

So instead he lets his gaze drift back to the flowers, studying them for a beat longer before murmuring, almost too quiet to hear, “Maybe I would deserve that spanking, though.”

The shift in the air is instant. Harry can feel it - feel Lou’s entire body still, feel the way the weight of his gaze sharpens, like a predator catching movement in the dark. And when Harry finally dares to peek up, Lou is watching him with that damn smirk, eyes twinkling with mischief and something darker, something that sends a ripple of heat through Harry’s whole body. But he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t even need to. Just smiles. Like he knows exactly what Harry’s done. Like he’s won some silent game Harry didn’t even realise they were playing.

Which is completely unacceptable.

So Harry does the only thing he can do and hides his face in the roses with his cheeks burning and heart pounding while Lou laughs softly. Harry lowers the roses slightly, just enough to peek at Lou through his lashes, and then just for the fun of it, he extends one leg, pointing his bare toes gracefully under the soft glow of the outdoor lights.

With an exaggerated pout, he wiggles his toes, drawing attention to the freshly painted yellow polish gleaming against his skin.

“Are you seriously not going to compliment my nails?” Harry sighs exasperated. “I went through the effort of doing them myself, you know. You could at least acknowledge how stunning they look.”

Lou’s eyes drop to Harry’s foot and for a second, there’s nothing playful about the way he watches. His jaw shifts slightly, tongue flicking out to wet his lips before his gaze lifts again, straight into Harry’s eyes.

“Perfect,” Lou mutters finally.

Harry’s breath catches as Lou leans in slightly, tilting his head as if he’s about to tell him some great secret, but instead he smirks.

“The colour suits you,” he continues, voice just a shade rougher than before. “A growing sunflower.”

Harry barely has time to register it before it hits him like a train - Lou’s scent. It’s stronger suddenly, more potent, more Alpha. And his Omega - starved little thing - perks up instantly, purring under the attention, under the low timbre of Lou’s voice, under the weight of his presence. Heat pools in Harry’s stomach, his fingers tightening around the stems of the roses as a wicked thought curls at the edge of his mind.

Would it really be so bad?

To pull him inside? To push him onto the bed? To tangle Lou up in his sheets and the scent of roses and see exactly how far this game could go?

His mouth parts slightly, ready to say something reckless but then Lou steps back.

And with a half-smile, almost nervous, he lifts Harry’s hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against his knuckles before turning swiftly on his heel.

Harry watches, stunned, as Lou retreats through the garden, his silhouette cutting through the dim light, disappearing into the direction of the smaller house. Before he can decide whether to call Lou back or let him go, he’s already gone. Leaving Harry alone in the warm, humid night, breath still uneven, heartbeat still racing, the scent of roses and Alpha still thick in his lungs. For another moment, he just stands there, staring into the dark, trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

With a frustrated huff, he finally spins on his heel and marches inside.

If Lou is going to leave him all flustered and wanting, then at the very least, Harry is going to make sure these roses get a very, very beautiful vase.

Chapter Text

Harry stands in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror in his room, hands on hips, chin slightly raised. His reflected self stares back at him - perfectly styled, immaculately dressed in a Gucci set made for a city stroll in Milan, not a bus journey with dodgy smelling seats and passengers. His golden sunglasses rest on his head, his outfit is - as always - on point. Perhaps a little too much for a simple journey on public transport, but it's just how he is.

"Okay, you can do it," he mumbles to himself, adjusts his blazer and takes a deep breath. "You're an intelligent, independent Omega. You've got a university degree and you can bloody well take a bus."

He presses his lips together and nods to himself in the mirror. It all sounds very logical. Very doable.

"You won't die if you sit on a slightly worn seat," he continues for extra convincing. "You'll survive, even if someone next to you smells. And no, you won't catch some kind of virus just because you touch the grab rail."

He blinks at himself. "And if I do... at least I'll die a fashion icon."

A theatrical sigh, then he grabs his small bag, which costs more than the annual income of an average citizen, and turns round resolutely. He is a new man, a growing sunflower, to use Lou's stupidly perfect poetic words.

"I can do this. I will do this. I'm going to buy food like a normal person."

A determined step towards the door but then he stops, looks down at himself.

"Maybe Gucci really was a bit too much for the bus..."

Another brief reflection in the mirror and he shrugs his shoulders.

"Oh, screw it."

And so he marches out with his head held high. Stepping out into the warm morning air, Harry takes a deep breath, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder. The villa is quiet, no sounds of hammering, no scraping of wallpaper being torn down. The workers are late again. Typical. But instead of letting it ruin his mood, he simply hums, deciding that he genuinely doesn’t care. 

He spots Lou near the flower beds and clearly preparing to get his hands dirty. The moment Lou notices him, he straightens up, eyebrows raising as he takes in Harry’s outfit and a slow, amused smile spreads over his face.

"Christ, where are you off to looking like from a fucking Vogue magazine?" Lou teases, leaning casually against the fence.

Harry lifts his chin, ignoring the obvious mockery in his tone. "I am taking the bus into town," he announces with an exasperated flick of his wrist,

For a brief second, Lou just blinks at him but then his expression turns into genuine surprise and also something almost like admiration. "You're taking the bus?"

Harry huffs, placing a hand on his hip. "Yes, Lou. The bus. Public transport. With other humans. I can do it, you know."

Lou smiles. "Didn’t say you couldn’t. Just… impressed. A whole new man overnight, are we?"

Harry scoffs. "I'm expanding my horizons."

"So proud of you, sunflower."

Harry pointedly ignores the way his Omega sighs happily at the new pet name. Instead, he tosses his curls back and waves a dismissive hand. "Anyway, I have places to be. Some of us have lives, you know."

Harry turns on his heel, making a grand, confident exit. He only makes it a few steps before he hears a quiet, warm laugh from behind him, low and utterly fond.

His lips twitch. He doesn't stop walking, but he can’t help the grin that stretches across his face and his Omega is practically thrumming in his chest.

Lou is still watching, Harry knows it. And for some ridiculous reason… that makes him walk just a little bit taller.

━━━━🌻━━━━

Harry stumbles through the villa’s gates, arms screaming under the weight of the two heavy shopping bags, sweat dripping down his spine under his Blazer. His curls are damp, sticking to his forehead and clinging to his neck, and he feels absolutely disgusting. Humid, sticky and on the verge of losing his temper entirely.

"This is hell," he grumbles under his breath, practically dragging himself up the path. "How do people do this every day? Carry their own food? In the heat? Without an assistant? Are they okay?"

By the time he makes it to the kitchen, he’s close to tears. Not dramatic, overwhelmed tears - no, these are sheer frustration tears. He barely has the energy left to hoist the bags onto the counter, the weight of them dropping with a loud thud. He glares at them, as if it’s their fault, before exhaling sharply and rolling his shoulders back.

"Never again," he mutters to himself, rubbing his temples. "Never again."

Still, a part of him feels… accomplished. He actually did it. Took a bus. Walked through a bloody supermarket. Bought his own groceries like an independent Omega. And now? Now he deserves a reward.

Determined, he starts putting things away, shoving bottles into the fridge and stacking fresh fruit neatly in a bowl. Everything is healthy of course like yoghurts, protein bars, fancy granola, because if he’s going to suffer by stepping into the real world, he might as well reward his body properly. By the time he’s done, the decision is easy. He needs water. In the form of a pool and a very, very long swim. But first a shower. He refuses to step a foot outside again while feeling like he’s been dipped in sweat. Dragging himself upstairs, he peels off his clothes, stepping under the spray of blessedly cool water. It washes away the grime, soothes his overheated skin and by the time he steps out, he feels human again. Almost.

He also needs to feel like himself again. Needs to be Harry Styles, the stunning, effortlessly cool Omega. And there’s only one way to do that.

He rifles through his closet until he finds them - his whitest, tiniest speedos. They sit low, hugging his hips and the fabric is practically sinful, barely covering his arse. They make his tan pop, his legs look long and most importantly? They make him feel hot.

Tossing his damp curls back, he admires himself in the mirror, turning slightly to inspect the way the speedos hug his backside.

"Much better," he murmurs, satisfied.

The next moment, Harry pads barefoot into the kitchen and he tugs the fridge open, reaching for a bottle of water, but something outside catches his eye. Through the large kitchen window, he spots Lou.

And, oh, does he spot him.

Lou is shirtless again, his tanned skin glistening under the midday sun, muscles shifting smoothly as he works. His shorts sit low on his hips, hanging dangerously loose, but somehow still manage to highlight the firm curve of his ass. It’s unfair, really. Unfair and distracting.

Harry stands there, gripping the fridge door, utterly frozen. He stares. Watches the way Lou drags a hand over his forehead, wiping away sweat, his chest rising and falling with deep, steady breaths. The man looks hot - not just in the fit Alpha way, but in that he’s been working in the blistering heat for hours way.

And suddenly, that doesn’t sit right.

Harry’s Omega bristles in quiet protest. It’s just wrong that Lou is out there like that - hungry, dehydrated, overheating. He needs food, water and a break. It’s instinct, really. A deep, primal part of him kicks in before he can even think about it. He sets the water bottle on the counter and starts moving on autopilot. A plate, a knife, fresh fruit from his self-bought stash. He cuts careful slices of mango, fans out pieces of apple, adds some strawberries and a handful of grapes. A proper fruit platter. Light, refreshing, easy to eat in the heat.

It’s only when he’s nearly finished, arranging everything, that his hands still and his eyes widen slightly.

He’s making food for an Alpha.

For Lou.

The realisation slams into him like a freight train. Harry Styles, in all his spoiled, high-maintenance, Omega glory, is preparing food for an Alpha. And not just any Alpha, but one that irritates him. One that flusters him. 

Harry swallows, eyes flicking back to the window. Lou is still there, completely unaware of the internal crisis happening in the kitchen. His Omega urges him forward. This is fine. Just finish. Bring it outside. Exhaling sharply, he shakes off the hesitation and stacks everything neatly. He grabs another bottle of water, one for Lou this time and turns towards the back door.

That’s when the workers arrive. The moment he steps outside, he hears them approaching, their chatter filling the space. He looks up just in time to see their gazes drop straight to his legs, to his waist, to the very tiny white speedos that are doing absolutely nothing to cover him.

Harry nearly trips over his own feet.

Oh, hell no.

Their looks aren’t crude exactly, but they’re definitely appreciative. Not the kind of appreciation he wants. He hugs the fruit platter slightly closer to his chest, heart rate spiking. His Omega hates it. The way they’re looking, the wrongness of it. He needs to leave. Immediately. With one last panicked glance, he practically flees toward the garden and away from their eyes. Instead he prays, like actually prays, that Lou will look at him like that instead. That if someone’s gaze is going to linger, let it be Lou’s.

Which is insane. Completely insane.

Harry must be desperate. That’s the only explanation. He clearly just needs to get laid. That’s it. That’s all this is. Right?

As he nears Lou, his pace falters because Lou is already looking at him.

And fuck. 

Up close, Lou is devastatingly beautiful. Not even the sweat can disgust Harry today. Also, his scent hits Harry like a wave, curling around him, making his Omega sit up and beg. Harry tries to be subtle, to play it cool, but his steps slow while his grip on the plate is tightening. Lou’s gaze flickers over him, sweeping from the top of his curls, still damp from his shower, down to his speedos and his expression shifts slightly, unreadable but intense.

They step closer and neither moves deliberately, neither seems aware of it at first, but there’s a pull between them, undeniable and quiet, a force that makes the space between them shrink. It’s nothing, just half a step, then another, but it’s enough that Harry feels the heat radiating off Lou’s skin. Harry’s breath catches while Lou’s brows furrow, his gaze deepening, and - 

Abort. Abort. Abort.

With an awkward jerk, Harry thrusts the fruit platter forward, holding it up like a shield.

“For you.”

Lou's eyes drop to the plate, then slowly lift back to Harry’s face.

“For me?” he repeats, as if the concept is utterly foreign.

Harry’s Omega wails. The injustice of it! Of course, it’s for him! He’s the Alpha! He’s the one working under the hot sun! He needs food, needs water, needs …

Harry clears his throat. “Yes. Obviously. And you should have a break. In the shade.” He gestures vaguely towards the poolside, where his nest sits invitingly beneath the tree. “With me.”

Lou tilts his head, amusement flickering across his face, but he doesn’t argue. He simply nods and follows as Harry turns on his heel and leads them towards the shaded spot. The next second, Harry settles into his nest, legs folded beneath him, back resting against the soft pile of cushions. Lou hesitates for a moment before sitting as well in the grass beside it, but no… it's too far. He’s left a ridiculous amount of space between them, as if he’s afraid of getting too close.

Harry scowls. “You can come closer, you know.”

“Can I?” Lou raises an eyebrow.

Harry rolls his eyes. “Yes. It’s not like I’ll bite.” He pauses. “Unless you want me to.”

Lou chokes on a laugh but obliges, shifting closer until he’s properly within reach. Better. Much better.

Satisfied, Harry shoves the fruit platter into Lou’s hands and offers the water bottle as well. Lou takes both with a quiet “thank you”, cracking open the cap and drinking deeply before reaching for a slice of mango.

And Harry watches him like a hawk. He doesn’t mean to, not really, but it’s impossible not to. As Lou eats, his jaw works and his throat bobs with each swallow. He makes little sounds, appreciative hums, and damn… Harry shifts in place, pressing his thighs together.

His Omega is thrilled from the sight, at the simple fact that this Alpha is eating something they prepared.

It’s ridiculous. Lou isn’t their Alpha. And yet… Harry’s fingers tighten against the plush cushions beneath him, nails digging into the fabric. His entire body is tense, alert, burning with the need to do something, to fix this awful, restless feeling curling low in his stomach. Because if he doesn’t, he’s going to embarrass himself. He can't get wet now, there's just not enough fabric on his body to hide it!

Harry forces himself to look away. Distraction. He needs a distraction.

“So,” he says, picking at a loose thread on one of his cushions. “Why is an Englishman like you a gardener in Italy?”

Lou glances at him, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of apple. “Just happened that way.”

Harry frowns. That’s it?

“That’s not an answer,” he says, narrowing his eyes.

Lou shrugs, smirking slightly. “Sure it is.”

Harry huffs, rolling his eyes. “Right. And I just happened to end up here, too.”

“Exactly.” Lou grins.

Harry glares, but he can’t help the little curl of amusement in his chest. Lou is obviously keeping things close to his chest, which is frustrating, because Harry wants to know. Needs to know.

He shifts slightly, stretching his legs out. “Do you have a family?”

Lou’s expression softens just a fraction. “Yeah.”

Harry waits for more. When it doesn’t come, he sighs. “And? Do you miss them?”

“Yeah.” Lou’s lips twitch.

Harry groans. “Oh, for fuck's sake, you are impossible.”

Lou laughs and Harry’s Omega purrs at the sound while Harry considers his next question. He wants to be casual, but his Omega is demanding answers. He runs a hand through his curls, feigning nonchalance. “And what about an Omega?”

Lou raises a brow. “What about one?”

Harry shrugs. “Do you have one?”

Lou’s smirk widens, and oh, that’s annoying. “Why?” he teases. “You worried about competition?”

Harry scoffs, lifting his chin. “Hardly.”

Lou watches him for a moment, then finally relents. “No. There's no Omega.”

Harry’s heart does an embarrassingly happy little flip. No Omega. Lou has no Omega. Not that it matters. Not that he cares.

Lou's gaze flickers over Harry’s face, like he knows exactly what’s going on in his head. Then, smoothly, he shifts the conversation. “You know,” he muses, “I have to say… I wasn’t expecting much, but this fruit platter is actually very good.”

“Obviously.”

“Didn’t take you for the domestic type,” Lou grins.

“I am not.”

Lou hums, looking entirely too pleased with himself. He leans back slightly, propping an arm on one of the cushions at the border of his nest and lets his eyes flicker down, sweeping down Harry’s chest, lingering on his thighs, his bare skin and the obscenely small speedos.
Another wave of heat pools low in Harry’s stomach and his Omega is on the edge of losing it.

Lou meets his gaze again, something lazy and knowing in his eyes. “Nice speedos,” he says casually.

Harry fights the urge to squirm. “I know.”

Lou laughs, shaking his head, and then, just like that, he turns the tables completely. “So,” he says, stretching out his legs, “tell me about London.”

“What?”

Lou gestures vaguely. “Your life there. What’s it like?”

Harry hesitates, thrown off by the sudden shift. “You… you want to know about London?”

“Should I be asking about Paris instead?”

Harry scowls. “No, I just…” He huffs. “It’s… London.”

“Great answer,” Lou snorts.

“I mean, what do you want to know? It’s busy, it’s expensive, it’s-”

“Where do you live?” Lou interrupts, raising a brow. “Big house? Fancy flat?”

Harry crosses his arms. “First in my parents' big posh house. Now in my own penthouse.”

Lou whistles. “Of course.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry glares at him.

Lou grins. “Nothing at all, sweetheart.”

Harry flushes. Sweetheart. Oh, that bastard and all his pet names.

He narrows his eyes. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” Lou laughs.

And fuck, he’s right.

“So,” Lou grins, “how was your grand adventure on public transport?”

“Oh, horrendous,” Harry declares. “I have never been through such an ordeal.”

Lou smirks. “Go on, then. Enlighten me.”

Harry sighs dramatically. “First of all, do you know how many people take the bus? So many. And they just… sit there. In their unwashed clothes, breathing their poor air-”

Lou barks out a laugh, shaking his head. “Harry!”

“No, listen. I barely survived. There was this man right next to me, who reeked of onions. And not the nice kind of onions, the caramelised sort you know? No. This was raw, unholy onion. And he breathed in my direction.”

Lou is grinning now, eyes crinkled with amusement. “The audacity.”

“Exactly!” Harry gestures wildly. “And then the bus jerked, like violently, and I nearly ended up in some old lady’s lap. She looked thrilled, mind you, but I was mortified.”

Lou is full-on laughing now, his shoulders shaking, and Harry - God help him - likes it. It makes something warm bloom in his chest.

“And don’t even get me started on the heat,” Harry continues, emboldened by Lou’s laughter. “I was melting, Lou. Melting. My hair is traumatised. It may never recover.”

Lou wipes at his eyes, still chuckling. “It’s looking all right to me.”

Harry’s stomach flips. Oh. He hadn’t expected a compliment. But he quickly shakes it off, pouting instead. “It was awful.”

“And yet, you survived.”

“Barely.”

They both fall into laughter then, Harry’s giggles spilling over as Lou shakes his head in amusement. And it feels so good. Harry’s chest feels light, his stomach is doing ridiculous little flips and he feels kind of dizzy.

Too hot. Too warm. Too something.

Harry licks his lips “You know… you look like you could use cooling down.”

Lou raises a brow. “I’m fine.”

Harry hums, eyeing the sweat on Lou’s chest. “You look hot.”

“Why, thank you.” Lou smirks.

Harry rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

Lou shrugs, but Harry isn’t having it. He straightens, putting on his best authoritative voice. “As the current representative of my parents I am ordering you to cool down in the pool with me.”

Lou snorts. “That so?”

“Yes.” Harry nods.

“Pretty sure I wasn’t hired to swim.”

Harry gives him a slow, mischievous smile. “Well,” he purrs, “I wasn’t hired at all and I’m about to swim. So.”

Lou eyes him for a moment before he stands up. “Fine, princess. Lead the way.”

Harry ignores the way his pulse hammers and saunters towards the pool. He makes sure to sway his hips just enough, knowing Lou is watching.

When they reach the edge, Harry stops, glancing over his shoulder. “Last one in is a loser.”

Lou barely has time to react before Harry jumps, diving into the cool, blue water. When he surfaces, Lou is still standing there, arms crossed, grinning.

Harry pouts. “Oh, come on.”

“Patience,” Lou grins but the next second he steps forward and jumps in, sending a wave crashing over Harry, making him squeal.

When Lou comes up, hair slicked back and muscles glistening, Harry knows he is doomed.

"Bet I could beat you in a race," he murmurs to get a grip on himself.

"You? Beat me?"

“Yes, me. I'm fast."

"Sure you are."

Harry feels his ambition flaring up, his Omega rising indignantly. "I am! You just wait."

Lou shakes his head, but he straightens up, gets into position. "Alright then. To the other end and back."

Harry nods resolutely and tenses up. "On three?"

"One," Lou begins.

"Two," Harry says.

"Three!" they shout at the same time.

And then they push off the edge. The water splashes up around them as Harry swims off with powerful strokes. He pulls his arms through the cool blue, pushes off with his feet as if his life depends on it. Beside him, he can see Lou out of the corner of his eye - calm, steady, effortless. Harry grits his teeth. No way is he going to let himself go that easily. With one last powerful kick, he reaches the other side, pushes off and swims back, his heart racing, his lungs burning, but he doesn't give in.
But then Lou suddenly pushes past him as if he had just been swimming on the back burner.

"No!" Harry calls.

But Lou is the first to strike.

Harry paddles back to the edge, spits out some water and brushes his curls out of his face. "You cheated."

Lou laughs, shaking a few drops out of his hair. "How exactly did I cheat?"

"You're an Alpha. And stronger. Unfair advantage."

"That's just genetics, sweetheart," Lou grins.

"It's rude, that's what it is."

Instead of defending himself, Lou cheekily flicks water in his face. Harry gasps dramatically before flinging back a handful of water. And then the battle breaks out. They splash each other, laughing so loudly it's almost embarrassing and Harry can't help but be happy. Unbridled, carefree, just being himself. His Omega purrs contentedly because Lou is playing with him, because he doesn't seem distant or annoyed, but is in the moment with him. At some point, Harry gives up, snorts and lets himself drift with his arms on the edge of the pool while Lou pushes himself out of the water, pulls himself up so that his muscles tense, his back bends-

And oh. Holy fuck.

Harry just stays in the water and stares, because it's impossible not to stare. Lou's shorts, now soaking wet, cling to him like a second skin, mapping out everything Harry's brain can't exactly process. Big ass, huge bulge… and how is an Omega supposed to survive this view without the slick starting to run?

Shaking his head at himself he pushes out of the pool too, quickly and not nearly as elegantly, and stumbles after Lou, who has already stretched out on one of the loungers. Harry takes the lounger right next to him, lies down with a sigh and closes his eyes briefly, hoping his heartbeat will calm down. But then he opens them again - and Lou just lies there. Eyes closed, arms relaxed, chest rising and falling evenly. The sun glistens on his skin, little drops still running down his muscles.

Harry really shouldn't look and so he closes his own eyes, sinks deeper into the lounger and lets the sun warm his body. His skin tingles pleasantly, his breathing slows and for a moment there is nothing but the soft lapping of the pool and the steady rhythm of Lou's breathing beside him. He should just enjoy this peaceful moment, not let his mind wander. And he certainly shouldn't be thinking so much about the man lying just an arm's length away. It's just Lou.

Harry shoots his eyes open and blinks against the bright light. No. No more of that. He clearly hasn't had sex in too long. That's all. Nothing more. Tonight he'll take care of it. All by himself. Yes, that's exactly what he needs.

Satisfied with the plan, he actually manages to relax for a while. After a while, however, he gets far too hot. His skin feels like it's about to start crackling. And oh God, sunburn or worse, skin ageing or skin cancer? Definitely no!

He sits up abruptly and glances at Lou. "I need sunscreen. Now."

Lou blinks sleepily up at him, his eyelids heavy, his hair still slightly damp from the pool session. He looks so cute that Harry's stomach tightens. Harry pinches his lips together. What the hell? Can this finally stop?

"Come on," he says as he stands up, turning his head over his shoulder. "To my nest."

Lou grumbles softly before he lolls over and slowly sits up. Harry forces himself not to stare again as Lou stretches and instead turns round and marches towards his nest in the shadows. Once there, he flops onto his stomach with his arms folded under his head, his face turned to the side so he can watch Lou out of the corner of his eye as he follows him.

"The sunscreen, Lou," he says and waves to the side of his nest.

Lou raises a brow and reaches for the bottle. "So I'm your personal sunscreen assistant now?"

"Just put it on me. Please."

Lou seems surprised for a moment that Harry actually said "please" before a wry grin flits across his face. "Can I get into the nest for that, then?"

Harry's Omega immediately shouts yes, and before his mind can even catch up, he's already nodding. The nest gives way slightly as Lou moves in and Harry feels the heat of his body approaching. Then the soft pop of the bottle, the sound of lotion being poured into his hands and the next second Lou's hands are on him.

Harry flinches almost, but not because it's unpleasant. Quite the opposite. Lou's hands are warm and strong, his touch firm but gentle as he spreads the sun cream over Harry's shoulders and back. It feels good. Far too good.

Harry sighs softly, closing his eyes and allowing himself to just feel for a moment. Lou's thumbs run gently along his spine, kneading tense areas, spreading the lotion with a caring gentleness Harry hadn't expected.

Sliding towards his neck, Lou gently pushes Harry's long curls to one side, his fingertips lightly stroking his skin.

Suddenly Harry feels a kiss.

A gentle, barely perceptible kiss on his shoulder blade and a wave of goosebumps washes over Harry's body, despite the heat of the Italian afternoon.

Time seems to stand still. Then another kiss follows. And another, slowly along his shoulder, feather light over his neck up to his cheek. Harry's heart races in his chest and his breath hitches. Lou is so close that his scent envelops him, warm lips leave burning marks on his skin. And then Lou pauses, right next to his mouth. His lips are just a breath away and the moment taut as a perfectly tuned string.

"If you don't want me to kiss you, say it now,” Lou whispers softly.

Harry says nothing. He doesn't even think. His body moves by itself - fluidly, instinctively - as if his Omega is taking control and making its own decisions long before his head can even analyse them. He turns onto his back and then without even a moment's hesitation he lifts both hands and pulls Lou's face down. He feels the warmth of Lou's skin under his fingers, his cheekbones, the rough scratch of his light beard shadow against his thumbs. And then their lips meet.

It's little more than a gentle brush, a tentative touch, but Harry's whole body melts.

It feels right. So right.

His Omega rages, doing somersaults inside him, exultant with happiness, as if it has finally found what it has been searching for so desperately.

A second kiss follows, cautious, almost uncertain, as if they both want to test whether they can really allow themselves to do this. Harry sighs softly into the kiss and Lou does the same. Their breath mingles and for a moment there is nothing more than this tender, cautious exchange of warmth, of just being.

But then something changes. Lou makes a barely audible sound deep in his throat, something between a low growl and an approving hum, and suddenly he takes control. He tilts his head, deepening the kiss, pushing against Harry's lips with more pressure, demanding more and Harry gives it gladly to him, opening without resistance, without any barrier. Suddenly Lou's tongue strokes Harry's lower lip, a gentle, seductive touch, a silent question.

Harry doesn't answer with words, just opens up, lets him in and they start kissing properly. It's no longer a tentative approach, no more cautious testing. It's a revelation. Harry feels as if his whole body is on fire. His heart hammers against his ribs, his stomach flutters, his whole mind spins like a kaleidoscope of emotions. All while Lou kisses him as if he has all the time in the world. His tongue explores Harry's mouth slowly, with a pleasurable thoroughness that makes Harry dizzy. He tastes of summer heat and a little of the strawberries from earlier, his lips oh so soft.

And all Harry can do is, cling to Lou's face, his thumbs stroking his cheekbones, his fingers burying themselves in the damp, tousled hair.

Every kiss is a new discovery.

Every kiss says more than words ever could.

And never before has a kiss felt like this. So real. So absolute, inevitable, inescapable.

Lou pulls back a little, their lips still close and Harry is completely breathless as his whole body screams for more. Their lips no longer touch, but Harry can still feel him - his breath, his warmth, his presence that completely envelops him.

Very gently Lou brushes curls from his face and Harry's heart stumbles in his chest. It's not a grand gesture, nothing earth-shattering. And yet it feels as if Lou is touching something deep inside him, a part of him that Harry hadn't even noticed until Lou found it. His fingertips glide gently over Harry's cheek before he withdraws his hand again. But instead of disengaging completely, he lowers his head a little and rubs his nose gently against Harry's.

It's so intimate. So tender. And Harry really can't breathe.

Lou just looks at him, with that soft, warm look that throws Harry completely off track again and again. For a moment he thinks Lou is going to kiss him again, simply because it seems impossible that he won't do it.
But then Lou pulls away. Very slowly, as if he were forcing himself to do so.

Harry's lips are still tingling from the kisses, his chest is rising and falling faster than usual, and his Omega is tearing at his insides, wanting to hold Lou tight, wanting more, more, more.

But Lou takes a deep breath, leans on his knees and then stands up with a slight movement.

"I should get back to work,” he says quietly.

It feels like a punch in the stomach. Harry looks at him, still half-lost in the warmth of Lou's lips, of his hands, of his scent. He can't say anything. Not a word. But his Omega whines inside him miserably.

Lou doesn't even wait for an answer.
He gives him one last look - one that Harry can't decipher, one that almost feels like Lou is as reluctant to leave as Harry is to let him go but then he turns.

Harry watches him go. Watches as he slowly crosses the garden, his shoulders moving with each step and how he turns the corner.

Lou's gone and Harry is still lying there.

His fingers unconsciously reach into the blanket beneath him, as if he could hold on to something. But it doesn't help.

It feels... wrong.

His body is protesting on every conceivable level. His Omega is writhing, his chest feels tight, as if someone is invisibly pulling at his ribs. He didn't realise that not seeing someone anymore could feel like this. That it could hurt. Harry presses his lips together as if he could control his own heart.

And then he can't stand it another second. He stands up, almost staggering a little, because he feels as if Lou has left him in a stupor. And without giving it a second thought, he goes back into the house. Away from here. Away from the place where Lou had just kissed him. But not away from the feelings Lou left in him.

Because they are everywhere now.

Chapter Text

Harry slowly comes to consciousness, waking up from sleep only hesitantly as the morning warmth seeps through the open window. His face is warm and something lies over it, soft, heavy and enough to have nearly suffocated him how deeply he has nuzzled into it.

He blinks, his head still sluggish from sleep, and as he feels for the fabric that has nestled around his nose and cheeks, he recognises what it is.

A shirt.

A shirt that doesn't belong to him.

A shirt that smells like Lou.

His fingers automatically clutch at the fabric and press it closer to his face. The warmth of his nest still envelops him, but it's not what makes his heart stumble in his chest. It's the smell and also the kiss from yesterday that still burns on his lips. Harry hasn't moved from his nest since. He hasn't been able to. His Omega had burrowed into this cocoon of blankets, soft fabrics and Lou's scent. It was as if his body had decided that he had to stay right here, because everything else felt wrong.

And his mind? His mind has no idea what the hell is happening to him. Harry had kissed Alphas before. Lots of them. He'd had them in his bed, had felt their hands on his body, had had their scent on his skin. But never had it felt like this. Never had he felt so empty without them, as if a part of him was missing. Never had he woken up with such an absurd tugging in his chest, an urging in his gut that told him he had to go out and find Lou.

It hurts and he doesn't understand why.

He pulls the shirt tighter around him, buries his nose in it because his Omega is screaming for it, because his whole body craves it, because nothing else seems right.

His heart beats heavily against his ribs. He really didn't know this. He knew desire, knew lust, knew the satisfaction that came and went. But he didn't know longing. Not that kind.
Not the kind that sliced him open and left him empty.

Lou is just the gardener. But Lou is also an Alpha, who had kissed him as if Harry were his.

Harry swallows hard.

His.

Harry's Omega sighs inwardly with contentment at the thought, while his mind panics. He turns onto his back, staring at the ceiling as he feels completely lost.

This is madness. He should get out of here, out of this nest, out of this head rush, out of these feelings.

Only...

His grip on the shirt tightens because doesn't know if he can do this. His chest starts to rise and falls heavily under the weight of his own thoughts. This... this can't be normal. He must be ill. Yes. Exactly. That's the only logical explanation. Maybe it's the Italian air. Something in the atmosphere, some kind of foreign pollen that's fogging his brain and making him think he can't exist without Lou. Or maybe he's eaten something he can't tolerate. Or the pool water. Yes, the pool water! Chlorine and heat and who knows what else is floating in that water - that must be why his heart feels like it's slowly being torn in two. Why his stomach feels like someone has created a vacuum there, a hungry, pulling hole that knows only one name.

Lou.

No. No, no, no. This is absurd.

Harry Styles - Omega, rich, sophisticated, born in designer clothes - wouldn't take a poor Alpha of all people.

That defies all logic. The nature of a rich Omega calls for an Alpha with status, right? Someone who accompanies him to posh parties, who drinks expensive wines with him and who wears tailored suits.

Not a man with dirt under his nails. A gardener. Lou is so far below his standard it's almost laughable.

And yet...

Yet Harry's chest burns, his throat tightens, his eyes burn and suddenly a choked sound escapes him. He gasps loudly as panic climbs up inside him, settling in his lungs. His fingers tighten in Lou's shirt and his breathing becomes shallow.

Harry is going to die.

He has to die, because nothing can feel like this without it being fatal.

Oh God, that is it.

That is the end.

His vision blurs, his throat constricts, and before he can stop it, tears well up in his eyes.

"I don't want to die," he whispers hoarsely, rubbing a hand over his face as hot, unstoppable tears run down his cheeks while he sniffles and sobs.

That can't be true.

He's too young to die. He still has so many plans. So many designer collections he still has to wear. 

But no, he's lying here, crying like a bloody wreck, because his body definitely feels like it. This is hell. Harry Styles is in hell.

His hands are shaking so badly that he can barely unlock his phone as his tears run uncontrollably down his cheeks, hot and salty, and his breath comes in even more hectic, shallow puffs. He just can't get a grip on himself. This is worse than anything he's ever felt. Worse than any stupid hangover, worse than any time he's felt lonely in his own home.

He feels... lost.

And there is only one person in the world who has ever really understood him. His fingers flit across the screen, searching for a number he has never deleted. One that he has never dialled in recent years because it would have hurt too much, because it would have reminded him of everything he has lost.

Stevie.

But now he presses the call button before he can change his mind. His heart is beating so loudly that he can barely hear the dialling tone. What if she no longer has the number? What if she doesn't answer? What if -

"Hello?"

Harry's breath catches and in the next second everything inside him collapses and he just cries out. Not a quiet, elegant sob, but a desperate, uncontrolled cry coming from deep in his chest.

"Hello?" Stevie's voice is puzzled, but not impatient. "Who's this?"

Harry presses the phone tighter to his ear, as if it might pull him closer to her and another sob escapes him.

And then-

"Oh, Harry."

Her voice is soft, warm, full of infinite tenderness. "My darling boy."

He breaks even more and his whole body trembles, his fingers dig somewhere into his nest as if it could stop him from falling apart.

"Oh, sweetheart," Stevie murmurs on the other end of the line. "Breathe, love. Slowly. You're alright."

He's not alright. But Stevie is there. Stevie is on the phone. And for the first moment since yesterday, Harry doesn't feel like he's dying.

"Harry, sweetheart," Stevie's voice comes softly through him, still full of that incomparable warmth. "What's wrong? Talk to me."

Harry sniffles, his heart still racing, but slowly he manages to take a few deeper breaths.

"I… I think I'm seriously ill," he finally manages.

There is silence at the other end of the line for a moment. 

"What?" Stevie then asks. "What do you mean you're ill? Harry, tell me what's going on. What symptoms do you have?"

Harry swallows and tries to formulate everything as clearly as possible.

"It's… it's really bad, Stevie," he begins, running a hand over his forehead as if he could organise his confused brain. "Every time I see him, my heart starts beating so fast I think it might explode. And… and my stomach? It's a mess. Like, there's this constant twisting, like I'm going to be sick, but I never actually am. And my skin… shit, my skin feels all tingly when he's near, like I've got some kind of fever or something."

He takes a shaky breath while Stevie remains silent.

"And I can't think," Harry continues dramatically, the panic in his chest flaring up again. "I try, I really do, but my brain just stops. Completely useless. It's like I've been cursed or something. And when he left yesterday, it-" His voice breaks. "It hurts, Stevie. Physically. My chest aches, my whole body feels wrong. It's awful. I don't know what to do."

He gasps for air, waiting for Stevie to tell him how serious his situation is. Maybe she knows a good doctor. Maybe he needs to go back to London immediately to get treatment. But then he hears a soft, warm, almost amused laugh.

"Oh, darling," Stevie murmurs full of tenderness and Harry's brow furrows in confusion.

"W-what?" he asks uncertainly.

"Harry, sweetheart," Stevie says, still with a hint of laughter in her voice. "You're not sick."

"I'm… what?" Harry's heart stops for a second. "Then what is this? Because I swear to God, Stevie, I-"

"You're in love, my darling boy."

Harry freezes. Everything inside him goes quiet.

"What?" he finally breathes, as if she has said something completely absurd.

Stevie laughs again, even softer this time.

"You're in love, Harry."

"No," he says automatically. "No, no, no, that… that can't be-"

"Oh, but it is," Stevie interrupts him, her voice so full of affection that it hurts. "And I am so happy for you. There's nothing more beautiful in this world than finding your mate.”

"Are you absolutely sure?" Harry's voice is no more than a desperate whisper, his fingers clutching his phone as if his life depended on it. "Because, Stevie, I swear it feels like I'm dying. Ever since yesterday… since the-" He breaks off, his face glowing. "Since the kiss, it's been unbearable. My chest, my stomach, my everything. It's like I can't breathe properly and when I do, it's him. He's everywhere. I don't… I don't know what to do with it."

Stevie breathes audibly through her nose. 

"Well, well, well." Her voice takes on this amused tone. "You've already kissed him? And here I thought you were just hopelessly pining. Tell me, then. Who is this Alpha that has my darling boy all twisted up?"

"He's… he's beautiful, Stevie. Not just in a ‘oh, he's fit’ kind of way, though, God, he is. But in this… uhm, this way that makes it hurt to look at him for too long."

His Omega purrs contentedly in his chest, encouraging him to keep talking, to keep raving, as if he had held all this back without realising it.

"His eyes are… God, his eyes, Stevie. They're blue, but not just any blue. It's like… like the sky, you know? That deep, endless kind of blue, the kind that makes you want to drown in it. And when he looks at me, really looks at me, it's like he sees me. Not just Harry Styles, the rich, spoiled Omega, but me. It's terrifying."

He breathes in, his heart pounds, and yet he can't stop.

"And his skin… I swear, he's golden, like he belongs under the sun. Like he was made by the sun. And his lips, fuck, Stevie, his lips…" He gasps for air, his face burning hot. "Soft. So soft. And warm. And kind. I don't even know how lips can be kind, but his are."

Stevie lets out a soft, contented hum, but she doesn't interrupt him.

"He's a gardener," Harry continues breathlessly. "In a villa in Italy. My parents new villa. I'm here to supervise the renovation. He works outside all day, making everything beautiful and he… he rides a motorbike, Stevie. A motorbike! I swear to God, I nearly combusted the first time I saw him leaning against it. It's unfair, really."

He laughs softly, a little nervous, a little incredulous that he's just saying that. But it feels so right.

"And he said I'm like a growing sunflower." Harry whispers, almost shy. "He sees me, Stevie. And I-"

He falls silent because his heart is beating too fast and his hands are shaking. 

"Yeah, darling. Definitely in love. Not sick.”

"But Stevie…" Harry's voice breaks, his mind struggling to find a foothold, some shred of logic to pull him out of this maelstrom of emotion. "He's… he's a gardener. He works with his hands, he's covered in dirt half the time and… and he lives in Italy. I'm only here for the summer! What… what am I even doing? What would my parents say?"

He presses a hand against his forehead as if he can banish the headache that's coming on. "You know them, Stevie. They expect… fuck, I don't even know what they expect, but certainly not this. Not him. Not some Alpha who doesn't have a trust fund or even a plan. And what if he doesn't even want me? What if… What if it was just a kiss for him?"

The words taste bitter on his tongue, leaving a dull ache in his chest. Stevie remains silent for a moment, obviously thinking what to say.

"Harry," she finally says softly, in that warm, calm voice that has always caught him since he was a child. "Tell me something, darling. Was I below your standard?"

Harry's head jerks up and his heart tripping over itself. "What? No! Stevie, that's not… I never-"

"I was just your Nanny, wasn't I?" she continues unperturbed. "A woman who was also just an employee of your parents to look after you. By your logic, I should've meant nothing to you. But here we are. Years later. And I am still your Stevie and you are still my darling boy."

Harry's lips stay open for a moment, but no sound comes out.

"Love doesn't care about 'standards', Harry," she says softly. "It doesn't give a damn about money or status or where someone sleeps at night. It doesn't fit into neat little boxes that your parents or you might have drawn. It just is. And when it finds you, when it sinks its claws into you, you don't get to choose who or when or how. You just get to decide whether you fight it or embrace it."

Harry's chest heaves heavily and his eyes are burning.

"And as for him not wanting you…" Stevie snorts softly. "Darling, you are Harry Styles. You shine brighter than the bloody sun. If this Alpha kissed you, really kissed you, then trust me… he wants you."

Harry closes his eyes for a moment, letting her words sink in. His Omega hums, soothed, as if Stevie had just wrapped him in a warm blanket.

"Love is messy, Harry," she continues quietly. "It's terrifying and beautiful and wild. But it's worth it. And I think you might already know that."

Harry exhales slowly. Maybe Stevie is right.

"Oh Stevie," he whispers and then he can't help it - the tears burst out of him again, unstoppable. He presses his fingers against his eyes, but it doesn't help. "I miss you so much."

On the other end of the line, he hears Stevie exhale softly, as if she had sensed exactly that. 

"My darling boy," she says. "I miss you too, more than I can put into words."

Harry sobs. "I should've called sooner. I should've… fuck, I was such an idiot. I just… it hurt so much not having you around anymore. I didn't know how to… how to be without you."

"Hush now, sweetheart," she reassures him immediately. "There's nothing to apologise for. I understand, really. And look, you're calling now, aren't you? That's what matters."

Harry nods, even though she can't see it and wipes his wet cheeks with the back of his hand. "Are you… are you okay? How are you? Tell me everything."

A soft laugh comes through his phone a sound Harry feels immediately in his chest. "Oh, you know. I'm getting old, Harry. My back hates me, my knees creak like an old staircase and if I drop something on the floor, I have to seriously consider if it's worth bending down for."

Despite his tears, Harry laughs. "Oh damn, Stevie."

"I'm telling you, it's the truth!" She laughs with him. "But I'm well, my love. The house is too quiet but I'm keeping busy. And the neighbours are convinced I have a secret lover because I get fresh flowers every week."

"And? Do you?" Harry grins through his tears.

"Absolutely not," she replies dryly. "I just buy them for myself. But I let them wonder… it's more fun that way."

Harry laughs again, this time more honestly, more sincerely and there is a moment of silence, filled with affection and all the unspoken things that lie between them.

Then Stevie sighs softly. "Now, my darling, you must promise me something."

Harry sits up a little. "Anything."

"That you'll call me more often from now on. No more radio silence, alright? I need my Harry updates."

His heart tightens, but this time in a sweeter way. "I promise," he says softly. "I'll call. And… and when I'm back in London, I'll come see you. If, uhm, if Lou…"

"So that's his name? I like it. If Lou is still around, you'll bring him with you," Stevie finishes his sentence with a smile in her voice.

Harry swallows. "Yeah. Yeah, I will."

"Good boy."

"I love you, Stevie," he finally murmurs, the words a little hoarse, a little brittle, but full of meaning.

"I love you too, my darling boy," she replies softly.

They hold the moment a moment longer before they both hang up quietly. Harry sits for a moment with the phone in his hand, his heart heavy but somehow lighter at the same time. He wipes his cheeks and takes a deep breath before he tosses the phone aside. 

Fuck this. Fuck everything. Fuck his perfect image, all the stupid doubts, his damn brain that asks too many questions. His Omega has long been sure. And so is Harry now.

He reaches for the shirt that still smells of Lou and hastily pulls it over his head and it feels so good. So right. Then he grabs the first pair of soft shorts he finds and doesn't care about anything as long as he gets to Lou. Just a quick brush of his teeth. No fancy morning routine. No perfect hairstyle, just a wild messy bun, loose strands falling into his face. He would never have left the house like this. Never. But he doesn't care. He needs Lou. Now.

He stumbles out of the bathroom, barefoot across the cool floor, races out of his room and takes the stairs far too quickly. His foot slips and he hits his shin against a step. 

"Fuck!" 

Pain shoots through his leg, but he doesn't stop. Instead, he grits his teeth, ignores the searing pain and keeps running. Outside in the garden it's already too warm, everything flooded with sunlight, but Harry's gaze is focussed on only one thing. Lou.

And there he is. With the garden hose in his hand, drops glisten on his skin as they slowly trickle down his arms. His hair is a little tousled, his jaw muscles moving as he gazes thoughtfully at one of the plants.

Harry stops abruptly beside him, out of breath, his heart racing. 

"Lou," he gasps. No response.

Harry steps closer, grabs Lou's arm, tugs at his shirt. "Lou, hey."

Nothing.

"Lou, for fuck's sake." He pushes at Lou's shoulder, but the Alpha barely moves, as if he's carved from stone. His gaze remains fixed on the plants as if Harry isn't even there.

"Why are you ignoring me?" Harry asks, almost pleadingly. He tugs lightly at Lou's arm again, trying to get him to look at him.

But Lou gives him nothing. Nothing at all.

Harry's fingers claw harder into the fabric of Lou's shirt, but the Alpha remains unyielding, unmoving, as if Harry were air. Ignores him, just like that. As if the kiss yesterday didn't happen. Something bitter rises in Harry's throat, but he swallows it down. Fuck it. If Lou won't look on his own, Harry will make him look. With a quick jerk, he snatches the garden hose from Lou. Water sprays in all directions, drips from his fingers, cools his hot skin, but it's not enough. Lou still doesn't look up. And so Harry lifts the hose over his head, tilting it slightly to the side so that a cool stream of water runs over his shoulders and neck, down his chest and bare legs. He sighs obscenely, exaggeratedly, strokes his body with his free hands and lets the water run into his curls and down his body.

"Ugh, it's so hot today," he sighs softly, seductive, every word melting on his lips. He arches his back slightly, arches his chest forwards and lifts his chin. A glance through dark eyelashes. He knows how the game is played. Sex sells, doesn't it?

But Lou remains stubborn. He just looks down, observes the damp earth at his feet as if it were a thousand times more interesting than Harry in dripping clothes. Something inside Harry tears.

"Look at me!" Harry screams, his voice almost breaking with despair and his Omega whines inwardly, tugging at his nerves.

And finally Lou lifts his head.

His eyes meet Harry's and the world holds its breath. It feels as if the sun is rising directly in Harry's soul, warm and flaming, bright and all-consuming. Lou's gaze embraces him, hits him right in the heart, deep, so deep that it hurts. His blue eyes are like the ocean - endless, deep, full of currents that sweep Harry along with them. A gaze that catches him and swallows him up at the same time. For a moment, that's all there is.

Just them.

Harry's lips open slightly, his breath hitches and a single thought throbs in his head: Please, don't look away.

But Lou looks away, turns around and just walks away.

Oh, fuck no.

Something explodes in Harry's chest, a wave of frustration, of anger, of pure, raw pain.

"You asshole!" he screams and squeezes the hose with all his might.

Water shoots out of the nozzle, hitting Lou directly in the back. Lou flinches, stands still for a split second - but he keeps walking.

"Oh, no, you don't!" Harry hisses and sprays even more. Cold water hits Lou's legs, his shorts, his shoulders all while Harry stomps after him, chasing him with the hose as Lou walks towards his little house.

"You're being ridiculous!" Harry shouts, but Lou still ignores him.

Harry's anger burns hotter. Arriving at the entrance to the house, Lou holds onto the door, ready to go in but Harry doesn't have it. Water splashes across the floor, splashes against the wood, runs over the threshold.

"You wanna keep ignoring me?" Harry's voice almost cracks. "Fine! But you're gonna listen now, Lou! You're gonna fucking talk to me!"

First Lou stands still. But then…

Slowly. Very slowly, he turns around and his gaze is dark. Darker than a storm. His jaw tense, his lips pressed into a thin line. Drops of water trickle down his cheeks, his chest rises and falls heavily. And damn it - Harry should be scared. But his heart does a crazy, longing leap. 

The next second Lou's hand snaps forward, grabs Harry's wrist with a firm grip and the hose is torn from Harry's fingers. It flies through the air, landing with a thud in the grass, water still dripping out in small arcs. Harry gasps in surprise, just having time to take an indignant breath before he is pulled forwards. Stumbling, Harry tries to pull away, but it's no use. Lou is stronger, more determined, pulls him through the door, and then the door slams shut behind them, so loudly that Harry flinches. And before he can even realise what is happening, he feels the cool, hard pressure of the wood against his back.

His breath catches as Lou's body is suddenly everywhere, presses Harry against the door, one hand around his wrist, the other quickly snatched up to hold the second one as well. Harry's mouth falls open in surprise, his arms are pinned above his head, wet skin on wet skin, Lou's body warm and close to his, his breath hot against Harry's cheek.

Harry can't think. He can only feel. How their wet clothes cling to their bodies, how every inch between them is filled with heat, with tension, with this unbearable, electrifying attraction that tears him apart inside.
Suddenly Lou leans closer, his face just a breath away and his eyes are pure fire.

"You think you can just demand whatever you want," Lou murmurs, a low, quiet, rumble that goes through Harry's bones. "Throw a tantrum and get your way?"

Harry's heart races. His fingers twitch in Lou's grip. He should be scared. Maybe he should apologise. But instead a challenging, flirtatious smile crosses his lips.

"Well," Harry breathes, pushing his chin forward a little, almost touching Lou’s lips, "it did get me pinned against your door, didn't it?"

Lou's jaw tightens. "Shut up." 

And then he kisses him. Hard. Relentlessly. Harry gasps against Lou's lips, his body tingling as if under an electric shock. The kiss is wild, hard, as if Lou had spent the whole time holding back and now everything inside him is tearing him apart. Immediately Harry melts and gives in, opens up, lets it happen. Lou's lips are warm and soft and demanding at the same time, they claim him completely, leaving no room for doubt, no escape. And Harry doesn't want to escape. His Omega cries out, cheers, pushes himself towards the Alpha while Harry's knees feel like they give out the next moment and his head as if wrapped in cotton wool.

Lou bites lightly into his lower lip and Harry gasps, opening his mouth instinctively, wanting more, more, more.

Then Lou's tongue pushes between his lips, meeting his, exploring him with an intensity that makes Harry's whole body light up. He can't do anything but cling to Lou's grip while his whole body trembles, his stomach somersaults, his heart pounds like it's going to explode.

This kiss feels so overwhelming, so all-altering, as if something is breaking inside him and reassembling itself at the same time. Lou's taste is breathtaking, warm from the sun, fresh from water and like something that is so undeniably him.

Harry is lost. He no longer knows where he ends and Lou begins. He only knows that he never wants to stop.

"Harry..." Lou whispers roughly as he suddenly pulls away, his forehead leaning against Harry's, his breathing heavy. His fingers tremble slightly where they are still closed around Harry's wrists.

Harry can hardly breathe and only looks at him as if he has just woken up from a perfect dream.

"We can't do this," Lou mumbles, closing his eyes briefly as if it would hurt less if he didn't look at Harry.

"Why not?" Harry's voice breaks and he hates how desperate he sounds, how much he's fighting for this moment although it feels like the words are destroying him.

Lou laughs softly, but it's not a happy laugh. It's bitter, sad. "Because you don't belong here, princess. You belong to your world, with your designer clothes and your posh parties and your future all mapped out. And me-" He swallows hard. "I'm just a gardener. I have nothing to offer you."

"Bullshit!" Harry almost screams, his whole body shaking. "You had no right… no fucking right to kiss me like that if you were just going to push me away!" His eyes are burning and he's not ashamed of the tears hanging in his lashes.

Lou looks agonised. "I shouldn't have kissed you," he agrees and Harry gasps as if someone has cut open his chest.

He shakes his head, tears streaming down his cheeks. "No, no, you don't get to say that. You did kiss me and now I can't-" He sobs, bites his lip. "I can't be without you, Lou. I don't know how. I don't want to."

Lou closes his eyes as if Harry's pain is breaking him.

"You're in my head, you're under my skin," Harry's voice is barely more than a whisper, his chest heaving heavily. "And if you walk away now, if you tell me this meant nothing-" He shakes his head, anger and despair in his gaze. "Then you better be ready to rip my fucking heart out, because that's what it'll feel like."

Silence. Heavy, trembling, oppressive silence.

After a moment, Lou moves and suddenly his hands are in Harry's hair, pulling him closer, and he kisses him again. But it's not like before. It's not wild or demanding or driven by anger. It's desperate, gentle, a promise. Harry purrs into the kiss, clutching at Lou's wet shirt, pulling him even closer as if he's his only source of air. Lou's thumbs brush over his cheeks, wiping away tears, his lips slowly exploring him, as if trying to memorise him.

It is sweet.

And so infinitely deep that Harry feels like he's drowning.

When Lou finally pulls back a little, his lips still close to Harry's, he whispers softly, "Be mine."

Harry's heart stumbles.

"At least for this summer," Lou adds, rubbing just like yesterday his nose against Harry's. "For as long as we have this."

Harry closes his eyes, his fingers clinging to Lou's neck. "But I want forever."

Lou takes a deep breath, kisses him again without giving him an answer, but with everything he doesn't dare to say.

And Harry lets himself fall.

Chapter Text

Harry wakes with a smile on his lips, but he doesn’t open his eyes just yet. He doesn’t need to. He already knows where he is. Who he’s with. His mind drifts back to last night, to the way they had kissed in Lou’s tiny home, dripping wet, breathless, desperate. How their soaked clothes had come off piece by piece, leaving them in nothing but their underwear, pressed against each other beneath the sheets. It was innocent but so perfect. They had just kissed and held each other. And kissed again. For hours. Harry had never done that before. Never spent a whole night simply wrapped in someone’s arms, feeling safe, feeling wanted. It had always been physical before, always about pleasure or proving something or filling some fleeting void. But with Lou, it had been different.

Harry had felt like an Omega in his Alpha’s arms. Not Harry Styles, the spoiled son of wealthy parents. Not an Omega too picky to settle for less than perfection. Just… Harry.

And Lou had made him feel so desired. The way he had touched him, so slow, reverent, like he was something precious. The way he had whispered his name between kisses, his voice laced with something Harry didn’t dare name. The way he had simply held him when the kisses faded into drowsy silence, their legs tangled, Lou’s arm draped heavily over his waist and his breath steady against Harry’s shoulder. Harry had fallen asleep feeling like he belonged.

But now… His smile falters and his fingers twitch against the sheets, reaching, searching. The space beside him is empty and cold. With that realisation his eyes snap open, because Lou isn’t there anymore.

“Lou?” Harry calls out, but the only response is silence.

He frowns, sitting up properly, rubbing his eyes before glancing around the small room. It feels emptier without Lou in it, as if the warmth of last night has already faded. Maybe he’s in the bathroom?

Harry throws the sheets off and stands, stretching with a yawn before grabbing the clothes he discarded last night. They’re dry now, though still smelling faintly of water and Lou. He pulls them on hastily, not even bothering to fix his hair before padding towards the bathroom door but it’s empty. He checks the tiny kitchen next, then the small sitting area, even the closet for some ridiculous reason, but Lou is nowhere to be found. Harry pouts, arms crossing over his chest as he turns towards the door. If Lou isn’t inside, then he must be in the garden. Maybe he got up early to work - though, seriously, how could he just leave Harry in bed like that after yesterday?

As Harry steps outside, he squints against the sunlight. The garden is quiet, only the sound of birds and the distant rustle of leaves in the breeze. He walks the familiar paths, peeking around the bushes but no Lou in sight and his pout deepens.

Fine. If Lou isn’t here, then maybe he’s in the villa. Harry trudges up the stone steps, letting himself in as he searches through the grand halls. The dining room? Empty. The kitchen? No sign of breakfast being made. Even the sitting room is completely deserted.

Where is he?

Harry huffs, heading back outside with more urgency now. He scans the driveway and his heart skips slightly when he realises what’s missing. Lou’s motorbike is gone. For a moment, panic curls in Harry’s chest. But then he forces himself to breathe, to think. Maybe Lou just went out for something. Maybe he’s getting them breakfast. Yes. That makes sense. Lou seems like that kind of Alpha, the type to wake up early and go fetch something nice for them to eat, knowing Harry would sleep in.

The thought soothes him, at least a little. With a small nod to himself, Harry turns back towards the villa. If Lou is bringing him breakfast, the least he can do is freshen up before he gets back. As he heads inside, though, a tiny, nagging voice in his head whispers: But what if you’re wrong?

━━━━🌻━━━━

It’s already past midday and Lou still isn’t back.

Harry sits at the large dining table in the villa, mindlessly chewing on a berry as he watches the workers moving around. His stomach grumbles, but it’s not real hunger. It’s frustration, anxiety and a sick, twisting feeling in his gut. Still, he shoves another berry into his mouth, chewing aggressively as if the act itself will keep his mind from spiralling further.

He had asked them. With the help of his translator, he had approached the workers earlier, trying to act casual even though his heart was hammering and asked if they knew where Lou was. But every single one of them had just shaken their heads. No answers. No reassurance. Nothing. So what now? What is he supposed to do with all this free time, alone, when all he wants, no needs, is Lou? He’s an Omega without his Alpha, freshly in love with someone who isn’t even here and it feels unbearable.

Did Lou already get tired of him?

The thought slams into Harry like a punch to the stomach. He swallows hard, the berry in his throat suddenly dry and heavy. Is that it? Was yesterday just a moment of weakness for Lou? He had said it himself, hadn’t he? We can’t do this.

Harry chokes, a harsh cough breaking the air as he doubles over, gripping the edge of the table. One of the workers rushes over immediately, patting his back firmly until Harry finally manages to clear his throat. He wheezes, eyes watering, trying to catch his breath. The man doesn’t leave. Instead, he gestures towards Harry’s phone on the table, raising an eyebrow in silent question. Confused, Harry hands it over, watching as the worker quickly types something into the translator app before turning the screen back towards him.

Are you okay? Your sour scent is making everyone sick.

Harry stares at the words, his breath hitching. His scent… he hadn’t even noticed. But now that he thinks about it, of course it makes sense. He’s distressed, his emotions spiralling out of control and his scent is probably filling the entire room with his anxiety and frustration. His eyes widen as embarrassment floods through him.

“I…” His voice cracks. He presses a shaking hand to his mouth, blinking rapidly as his vision blurs. “Shit… sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

His chest tightens and before he can stop himself, tears spill over. The room goes silent for a beat. Then, suddenly, there’s a flurry of movement. The workers, who barely know him, who don’t even speak his language, start murmuring to him in soft, reassuring tones, some patting his shoulder, some gesturing vaguely as if trying to offer comfort. He can’t understand a word they’re saying, but somehow, the kindness in their voices makes it worse. Harry sniffles and wipes at his wet cheeks. This is humiliating.

He needs to do something. Anything. Grabbing his phone, he quickly types into the translator before holding it up for them to read.

I’ll make food for everyone. Do you like spaghetti?

There’s a moment of confusion, but then the workers nod and smile brightly at him. Harry exhales shakily, nodding back before pushing away from the table and heading straight for the kitchen. And Harry really has never felt like this before. Standing now in the villa’s grand kitchen, tears still clinging to his lashes, he stirs a pot of boiling water like his life depends on it. What the fuck is happening to him?

He used to laugh at the idea of cooking. Why bother when there’s always someone paid to do it for you? And yet, here he is, about to make a meal for a group of Italian workers he can barely communicate with and it’s the only thing keeping him from completely falling apart.

Is this what Lou meant? Growth? Is this Harry becoming something new? Shedding his old skin?

Oh God, where the fuck is Lou?

The thought spirals through him again and his insides tighten unbearably. He can’t calm down. He never calms down. This is what always happens. People never really love him, not the way he wants them to. Lou is just another name on that list now, isn’t he?

Maybe this is what he deserves. Maybe this is karma for always being so arrogant.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees three of the workers standing in the doorway, still watching him worriedly. Does Harry really make such a bad impression? Harry sniffles, dragging a hand across his damp face, forces a smile at them and reaches for the pasta. If his parents could see him now… God, they’d probably pass out. Their perfectly polished Omega son, crying into a pot of boiling water like a madman.

He exhales shakily, then without thinking, he snaps the bundle of spaghetti in half.

Chaos erupts.

A chorus of horrified “NO! NO! NO!” rings out behind him and suddenly, the workers who had been standing silently in the doorway charge into the kitchen like a fucking stampede. Harry startles, nearly dropping the pasta entirely as hands flail in front of his face. It's all a blur of panicked gestures, desperate hand motions and wide, disbelieving eyes. One man even snatches the broken spaghetti from Harry’s hands as if it’s a dying infant. Another points wildly at the pot, then back at Harry, then back at the pot again, shaking his head like Harry’s committed blasphemy.

“Cosa fai?! No, no, no!”

“I… what?” Harry stammers, completely at a loss.

Another makes a dramatic X with his arms, his expression grave. “Mai! Mai rompere la pasta!”

Harry blinks but slowly it dawns on him. They’re losing their fucking minds because he broke the spaghetti. A stunned silence lingers for a moment, the workers still gaping at him in sheer betrayal. It's such a hilarious situation that out of absolutely nowhere, Harry bursts into laughter. He doubles over, clutching his stomach, gasping for air between helpless, hiccupping giggles. The absurdity of it all - the worry, the loneliness, the drama, the goddamn spaghetti - it’s too much. Tears are still running down his face, but now, they’re mixing with laughter. And for the first time all day, something inside him feels just a little bit lighter.

Harry wipes at his eyes, still breathless from laughing and lifts his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright! I get it! Big mistake… I’m sorry!"

The workers are still muttering amongst themselves, shaking their heads in dismay, one even pinching the bridge of his nose like Harry has personally offended all of Italy. Harry grabs his phone, quickly typing into the translator. 

I didn’t know. I’m sorry. Will you still eat spaghetti with me?

He presses play, letting the robotic Italian voice read it out loud. They exchange glances, then, one by one, start nodding. 

Harry sighs in relief. "Thank you.”

They drift back to their work, leaving him alone again in the kitchen and he turns back to the stove, stirring the pot as the rich scent of tomatoes fills the air. The bubbling sauce is deep red and suddenly he can't help but think that it reminds him of his heart. His fucking bleeding heart.

Harry lets out a slow, measured breath, forcing his walls back into place. He’s done crying. He’s done feeling. Because this is how it always goes, isn’t it? He gets too close. He wants too much. And then they leave. Lou is no different. He’s probably gone because he realised this was a mistake. Maybe he was never coming back at all. Harry grips the spoon tighter, staring out the kitchen window. He looks every few minutes, scanning the horizon, hoping to see that stupid motorbike roaring back up the driveway. But there’s nothing. Just the sun beating down on the garden, the empty gravel path stretching endlessly and the hollow space in Harry’s chest where Lou was supposed to be.

━━━━🌻━━━━

Hours later, Harry sits on the villa’s front steps, arms wrapped loosely around his knees and stares blankly at the horizon. The sun is sinking lower, golden light spilling over the garden, stretching long shadows across the gravel path.

He’s numb. Or no, not entirely.

Because beneath the hollow pain in his heart, beneath the emotional exhaustion dragging at his limbs, there’s something sharper. Something that twists and coils and sinks its claws in deeper with every passing second.

Worry. A deep, gnawing worry that’s taken root in his stomach and refuses to let go. What if Lou didn’t leave him? What if something happened? His Omega is howling inside him, clawing at the walls of his mind, frantic and restless. Harry grips his elbows, rocking slightly. It was one thing to think Lou had run, had come to his senses and decided Harry wasn’t worth the trouble. That was something Harry could handle. Or at least, something he knew how to handle. But this? This terrifying, gut-churning possibility that Lou could be hurt, that he could be lying somewhere in a ditch, bleeding out on the side of the road… Harry squeezes his eyes shut, breathing sharply through his nose.

He has to do something. Lou once mentioned something about a bicycle, didn’t he? If Harry could just find it, he could go look for him. It’s a ridiculous thought. Completely insane. Harry hasn’t ridden a bicycle in years. And what, he’s just going to pedal his way through the Italian countryside, shouting Lou’s name like some kind of desperate, love-drunk idiot?

Yes. Definitely yes.

For Lou, he would.

Determined, Harry pushes himself up and strides toward the old wooden shed at the edge of the garden. He hesitates in front of the door, eyeing the layer of dust and cobwebs clinging to the handle. His nose wrinkles but he tells himself that this is fine.

Bracing himself, he finally reaches out, grips the handle and pulls. The door creaks open and reveals dim, musty darkness. He squints inside, eyes scanning the cluttered space, taking in rusted tools, wooden crates, and a huge spider, dangling from a web in the corner. Harry yelps, stumbling back, clutching his chest. Oh, fuck this. Fuck this entirely.

But suddenly he finally hears it. A low, distant rumble. Harry's heart stutters as he knows that sound. His breath catches and suddenly he’s moving, sprinting across the garden, through the courtyard, toward the villa gates. Gravel crunches under his feet while his pulse is a frantic drumbeat in his ears.

And then he sees it. Lou’s motorbike, a dark silhouette against the setting sun, roaring up the drive. The breath punches out of Harry’s lungs. His knees buckle and he sinks onto the gravel, hands pressed to the ground as relief crashes over him so violently it leaves him dizzy.

Only a minute later the motorbike slows and stops right next to him. Lou barely has time to cut the engine before he’s off the bike, moving fast, hands gripping Harry’s arms as he pulls him to his feet.

“Harry, love… what’s wrong?” Lou asks breathlessly, eyes scanning him in alarm.

But Harry just can’t breathe. The relief of seeing Lou standing here, solid and whole, crashes into the fear and anger that have been building all day, and it’s too much. A choked sound escapes his throat before he explodes.

“You arsehole!” he screams, his hands coming up to hit Lou’s chest. Weak, frantic little slaps that mean nothing but carry everything. “You absolute fucking bastard!”

Lou doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch, just stares wide-eyed as Harry breaks.

“Where were you?! Why didn’t you say anything?! I woke up and you were just gone! Gone, Lou!” Harry sobs, voice cracking as he grips Lou’s shirt in his fists and shakes him uselessly. “Why am I never enough?! What did I do wrong? Why don't you want me?”

His breathing is ragged, uncontrolled, his vision blurred with tears. He hates this, hates how much power Lou has over him, hates how wrecked he feels just from a single day apart. It’s embarrassing and humiliating!

Suddenly Lou’s hands wrap around his wrists, gently stopping his useless fists from continuing their assault. He presses them between their bodies, holding him firm, but not in restraint. In comfort.

“Harry,” Lou murmurs. “Stop. You have to breathe.”

Harry gasps, trying to, but he’s shaking too much. Lou’s grip tightens ever so slightly. 

“I want you,” Lou says firmly. “I swear to god, I do.”

Harry squeezes his eyes shut, a whimper escaping his throat. “Then why?”

“I’m sorry.” Lou exhales heavily, guilt weighing in his tone. “I should’ve left a note, I should have thought.. ” He sighs, his forehead pressing against Harry’s. “But I didn’t. And I was an idiot for that. I'm not used to having someone by my side who cares where I am. I will do better, please forgive me.”

Harry sniffles, still trembling, but Lou is here. He’s here. He’s not gone.

A warm hand cups his cheek, thumb swiping at damp skin and then Lou is kissing him, soft and slow. A balm to the ache inside him. Harry melts into it, clinging desperately to Lou’s shirt and when they break apart, he’s still breathing Lou in.

“Where were you?” Harry whispers.

Lou’s lips brush against his forehead. “I was… uh, I was planning a date.”

Harry blinks up at him. “What?”

Lou shifts slightly, looking almost sheepish. “I… I don’t have much, Harry. I can’t take you to fancy restaurants or buy you expensive things, but I wanted to… I want to do this right. I wanted to-” He sighs, shaking his head. “I just had to find the right place, which took longer than I thought and set up a few things.”

Harry stares, mind struggling to keep up. A date. Lou planned a date. For him.

A fresh wave of emotion crashes over him, but this time, it’s not despair. It’s the exact opposite.

“Oh,” he breathes, heart stuttering.

Lou gives him a tiny, hesitant smile. “It was supposed to be a surprise for tomorrow morning,” he murmurs. “But… well.”

Harry makes a small, broken sound and throws his arms around Lou’s neck, burying his face in his shoulder. Lou catches him effortlessly, holding him close, hands steady against his back.

But after a while, Lou pulls back just enough to look at him properly. “Can I scent you?” 

Harry stills as his mind stumbles over the words. No one’s ever asked him that before. It’s intimate. It’s something Omegas only share with those they trust, those they belong to. The last time it happened, he’d been a child. His father did it to calm him down after he scraped his knee. But this? This is different.

And his Omega longs for it. Needs it. Craves it.

Harry nods and one of Lou’s hands moves to the back of Harry’s head, fingers threading gently into his curls, guiding him forward until his face is pressed against the warm skin of Lou’s throat, right over his scent gland. The scent is stronger here, richer, filling Harry’s lungs like a drug, and his entire body melts. It’s everything. That warm, sun-drenched, earthy scent that is so Lou, wrapping around him, settling deep inside his chest. His lashes flutter and his grip on Lou’s shirt loosening as his body goes completely lax against him.

Then Lou scents him. A slow, deliberate press of his scent against Harry’s own, marking him, soothing him from the inside out. Harry breathes in shakily, his entire being surrendering to it. His Omega keens silently in utter contentment, settling into the feeling, allowing himself to be held, be calmed, be taken care of. He’s never felt like this before - so safe. Not even with Stevie and that's saying a lot.

Lou’s hand stays firm against the back of his head, keeping him close, keeping him here.and Harry wants to stay like this forever. Eventually, Lou pulls back just slightly, just enough to press a tender kiss against Harry’s forehead. And Harry? Harry knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that he is completely and utterly ruined for anyone else.

Harry blinks up at Lou with wide, blissed-out eyes and Lou’s scent is by now wrapped around him like a second skin.

“Thank you,” Harry breathes and can't help the giddy smile. 

His whole body feels light, like he’s floating. He can’t remember the last time he felt this... settled. This good. Lou huffs a soft laugh, his thumb brushing absently over Harry’s cheek. 

“I think I should be the one thanking you,” Lou murmurs, his gaze flickering over Harry’s face like he’s memorising every inch of him. “You smell incredible, so happy now.”

Harry’s brows lift in intrigue. He’s always wondered what his scent was like, as he can't smell his own.

“Oh?” Harry tilts his head, biting his lip. “Go on, then. Tell me. What do I smell like?”

Lou smiles, his hand shifting to stroke along Harry’s jaw, then up to cup his cheek. His fingers are warm and Harry leans into his touch instinctively.

“Patchouli and citrus,” Lou starts, voice low, like he’s savouring the words as he speaks them. “Tangerine. And also sweet, like vanilla.”

Harry shivers. He’s never heard someone describe him like that before, not with so much quiet reverence, not with that little hint of a smile playing on their lips.

Lou dips forward, pressing the tip of his nose against Harry’s in a soft, teasing nudge. “You smell perfect.”

Harry doesn’t think, he just leans in, closing the last bit of space between them, pressing his lips to Lou’s in a tender kiss. Lou hums, deep and content, his hands bracketing Harry’s waist, keeping him close. When they pull apart, Lou sighs, glancing toward the dark sky. 

“I still need to water everything before it gets too late,” he mutters. “Didn’t get the chance earlier. Don’t tell your parents that their gardener neglects the plants.”

Harry snorts, grinning. “Your secret’s safe with me. I’ll help.”

“You’ll what?”

Harry smirks, enjoying the look of pure disbelief on Lou’s face. “Help you,” he repeats, slow and deliberate. Just for fun, he also flutters his lashes dramatically, playing up his most spoiled Omega expression. “Besides, it’s in my best interest, isn’t it? The faster you finish, the faster I get you all to myself again.”

Lou shakes his head, biting back a laugh, but his eyes are fond as he reaches for Harry’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “You’re unbelievable.”

Harry grins, squeezing Lou’s hand in his own as they head toward Lou’s little house, ready to drop off his helmet before they get to work.

Not much later Lou strolls through the garden with a watering can while Harry holds the hose loosely in his hands, moving it in slow arcs over the flower beds. Every now and then, he catches Lou’s figure moving in the dim light, his strong arms lifting the heavy canisters with ease, his expression focused as he tends to the plants like they’re something sacred. And maybe, to Lou, they are.

Something about this - the stillness, the shared task, the way their movements fall into an easy rhythm - settles something deep inside Harry. He has never really done anything like this before. Not properly. Sure, he’s had his little hobbies back home, dabbled in things when it suited him, but this? Working with his hands, feeling the dirt beneath his bare feet, sharing a quiet space with someone he cares about, it feels... real.

London seems like a different lifetime. The late nights, the endless parties, the empty highs. Drinking to feel something. Chasing the next distraction because nothing was ever enough. He’d convinced himself it was fun, that it made him free. But it's this peaceful, domestic simplicity that makes his heart feel full, like he’s finally found something that matters. And Lou is the centre of it all.

Harry glances over just as Lou walks past him, his face half-lit by the soft glow of the garden lights. He’s beautiful in a way that has nothing to do with money or status, nothing to do with the world Harry used to live in. Lou is beautiful because he’s real.

Harry is still lost in his thoughts when Lou suddenly stops in front of him, pulling him out of his thoughts.

“Here,” Lou says and extends his hand.

Harry looks down to find a small bouquet of flowers, hastily gathered but carefully chosen. Their petals are damp from the watering can and their colours soft under the moonlight. For a moment, Harry can’t move. His Omega practically sighs at the gesture, warmth rushing through him so suddenly he nearly whines. Lou picked flowers for him again. No grand gestures, no expensive gifts, just a simple, quiet offering. Harry swallows hard, his fingers closing around the delicate stems as he looks up at Lou.

“Are you trying to woo me, Alpha?” he teases, but his voice comes out softer than intended.

Lou smirks, just a little. “Is it working?”

Harry lets out a shaky laugh, clutching the flowers to his chest like they’re something precious. He has to keep it together, has to stop himself from throwing the hose to the ground and demands that Lou take him right here in the damp grass, under the open sky. He clears his throat and bites his lip to keep his thoughts in check.

“Yeah, it does,” Harry whispers.

“Good,” Lou winks.

Just looking at each other for a moment, Harry smiles and he feels breathless from the weight of Lou’s gaze, the quiet admiration in those deep blue eyes.

“I, um,” Harry starts, shifting his weight, “I still have leftovers from earlier… spaghetti with tomato sauce. Made a big batch for the workers.”

He glances at Lou expectantly, but the reaction he gets is... not what he expects. Lou goes completely still. His expression shifts from curiosity to shock, his eyebrows rising, mouth parting slightly. He looks like Harry just told him he was pregnant.

“What?” 

Harry lets out a small laugh. “Yeah, I… I cooked today. For everyone. I mean, I did break the spaghetti in half, which apparently was a crime against Italy, but the sauce was good, I swear.”

Lou just stares. The kind of staring that makes Harry squirm under its intensity, makes his heart hammer against his ribs because what is Lou thinking? 

“What is happening to you? Where is the man from only days before, all spoiled as you gave me your empty cup so I could bin it for you?”

It’s not judgmental. Not mocking. Just... wonder.

Harry feels suddenly shy, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his shirt. He looks down, kicking at the damp grass with his bare foot. “I don’t know. But... I think you’re making me a better person.” 

Lou doesn’t say anything right away. But then, after a beat, his fingers brush against Harry’s cheek, tilting his face up gently. His thumb strokes softly over his cheekbone, the touch so tender it makes Harry’s breath hitch.

“You’re really a growing sunflower,” Lou murmurs, almost in wonder, like he’s just realised it. 

Harry doesn’t trust himself to speak. Instead, he reaches down, takes Lou’s hand in his own, and wordlessly leads him inside, through the villa and straight to the kitchen. There Harry moves around to reheat the spaghetti. He hums softly under his breath, stealing glances at Lou, who leans against the counter with his arms crossed, watching him with an unreadable expression. Harry pretends not to notice the way Lou’s eyes follow his every movement, the slight curl at the corner of his lips. Instead, he busies himself with the flowers, finding a simple vase and filling it with water before carefully arranging the little bouquet. They look perfect on the counter, adding a touch of colour to the otherwise neutral space. By the time he sets Lou’s plate down at the table, the food is steaming, the scent of tomatoes and basil filling the air. Lou slides into a chair and takes his first bite while Harry watches nervously, suddenly feeling exposed, like this moment is bigger than just a late dinner.

Lou chews thoughtfully, swallows, then looks up. “This is good.”

Harry exhales in relief, grinning. “Really?”

Lou nods, taking another bite. “Yeah. Really good.”

Harry practically glows, rocking on his heels with a pleased giggle. “Told you I could cook.”

Lou huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, alright, chef.” He gestures toward the flowers. “You even decorated. Proper dinner date vibes.”

Harry grins wider, feeling warm all over. He flops into the chair across from Lou, chin resting on his palm as he watches him eat, the domesticity of it all settling into his bones. When Lou finishes, stretching his arms above his head with a satisfied groan, Harry pushes himself up, collecting the plate. 

“We should head to bed.”

Lou glances toward the garden, then back at Harry. “Yours or mine?”

Harry hesitates. His nest, the one in his bedroom, still feels too intimate to share yet. He wants it to be special when he finally invites Lou in, wants to make it perfect.

“Yours,” he decides, stepping closer and nudging Lou’s side with his hip. “For now.”

Lou studies him for a moment, something fond in his gaze. He nods, offering his hand and Harry takes it without hesitation. They walk in comfortable silence to Lou’s house with their hands entwined and the moment they step inside, Harry realises something.

This place - so far from the luxury he was raised in - doesn’t make him uncomfortable. Not even a little bit.

Because Lou is here. Because Lou’s arms are the most comfortable place he’s ever been. When they slip into bed, Harry curls up easily against Lou’s chest, letting out a happy sigh as strong arms wrap around him. 

“Goodnight, princess.” Lou whispers and presses a kiss to his temple.

Harry smiles into the warmth of his skin, because who needs all the luxury, when he has this?

Chapter Text

Harry stirs slightly, still curled into Lou’s warmth, his face pressed against the crook of Lou’s neck. He doesn’t want to wake up, not yet, not when everything feels so perfect. But suddenly there are lips. Soft, persistent kisses against his cheek, along his jaw, over his closed eyelids. A warm hand slides beneath his shirt, fingers brushing lightly over his ribs, making him shiver. Harry blinks his eyes open just as Lou shifts, rolling on top of him, his weight pressing Harry into the mattress in the best way. He gasps, half laughing, half breathless and his hands instinctively grip Lou’s waist.

“What… what are you doing?” Harry manages between little giggles as Lou nuzzles into his neck, his scruff tickling him.

“Making up for yesterday morning,” Lou murmurs, voice still thick with sleep. “And starting our date off right.”

“Well, mission accomplished,” Harry grins, letting his hands wander up Lou’s back, over his shoulders. Their bodies fit together so perfectly and warmth already starts to pool low in Harry’s stomach.

Also Lou hums in satisfaction, dipping down to kiss him properly, slow and deep. Harry melts into it, sighing against Lou’s lips as their noses brush, their bodies shifting closer, pressing, hands exploring…

Till the shrill sound of Harry’s phone breaks through the moment like an unwelcome slap.

Both of them freeze. Harry groans dramatically, flopping his head back against the pillow. Lou, however, does not move, only raising a brow at him. “You gonna get that?”

“No,” Harry grumbles, stubbornly pulling Lou back down for another kiss.

But the phone keeps ringing and Lou chuckles against his lips, nudging his nose playfully. “Could be important, love.”

Harry sighs in defeat, reluctantly reaching over to the nightstand and blindly grabbing for his phone. He doesn’t even check the screen before answering.

“Whoever this is,” he groans into it, “your timing is absolutely terrible.”

Lou grins, rolling off of him but staying close, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on Harry’s stomach as Harry braces himself for whatever is coming next.

“My timing is always perfect, Harry Edward! Just checking in. How are the renovations coming along? Everything is perfect, I hope?” 

Ah, his mother. Harry rolls his eyes. Of course, no ‘hello, how are you?’ No warmth, no curiosity beyond whether the villa meets her impossible standards.

“Yes, mum,” he sighs, shifting slightly as Lou’s lips graze over his throat. “Everything’s fine.”

Lou, the absolute menace, is still kissing along his neck, the scruff of his jaw dragging in a way that makes Harry want to burst. He tries to suppress the giggle bubbling in his throat, but Lou is making it very difficult.

“And the workers?” his mother continues, oblivious to Harry’s barely-contained amusement. “They’re doing as they should? No delays?”

“No delays,” Harry manages, biting his lip as Lou nips gently at his collarbone.

“And you’re keeping an eye on them, I hope? We don’t want any problems. Everything needs to be perfect.”

Harry exhales sharply, trying to focus. “Yes, mum. I’m watching them.”

Finally, finally, she pauses. Then, as if it’s an afterthought, she asks, “And how are you? Enjoying yourself, I hope?”

Harry wants to tell her the truth. That, for once in his life, he’s found something that makes him feel whole. That he’s waking up to slow kisses and sunlit mornings and the kind of happiness money could never buy. That he’s changing, growing, becoming someone he actually likes.
But he knows better.

“I’m fine,” he says instead.

“Oh and how's the food? Italian cuisine is supposed to be good for the figure, I heard.” There’s a light laugh, the kind that makes his stomach twist. “But don't eat too much pasta, Harry.”

Something inside Harry withers and he swallows hard, pushing Lou away, sitting up, feeling raw and exposed. Lou’s brows knit together in confusion, but he lets him have his space.

"Of course, I'm watching my figure as always. I have everything under control," Harry whispers.

“Well, that's the least I can expect,” his mother sighs. “I have a meeting now. Be good, darling.”

And just like that, the line goes dead. Harry stares at the phone in his hands, and only from this short call he feels empty and drained. He doesn’t even realise he’s shaking until Lou is behind him again, arms wrapping around his waist, pulling him in, grounding him. Lou says nothing, just holds him, solid and real. Harry closes his eyes and leans back, letting himself breathe.

“Let it go, it's not worth it,” Lou murmurs and gives a kiss against his curls. “How about you get ready for our date instead, hm?”

Harry nods and smiles at him. “Sounds good to me.”

"But choose more suitable clothes for the motorbike this time and also wear some of your sexy swimwear under it," Lou grins and Harry doesn’t even hesitate. He presses a quick, grateful kiss to Lou’s lips before practically sprinting towards the villa.

Once inside, Harry heads straight to his ensuite, turning on the shower and stepping under the warm stream. He lets the water wash away the tension from his mother’s words, lets it soothe the sting they always leave behind. But no matter how much he scrubs his skin, he knows that ache isn’t something that rinses away. So, he focuses on the excitement bubbling in his stomach instead and on Lou, on whatever surprise he has planned, on the way Lou’s hands had felt around his waist just moments ago.

After drying off, Harry goes to his wardrobe but quickly dismisses anything too posh. No, Lou had told him to dress more suitable for the motorcycle. That means practical, but… well, Lou had also mentioned something about one of his ‘sexy’ swim trunks. A smirk plays on Harry’s lips as he digs through his closet, fingers closing around the blue one… the one the exact shade of Lou’s eyes but also more like a thong. He slides it on, admiring the snug fit for a moment before pulling on a pair of frayed denim shorts over it. They’re designer, of course, but they look effortlessly casual, just the way he wants them to.

Also some canvas sneakers that’ll do the job and then, instead of reaching for one of his own shirts, Harry’s gaze flickers to his bed. One of Lou’s shirts lies in the nest like an invitation. He picks it up, pressing it briefly to his nose before slipping it on. It smells like Lou and makes Harry feel safe.

With one final touch, Harry ties his hair into a french plait so it’ll fit easily under the helmet. He’s learned by now that wild curls and motorcycle rides don’t mix well. Then, for good measure, he grabs his Omega scent spray from the dresser and gives himself a quick spritz. It's designed to enhance his natural scent and a little part of him (okay, a big part of him) wants Lou to breathe him in and lose his mind just a little.

Feeling more than pleased with himself, Harry gives his reflection a final once-over before practically skipping out of the villa, excitement bubbling in his chest. Whatever Lou has planned, he’s more than ready.

━━━━🌻━━━━

The roar of the motorbike has long since become a steady, rhythmic hum in Harry’s ears as they cut through the Tuscan landscape. At first, the journey had been familiar, past the golden sunflower fields. But then, Lou had kept going, past rolling vineyards stretching in neat rows, past sleepy villages nestled into the hills, past the shimmering coastline where the sea meets the sky in an endless embrace.

Harry watches it all fly by, mesmerised, but after a while, a question bubbles up in his chest. Just how far are they going?

He shifts slightly, leaning forward so his voice can be heard over the wind. “Lou! Are we ever stopping?”

Lou’s laughter is immediate, vibrating through his back against Harry’s chest. 

“Almost there!” he calls over his shoulder.

Harry sighs but settles back down, pressing his cheek against the warmth of Lou’s spine despite the hard shell of his helmet. If Lou says they’re almost there, then Harry believes him. So he lets his eyes drift over the view again, the expanse of the sea glistening under the late morning sun. It’s stunning and even if he doesn’t understand where they’re going, he trusts Lou. He trusts him completely.

Eventually, the road narrows into something more rugged, a dirt path leading down towards a secluded bay. Lou carefully navigates the terrain and when they finally stop, the rumbling of the bike fades into silence, replaced by the gentle lapping of waves against the shore. Harry swings his leg off the bike and pulls off his helmet, blinking at the breathtaking sight before him. The beach is empty, only sand stretching out between two towering cliffs that curve protectively around it. The water is a striking shade of blue, shimmering beneath the sun. It’s quiet, peaceful, like a hidden paradise carved out just for them.

Harry turns to Lou, wide-eyed. “How did you find this?”

Lou grins and runs a hand through his wind-tousled hair. “Took a while,” he admits. He lifts a hand, pointing toward one of the cliffs. “See that cave over there?”

Harry follows the direction of his finger, spotting the dark entrance nestled into the rocky surface and his curiosity flares instantly.

Lou glances at him with a smirk. “That’s where the real surprise is.”

Harry’s lips part slightly, his heart giving an excited thump. “That’s what you were looking for yesterday?”

Lou nods, stepping closer, reaching out to tuck a stray curl behind Harry’s ear. His fingers linger just a moment longer than necessary. “Wanted to make sure it was perfect for you.”

Harry swallows, his heart swelling. He doesn’t know what’s waiting for him inside that cave, but he already knows it doesn’t matter. Lou could have brought him anywhere and it still would have been perfect, because it’s Lou.

Hand in hand they make their way towards it and the moment Harry steps inside the cave, his breath catches in his throat. The entire scene is romantic and thoughtful in a way Harry has never experienced before. Lou is squatting near a row of candles that he obviously placed carefully on the floor along the wall yesterday, striking a match and lighting them one by one. Harry watches in silent awe as the cave transforms into something almost magical. Then his gaze lands on the corner, where a nest of blankets and cushions is carefully arranged, looking warm, safe and impossibly inviting. 

He turns to Lou, gasping. “Did you… did you build a nest?” 

“I tried. I mean, I know I’m no Omega, but I scented everything. Hope it'll be enough for tonight.”

Harry’s heart stutters at the words. “Tonight?”

Lou stands, dusting off his hands, and looks at Harry with a softness that makes his knees weak. “Yeah If you want, we could stay here. Just for the night. A little escape. Our own paradise.”

Harry barely gives him a chance to finish before he’s launching himself at Lou, arms wrapped around his neck as he presses a firm, grateful kiss to his lips. Lou catches him effortlessly, laughing against his mouth before steadying them both. When Harry finally pulls back, his eyes dart around the cave once more, taking in every careful detail Lou has set up. That’s when he spots the basket tucked in the corner. Curiously, he pads over and crouches down, peering inside. 

“Oh my god,” he whispers, pulling out a bottle of wine. “You even brought food?”

Lou shrugs, watching Harry with an almost shy expression. “Just simple stuff. Some bread, fruit and drinks. Things that’d keep from yesterday.”

Harry shakes his head, overwhelmed in the best way possible. “No one’s ever done something like this for me,” he admits, voice thick with emotion. “Thank you.”

Lou steps forward, cupping Harry’s cheek. “You’re worth it,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to Harry’s forehead.

And just like that, Harry feels like the luckiest person in the world.

━━━━🌻━━━━

The water is warm and the moment Harry dives in, all thoughts of the world outside this little hidden paradise disappear. The salty sea rushes over his skin and when he surfaces, he finds Lou already waiting for him, slicking his wet hair back.

Lou grins at him and Harry doesn’t think before he splashes him right in the face. Lou gasps, feigning outrage before launching himself at Harry, arms spreading the water like wings as he chases him through the shallows. They laugh, breathless, as they dart around each other, bodies colliding in harmless, playful wrestling, fingers slipping against wet skin.

Then, Lou takes a deep breath and disappears under the surface and Harry doesn’t even hesitate before following. Underwater, everything is quiet, the world a shimmering blue dream. They find each other in the silence, Lou reaching for him, hands cradling his face as he pulls Harry close and kisses him. Soft and fleeting, their lips meeting between the gentle sway of the waves. It’s exhilarating, this weightless closeness, the way the water seems to hold them together, unbothered by gravity or time. When they finally resurface, Harry gasps for air, giggling uncontrollably as Lou beams at him like he’s just won something.

“That was my first underwater kiss,” Harry grins.

“Mine too. Glad it was with you.”

They swim for a while, meeting in kisses here and there, Lou's fingers brushing not so innocently over his naked bum underwater. Nothing matters but Lou, the sun, the sea, and the joy in his chest. Eventually, they make their way back to shore, collapsing onto the warm sand. The sun dries the droplets clinging to their skin, and Harry stretches out, basking in the golden light, eyes fluttering shut. He barely registers the rustling next to him until he feels Lou’s fingers against his lips, pressing a piece of fruit into his mouth.

Harry opens his eyes, his lips wrapping around the juicy sweetness of a strawberry while Lou watches him amusedly.

“You’re spoiling me,” Harry murmurs, swallowing, before Lou offers him another bite, this time with a smirk.

“Someone has to,” Lou teases and Harry rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning, cheeks warm with something more than just the sun.

They take turns feeding each other, fingers sticky with fruit, giggling like lovesick fools, rolling onto their sides to face each other. Lou brushes a stray curl from Harry’s forehead, gaze soft and Harry never has been happier.

━━━━🌻━━━━

Harry blinks slowly, his body warm and heavy from their seemingly accidental nap and Lou's closeness. Their nest in the small cave is soft, the pillows and blankets around them full of Lou's scent, and for a moment he just wants to press himself deeper into the warmth that surrounds him. But when he opens his eyes, he realises that it is already getting darker - evening is falling outside. A soft giggle escapes him as he carefully gets up, careful not to wake Lou. The Alpha is sleeping soundly and peacefully, one arm still outstretched as if reaching for Harry.

Moving quietly, Harry lights some of the candles that had apparently gone out and the flickering light bathes the cave in a soft, golden glow. He takes one last look at Lou and then he steps out of the cave, feeling the fine sand under his feet and walks towards the water. The last rays of the sun paint a glowing line across the calm surface of the sea, and Harry breathes in deeply. It's so calm. So far away from everything he knew in London. It all feels like the life of a stranger now. Someone he once was, but no longer is.

He looks out to sea and imagines the waves taking old Harry with them. The spoilt, conceited boy who thought that money meant everything. The one who numbed himself because he never really felt at home. The one who had never learnt what it meant to be truly loved. Here he says goodbye to this part of himself. He buries it in the gentle waves, leaving it to the sea, where it dissolves like salt in water.

Suddenly a gentle breeze carries Lou's scent to him and Harry smiles. It's not only Lou that changes him - it's also what he feels for Lou. Something more real than anything he's ever known.

With this thought, he turns around and heads back to the cave, back to Lou, to the nest built especially for him, to the warm arms waiting to hold him. Once inside, Harry takes a moment to gaze at Lou's form, his eyes adjusting to the darkness until he can see him more clearly. In the glow of the day, Lou is breathtaking - tanned skin and caramel hair soaking in the sunlight, reflecting it back like a dazzling display of divinity. Those bright blue eyes, striking and intent, always reading the depths of Harry’s emotions, burning with intensity and purpose. He never fails to make Harry pause in admiration, often stealing the very breath from his lungs.

But here, in the quiet hours of early night, he is no less remarkable. The sharpness of his gaze has softened, replaced by an expression reserved only for Harry. The playful mischief so often found in his features has melted into pure relaxation, making him look utterly endearing. Harry has to bite his lip to contain his smile, overwhelmed by the emotions swelling in his chest, threatening to split his face with joy.

A sudden yearning for skin-to-skin contact overtakes him. He pulls off his shirt, letting it fall to the floor before his pants join it. Though Harry moves carefully as he crawls into the nest beside Lou, he can’t suppress the selfish hope that his movements will wake the sleeping Alpha. Gently, he brushes a stray strand of hair from Lou’s face, marvelling at how much he has changed since being at his side. Lou has made him kinder, softer. Harry has discovered a patience within himself that he never knew existed, along with a growing need to truly connect with the people around him, like the workers. In just a few short days within Lou’s orbit, he has realised he doesn't want to force himself into the life he once tried to embrace. No wonder none of it ever felt quite right. Harry was never meant to be alone, never meant to be the lonely child and unloved Omega he once thought he was. Lou had set him free, with his sharp wit and the way he treats him. Harry is certain now that he is meant to be with Lou. And now that he knows what love feels like, he craves it endlessly.

Still cautious, he burrows beneath the blanket beside Lou, gently nuzzling the nape of his neck and inhaling deeply, trying to drink in as much of his scent as possible. It’s astonishing how much one can miss someone they see every day, never feeling as if the time spent together is quite enough. His touch is featherlight as he drapes his arm over Lou’s warm side, pressing himself against his body from behind. The closeness of him will never cease to be Harry’s greatest comfort.

A gasp escapes him when a hand suddenly closes over his wrist, catching him by surprise. But as realisation dawns that Lou is no longer asleep, the shock melts into pure satisfaction.

"Did I wake you?" Harry asks, placing a tender kiss on the back of his neck.

"You haven't," Lou mumbles, turning around in Harry's arms with a lazy smile on his handsome face. "Turns out I have a hard time sleeping without your loud snoring." He nips the tip of his nose as Harry scoffs, smirking at his annoyed expression.

"Mhm, so sweet of you to say, Alpha. I don't snore!" Harry grumbles in irritation, but can't help to smile as Lou places kisses on his chin, all while chuckling softly.

"You do, princess. But I did miss it obviously, more than you know." 

Harry rolls his eyes at the sweetness of Lou's tone, downplaying just how much the words mean to him. Lou's arms go around Harry, squeezing him tenderly while Harry's fingers comb through his hair, smoothing and feeling their softness.

"I'm so happy with you. I never would have thought that beneath the shell of a rich, bratty Omega lay this gentle soul. That you could touch me like this. I'm proud of you for letting me in… for lowering your walls for me."

Lou's words are heavy with emotion. Instead of pulling away like he so often did in the past, Harry allows their weight to settle within him. He knows he has been an arse when it comes to emotions, too afraid of getting hurt, but now, with Lou, he realises he doesn’t have to take the easy way out. He lets them wash over him fully.

"I'm happy with you too. You've given me the strength to become who I truly am. You inspire me every day to be better, to do better," Harry whispers, his voice growing ragged with emotion. It is difficult to push himself to speak his feelings, as they are still so new, but it is important that Lou knows just how special he is. Harry really wants forever with him.

"You're amazing. I feel so much for you," he adds quietly, holding Lou's gaze before dipping his head slightly in a sudden rush of shyness, looking at him from beneath his lashes.

Lou’s fingers sear Harry’s skin as he strokes his cheek, bringing his face closer, their breaths mingling. His lips are gentle but fervent as they press against Harry’s.

"I feel so much for you, too," Lou replies huskily, taking a breath before looking deep into Harry’s eyes and capturing his lips once more in a kiss.

Their mouths move in a fervent dance, the fire between them intensifying as their tongues meet. Harry's hands are insatiable, pressing into Lou's chest, gliding over his smooth, heated skin before gripping the muscles of his shoulders as if holding on for dear life. Suddenly, his Omega surges forward, clawing at the edges of Harry's humanity, desperate to connect with the Alpha on a deeper, more primal level. Perhaps Lou feels the same, his growl low and hungry as one hand tangles in Harry's curls, pulling him further into the kiss. His other hand trails down Harry's side, leaving a path of tingling sensations before settling firmly on his ass.

Harry releases a ravenous purr, pushing Lou onto his back, his Omega rising to the surface as he straddles Lou’s hips. Their kisses lose their initial softness, growing desperate, their tongues duelling and rubbing together, eager for what is to come. Lou's grip abandons Harry's hair, one hand now joining the other in grasping Harry’s arse with firm possession. Harry moans obscenely as Lou's grip pulls their erections together, his hips flexing instinctively to increase the friction between their straining bulges, still barely contained by their swimwear. A delicious ache spreads through Harry’s belly and chest, his hunger far from sated. He needs Lou. Now.

Their lips part with a wet smack, Harry’s eyes darkened with the presence of his Omega as he drinks in the scent of the aroused Alpha beneath him, devouring Lou’s lustful expression with the thirst of a starving man. When Lou’s eyes meet his, they are nearly black with desire, nostrils flaring as he inhales the heady aroma of Harry’s own untamed yearning. It feels as though their inner wolves are challenging one another. Harry’s smile is predatory, revelling in the sensation of his Omega pulsing inside him, craving release.

Dragging his hands down Lou’s chest, Harry’s fingernails graze lightly over his skin before he leans down, pressing his tongue to Lou’s heated flesh. He holds Lou’s gaze as he slowly licks his way down, savouring the way the muscles twitch under his ministrations. Lou’s groans are rough, yet quiet, his hand returning to Harry’s scalp, fingers tightening in his curls, ensuring he feels the weight of Lou’s desire. His taste is intoxicating, making Harry’s mouth water as he laps at his navel. Lou’s hips rise, seemingly caught between frustration and gratitude for the attention, his thick bulge pressing against Harry’s chest, pleading for release from the confines of his shorts. Harry is more than willing to oblige.

With confident hands, he tugs at Lou’s swim shorts and throws them mindlessly away. Harry’s mouth continues its exploration, kissing and teasing the newly exposed skin of Lou’s lower abdomen. Harry can’t resist taunting him, sending him a sultry glance before biting gently at the vulnerable skin of his hip bone, drawing a deep, guttural groan from Lou’s parted lips.

"Harry!"

Harry ignores the warning, deliberately avoiding the throbbing length of Lou's cock as he nuzzles into his groin, inhaling the intoxicating musk of his aroused, undeniably sexy Alpha. Sidestepping his erection, Harry presses gentle yet searing kisses to the sensitive skin of his full, round balls. He watches with wicked delight as Lou's cock visibly twitches, a single bead of precum slipping lazily from the tip to pool on his lower belly. The urge to lap up the liquid is overwhelming, but he forces himself to take his time, blowing cool air along the heated length of Lou’s shaft as he moves towards his goal.

But patience is a fleeting thing, and eventually, Harry’s hands betray his restraint. They reach up, rolling Lou’s heavy balls in slow, deliberate circles, a hoarse moan escaping as Harry finally licks up the nectar dripping onto Lou’s stomach. The taste is addictive, making him moan with need.

"Omega!"

Lou’s grip in Harry’s hair tightens, an unmistakable warning growl rumbling from deep within him. The sharp tugs at his curls send jolts of pleasure through Harry, making him whimper in arousal and only intensify the ache in his own cock, already leaking into his speedos. He can no longer deny either of them.

One hand continues to knead Lou’s balls, while the other wraps firmly around the burning heat of his shaft. Harry’s tongue traces a firm, deliberate path from the base of Lou’s cock to the sensitive crown, both of them moaning as he eagerly sucks the tip into his mouth.

"Oh, Harry," Lou groans in relief, his hips twitching involuntarily.

Harry looks up through his lashes, sinful and teasing, drinking in Lou’s aroused expression as he begins a slow, steady rhythm, bobbing along his length. His tongue continues to trace intricate patterns along the underside of Lou’s cock, while his hand moves in tandem with his mouth, determined to wring every sound of pleasure from him. His efforts are rewarded with Lou’s moans as more of his intoxicating essence spills onto Harry’s tongue. His pace quickens, jaw relaxing, the urge to take Lou deeper nearly overwhelming.

"Oh, fuck!" Lou’s shout of pleasure crashes over Harry as his cock sinks into his throat and Harry’s lips close more tightly around him in response.

By now, Harry’s rhythm is unrelenting, alternating between massaging Lou’s shaft with the tight muscles of his throat and sucking hungrily at his throbbing tip, gasping for breath. The need to consume, to worship, to please - it's all-consuming. His mind is blank, focused solely on the hard length between his swollen lips.

He must have missed Lou’s warning growl because, suddenly, he is yanked upwards, ripped from his task. Air rushes from his lungs as his back collides with the nest. In an instant, Lou is hovering over him, exuding pure, unrestrained Alpha energy. His eyes flash as they rake over Harry’s flushed, dazed form, drinking in the sight of him.

Like a predator striking, Lou has Harry’s speedos torn away, flinging them across the room. In the next breath, Harry’s hips are raised by Lou’s strong arms, his trembling legs supported effortlessly. Lou’s mouth hovers tantalisingly close, but not close enough, to the place Harry aches and leaks for him.

"You're beautiful," Lou murmurs in awe. "The most beautiful Omega to ever walk this earth."

Lou lets his hand roam over Harry’s bare skin, drawing a shiver from both him and his Omega.

“And your slick smells divine,” Lou murmurs, leaning over to steal a passionate kiss before sitting up again.

“Thank you, Alpha,” Harry whispers.

“Touch yourself,” Lou commands, his voice rough as gravel.

Harry doesn’t hesitate - he can’t. His instincts take over, an Omega completely attuned to his Alpha’s words, surrendering without question. Still, his hands tremble as they move, Lou’s heated gaze fixed on him. One hand wraps around the aching hardness of his cock and the other circling his sensitive nipple.

“Good boy,” Lou praises before leaning down, his sinful tongue swiping suddenly over Harry’s hole.

“Uhh! God, Lou!” Harry cries out, his voice breaking into whimpers as Lou licks at his entrance, applying maddening pressure to the electrified skin.

“Your slick doesn’t just smell like heaven… it tastes like it too.”

Harry struggles to keep up with his own touch, his strokes slow and distracted as his hips roll in need. His fingers twist at his nipple while Lou’s lips seal around his hole, sucking as if drunk on Harry’s slick. When Lou presses a finger inside, Harry lets out a high-pitched moan, his hands faltering, overwhelmed by the pleasure coursing through him. A second finger joins the first, and Lou’s teeth graze lightly against Harry’s balls, sending another sob-like moan spilling from his lips. He fights to keep his eyes open, unwilling to lose sight of Lou’s face between his legs.

“Lou… Uh, Alpha, just fuck me already!” Harry calls out as Lou pushes a third finger inside his slick-soaked hole, the delicious stretch making him squirm.

Lou’s gaze is dark, almost devilish, as he looks up, his fingers circling Harry’s tender spot, only grazing it occasionally, but even the teasing touch makes Harry’s cock throb and twitch.

“Didn’t realise you were in a position to make demands,” Lou says coolly, leaning over him. His free hand slides lightly over Harry’s throat before he lays it around it, dominance radiating from him in the most intoxicating way. Harry can’t suppress the needy whimper that escapes him.

Lou raises an eyebrow. “Oh? You like being choked?”

“Getting choked with a seaview by the most gorgeous Alpha in the world?” Harry pants as Lou tightens his grip. “I bloody love it.”

“Good to know,” Lou murmurs, releasing his grip only to press a lingering kiss to Harry’s throat. His lips latch onto his scent gland, sucking just enough to make Harry’s vision spark with stars. “Now, ask for it properly.”

“Please, Lou… I want nothing more than to become one with you. Take me,” Harry whispers, breathless with need.

“Mhm, so polite,” Lou smirks, winking.

Harry exhales in relief as Lou begins to move up his body, fingers still working him open. “But do you deserve it?”

“Ah… yes! Please, Lou!” Harry nods frantically, his hips rolling back against Lou’s fingers, desperate for more friction, more pressure, desperate for Lou to finally take him. “Please, fuck me,” he moans, panting in frustration.

“That’s more like it,” Lou breathes against Harry’s lips before pressing a firm kiss to them.

Harry whimpers as Lou withdraws his fingers from his clenching heat, feeling empty but desperate for what comes next. Lou, however, takes his time, licking Harry’s slick from his fingers with deliberate eye contact. Only then does he lift Harry’s hips. Eager for more, Harry clutches at Lou’s shoulders, wrapping his legs tightly around his waist. His Omega craves touch as does Harry. Their gazes lock as Lou’s length glides against Harry’s balls, leaving a slick trail of arousal as it moves to his stretched, quivering entrance. Harry’s nails dig into Lou’s skin when his hips press forward, stars bursting behind his eyelids as Lou slowly sinks in. So this is what heaven feels like.

Lou picks up his pace, the exquisite pressure of his cock stretching Harry open sending waves of sharp pleasure and aching bliss through his body. Despite his height, Lou is far from small - his dick is thick and big, powerful, all Alpha, all perfect.

Soundless gasps escape Harry as he takes Lou fully, his belly tightening with overwhelming heat. He knows he’ll never get used to this, the sheer ecstasy of having Lou, his Alpha, so deep inside him.

“Ready?” Lou whispers against Harry’s parted lips.

His balls press flush to Harry’s body, his cock impossibly hot and rigid in his depths. Lou’s expression is tense, the restraint affecting him as much as it does Harry. And so he nods frantically because words have abandoned him.

With a primal growl, Lou begins to move, driving into Harry with unrelenting force, pushing him into the blankets, stealing his breath. When Harry finally finds his voice, all that escapes are high-pitched, keening moans between gasps. He never knew true pleasure until Lou. Each thrust sends him spiralling, the Alpha’s cock pounding deep, grinding into his prostate with devastating precision. Harry’s nails rake down Lou’s back, neither caring about the marks they’ll leave. Lou buries his face in Harry’s neck, lips latching onto the spot where one day his mating mark will be. Their bodies move in perfect sync, pleasure coiling tight, urgent, unstoppable.

“Lou… I… I’m going to come,” Harry whimpers, voice breaking. “You feel too good.”

Lou presses a kiss to his temple. “Me too. It’s okay. We’ll take our time another day.”

“Really?” Harry blinks up at him.

“You can come whenever you want, Omega. Today, at least,” Lou smirks.

The mere thought of Lou controlling his release next time sends a fresh wave of arousal through Harry. His hand barely grips his cock before he erupts, thick pulses of cum splattering across his chest. His entire body locks up, muscles twitching with overwhelming pleasure as his orgasm consumes him.

He sobs Lou’s name, his body clenching around Lou’s cock in tight, desperate spasms. With a final, brutal thrust, Lou sinks his teeth into Harry’s neck - not breaking the skin, but claiming him all the same. Harry whines as his Omega whimpering for more. Lou’s hips jerk as his release crashes through him, hot spurts of cum spilling deep inside, filling Harry with his need. Lou groans, the sound almost pained, his grip tightening as though afraid Harry might slip away. But Harry isn’t going anywhere. Never again.

They cling to each other, bodies trembling in the aftershocks, neither willing to let go. Their damp skin glows with sweat and satisfaction, the weight of Lou over him grounding Harry in perfect contentment. This is home - right here, beneath Lou, held close and cherished. Lou is everything.

“I can’t wait to take your knot one day,” Harry murmurs against Lou’s neck, pressing a soft kiss just below his ear.

“We’d have to mate. Or be in rut. Or heat,” Lou replies, voice thick with exhaustion.

Harry chuckles. “I’m up for anything.”

“Mhm.” Lou’s response is little more than a hum, but for Harry, it’s enough. He’s too spent, too satisfied to care.

After a while, Lou shifts off of Harry’s body, but the space between them lasts only a second before they melt back together, tangled in each other’s warmth. Harry’s chest rises and falls in rhythm with Lou’s, his fingers drawing absentminded circles on Lou’s damp back. His lips are swollen, his limbs deliciously sore, but none of that matters compared to the way his heart feels too full. Lou shifts beside him, their legs still entwined, but Harry keeps his hold firm. He doesn’t want distance, not even an inch. 

“How is a sunflower supposed to survive without its sun?” Harry whispers, suddenly emotional after the high. “I don’t just want the summer, Lou. Give me forever. Come with me to London when I have to go back.”

A sharp inhale. A pause that lasts too long. 

“I can’t.”

Harry frowns, shifting so he can look at Lou properly. “What do you mean you can’t?”

Lou shakes his head, breathes in roughly. “Because I don’t fit into your world.”

Harry’s chest twists. He pushes himself up on his elbow, determination flaring behind his eyes. “But for me, you do.”

Lou lets out a humourless laugh, running a hand through his hair, staring at the flickering candlelight. 

“Do you know what I was doing for so long yesterday? Yeah, I was looking for this place, I was buying the pillows, the candles, all of it.” Lou's throat bobs as he swallows hard. “But before that, I was sitting on my bike for hours, panicking, debating with myself if I should just leave. Just vanishing. Because I have nothing to offer you, Harry. Nothing. We don’t have a future and it scares the shit out of me to even imagine a life without you. It’s driving me insane because I fucking crave you. I’m in love with you, okay?”

The confession slams into Harry’s chest, leaving him breathless, but his answer is immediate.

“Then take me as your Omega. Make me your mate,” Harry demands desperately. “I’m right here. And I… I'm in love with you, too.”

“I can’t.” Lou’s voice cracks, his entire body coiled with tension.

“Why?”

Lou’s breath shudders and then he looks up, eyes burning with something Harry can’t decipher. And then the words come, shaking, raw.

“Because I’m a wanted murderer. My real name is Louis William Tomlinson.”

Silence.

Harry stares, blinking once, then twice, before he bursts into laughter, the sheer absurdity of it sending him into fits.

“Sure you are. That's funny,” Harry manages between laughter.

But Lou doesn’t laugh back. He doesn’t even smile. He only watches Harry with that same unreadable expression, his body unnaturally still.

“It’s the truth. I'm a wanted murderer and on the run.”

Lou is far too serious and Harry’s laughter dies in his throat. It's like the room tilts slightly and his stomach drops.

“What?”

Chapter Text

"Shall I repeat it?" Lou asks flatly, gaze unreadable.

Harry blinks, his body numb, his mind scrambling to keep up. He shakes his head, trying to take calming breaths. "No... I heard you the first time. You're telling me… after we just had sex, after we told each other how we feel… that you're a murderer. That you're on the run." His voice wobbles and suddenly there's a strained laugh breaking out of him, eyes flickering everywhere but at Lou. "It's fine. I'm fine."

He’s not fine. His hands tremble as he yanks his clothes on, fingers fumbling in his panic. Lou mirrors him, slipping his shorts and shirt on. Harry’s heartbeat roars in his ears, drowning out everything but the suffocating weight of Lou’s confession. Suddenly a breathless, disbelieving laugh escapes Harry’s lips as he shoves his feet into his shoes. 

"Are you gonna kill me now? Should I run? Oh God… I should run, shouldn’t I?"

He doesn’t even think before his feet move. It’s pure instinct.

"Okay! I’m running! Just… just give me a head start!"

And then he bolts and starts to run to the entrance of the cave. The world spins and contracts around him while outside the waves crash violently against the shore, mirroring the storm inside his chest. He barely makes it five steps before Lou’s hands are on him, gripping his arm, stopping him cold.

"Harry… wait! Just let me explain!" Lou pleads.

"No! Let me go!" Harry thrashes in Lou’s hold, tears already burning his eyes. His body is shaking so hard he thinks he might collapse.

"I would never hurt you!" Lou swears.

"Then let me go!" Harry sobs, yanking himself free.

Lou’s hands fall away instantly, like they’re burned. He doesn’t move to follow. He just stands there, staring, as Harry stumbles back, wild and terrified before he starts to run a second time. He runs past the cave entrance, past the motorcycle, past the candle-lit memories of the most beautiful night of his life. He doesn’t look back. He can’t. Instead he keeps going, pushing forward, trying to outrun the unbearable truth that is threatening to crush him.

His Omega screams at him but even through the fear, through the betrayal, through the chaos, something in his heart is breaking.

Because he doesn’t want to run from Lou.

But what choice does he have?

His lungs burn, his legs scream for mercy, but he can't stop. He won't. He forces himself forward, stumbling over the uneven ground as his mind races just as fast as his feet. He has to get away, get distance, put as much space as possible between himself and Lou. A murderer. A fucking murderer.

Harry pants raggedly, barely able to think beyond the overwhelming urge to flee but his hands frantically pat at his pockets as he runs, searching… God, please let it be there. A sharp relief cuts through the hysteria when his fingers brush over the outline of his phone in his shorts pocket. Thank fuck. But then, just as the relief comes, so does the terror. Because he hears it. The unmistakable roar of Lou’s motorcycle in the distance.

No, no, no.

Harry stifles a sob, legs faltering for just a second before he even moves faster, lungs heaving, every muscle burning. His heart pounds so violently in his chest that he wonders if it might burst. Tears blur his vision, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t dare look back.

His thoughts spiral. Lou is following him. Of course, he is. Lou is a predator and Harry… Harry his prey. His Omega”s distress rolls off it in thick waves, making Harry's body screaming for safety, for protection, but the one person who has ever made him feel safe is the very one he is running from.

Just keep going. Just get somewhere… anywhere.

And then, as if the universe takes pity on him, he sees it. The distant glow of streetlights, the faint silhouette of rooftops against the night sky. A village. Harry chokes on a sob of relief, pushing through the last shreds of his strength to reach it. His legs nearly give out as he stumbles onto pavement and into the dimly lit streets. He ducks behind a small building, gasping for breath, hands shaking violently as he pulls out his phone.

A taxi. He needs a taxi.

His fingers barely work as he pulls up the app, struggling to type, his vision swimming. He gets the address in, heart lurching as the estimated arrival time pops up - seven minutes. Seven minutes feels like eternity, but he has no choice. He presses 'confirm' and collapses against the wall, drawing his knees to his chest as he struggles to contain his sobs.

What the fuck is happening? What the actual fuck?

His mind replays everything like a sick, twisted nightmare. Harry lets out a quiet, broken laugh, hysteria bubbling up all over again. He’s in love with a murderer. Oh God. What is he supposed to do? Call the police? Call his parents? No. No, he can't. Not yet. First, he needs to get out. First, he needs to get back to the villa, pack his things and get on the next flight out. That’s the plan. 

He peeks out from his hiding spot, eyes scanning the streets. No sign of Lou. The taxi will be here soon and he needs to be ready. He wipes at his face with trembling fingers, sucking in deep, shaky breaths.

It's fine. I'm fine.

Finally, headlights cut through the darkness and Harry stumbles forward as the car slows to a stop. He all but throws himself inside, voice breathless and unsteady as he gives the address. The driver barely nods before pulling away. Only then does Harry let himself collapse back into the seat, eyes squeezed shut and tears slipping silently down his cheeks.

He’s getting away.

But why does his chest ache like he's leaving behind something vital?

"Please... please hurry,” Harry urges

The driver gives him a worried look and fortunately he seems to understand English. At least a little. 

As the taxi speeds through the narrow streets of Tuscany, another feeling begins to surface inside him. A deep-seated, painful instinct that writhes inside him, rebelling against pure logic. His Omega longs for Lou. For his Alpha. Even after everything. His body, his damned being, wants to return to him, doesn't see the unavoidable truth. How can that be? How can his Omega be so blind? Or is it Harry who is blind? Did he miss something? Should he have let Louis explain? His chest tightens painfully at the thought. Has he been so wrong? Or is it pure despair, a desire to deny the obvious?

His hands are cold and clammy as he types "Louis William Tomlinson" into the search bar of his phone. The name feels foreign, almost burns inside him. A loading process, seconds that feel like hours, then the headlines flicker on the screen and Harry opens a newer one.


Murder of businessman James Harrington - suspect Louis Tomlinson still on the run

The brutal murder of James Harrington, a respected upper-class London businessman, shocked British society four years ago. The 52-year-old was found dead in his villa with multiple stab wounds. Valuables and a considerable sum of money are said to have been stolen. The police then arrested the 22-year-old student Louis Tomlinson, who was identified from a witness who saw him walking by the house shortly after the crime.

Although the murder weapon was found in his possession, Tomlinson denied any involvement in the crime. According to his statements, the weapon was planted on him. Despite these claims, all the evidence seemed to be against him. Tomlinson was initially placed under house arrest, but before the final judgement could be passed, he fled and has remained untraceable ever since. His case became one of the most notorious mysteries of British justice.

In the years following the murder, the victim's family expressed dismay at the suspect's escape and demanded a swift arrest. "This man must not be allowed to walk free. He has destroyed our family and must be brought to justice," said a relative of the victim.

Police confirm that Tomlinson is still classed as dangerous and investigations into his whereabouts is ongoing. The public is being asked for information.


Harry's breathing is heavy as he takes in the words on the screen. He knows this case. Of course he knows it. His parents had talked about it back then. Outrage at this "cheap wannabe gangster who thought he could take on the elite". His mother had known Harrington in passing, through acquaintances, dinner parties and charity events.

And now Harry is sitting in a taxi with his heart pounding, because this "cheap wannabe gangster" is the man he slept with last night. The man he fell in love with.

"Oh God," he mumbles as his head slumps forward and slaps a hand over his face. "Oh my God."

Lou is really a wanted murderer. And Harry was just about to ask him to come to London with him.

The rest of the drive back to the villa is a blur of headlights cutting through the darkness and the muffled roar of the engine. Harry just sits curled in the back seat, knees pulled to his chest and tries to stop his whole body from trembling while his fingers grip his phone so tightly that his knuckles ache.

The driver glances at him every so often through the rearview mirror, brows drawn together in concern, but he doesn’t say a word. Just keeps driving and Harry is thankful for that. He doesn’t think he could handle talking right now. Doesn’t think he could form words even if he wanted to. His chest feels too tight, lungs too constricted, like he can’t get enough air no matter how hard he tries. His Omega is in full-blown distress, clawing at his insides, screaming at him to run and yet, at the same time, aching for comfort from Lou, no… Louis. 

“No,” Harry whispers to himself, shaking his head. His hands clamp over his mouth to muffle the broken sob that escapes.

It can’t be true. It can’t be. Lou, the man who made him laugh until he couldn’t breathe, who gave him flowers, who kissed him so sweetly, who built a nest just for him in a cave by the sea, that Lou couldn’t have done this. Could he? But he said it himself. He said he was a wanted murderer on the run.

Harry squeezes his eyes shut, forcing himself to take a shuddering breath. It's scary how fast his heart races, hammering in his chest like it wants to escape. When the car finally pulls up to the villa, he’s out before the driver can even fully stop. He barely remembers throwing a bunch of cash into the front seat, mumbling something that might be “keep the change” before he stumbles toward the entrance. His fingers fumble for his phone again, pressing Stevie’s number with shaking hands.

“Harry?” Stevie’s voice is groggy, thick with sleep. It must be late.

But Harry can’t speak. His throat is closing up, breath hitching and his vision tunnels.

“Harry?” Concern now, more alert. “What’s wrong? Where are you?”

Before Harry can force out an answer, he hears the low, unmistakable growl of a motorcycle engine approaching fast. His body goes rigid.

No. No, no, no!

The bike comes into view, headlights cutting through the night and then Lou is there. He barely stops before he’s off the bike, helmet thrown away as his legs moving fast toward Harry.

“Harry!”

Harry stumbles back, panic clawing up his throat. He tries to turn, to run, but his knees buckle. The world tilts, his vision blurring at the edges. His Omega is screaming, too many emotions crashing over him at once - fear, love, confusion, heartbreak.

He hears Stevie’s frantic voice through the phone, hears Lou calling his name…

And then everything goes black.

━━━━🌻━━━━

There is nothing.

Only darkness. Heavy and endless, like a fog that surrounds him, envelops him and swallows him up until there is nothing left of him. No thought, no feeling, no escape route. Just a dull roar, a pulling deep inside him that drags him down deeper and deeper until he hardly knows which way is up or down.

His Omega is small and frightened, cowering somewhere in the shadows of his consciousness. Shaky, full of fear, whimpering for protection - for safety. But there is no more safety. There is only panic. Only this bottomless void in which he is stranded.

Somewhere in the distance, a voice rumbles. A fragment of reality penetrating through the fog.

"Harry! Please… come on, my love, please, wake up!"

Lou.

A whimper escapes him, barely audible, existing only inside him. Lou's voice echoes through the darkness, an echo that does not feel good. It is wrong. It doesn't feel safe. It was once home, once warmth, once everything his Omega had longed for. But now… now it's the opposite. Now it's just chasing him deeper into the darkness, away from any reality. He doesn't want to hear it. Doesn't want to feel.

And so he pulls back even more, burrows deeper into the black fog, buries his face in his own arms, even though there is nothing here but darkness.

Then another voice.

"Harry? Harry, please, can you hear me? It's okay, love, you're safe!"

That's Stevie!

Something flickers in the darkness. A pale light, barely more than a hunch. Stevie calls him. Softly, warmly, with that unshakeable patience that Harry's Omega knows so well. It's not a voice that chases him or pulls him further down. It's one that holds him.

"Come on, darling boy. Come back. You're safe. I've got you."

Safe.

The word penetrates the fog, settles somewhere deep inside him and his Omega slowly lifts his head. Still hesitant, still full of fear. But it stirs.
He tries to concentrate on it. On Stevie's voice. On the promise in it.

"You're safe, Harry. I'm right here. I've got you, always."

The light grows stronger and Stevie's voice becomes clearer, closer, more familiar. It feels like he can breathe again. A tremor runs through him, a last echo of the darkness, but then he opens his eyes. His vision is blurred, tears run hot down his cheeks while his heart pounds dully and painfully in his chest. Everything feels unreal, like cotton wool around him, but he is here.

He blinks against the blurred vision and realises he lays in his bed. In the villa. His phone is right next to him on the pillow, the speaker activated and Stevie's voice still whispering softly through it.

“Stevie?” Harry pants out.

"There you are," Stevie answers and Harry hears the smile in her voice. "You're okay, my darling boy. You're safe."

Dazed, Harry raises a shaky hand and wipes his face. His skin feels strange, his body heavy and weak. 

"What, uh, what happened?" His voice is just a whisper, barely more than a croak.

At the other end of the line, Stevie sighs softly. It's not an annoyed sigh, but a soft, tired sound. Almost relieved that he's finally speaking.

"You dropped, darling. For hours. Properly deep, Harry. I was starting to worry you wouldn't come back up."

Harry's stomach tightens.

Hours?

He blinks, slowly turning his head to the side, where a thin strip of light falls through the curtains. Not the dark night except the moon that he had last seen. But the cool, pale light of dawn.

Fuck.

His heart begins to race again and he sits up hastily, wincing as his limbs feel heavy, as if he has been lying still for days. Worriedly, his eyes dart to the door, then to the window. His memory resumes, image by image, beat by beat.

Lou.

"Where is Lou?" The words leave his lips before he can even think them properly.

Stevie hesitates for a moment, but then she says, "He carried you to your room and wouldn't leave your side at first, but his voice… Harry, it was making it worse. Every time he spoke, you fell deeper. I had to tell him to leave. He said he wanted to wait outside of your room."

Harry's chest rises and falls faster. It feels like a cold wave crashing over him. Lou has brought him here. Lou was here. He could've hurt him, killed him, in his vulnerable state. But he didn't.

Harry swallows hard, his fingers clawing at the duvet.

"Why did you drop, H?" Stevie asks gently but firmly. "Lou was in no state to tell me. He was panicking too much, kept saying he couldn't tell me what was leading to your drop. So tell me what happened?"

Harry shakes his head, even though she can't see it.

"I don't wanna talk about it," he whispers.

Because when he says it… when he says it out loud, it becomes real. Then it becomes not just a distorted nightmare in his head, but something that really happened.

"Harry-"

"Please, Stevie." His voice breaks, tears welling up in his eyes. "Just… don't make me say it."

A moment of silence before Stevie answers, "Alright, darling. Alright."

He closes his eyes and bites his lip to stifle the sobs burning in his chest.

"It hurts," Harry finally admits. "I feel… I don't know what I feel. I want him, but I also don't. I can't-" He almost chokes on the words as the trembling runs through him. "I don't know what to do."

"Then don't make a decision now," Stevie says calmly. "But talk to him, Harry. Whatever happened… communication is important in a relationship."

Relationship.

Harry's stomach tightens again.

Is this one? 

"I don't know if there's anything left to save," Harry says quietly.

Stevie sighs. "You won't know until you talk to him."

He says nothing to that and a few seconds pass, then he sighs himself, a soft, tired sound.

"Thank you, Stevie," he whispers.

"Always, sweetheart. Please look after yourself, eat and drink something, rest your body. Dropping is a serious matter. And please get back to me later.”

“Will do,” Harry promises and hangs up. For a moment, he just lies there quietly, thinking about what to do while his emotions barely allow him a clear thought. Maybe he should listen to Stevie, she always had good advice. His Omega is still too confused to guide him properly and doesn't know whether it wants his Alpha or is so afraid that it wants to fall into the next drop. And Harry's gut isn't telling him anything either, it's all too much and he's too weak.

"Lou?" Harry calls uncertainly, doesn't know if he still sits outside like Stevie said.

But there is an immediate answer and a stifled gasp from outside.

"Harry?"

Harry's heart clenches. Lou sounds relieved? And then, seconds later, he hears it… a stifled sob. Lou is crying.
His Omega whimpers inside him, wanting nothing more than to tear open the door, press himself against the Alpha to calm him down but Harry grits his teeth, closes his eyes for a moment.

"Stay outside! And explain," Harry finally says, his voice firmer than he actually feels. "And make it good. This is your only chance."

A heavy silence follows and Harry stumbles with a blanket around himself out of the bed, closes the lock on his door for more security and slides down the floor to be able to hear him better.

"I… I didn't do it, Harry. I swear to you, I didn't do it." 

There's a deep tremor in Louis' breath and Harry's fingers tighten in the fabric of his blanket. He leans his head against the door and suddenly he smells Louis' stress is heavy through it. Adrenalin. Anxiety.

Do murderers get stressed and cry?

Harry doesn't know. But he hears Louis exhale, as if he's collecting himself and then he begins to talk.

"It was four years ago. I was still at uni, finishing my last year. I… fuck, Harry, I was barely making ends meet. My mum had passed away, I had no one. I worked two jobs just to afford my rent, my food, my books. I was exhausted all the time."

Harry hears how Lou is fully crying now and he has to close his eyes. It's getting clear he really doesn't know anything about Lou's life or his past in general.

"That day… I was at uni all afternoon. I had a shift at the café after, but I was late, so I ran straight to the tube station and passed the victim's house on my way. The underground station was packed, like always. People bumping into each other, pushing past. I didn't even notice anything was off. Not until-" Lou's voice breaks and a heavy swallow follows. "Not until the police came to my flat."

Harry closes his eyes and his heart beats violently against his ribs.

"They said I'd killed him. That I'd broken into his home, stolen from him and stabbed him. They found the knife in my bag, Harry. The same bag I'd had with me all day. And where there was definitely no knife until after my uni."

A shiver runs down Harry's spine.

"I didn't even know who the victim was," Lou almost whispers. "Some rich businessman. I never saw the knife before they pulled it out of my bag."

"And your lawyer?" Harry wants to know.

Louis laughs bitterly. "I couldn't afford one, obviously. So I got a public defender. He was old, probably months away from retirement. Didn't give a shit. Barely spoke to me, barely argued for me at the police station. Just sat there and let them rip me apart."

Louis inhales sharply. "And I mean, everything pointed to me. They also knew I was financially struggling. And I knew that no one was gonna believe me. No one was gonna fight for me. They wanted someone to blame and I was the perfect suspect."

A moment of silence while Harry's chest rises and falls faster.

"So I ran. I got a fake passport. Took whatever little cash I had and got out of the country before they could charge me. I moved around for a while, took whatever jobs I could get, all while being scared all these years. I never made friends along the way, I was too anxious it could blow my cover up." Lou's voice breaks again. "And then you happened."

Harry screws up his face and presses his forehead against the palms of his hands. Once again it feels like he can't breathe.

"I was so happy, Harry. When you were around, I forgot for a while what my life actually was. I forgot that I was on the run. I forgot that-" He gasps for air. "I forgot that one day, I will lose all of this."

His voice drops to a broken whisper.
"I was so fucking scared of telling you. But I… I couldn't lie to you anymore."

The silence that follows is deafening.
Harry only hears Louis breathing outside the door. It's shaky, uneven, as if he's choking on all of this.

"I'm so fucking sorry, princess,” Lou suddenly breaks the silence. Harry blinks while his throat constricts.

"I never wanted this to happen. I never wanted to hurt you or scare you or… fuck, I never wanted you to drop because of me.” A short, wet sob. "I'd rather die than be the reason you shut down like that."

Harry bites the inside of his cheek.

"You mean everything to me," Louis whispers. "You were the first good thing in my life in years. The first thing that made me feel human again. That made me feel like maybe… maybe I deserve something better than just running and hiding and being afraid all the time."

His voice becomes firmer, rougher.
"I love you, Harry."

Harry's heart stumbles. He doesn't want to hear those words. Not now. Not like this.

"How… How do you expect me to deal with this, Lou?"

“Please just believe me,” Lou begs but Harry only huffs and back is the silence.

"How are you feeling?" It's Lou again who breaks it after a while.

Harry snorts and a bitter, empty laugh escapes him.

"Fucking shit, Lou." His fingers clench into fists. "I feel like my entire world just collapsed. I feel like I don't know anything anymore. Not you. Not myself. Not what I should fucking do."

"Are you gonna turn me in?"

Harry's stomach tightens and he presses his lips together, shaking his head, even though Lou can't see it.

"I don't know. I don't fucking know, Louis."

There's a soft rustling outside.

"Do you… do you want me to go?" Louis' voice is barely more than a whisper.

Everything inside him screams yes.

Everything inside him screams no.

"No," it comes out, hoarse and far too honest.

But then he explodes.

"I DON'T FUCKING KNOW, LOU!" His voice echoes through the room, breaking under the force of his emotions. "I don't know what the fuck I'm supposed to do! I don't know what to believe! I don't know if you're a murderer, I don't know if you're innocent, I don't know if I'm the biggest fucking idiot in the world for still wanting you, I DON'T FUCKING KNOW, LOU!"

He's shaking, his breathing is much too fast.

"You lied to me. You let me… let me fall for you, let me think we had something, let me think-" Harry gasps for air. "And now I find out you're a fucking murderer? That you've been running from the police for years? That my parents fucking KNEW the guy who was killed? DO YOU EVEN FUCKING UNDERSTAND HOW… HOW-"

He falls silent abruptly, choking on his own words. Tears run hot down his cheeks while it is quiet outside.

"I'm sorry." 

Harry buries his face in his hands.
"Just… just go to your house, Lou. Let me think. I, uhm, I need time. I'll come to you when I'm ready. And I'll tell you what I decide."

He takes a deep breath, then adds
"And don't you fucking run. You owe me that much."

He hears Louis move, hears the sound of fabric as he slowly rises and a soft, heavy breathing.

"I won't." Lou pauses and adds in a whisper, barely more than a breath. "Take care, my sunflower."

Then there are footsteps. 
And silence.

Chapter Text

Harry lies motionless in his nest, staring blankly out of the window as the sun traces its slow path across the sky. He had cried until there was nothing left, until his chest ached and his throat felt raw, until his body had folded in on itself, drained and hollow. Now, he is just still. There are no more tears, no more frantic thoughts, no more panicked questions spinning through his head. Just silence, just exhaustion, just the heavy, numb weight of everything pressing down on him.

Stevie had told him to eat, to drink, to take care of himself after the drop, but his body doesn't want food, doesn't want water. It doesn't want anything except to lay here and disappear into the cocoon of blankets and pillows surrounding him. He knows he should take care of himself but even lifting his arm feels like an impossible task. His Omega is weak too, curled up inside him in a state of pure fatigue. After the terror, after the confusion, after the absolute breakdown, there is only this aching stillness left in him. Harry just feels so detached, like he is watching the world from a distance, like he isn't really here, just some ghost of himself trapped in a body that no longer belongs to him. 

He knows why. He misses Lou. Louis.

Flinching at the name as it passes his mind, he lets it settle anyway. He has been running from it all night, from everything Lou has told him, from the reality of it, but running has done nothing except leave him here, feeling emptier than ever. Somehow, he believes him. God, he knows how stupid that sounds. How naive. How reckless. But he does. Deep down, in a place that has no logic, no reasoning, no careful weighing of evidence but just instinct, he knows Lou has been telling the truth. The way his voice had broken, the way his scent had been so laced with fear, the way his sobs had sounded too raw, too real to be anything but honest. Lou had suffered for years. He had been terrified, running, hiding, all because no one had listened to him. No one had believed him.

But Harry does.

He breathes in, long and shaky, pressing his face into the soft fabric of one of his pillows. What does he do now with that belief? What does he do with the knowledge that the man who had held him so gently, who had kissed every inch of him with such reverence, who had looked at him like he was something precious, had spent years on the run for a crime he swears he didn’t commit?

His Omega stirs weakly inside him, keening softly, pleads for Harry to reach out for the Alpha as it sees him no longer as a threat. His body downright aches for Lou, still longs for him, still trusts him. And isn't that the strangest part? That even after everything, after the panic, after the drop, after all of it - he still wants him. He still wants to bury himself in Lou’s arms and let his scent soothe him. He still wants to believe that none of this has to mean the end.

But wanting isn't enough. He can't just lie here forever. He has to do something. He has to make a decision.

Slowly, Harry takes a deep breath, the first real one he takes in what feels like hours. His Omega settles just the tiniest bit, feeling the shift, sensing that maybe, just maybe, Harry isn't quite as lost as before. He just needs to figure this out and to know the truth. Not just in his heart, but in the real, tangible way that could clear Lou’s name. If Lou hadn’t done it, then someone else had. And that someone had let him take the fall. Suddenly a flicker of something sparks in his chest, something fragile, something hesitant, but something real.

Determination.

For now, he lets it sit there, lets it build, lets it give him the smallest push toward movement. And even if he isn't ready yet and he doesn't have all the answers, at least he knows one thing - he isn't going to let this be their end. But first he wants to sleep, to fulfil at least one of Stevie's wishes as his body and mind need a short break.

━━━━🌻━━━━

After his restless nap, Harry moves slowly out of his nest, legs feeling heavy, as if they are wading through water. He has no idea what time it is and he's still in his old clothes that smell of the sea and sweat and his hair probably looks like a mess, curls tangled and frizzy.

Also his throat is dry. So dry that it almost hurts. So he forces himself to finally move and drags himself downstairs towards the kitchen. As he shuffles through the open area of the villa, he mechanically raises a hand to wave to the workers busy with their tasks in the living room. But instead of simply waving back, they freeze. One taps his eyes, another points to his own hair and one even draws downward curved lines with their fingers over his mouth, mimicking his sad face. Harry stops in mid-motion and blinks. Embarrassment crawls over his skin, but at the same time he just doesn't care. He knows he looks terrible. He feels the same.

His first instinct is to flee to the kitchen before anyone else gets any closer, but he is too slow. Suddenly he feels arms closing tightly around him, warm and reassuring. It's one of the older workers and his scent is the one of an old Alpha, someone who has a family at home. It's a safe scent. A father's scent. Not that Harry has much experience with that… his own father never embraced him like this. Too busy, too distant.

Harry freezes for a moment and then something happens inside him. A tiny movement in his chest, a tremor, a crack in the wall he has drawn around himself. He almost feels like a child again, allowed to shelter in a safe harbour. His Omega wants to dissolve in the embrace, wants to snuggle in and stay. The man even gently pats Harry's cheek and his rough fingers leave a trace of warmth on his skin. They don't need words or a common language. It is a moment of understanding, of care that Harry is hardly used to. Another crack in the wall, another tremor inside him.

His throat tightens, but he swallows the lump and forces himself not to burst into tears again. Instead, he nods gratefully, pressing a hand against the man's arm as a sign that he appreciates it, even if he can't say it. Then he releases himself from the embrace, goes into the kitchen, reaches for a bottle of water and takes a few deep gulps.

He has a lot to think about and so, with the bottle in his hand, he makes his way back upstairs, back to his nest. Laying inside, Harry buries himself in Lou’s clothes, even though they barely smell like him anymore. It’s stupid, but it’s the closest thing he has to comfort right now. Taking another sip of the water, he reaches for his phone and even if his body still feels heavy, his mind won’t rest. He needs to understand. Needs to make sense of all this.

Harry starts scrolling through every article he can find about the case. Some are written in that sensationalist way tabloids love and some are news reports that lay out the facts in black and white. Over and over, the same details appear: the victim was a wealthy businessman, found dead in his home, stabbed. The murder weapon was discovered in Louis’ bag and an anonymous witness swore they saw Louis fleeing the scene, running outside of the victim's house.

Harry frowns as it’s all too convenient, isn’t it? One witness? One single person who saw Louis near the house and was somehow able to identify him by name? London is massive. People walk past each other every second of the day. How does one person passing a house become an entire conviction?
He’s no detective, but something about it doesn’t sit right. Harry reads through the articles again, paying more attention this time. Every mention of the witness is vague. There’s no description, no specifics, just that their testimony had been crucial in the case against Louis.

Who was this witness? Why did they remain anonymous? And how, in a city of millions, did they supposedly know Louis’ name?

Harry rubs at his temple. His head is pounding, his Omega still exhausted from the drop, but he can’t let this go. Every part of him is screaming that something isn’t right. He can’t explain it logically… maybe it’s just blind faith, maybe it’s just love, but the more he thinks about it, the more certain he becomes that Louis is telling the truth. He didn’t do it. Now he just has to prove it.

Harry swallows hard, staring at his phone screen. If he wants answers, he needs to start somewhere. But where? The police reports? Would they even be public? If he can find out anything about who this witness was, maybe he can unravel whatever really happened that day.

━━━━🌻━━━━

An hour later Harry can't stand it any longer without Lou. Not when his heart is screaming at him to move, to finally find the Alpha, to see him, touch him, let him know that he isn’t alone in this. That he won’t be left to suffer in silence while Harry drowns in his own doubts. He forces himself out of the nest a second time, still doesn’t care how he looks, doesn’t care that he probably still resembles the wreck he was hours ago. None of that matters.

As he steps outside, the sun is already setting. Harry walks through the familiar path and there is Lou. Sitting outside his house, cap low over his face, sunglasses shielding his eyes, his entire posture defeated. He’s hunched over, arms resting on his knees, fingers twitching as though restless, as though waiting for a verdict that he already expects to be damning. Harry doesn’t need to speak for Lou to sense him because his head already snaps up. Maybe it’s the sound of Harry's footsteps, maybe it’s instinct, maybe it’s Harry’s scent that drifts toward him, but Lou reacts instantly. Harry stops a few steps away, heart hammering against his ribs.

“Take off the sunglasses,” Harry says firmly.

Lou hesitates for a fraction of a second before exhaling shakily and obeying. His fingers tremble slightly as he pulls the sunglasses off and reveals his eyes which are red-rimmed, bloodshot and exhausted.

“Look at me,” Harry demands softly. “And tell me… tell me to my face that you didn’t do it.”

Lou doesn’t break eye contact, doesn’t waver. He straightens slightly, voice hoarse but unwavering. “I didn’t kill him.”

Harry watches him closely, also his Omega searches for any sign of dishonesty, any deception, any flicker of a lie. But there’s nothing. Just Lou’s devastated, open expression, his scent carrying only sorrow, exhaustion and fear. A shuddering breath leaves Harry's lips as something within him settles. He gives a single nod, a quiet confirmation, a silent understanding. Then, without another word, he turns and steps past Lou, walking towards the door of the small house.

“Come inside,” he says over his shoulder.

Lou doesn’t move for a second, just stares after him like he can’t quite believe what’s happening. When Harry glances back, he sees something crumbling in Lou’s expression, something breaking apart and piecing itself back together all at once. He's not looking like the strong, sweet Alpha he actually is, but like a beaten, little puppy. Then he nods, just once, before following Harry inside. 

Lou stops with Harry standing petrified in the living room, his whole body tense, as if he is afraid to move. His shoulders are slumped, his arms hang limply at his sides and he looks like a man who doesn't know whether he's dreaming or awake. Harry, on the other hand, can feel a sudden energy pulsing through his body, now that he's near Lou. His head is clear and his heart determined.

Harry begins to pace up and down with his arms folded. "Okay, uhm… Here's the plan. Firstly, I won't tell the police about you. That's not on the table. What I'm going to do instead is hire a private investigator. Someone who can really find out what happened back then. Someone who doesn't rely on a fucking statement from an anonymous witness and a found knife. Because that makes no fucking sense!"

He pauses for a moment, his gaze burning as he eyes Lou. "Secondly, we're going to take a shower. Both of us. I swear we look like two stranded souls and that's not helping either of us. And after that..." Harry takes a deep breath, the Omega deep inside him longing for closeness, for reassurance. "After that, we'll scent each other. I want us to calm down again, I want our bodies and minds to know we're safe. And then... then I want to know everything about you, Lou."

Lou just blinks at him as if he's misheard. His lips quiver slightly, his gaze flickering between incredulous and full of emotion. "You... You really want to help me? You believe me?"

Harry stops abruptly, turns to Lou and looks him firmly in the eye. "Yes, Lou. I believe you. And I'm going to help you. Because that fucking anonymous witness makes no sense and I'm not going to let you pay for something you didn't do."

And then it bursts out of Lou. A choked sound, a shudder, and then his body simply gives way. He sinks to his knees, his hands grasping at nothing, his whole body shaking under the weight of everything he's been carrying around with him all these years. A quiet, harsh sob leaves his lips and Harry doesn't hesitate for a second. He throws himself on the floor in front of Lou, wraps his arms around him, holds him so tightly, as if he could hold him together with his touch alone. He presses his lips against Lou's hair, strokes his back reassuringly.

"I'm here," Harry whispers. "I'm here, Lou. I won't leave you alone."

And Lou... Lou clings to him as if Harry is his only lifeline in an endless sea of darkness. Then, barely above a whisper, his voice cracks, raw with emotion. “I love-”

But Harry doesn’t let him finish. Gently, he presses a finger to Lou’s lips, silencing the confession before it can fully form. His heart clenches at the sheer vulnerability in Lou’s eyes. They are looking at him wide, glassy and so desperate, but this moment isn’t right. It wasn't right as Lou told him through a door earlier and also not now. Not when Lou is on his knees, broken and crying, and Harry is still piecing himself back together.

With a soft, bittersweet smile, he whispers, “Don't tell me like this. Not when you’re crying. I don’t want to hear those words again until we can say them properly. When we’re happy. When we’re free. When we can go on some ridiculous, stupidly romantic date and you can say it with a smile instead of tears. And then I’ll say it back.”

Lou stares at him, his lips parting as if to argue, but something in Harry’s expression seems to stop him. Instead, his eyes flutter shut for a moment before he surges forward, pulling Harry into a kiss. It’s desperate at first, needy and shaking. But then, as Harry sighs into it, as his fingers slide up to cup Lou’s jaw and his thumb brushes against the damp skin beneath his eye, the kiss shifts. It softens and slows down. Becomes something else entirely. It's perfect even if Lou’s lips are slightly chapped and taste of salt and sorrow. But beneath it, there’s something healing in the way he moves, something tender in the way he tilts his head just right, like he’s trying to pour every unspoken word into Harry’s mouth instead. And Harry lets him. He lets the weight of the past few hours fade into the background, replaced only by the steady press of Lou’s lips against his own.

When they finally part, Lou exhales shakily against Harry’s cheek, his forehead resting against his. “Okay. I’ll wait.”

“Good,” Harry nods, running his fingers through Lou’s messy hair, pressing one last, lingering kiss to his temple before he lets out a breathy chuckle. "God, we look awful." 

He nudges Lou with his shoulder and now Lou lets out a little laugh too, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. Without another word, Harry takes Lou’s hand and leads him inside the small bathroom that is barely big enough for both of them, but it doesn’t matter. The air is thick with something unspoken as they stand facing each other, the dim light casting soft shadows over their tired faces. Harry reaches for the hem of Lou’s shirt, his fingers brushing against the warm skin beneath. Lou doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move, just watches Harry with something raw in his gaze. Piece by piece, they strip the clothes they wore when everything changed. The clothes that carried the weight of Lou’s confession, of Harry’s fear, of all the questions that still hang between them. And as each layer falls to the floor, Harry feels the burden of those hours lift just a little more.

They step into the shower together, standing close as the water washes everything hurtful away. Neither of them speak because there are no words needed here. Instead, Harry picks up the shower gel, working up a lather between his hands before gently pressing them against Lou’s chest. He moves slowly, watching the way Lou’s breath stutters under his touch. He traces the contours of his collarbones, down his stomach, over his back, washing away the stress that clings to Lou’s skin like a second layer. Lou’s eyes flutter shut and Harry presses a soft kiss to his shoulder, just because he can.

After that Lou mirrors Harry's actions. His fingers tremble slightly as he glides them over Harry’s arms, his chest, down to his hands. He lifts one of Harry’s wrists, pressing a kiss to the delicate skin there before gently rinsing away the suds. Harry sways into the touch, letting out a shaky breath as Lou continues, as careful as if Harry might break apart beneath his hands. His Omega hums in satisfaction, soothed by the touch, by the scent of their mingling pheromones, by the quiet intimacy of the moment. His instincts scream for more, for warmth, for comfort, for closeness, but this is enough for now.

Suddenly Lou cups Harry’s face, tilting it up just slightly and presses a kiss to his lips. Another sweet kiss that feels like healing. Like something fragile being stitched back together. They stand there for a long time, wrapped up in each other, the steam curling around them, sealing them into this moment. A moment where nothing else exists - no past, no fears, no unanswered questions. Just them. Just this.

The moment they step out of the shower and after they dried themselves, their fingers remain entwined, neither willing to let go. Lou leads Harry towards his bed and the sheets are cool against their heated skin as they slide beneath them, finding comfort in the closeness they crave so desperately. Once again Harry feels the weight of exhaustion settle over him, but the warmth of Lou’s body beside him is like an anchor. He turns onto his side, facing Lou, their noses barely inches apart. Lou is watching him with something achingly tender in his expression, his blue eyes soft in the dim light of the room.

“You’re beautiful,” Lou whispers.

Harry lets out a small, breathy laugh, shaking his head. “I look like absolute shit,” he counters, fingers coming up to trace over the stubble along Lou’s jaw. “You, on the other hand, look handsome with those red-rimmed eyes. It lets your blue eyes pop and all that.”

Lou huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re a dork.”

Harry hums, his thumb brushing over Lou’s bottom lip, before he leans in, pressing a soft kiss there. “You might be right,” he murmurs against his mouth.

Lou sighs, a deep, content sound, his arms pulling Harry closer until they are chest to chest, legs tangled beneath the sheets. And then Lou noses along Harry’s jawline, inhaling deeply, pressing a chaste kiss there before burying his face in the crook of Harry’s neck. His scent blooms around them, warm and rich, the kind of scent that speaks of home, of safety. It makes Harry’s Omega purr and he instinctively turns his head to expose more of his throat.

“You smell like you again,” Lou mumbles against his skin. “I was so scared, sunflower. So fucking scared. Still am.”

Harry closes his eyes at the name, the affectionate lilt in Lou’s voice. His own arms tighten around Lou’s bare shoulders while his fingers drag over his back. 

“I know,” he whispers. “Me too.”

Slowly, he turns his head and presses his nose against Lou’s scent gland, breathing him in. The moment the scent fills his lungs, his Omega finally settles fully and he presses a lingering kiss there before nudging Lou’s head for more room. He scents along Lou’s throat, his jaw, his collarbone, marking him in the only way he can right now.

“Thank you for believing me, Omega,” Lou whispers.

Harry places a kiss against Lou’s pulse point. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Lou's fingers digging into Harry’s waist as if he needs to feel every inch of him to believe that he’s truly here.

“Sunflower,” Lou murmurs as if that one word holds everything he wants to say but can’t.

Harry smiles softly against his skin, letting his fingers thread through Lou’s damp hair. “It's not going to be easy to prove your innocence.” 

Lou nods and his grip on Harry doesn’t loosen. “But we'll try.”

“We will not only try. We will make it. I want to believe it. And otherwise… I'm an lovesick Omega on the run with a murderer.” Harry shifts impossibly closer, tucking his head under Lou's chin, their bodies slotting together perfectly. 

Lou laughs almost painfully. “Not the future I want for you.”

“My future is at your side. Either way.”

“Mine too.”

It could have been such a romantic moment if Harry's stomach wasn't growling right now. A drawn-out, almost shameful sound. He feels Lou move slightly, then stir before he turns to Harry, his brow furrowed in concern. 

"When was the last time you ate?" Lou asks sternly, his voice a little deeper than usual, his Alpha seemingly wide awake.

Harry shrugs his shoulders and pulls the blanket up to his chin. "Yesterday, on our date."

That's all Lou needs to know. He jumps out of bed, a whirlwind of bare skin and pure determination. Amusedly Harry props on his arm as he watches Lou move outside the bedroom. His gaze lingers unabashedly on Lou's bum as he walks and Harry can't help but giggle softly. Especially not when he hears quiet, unintelligible mumbling from the kitchen shortly afterwards - something about "silly Omega" and "starves himself to death, the idiot". 

Harry grins into the pillow till a little while later Lou returns, holding a small plate with a sandwich. He sits down next to Harry on the bed, gently pulls him up and holds the food to his lips. "Here. Eat. Now."

Harry's heart flutters as he bites into the bread and the flavours of fresh tomatoes, mozzarella and basil unfold on his tongue. While Harry sighs with pleasure, Lou watches him carefully, as if he's afraid Harry will vanish into thin air if he doesn't eat enough.

"You're enjoying feeding me far too much," Harry mumbles between bites.

Lou raises an eyebrow. "Because you're a stubborn Omega who obviously can't look after himself."

"Uh, going all Alpha on me. Turns me on," Harry winks, but then his expression turns thoughtful. They've decided to get to know each other better - so why not now?

"Okay, tell me something funny about yourself," he demands with his mouth full, continuing to chew as he waits for Lou's response.

Lou leans back, thinks for a moment, then shrugs his shoulders. "Hm. I couldn't swim for a long time."

Harry pauses in the middle of chewing. "What?"

"Mhm," Lou grimaces. "Just never learned it properly as a kid. I then taught myself here in Italy."

Harry laughs. "I would never have thought it, you swam really well on our date. Okay, one more thing."

"I have a weakness for carrots," Lou grins.

Harry pulls a sceptical face. "Carrots?"

"Yeah. I don't know, I just think they're delicious."

Harry chuckles and shakes his head. "I think that's the most random thing I've ever heard."

Lou shrugs, smiling playfully. "You asked."

Harry looks at him, still chewing, and his heart feels a tiny bit lighter. Maybe this is the way to go - one step at a time, one silly fact at a time.
He really wants to get to know Lou. All of him. And damn, it feels good.

Harry has almost finished his meal, only a small piece of bread remains on the plate, when he becomes quieter, more thoughtful. His gaze wanders to Lou, who gently strokes the back of Harry's hand with his thumb, a reassuring, unconscious gesture.

"Do you want to tell me about your mum?" Harry asks as he remembers what Lou had said last night - that she had only been dead for a moment when it all happened.

Lou flinches almost unnoticeable and for a moment Harry thinks he won't answer. But then he takes a deep breath and nods slowly.

"Leukaemia," he says quietly. "She fought it for a long time. She was a damn strong woman. I..." His voice breaks briefly, but he catches himself. "It was a hard time, trying to balance my studies and hospital visits somehow. And then..." He shakes his head, as if trying to shake off the memory.

Harry moves a little closer. "You were with her?"

Lou nods. "Yes. Right up to the last moment."

A heavy lump sits in Harry's throat. He can't even begin to imagine what that must have been like.

"I have siblings," Lou then adds, his voice suddenly even rougher. "Six younger ones. I... miss them."

Harry sees the pain in Lou's face, feels it in the way his fingers curl lightly into Harry's hand.

"You haven't seen them since, have you?"

Lou shakes his head. "No."

Harry's heart tightens. Lou hadn't just lost his home - he'd lost his family. His siblings. Everything that had ever meant anything to him. Neither of them says anything for a while. They just sit there, Harry's hand in Lou's and their fingers intertwined.

After a few minutes, Harry tries to steer the conversation in a different direction. "What did you actually study?"

Lou shrugs slightly, flashing a tiny smile. "Psychology."

"Oh, look at you,” Harry whistles, impressed.

"That's why I figured you out so quickly."

Harry narrows his eyes playfully. "Oh yeah and what exactly did you see through?"

Lou leans closer to him and taps on his chest, right over his heart. "That underneath the spoiled man hides a lonely child longing for love."

Harry freezes and his breath catches briefly in his throat. "You're probably right."

Silence falls over them, a thick, honest silence. Harry closes his eyes for a moment, leaning his forehead against Lou's shoulder and Lou rests his cheek against Harry's hair. They simply hold each other and that's all they need at this moment.

Chapter Text

The next morning the sun is pouring in through the thin curtains and it feels like it burns on Harry’s bare shoulders. He stirs slightly in his sleep when he feels a gentle kiss against his temple. Lou's lips are placed carefully against his skin, like he’s afraid to wake him fully.

“Sleep a bit longer,” Lou murmurs. “I’ve got to take care of the garden. Neglected it for two fucking days.”

Harry hums in response, still halfway in a dream and reaches out with one hand to pull Lou in for a lazy, half-conscious kiss. It’s slow and warm, no urgency, just the taste of morning breath and safety. 

“Don’t overdo it,” Harry mumbles, pressing his face deeper into the pillow again. 

Lou chuckles quietly, strokes a hand through his curls once and then Harry hears the faint shuffle of him getting dressed, a door opening and eventually the front door clicking shut as Lou heads out. The house falls quiet again, save for the distant buzz of insects and Lou humming a song outside. For a while, Harry drifts in and out of light sleep, his body still aching slightly from the emotional toll of the last days. But it’s too bloody hot. He grumbles under his breath, kicking off the layers of blankets and pillows that had felt like comfort last night but now feel like a furnace. 

“What the hell kind of heatwave is this?” he mutters, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand and squinting toward the window. 

The sunlight looks almost aggressive now, the kind that makes your skin sweat just from looking at it. With a groan, he sits up, hair wild and sticking to his forehead and neck, before he takes a sip of the water Lou had left him the night before and sighs.

Right. If he’s awake, he might as well do something useful. He grabs his phone, unlocks it and opens the browser, fingers tapping aimlessly for a moment. Time to find a private investigator. But not just any, it has to be the best. He needs someone who can dig, someone with experience, someone who won’t ask too many questions or at least will take Harry’s word for things without needing too much of a backstory.

But where the hell does one even find a good private investigator without stumbling into dodgy territory? Does he really want to use Google? Or read in some forums? That doesn’t exactly scream reliable.

His thumb hovers over the call button on his mum’s contact. She knows everyone and has connections in every postcode from here to God knows where. She could probably get him a name without even blinking. He hesitates though, because what would he even tell her? That he’s trying to help a supposed murderer who is now their gardener with whom he is in love and Harry needs to prove he didn’t kill someone?

“Might need a bit more subtlety,” Harry mutters to himself.

His finger slides down to his dad’s number instead. He wouldn’t ask as many questions. Probably wouldn’t care about the moral side of it either, just the logistics. He might even be impressed by Harry being this resourceful for once.

But it doesn't feel right and so he throws the phone on the mattress beside him and lets out a frustrated breath. “There’s got to be another way.”

His mind starts to work, slowly but surely. Maybe he could find a legal contact under a different name or check if any of the family’s old lawyers might know someone… someone discreet. Someone competent. Because if he’s going to do this, if he’s going to help Lou, he can’t afford mistakes. 

The moment the idea crosses Harry’s mind, he groans internally. He hates it. Absolutely loathes the thought of using this particular connection. But it’s a name that sticks.

Ryan. Ryan bloody Caldwell.

Some overly charming, self-confident law student Harry had ended up in bed with more than once a couple years back. The type who fell far too fast, worshipped Harry like he was some unattainable prize and left long, cringey voice notes that Harry had never really listened to in full. But he’d been clever. Ambitious. And already did work with firms while he studied that handled high-profile, off-the-books cases. If anyone might know a good private investigator and be desperate enough to help, it would be Ryan.

With a resigned sigh, Harry scrolls through his contacts until he finds the number and taps the call button. It doesn’t even ring twice.

“Harry?” The voice on the other end is all honey and surprise. “God, I never thought I’d see your name pop up again. You still have my number?”

Harry leans back against the headboard and drops his voice into the soft, velvety Omega tone that he knows will attract attention. “Of course I do, darling. You were rather... unforgettable.”

Ryan laughs, just a little too eager. “You flatter me. What’s the occasion? Missed me?”

Harry rolls his eyes so hard it hurts and plucks at a loose thread on the duvet. “Mhm, maybe a bit. You know how I get when I’m bored. Thought I’d see how my favourite almost-lawyer is doing.”

“I’m a full lawyer now, actually,” Ryan replies proudly. “Started at Canyon Moon Law last autumn. You’d be impressed. I’ve got an office now. Real art on the walls and everything. You should come see it sometime.”

Harry groans inwardly but lets his voice stay light and teasing. “You always were so grown-up.”

He’s just about to steer the conversation toward business when the bedroom door creaks open and Lou steps in, sweaty and shirtless, muttering something about his cap which is nowhere in sight.

"I remember you already liked how grown-up I was on certain parts of my body back then," Ryan answers seductively.

Harry now can't help but roll his eyes so hard that it hurts. "Oh yeah, you're a really good-looking, big Alpha. I remember well how you felt.”

Harry looks up just as Lou’s eyes land on him and the phone and his whole expression twists into something halfway between confused and pissed. His gaze narrows as he crosses his arms tight over his chest, scent going from warm and woodsy to something far more sour in a matter of seconds.
Harry holds up a hand to signal Lou to wait, mouthing a silent “please don’t” while Ryan continues talking on the other end.

“So tell me, gorgeous... have you finally decided to let me take you out again? Candlelight, wine, that smug little smile of yours across the table... I’ve dreamt about it.”

Harry smirks, because he needs to perform for his own sake to endure this. Even if a storm is brewing just a few feet from the bed. 

“Tempting,” he drawls, flicking his gaze toward Lou, “but I actually need a favour.”

Ryan hums. “Anything. You know that.”

“I’m looking for a private investigator. Discreet. Someone who knows how to handle delicate cases... quietly.”

There’s a pause, then a laugh. “Always something thrilling with you. Why do I get the feeling this isn’t just about finding your lost jewellery?”

Harry leans into the drama. “You know me, always getting myself into a mess. But seriously… Can you help or not?”

“Only if you promise me dinner. One night. Let me show you what you’ve been missing.”

Harry winces, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. He doesn’t want to say yes but he needs this. He flicks his eyes to Lou again, who looks like he’s about two seconds from exploding and Harry almost backs out. Almost.

But instead, he sighs and says, “Alright. Dinner. Send me the contact and I’ll text you.”

“Done. I’ll send it in five. And Harry... I really have missed you.”

Harry lets out a non-committal hum and hangs up before he has to respond. And with that the room goes quiet. He sets the phone down slowly and lifts his eyes to Lou, whose expression hasn’t softened in the slightest and his scent is tense, biting.

Brilliant.

"Who was that?"

Lou’s voice is sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. It makes Harry flinch, just slightly, but enough that Lou notices. Harry hates that. Hates that his body betrays him so easily, that his Omega instincts react before his rational mind even has a chance to catch up.

He grips the duvet tighter, drawing his knees up, chest feeling unreasonably tight. "You don’t have to use that tone," he mutters, avoiding Lou’s gaze.

Lou doesn’t back down. "Then answer the question, Harry."

A frustrated breath escapes him. His skin feels too hot, his pulse thudding in his ears, but he pushes through it. 

"It was Ryan Caldwell," Harry says, voice uneven, emotion creeping in against his will. "A lawyer. Someone I slept with a few times ages ago. Who had and seemingly still has a pathetic little crush on me, so I figured I use it to get what we need."

Lou’s jaw tenses. "And what exactly is that?"

"A private investigator, Lou!" Harry’s voice wavers between exasperation and desperation. He pushes his hair back and breathes deeply in. "I don't trust the police and I want you free. We need someone who actually knows what they’re doing, who can find out who put all that on you. Ryan knows people. He’s useful."

Lou stares at him, blue eyes dark, body thrumming with something that feels a little too much like possessiveness.

"And what does he want in return?" Lou asks, dangerously low.

Harry shifts under his gaze, uncomfortable. "Nothing."

Lou raises an eyebrow and Harry groans. "Alright, fine. He asked for dinner."

Lou’s entire scent shifts, going from tense to something darker, thicker. "And you did agree?"

"It’s not like I meant it!" Harry snaps, throwing his hands up. "I just need the damn contact! Do you really think I’d actually go?"

Something flickers in Lou’s eyes. The next second, he’s crossing the space between them, gripping Harry’s jaw -.not too hard, not enough to hurt, but enough to make Harry’s breath stutter.

"You won’t," Lou growls and then his mouth is on Harry’s.

The kiss is rough, almost too much, but Harry sighs into it anyway, fingers curling into Lou’s bare shoulders. Their scents tangle, something heady and overwhelming, and Harry’s whole body feels like it’s burning from the inside out.

When Lou finally pulls back, he presses their foreheads together, breath unsteady. 

"You’re mine," he murmurs roughly. "Not his."

Harry exhales shakily. "Obviously."

Lou’s lips brush against his once more, softer this time, before he finally pulls away. His scent is still different, more intense than usual, and something in Harry aches at the loss of his warmth.

"I’m so fucking hot," Harry grumbles, pushing the damp hair off his forehead. "Why is it so damn warm?"

Lou groans, standing up and running a hand through his own sweat-dampened hair. "It’s worse outside. Feels like the sun is mocking me." He sighs, grabbing his cap and sunglasses from the nightstand. "I need to finish the garden before it gets worse. Stay inside, yeah?"

Harry nods absentmindedly, still feeling weirdly off as he watches Lou leave. His whole body is on edge, skin prickling, something deep inside him curling tight. Harry groans, dragging a hand through his hair as he fans himself uselessly with an old magazine he grabs from Lou’s nightstand. Got the air in the room even thicker and suffocating in the last second?

Just as he contemplates dunking his head in ice water, his phone vibrates on the mattress with the promised message from Ryan.

Liam Payne. Best in the business. Here’s his number. Can't wait to see you again!

Harry doesn’t hesitate and dials immediately, pressing the phone to his ear, trying to steady his breath before the call connects.

After three rings, a deep, measured voice answers. "Payne Investigations."

"Hello Mr Payne," Harry says smoothly, slipping effortlessly into the role he’s perfected over the years of the spoiled, confident, untouchable Omega who gets exactly what he wants. "My name is Harry Styles. I was given your contact by a mutual acquaintance and I require your services."

There’s a slight pause. "Alright. What kind of case are we talking about?"

"A murder," Harry says plainly.

Another pause. "Go on."

Harry tilts his head, choosing his words carefully. "It’s a case from four years ago. Businessman Harrington got stabbed in his home."

Payne hums. "I remember. Big case and high profile. Suspect’s still on the run, if I’m not mistaken."

"Correct." Harry crosses his legs, keeping his tone light but firm. "I have reason to believe the case wasn’t handled as thoroughly as it should have been. And I have particular interest in the anonymous witness who supposedly identified the suspect."

Payne exhales slowly. "Particular interest, huh?"

"Yes." Harry taps his nails against his thigh, eyes narrowing. "I want to know who this person is. How credible their statement was. Any connection they might have had to the victim, the suspect or the authorities involved. I need everything you can find on them."

There’s a shuffle on the other end of the line, as if Payne is sitting back in his chair. "That’s a tall order. Police records won’t exactly hand me a name on a silver platter."

Harry smiles, even though Payne can’t see it. "That is why I’m calling you, isn’t it?"

Payne chuckles. "Fair enough. I assume discretion is important?"

"Immensely." Harry leans back, shifting against the pillows. "This is strictly off the record. No reports, no official statements. You find the information, you bring it to me. That’s it."

Payne seems to consider that. "This’ll take time."

"I don’t care how long it takes." Harry’s voice doesn’t waver. "I want results."

There’s a beat of silence before Payne finally says, "And I assume money isn’t an issue."

Harry scoffs. "You could buy a new office by the time we’re done, Mr Payne. Just do the job."

Payne hums, apparently satisfied. "Alright, Mr Styles. You’ve got yourself a deal. I’ll start digging. Give me a few days and I’ll update you when I have something."

"Perfect." Harry exhales, feeling a tiny weight lift off his chest. "I look forward to hearing from you."

He ends the call, dropping the phone beside him with a sigh. One step closer. But Harry can't quite enjoy the happiness over the progress because by now he feels like he’s melting. The heat is relentless, pressing down on him like a thick, suffocating blanket. His skin is damp with sweat, his curls are just sticking everywhere and every breath feels too warm.

"Fuck Tuscany," he mutters.

He needs the pool. Now.

Without a second thought, he heads outside for the villa. On his way through the garden he spots Lou with his muscles flexing as he wipes sweat from his forehead. The sight would normally be distracting, but Harry is so unbearably hot that all he can focus on is getting into the water. Still, he can’t resist and stops just long enough to steal a quick kiss, pressing his lips against Lou’s, their mouths just barely brushing. 

"Going to change for a swim," he murmurs against Lou’s lips before pulling away.

Lou blinks at him, surprised, but before he can say anything, Harry is already slipping into the villa. Inside, he makes a beeline for his room, tearing off his clothes in a hurry. Everything feels too much, too tight, too heavy. He grabs the first black speedos he can find and next, he grabs his coconut-scented sunscreen, smoothing it over his skin. The cream leaves his skin glistening, catching the light in a way that makes him look effortlessly sunkissed.

His curls are an absolute mess, so he pulls them into a loose bun, securing them with a silk bandana that perfectly matches his swimwear. He checks himself in the mirror once and nods at himself satisfied before grabbing his heart-shaped sunglasses and heads back outside.

Harry has barely stepped onto the patio when the workers arrive and greet him warmly. Harry smiles as he waves back. The older Alpha from yesterday who gave him a hug, looks kindly at him and reaches out to squeeze his arm in the same fatherly way as before.

And that’s when everything shifts. Harry hears something heavy clatter against the ground and has barely time to react before Lou storms towards him, his entire body bristling with fury while the workers chuckle to each other and hurry inside.

Harry freezes. "Lou?"

"What the fuck do you think you’re doing?" Lou’s voice is low, dangerous, his eyes locked onto Harry.

Harry blinks. "What?"

Lou gestures furiously at him. "Walking around like this," he seethes, "letting him put his hands on you?"

Harry gapes at him, utterly baffled. "He… Oh my god, Lou, he literally just touched my arm."

"You think that’s fucking fine?!" Lou growls. "You think I want other Alphas putting their hands on you? Looking at you?"

Harry stares at him, his own temper flaring. "You’re being ridiculous!"

"No," Lou snaps, stepping even closer, his scent thick with aggression. "You’re dressing like this around them? From now on, you cover up when they’re here."

Harry scoffs, crossing his arms. "Excuse me?"

Lou’s eyes darken. "You’re mine, princess."

Harry’s stomach twists at the possessiveness in his voice, at the raw jealousy radiating off him. It should probably piss him off more, but instead, his body reacts and heat curls low in his belly. 

"I don’t see a mating mark, you absolute arse."

Lou lets out a dangerous growl. "Harry…"

Harry lifts his chin defiantly. "What? It’s true. What the fuck is wrong with you today?"

Lou’s breathing is ragged, his fists clenched at his sides. He looks like he’s seconds away from grabbing Harry, from doing something utterly reckless. And for some reason, Harry wants him to.

“You are my fucking Omega! Mine! That's fucking wrong with me!”

Harry’s about to throw another sharp retort when he realises that suddenly slick runs down between his thighs. His breath stutters and Lou goes still. And then his expression changes. His eyes darken even more, his jaw tightening, and then he’s there, right in front of Harry, so close that Harry barely has time to react before Lou’s hands are on him. Firm and burning through his sun-warmed skin as he grabs Harry’s waist, pulls him in.

"Fuck," Lou mutters, inhaling deeply, his nose skimming along the curve of Harry’s neck while his hands wander to his ass, squeezing it hard. "You smell... Jesus, Harry."

Harry shudders, his fingers clenching at Lou’s bare shoulders. "It’s just…" He doesn’t even know what to say.

"You're wet… mhm, leaking slick. For me. Such a good Omega" 

Lou’s voice is lower now, rougher. He noses into the sensitive spot where Harry’s neck meets his shoulder, inhaling again like he can’t help himself. His fingers press into Harry’s ass, dragging him just a fraction closer, enough for Harry to feel how hard Lou is against him.

"We need to cool down," Lou murmurs, lips brushing over Harry’s pulse point, his breath sending shivers down Harry’s spine. "You go and rest by the pool, alright? Relax. Because when I’m done with the garden…" He presses a slow, open-mouthed kiss to Harry’s throat, making his knees nearly buckle. "I’m going to take care of you. For hours. Gonna remind you exactly who you belong to."

Harry’s breath is unsteady, his fingers digging into Lou’s skin. "You’re so fucking annoying," he whispers, but there’s no bite to it.

Lou smirks against his skin, pressing one last kiss to his jaw before stepping back, leaving Harry flushed, unsteady and longing for more.

"Go cool off, sunflower," Lou says smugly, before turning back to his work.

Harry stares after him, his whole body thrumming and his mind a complete mess.

Oh, he’s so fucked.

And he doesn’t even think about disobeying. His body is wired too tightly, his Omega wound up in a way that makes resistance impossible. So he does what the Alpha told him to do - he goes to the pool, slipping into the cool water with a sigh, letting the chill soak into his overheated skin. It feels good, at first. Refreshing. A moment of clarity.

But then there's Lou’s scent. It drifts over on the warm breeze, rich and spicy, seeping into Harry’s lungs like it’s hunting him down. His strokes falter, his breath catches and suddenly he’s sinking lower than he meant to. His head dips beneath the surface before he forces himself up again, gasping. What the fuck is happening to him? His limbs feel shaky as he hauls himself out of the pool, water dripping from his skin as he collapses onto a sun lounger. His chest is rising and falling too fast and his hands tremble as he drags them over his face.

He tells himself it’s just the warmth. Just exhaustion. Just… fuck. Because then there’s that feeling again. The slickness between his thighs. The deep, needy ache low in his belly. His whole body feels like it’s buzzing, desperate for Lou between his legs. He shifts on the lounger, trying to get comfortable, but it’s impossible. His skin is too hot. His body is too tense. He needs…

Oh.

The realisation slams into him like a freight train. This feels like the hours before a heat. But that makes no sense. His cycle is predictable, always months apart. This isn’t supposed to happen now. But then he remembers what Stevie told him years ago as he presented as an Omega.

"Extreme emotions can trigger a heat, you know. If an Omega is thrown into a strong enough emotional state, their body might respond instinctively. It’s rare, but it happens. Same goes for Alphas."

Harry can’t stay here on the outside. Not like this. Not when slick is leaking out of his ass, leaving him feeling exposed and vulnerable by the poolside. Not when the heat in his belly is rising with every second, making it impossible to think about anything except comfort and safety.

A nest. He needs a nest. And not just anywhere. Harry doesn’t even realise he’s moving until he’s already walking, or more like stumbling, towards Lou. His Omega takes over, pushing him forward, straight into Lou’s warmth, straight into the scent that makes his head spin. His hands clutch at Lou’s arms as he presses himself against him, nuzzling into his neck, letting out a soft whimper.

“I think… I think I’m going into heat,” he breathes, his voice barely above a whisper. “God, you smell so good.”

Lou stiffens against him.

“Fuck.”

Harry blinks up at him, feels more dazed by the second and sees Lou’s jaw clench tight, his nostrils flaring. His eyes look aroused, his fingers twitching where they’re hovering near Harry’s waist.

“I…” Lou swallows. “I think I’m going into a rut. I wondered why I am so irritated… but it makes sense now.”

It takes a second for the words to settle in Harry’s mind. His body reacts before his brain does and a deep, needy shiver rolls through him. Of course. Of course Lou’s been acting so possessive, so aggressive. His Alpha instincts are flaring up just as much as Harry’s Omega ones.

And fuck, it should be terrifying.

But it’s not.

It’s the opposite. It’s grounding. It’s right.

Harry clings to him harder, his breath hitching. “Can I… can I nest in your house?” he asks shyly. “Will you… will you stay with me? We can, uh, we can go through it together.”

But Lou isn’t answering. He’s still sniffing along Harry’s throat, his breath coming faster, his grip tightening on Harry’s hips.

And suddenly, distress claws its way up Harry’s throat. He needs to hear Lou say yes. He needs confirmation. Reassurance. He needs to know he’s not alone in this, that Lou wants this just as much as he does. But Lou is still silently sniffling and Harry’s emotions are too high-strung, too fragile. A sob slips out before he can stop it and Lou’s reaction is immediate. His hands tighten around Harry’s waist as he pulls back just enough to meet his gaze, his own eyes wide with alarm. 

“Hey,” Lou soothes. “No, no, don’t… don’t do that. I want this. Of course I want this. I just… I didn’t expect-” He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I should’ve said yes the moment you asked. I'm sorry Omega, but you smell too good.”

Harry hiccups, still trembling against him and Lou curses under his breath before he lifts him. Just picks him up like Harry weighs nothing, cradling him against his chest.

“No one gets to see you like this,” Lou mutters as he starts carrying Harry towards the house. “No one but me.”

And fuck, that shouldn’t send a thrill down Harry’s spine but it does. The moment the front door slams shut behind them, they collide. Lips crash together, hands grasping, pulling, clawing at each other like they can’t get close enough. Harry barely knows where he ends and where Lou begins, only that he needs more, needs to feel him, needs to drown in his scent, his heat, all of him.

Lou groans against his mouth, pressing Harry back against the nearest wall, his hands trembling where they cradle Harry’s face. 

“Fuck,” he rasps, breaking the kiss just enough to meet Harry’s eyes. His pupils are blown wide, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “I don’t… I don’t know if I can control myself. Harry, I could hurt you.”

Harry shakes his head instantly, gripping at Lou’s shoulders. “No,” he breathes. “You won’t.”

Lou’s eyes squeeze shut, his jaw clenching as he exhales sharply through his nose. “I could. When I’m in rut, I’m not myself.” His hands tighten around Harry’s hips. “I don’t ever want to hurt you.”

Harry’s heart clenches, but frustration claws its way through his chest. He doesn’t understand. His Omega is screaming at him that Lou can't leave him. Harry won't let him go. He just can't be alone.

“You think I can go through this without you?” Harry hisses, pushing against Lou’s chest. His voice cracks with emotion. “You think I want that?” He shakes his head, eyes stinging. “I need you. I need you, Alpha.”

Lou’s breath stutters and his grip tightens. “But what if we accidentally mate when we're under?”

“I want to be your mate,” Harry’s voice is barely above a whisper now, but it carries all his feelings, settling between them heavy and unchangeable. His fingers twist into Lou’s shorts. “I know it’s fast. But I don’t care.”

A soft sound escapes Lou’s throat, something raw, something vulnerable. His hands lift to cradle Harry’s face, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones.

“I want that too. Fuck, I really do,” Lou murmurs roughly. “Because… I know what it feels like to lose time. To not be able to do what you want. To not be able to feel what you feel.” His forehead presses against Harry’s, their noses brushing. “I lost years of my life already, sunflower. I don’t want to wait for anything anymore.”

Harry swallows hard and he presses himself more into Lou. 

“When you love,” Lou whispers, “there’s nothing to deal with. You just… you love.”

And that’s it, isn’t it?

Harry’s whole life changed when he met Lou. His new life started with him. And Lou was the one who nurtured it, who cared for it, who watered the seed so that it became something new, something beautiful. A sunflower. Without Lou, he never would have grown. Without Lou, Harry never would have become a sunflower.

“Let's bond before we go under. I… I want to remember it. Please,” Harry begs desperately.

Lou nods lovingly. “That's a wonderful idea, Omega.”

Harry's eyes burn as he breathes in shakily. “I have to… ” He swallows, leaning further into Lou’s warmth. “I have to nest.”

Lou nods, his hands still cradling Harry’s face, like he can’t bear to let go of him just yet. 

“I’ll get everything ready,” Lou says. “Food. Water. Everything we need.”

“Thank you,” Harry smiles as the next wave of heat crushes through his body. 

“We won't regret this, right?”

“Not for a second!” Harry reassures before he steps out of Lou's embrace and walks hurriedly to the bedroom, the need to nest now almost overwhelming.

They may be moving fast but nothing ever felt more right. 

Chapter Text

Harry is a mess.

Sweat clings to his temples, dampens the curls escaping his messy bun and it feels like he’s been stuck in some kind of nesting loop for hours. His skin itches, his mood swings by the minute and he’s surrounded by blankets and pillows and clothes - things that smell like Lou, things that don’t smell enough like Lou, things that get ripped off the bed again in pure frustration. His Omega is howling beneath the surface, unsettled and needy and entirely out of patience.

He huffs, sitting back on his heels in the middle of the bed, chest heaving slightly. His speedos cling uncomfortably to his skin and his hands are shaking, the hormonal pull messing with every rational part of his brain. But something is gnawing at him more urgently than the heat crawling beneath his skin.

“The workers,” he mutters to himself. “Shit. They’re expecting instructions… What if they just wait around for the next few days? What if they mess up the villa? What if they think I’m being kidnapped or something else?"

Lou appears in the doorway just as Harry begins to spiral and his eyes narrow the second he takes in Harry’s flushed face and frantic movements.

“What’s wrong?” Lou asks, stepping further in. His voice is so different - rougher, more clipped. His scent carries even more a distinct charge, like if his Alpha is just simmering beneath the surface and Harry’s Omega responds instantly, making his pupils dilate and pulse jump.

“I, uh, I need to tell the workers what to do,” Harry rushes out, dragging a hand through his hair. “I can’t have them wandering around without direction. I need to go to them before we can let ourselves go.”

The second the words are out of his mouth, Lou’s expression becomes angry. His jaw tightens, his hands curl slightly at his sides and that possessive scent deepens.

“Absolutely not,” Lou growls loudly. “You’re not stepping foot outside like this. You’re in heat, Harry. You’re… fuck, you smell like it already. That’s my scent to smell, not theirs!” 

Harry stares at him with his lower lip trembling, the sting in Lou’s tone cutting through him sharper than it would be otherwise. Stupid hormones. He feels the emotion rising before he can stop it and tears welling up in his eyes. “Don’t talk to me like that, I'm sensitive,” he whispers shakingly. “I didn’t mean to make you angry.”

Lou’s entire posture softens the second he sees the change in Harry. He moves fast, crossing the room in a few steps and sinking to the edge of the bed, reaching out with careful hands.

“Shit… my love, no. I didn’t mean to snap. I just… fuck, I hate this rut shit. Makes me sharp when I don’t want to be. I’m sorry,” Lou murmurs, his hand stroking softly over Harry’s. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Harry nods and sniffs, swallowing thickly. Lou’s scent so near, even unsettled like this, calms his nerves almost instantly.

“I’ll go tell them,” Lou continues, brushing his knuckles softly along Harry’s cheek. “You stay here, yeah? You’re too hot to be running around in the sun and I won’t have them looking at you when you are in this state. They’ll do what I tell them.”

“Tell them to work on the hallway floors next,” Harry says quietly. “That’s what’s next on the list.”

Lou nods. “Consider it done.”

With a final kiss to Harry’s forehead, he disappears back out the door. And the second he’s gone, Harry is already pulling at his speedos with shaking fingers, peeling them down his thighs and tossing them away with a groan of frustration. The fabric sticking to his overheated skin is unbearable now… everything is. He doesn’t want anything between him and the soft, worn cotton and scent-soaked linens of the nest he’s built.

Sprawling back down with a sigh, Harry starfishes across the pile of blankets, limbs loose and breathing shallow. It's even worse now. Lou’s scent lingers in the sheets, but it’s not enough and the heat under his skin roars louder, need curling tighter and tighter in his belly.

And then it happens again. Slick gushes out, sudden and warm and absolutely impossible to ignore.

Harry whimpers and his Omega is restless. Hungry. Desperate. His body aches for touch, for pressure, for the grounding presence of his Alpha.

“Lou,” he whispers, barely more than a plea. His hands fist in the sheets. “Alpha, come back!”

Its like Lou heard it and the next minute the front door slams shut, quick and sharp like someone’s racing against time.  And then he hears Lou’s footsteps. Fast and heavy ones on the wooden floors, the sound of every curtain in the house being yanked closed, one after the other and the unmistakable thud of the deadbolt locking. All while he hears Lou muttering under his breath, just barely audible over Harry’s own erratic heartbeat.

“No one’s gonna see him. No one’s bloody allowed to see him. Mine. My Omega.”

Harry’s back arches off the bed as he shifts restlessly in the middle of the nest. The thick heat under his skin is only building, like pressure behind a dam. He can barely breathe without Lou by his side.

“Lou,” Harry whimpers from the bed. His hands scratch weakly at the sheets around him, eyes glassy and wide, his Omega seeking and needing. “Lou, please… Alpha, I need you!”

“I know, baby, I know,” Lou says the moment he finally steps into the bedroom. 

He looks wild. His hair is tousled, cheeks flushed, eyes far too dark for this time of day. But everything in him, his scent, his voice, the way he watches Harry like he’s the most precious, most fragile thing tells Harry one thing - he’s safe now.

Lou doesn’t even make it two steps into the room before Harry moves. He practically launches from the nest, his body all shaky limbs and slick thighs and desperate moans. He stumbles straight into Lou’s arms, winding himself around him, fingers curling into the hem of Lou’s shorts as he presses himself in as close as physically possible. The next second he buries his nose in Lou’s neck, inhaling in a shaking breath, chest stuttering at the hit of the scent. It’s grounding and electric all at once. Spice and summer warmth. Home.

“Oh my god,” Harry chokes out, clinging to him like he would otherwise vanish. “You smell so good. You smell… fuck, I couldn’t breathe without it!” His lips press against Lou’s skin, along the curve of his throat and his collarbone. “Don’t leave again. Please. You can’t.”

“Shh, I’ve got you, sunflower,” Lou’s replies softly, so gentle and reassuring. He cups the back of Harry’s head, letting him nuzzle and cling. “I’m here. You’re alright now.”

Harry practically melts against him, arms wrapping around Lou’s waist instinctively, his entire body trying to soak Lou up like he’s the last drop of water in a desert.

“I couldn’t think,” Harry whispers. “I am so hot and it doesn't stop and the slick… Lou, I’m leaking, it’s everywhere.”

“I know,” Lou murmurs, brushing a kiss into Harry’s hair. “I smelled it. The second I stepped inside, I could smell how much you need me.”

“You were gone too long,” Harry says, pouting against his jaw. “I need your scent in the nest. I need you.”

“I had to make sure no one could see in, alright?” Lou strokes his back, slowly walking them back toward the bed. “No one gets to see you like this, baby. You’re only mine.”

That little growl at the end makes Harry shiver and his Omega purrs at the protectiveness, at the fierce ownership in Lou’s voice. He feels safe, held and wanted.

Lou leads him gently to the bed and sets him down in the centre of the nest, eyes flicking down to take in the flushed state of Harry’s body, the tremble in his thighs, the sweat on his skin and his already hard cock. He brushes his fingers through Harry’s curls and leans down to kiss his temple.

“Rest for a minute,” he murmurs. “I’ll make sure you’re fed and hydrated… just everything. Then I’m not leaving you again. Not until it’s over.”

Harry nods, fingers still fisted in Lou’s pants, refusing to let go. 

“Promise?”

Lou smiles against his skin. “Promise. You’re not doing this alone, Omega. I’ve got you.”

And finally, Harry breathes again.
Falling fully into his nest with his  back resting against the pillows that smell so much like Lou that it almost makes his head spin. Harry can feel his cheeks getting more flushed, skin glowing and slightly damp, and there's an ache in his bones now that isn’t just physical. His body has needs, sure - but it’s his heart, too. His heart is screaming for Lou.

Coming back again, Lou sits beside him in the nest and yeah, that's better. Lou starts to spoon fruit and little bits of bread into Harry’s mouth like it’s the most important job in the world. There’s a bottle of cold water in his other hand, which he presses to Harry’s lips every now and then with a gentle “Drink, love. Just a bit more.” 

And Harry does, because Lou asks him to. Because it’s his Alpha’s voice and his Alpha’s hands and his Alpha’s care.

Even if he’s not really hungry. Just as he’s not thirsty. He’s just burning up with need and desire.

“I don’t want anymore fruit,” Harry mutters eventually, eyes locked on Lou’s face. “I want you.”

Lou doesn’t even pause, just brushes his fingers over Harry’s flushed cheek and gives him a patient look. “You will have me, princess. But you need to eat first. Drink. I won’t have you fainting halfway through just because your blood sugar is on the floor. You should know better than me that the heat will put a strain on your body.”

Harry groans but opens his mouth when Lou offers another spoonful. It’s maddening, because the truth is, the only thing he wants in his mouth right now is preferably Lou's dick. But the care in his Alpha’s expression softens something sharp in him and he lets it happen. Lets himself be looked after. Just for a bit longer.

And then Lou stands. Finally. He pulls the joggers and his briefs down his legs and Harry’s heart kicks up like it’s trying to break out of his chest. Every inch of skin that’s revealed feels like a promise, like gravity finally realigning itself. Lou is everything. Strong and sharp and kind and so fucking beautiful it hurts.

Lou climbs into the nest slowly, like he knows the power he holds just by being there. Harry’s eyes flick down and damn, Lou is so hard, the scent of his rut thick and nearly dizzying in the air between them. They meet in the middle of the nest like magnets. Mouths crash, messy and hot, teeth scraping and lips parting with little sighs and groans. It’s probably Harry's neediest and hungriest kiss ever. 

“I’m… fuck, Lou… I’m not gonna be able to think soon,” Harry gasps against his lips, gripping his shoulders tight. “I can feel it coming on. It’s like... breathing through fog.”

“I know,” Lou murmurs, kissing down his jaw. “Me too. My whole body’s on fire.”

“We need to do it,” Harry says, eyes wide. “We need to... to bond. Before we both fall too deep. Now!”

Lou pulls back just enough to look at him, one hand cupping the side of Harry’s neck, thumb stroking his jaw.

“Are you really sure?” he asks quietly. “We’re rushing. It’s only been days, Harry.”

“I know,” Harry whispers. “But it doesn’t feel rushed. Not to me.”

Lou is quiet for a beat. “It doesn’t to me either.”

They just look at each other for a moment, breathing in the same air with their hearts racing. Everything unsaid floats in the space between them, like grains of dust in the sunlight.

“I need to hear it,” Harry says suddenly. “I need to know you love me. It was a stupid idea to wait. I need to hear it now. Not just when your name is cleared or we have our romantic date. Now. Before.”

Lou blinks at him, and something breaks open in his face. He leans forward, pressing their foreheads together.

“I love you,” he says simply. “I fucking love you, Harry Styles. You’re ridiculous and spoiled and stubborn, and you drive me insane… but you’re kind. And brave. And more real than anything I’ve felt in years. You’re... home.”

Harry swallows, breath catching, eyes filling with tears that come from somewhere deep inside. “I love you too,” he whispers, clutching at him. “You’re everything. You watered me. You made me bloom. Before you, I was just... just roots and dirt.”

Lou kisses him again, slow this time. Reverent. And then, with a shaky breath, he murmurs against his lips, “And now let me make you mine.”

And Harry nods - no hesitation, no fear. Only love.

But the moment is broken as Harry’s skin prickles and his cock throbs. He barely manages to hold back a moan as his Omega instincts pull him deeper into the haze of heat. He’s done waiting. Lou grunts in surprise when Harry pushes him down onto the mattress and leans over him. Harry isn’t naive - he knows Lou is stronger - but that doesn't stop him from reaching for what he needs.

Lou just clicks his tongue and rolls Harry back onto his back, gripping his wrists and pinning them above his head. His knees press against Harry’s hips, legs clamped over his to keep him in place, which is more than just hot - it’s intoxicating. Harry’s body stills entirely as Lou’s face moves closer. Both of them are panting already and Harry is dimly aware that he’s not the only one trembling. Lou’s eyes are so dark they seem to swallow the light, brimming with dominance, pure Alpha. In truth, Lou mirrors his own hunger - raw, urgent and wild. Harry needs him, like a thirst that can’t be ignored any longer. So, he does the only thing that makes sense and tilts his head, baring his neck to Lou, gazing up at him through half-lidded eyes. He wants to be claimed - truly, completely.

A moan slips from Lou as he buries his face in Harry’s neck, his teeth scraping the sensitive skin there. This time, Harry can’t hold back and groans, the sting of Lou’s bite melting into a pleasure that settles low in his belly. Even if it was only teasing for what's to come. Harry's hips buck against Lou, desperate for friction, his cock pulsing with need. Maybe he’s broken. Maybe he just doesn’t care anymore. There’s no shame left - only surrender. And the knowledge that he belongs to Lou.

“Fuck, princess, your scent makes my head spin,” Lou growls, his voice thick with want.

Harry can relate and it makes his cock leak. He writhes beneath Lou, soft whimpers escaping as his body cries out for touch, for Lou’s hands, for his mouth, his cock. Anything. Everything.

“Lou, please,” Harry breathes, not recognising his own voice through the haze of desire.

Lou’s lips crash down on his like a promise. Demanding. Branding. He takes and Harry gives in to the frenzy of it. Lou lets go of Harry’s wrists only to grip his hair, pulling him in deeper, dragging a groan from his throat. Freed, Harry’s hands move with purpose, grasping Lou’s shoulders, learning his body like scripture.

It’s like being drugged. All Harry can feel is Lou - his weight, his warmth, the hard press of his cock against him. When they finally break the kiss, Harry looks up through his lashes, neck still tilted in silent invitation, skin flushed and burning. Lou’s gaze roams over him, eyes dark and smouldering, leaving heat wherever they pass. Licking his lips, Harry takes in the golden expanse of Lou’s chest with the same reverence, eyes meeting him in quiet desperation.

“Please, Alpha,” Harry moans, nearly undone. He’s never been more ready, never wanted anything more. His lips part, eyes pleading.

Touch me. Kiss me. Fuck me. 

Harry wants it all and more.

“Fuck,” Lou growls, but it's drowned out by Harry’s sharp cry of pleasure as Lou’s teeth suddenly graze across his hardened nipples.

His tongue quickly follows, soothing the sting with greedy licks, lavishing the sensitive buds like a man starved. Harry’s hands clutch at Lou’s hair as the world seems to blur and sharpen all at once, every flick of Lou’s tongue blazing a path down his torso, closer to where Harry aches the most.

Lou murmurs Harry’s name against his skin as his lips trail down to his thighs, kissing and licking with a reverence that makes Harry tremble. A shudder tears through him when Lou wraps a firm hand finally around his cock, stroking slowly, his palm catching every ridge and vein, spreading the evidence of Harry’s arousal along the shaft. Harry’s hips jerk upwards as Lou’s hot mouth explores every place his hand doesn’t touch, planting teasing kisses along the length until he reaches the tip. Harry moans, breath caught in his throat, as Lou’s tongue begins to lap at the precum with slow, maddening swirls, his eyes fixed on Harry’s face, devouring every reaction.

“Fucking delicious,” Lou husks out, sending vibrations down Harry’s cock that make him gasp and writhe. 

Harry’s fingers tighten in Lou’s hair and Lou responds to his silent plea by closing his lips around the tip of his cock. He sucks, hard enough to draw a cry from Harry’s lips, then releases him with a wet pop, pausing only to kiss the head once more.

“Turn over,” he commands.

Harry doesn’t hesitate. He shifts quickly, rising onto his hands and knees, presenting for his Alpha. Lou’s hands grip his hips, thumbs stroking soothing circles into the flushed skin as his lips travel down Harry’s spine. Lou lets out a low groan when he reaches his ass, his hot breath ghosting over the skin. Harry’s arms tremble, close to collapse and when Lou spreads him open, a primal sound escapes his throat.

The first brush of Lou’s lips over his slick hole makes Harry’s elbows give way completely. His face presses into the cool sheets, a desperate moan leaving him as Lou’s kisses deepen into long, deliberate licks. His tongue feasts eagerly and Harry’s fingers dig into the bedding, sobs of pleasure shaking his body. Every stroke sends shocks through his nerves, pooling deep in his core.

Gentle bites nip at the curve of his ass before Lou’s fingers replace his tongue, igniting fresh sparks across Harry’s skin. One finger teases his entrance before slipping in easily and Harry gasps at the smooth, delicious intrusion.

He’d touched himself before, picturing this very moment after their first kiss. But it never felt like this. Nothing like being devoured by his Alpha. By his heat. By pure, unfiltered need. A second finger joins the first and Harry feels Lou shift closer, still buried inside him, fingers curling and pressing deep. Harry’s moan is guttural as Lou strokes his sweet spot, more sweat breaking out across his trembling body. The intensity has him shaking, eyes clenched shut and he realises he's addicted to Lou’s touch and the way he’s unravelling him.

Suddenly Lou's chest presses against Harry’s back, searing hot, and his teeth graze the shell of Harry’s ear, adding a bite of sharp pleasure to the overwhelming sensation.

“Do you like that?” Lou murmurs, voice rough and full of animal hunger, his breath as ragged as Harry’s.

“Yes.” The word escapes him in a soft, breathless tone that Harry barely recognises as his own.

“Do you want me to fuck you, Omega?”

Harry can only let out a rough moan in response, pushing back against Lou’s fingers, desperate for more.

“You want my cock inside you?”

Harry’s cock pulses at Lou’s words, answering the question without him needing to speak.

“Lou, Alpha… yes!” Harry gasps, every nerve alight, feeling like he’s about to burst apart.

Lou withdraws his fingers from Harry’s body, and the thick, heady scent of arousal that follows tells Harry that Lou's need is just as intense. A warm hand settles on his lower back, grounding him, as the slick head of Lou’s cock presses firmly against his entrance. Slowly, deliberately, Lou begins to push inside. A shiver runs through Harry, his cock twitching with anticipation. This feels like home. Like heaven.

A strangled moan tumbles from Harry’s lips as the head of Lou’s cock stretches him open. Lou’s breathing behind him is harsh with restraint, fingers gripping his hips hard enough to bruise. But Harry doesn’t want restraint. His need is wild and greedy. With a low purr, he shifts back, taking more of Lou’s cock inside himself, inch by thick inch.

“Harry!”

The raw groan in Lou’s voice melts him. Small, broken whimpers fall from Harry’s lips as pleasure courses through him, every inch of Lou inside him setting off another wave.

“Mine! You’re my Alpha!”

His Omega rises, fierce and hungry, and so Harry thrusts the rest of Lou’s cock deep inside with a desperate push. A sharp cry escapes him as Lou loses the last of his control, slamming into Harry’s ass with a force that leaves them both gasping. Their love is alive, burning through them and Harry collapses, overwhelmed.

Lou’s arms cage him in, forearms braced on either side as his body pins Harry down into the mattress. His powerful hips pull back, dragging his cock through the tight heat of Harry’s body until only the tip remains, then pause as his teeth hover at Harry’s neck. But this time, there’s no hesitation. No teasing. Only a promise.

“Ready?” Lou whispers.

Harry nods and closes his eyes. “Make me yours.”

The moment Lou’s teeth sink into his neck, Harry screams, the sound torn from deep within him. Lou thrusts forward at the same time, burying himself completely inside him and Harry’s entire world halts.

There’s no pain. Not really. Only pressure and then something shifts inside him. It’s golden.

Not figuratively. Not like a metaphor for joy or comfort. Literally golden. Threads of light unfurl in his mind’s eye, delicate and shimmering, wrapping around his limbs, his chest, his heart. They stretch out from within, glowing and pulsing in time with each breath. It’s like a thousand sunflower fields bloom behind his eyes. Rows upon rows, tall and radiant, swaying in warm sunlight. That same light now lives in his veins, humming softly. And it comes from Lou. Only Lou. His Alpha. His mate.

Harry clutches at the sheets, desperate to stay grounded, though even that feels distant. His skin tingles with hypersensitivity, every nerve is alive, every sensation amplified. He has never felt more complete and never more bare. It’s as though every part of him has been seen, touched, claimed, and cherished.

His heartbeat echoes loud in his ears, but underneath it, softer, he hears Lou’s voice.

“I love you... I love you so much... I’ve got you, my Omega.”

And then comes Lou’s tongue, warm and careful, soothing the fresh mark on Harry’s neck. Harry blinks his eyes open, but the room is a blur. All he sees are those golden threads, endless and beautiful, binding them together.

Lou begins to move again, driving into him with relentless rhythm, sending sparks through Harry’s entire body. Harry barely registers the noises falling from his lips, too caught in the searing heat and delicious ache that only Lou can give him. Lou’s teeth graze the mark again, holding Harry still as he fucks him deeper, faster, each thrust shaking Harry to his core. Their skin slaps together loud and wet, and Lou’s growls fall like prayer into Harry’s ears.

Wherever Lou touches him, euphoria spreads. His heat merges with Harry’s, feeding the fire burning inside him. Drunk on sensation and desperate for more, Harry finds the strength to push back, forcing Lou even deeper.

A pitiful whimper escapes him as Lou’s teeth finally release the torn, bloodied skin. After that Lou’s thrusts grow erratic, the intensity overwhelming them both. They’re barely holding on, riding the edge of something that feels like falling. It's like it threatens to tear Harry apart from the inside out as the tight knot of ecstasy expands into a flood of bliss that seeps into his bones and makes them both tremble. He realises that his own teeth ache with the urge to bite back, mouth watering and craving the taste of his mate.

“Let’s change position, Alpha,” Harry pleads.

In a blur, Lou slips free and Harry finds himself on his back the next moment, Lou already pushing back inside him. Harry lifts his head, brushing his cheek against Lou’s rough stubble while he cradles his head, helping Harry to hold his head up.

“You’re desperate to claim me, too, aren’t you? My sweet Omega,” Lou whispers against his ear, sending shivers racing down Harry’s spine.

“Yeah, need to mark you as mine too,” Harry replies softly.

Lou’s thrusts grow shorter, sharper, but no less devastating as he leans in, tilting his head just enough to offer his throat to Harry’s waiting mouth. Lou's eyes are closed in bliss, lips parted as he pants heavily. He’s breathtaking. Harry lets out a rough purr, eyes fixed on the tempting stretch of Lou’s throat while his teeth throb with primal hunger.

Everything unravels when Harry’s teeth sink into Lou’s neck. Blood fills his mouth - metallic, warm and strangely sweet - as suddenly his orgasm crashes over him. His limbs buzz, nerves alight as his body clenches around Lou, milking him for everything he’s worth while his own cock spills hot, thick ropes between them. Lou moans, a deep, broken sound as his cock twitches inside Harry, flooding him with his own cum. Harry licks like a maniac over Lou's mark, tasting and smelling him but then groans as he feels Lou’s knot begin to swell, locking them together and the sensation is almost too much.

“Yeah… give me your knot,” Harry breathes, wrapping his legs tightly around Lou to keep him buried deep.

“Feels so good,” Lou mumbles and pushes his hips even more into Harry. “You’re stuffed full of me, every inch.”

They meet in a slow, breathless kiss while the knot keeps them locked together. Harry has never had a knot before, as he has never shared a heat or rut with an Alpha before. And Lou is his first (and last) mate. He'd heard a lot about what it felt like to be connected like this, intertwined for so long afterwards, but nothing comes close to the stories. Nothing could have prepared him for what it is like to be knotted to his Alpha, freshly bonded and clinging to him, the love almost palpable between them.

“I love you Lou. And I love you Louis. I love every version of you. But I love Lou more, because that's the man I fell in love with,” Harry babbles while he kisses over Lou’s mark, up his throat and his cheek.

Lou laughs quietly. “You do talk some shit.”

Harry just pouts and earns himself a sweet kiss on his lips. Lou strokes his curls away from his face while they share a few more tender kisses. But Harry’s heart still thunders in his ears, his body is slick with sweat and Lou looking at him like he can't wait for round two… it really does nothing to cool the fire still simmering under his skin.

“I love you,” Lou whispers, pressing a kiss to Harry’s shoulder before gently easing himself out of his trembling body.

Harry yelps at the loss, surprised and still aching from the intensity of his first knot. “No! Why’s your knot already gone? I wanted more!”

“Shh, Omega. It’s because of the heat,” Lou soothes. “You’ll have my knot again soon. I’ll give it to you so good, fill you up for days, yeah?”

“Okay Alpha,” Harry sighs and sulks.

Lou’s cum is still hot as it leaks from Harry’s hole, dripping down his balls and onto his thighs. With what little strength he has left, Harry reaches for Lou, needing his touch to calm the tremors still rippling through his body, his Omega whimpering quietly at the loss of connection. Lou is there in an instant, curling up beside him, nuzzling his jaw and wrapping him in a firm embrace. Harry melts into the warmth, the two of them fitting together like puzzle pieces finally aligned.

“My Harry,” Lou murmurs into his neck, fingers stroking gently again through his damp curls. “Finally.”

“Finally,” Harry echoes softly. “Finally, I’ve found my sense of rightness.”

And with that he goes fully under, surrendering to his heat and his Alpha who will join him through.

Chapter Text

Harry blinks against the dull light of morning, though he’s not even sure it is morning. Days blurred into nights and back again, all heat and sweat and soft groans and sharp teeth. The first thing he registers now, though, is the aching heaviness still deep inside him and the strong, warm weight of Lou half-draped over his back.

He furrows his brow and shifts carefully, as Harry realises that Lou is still inside him. They must’ve passed out like this after the last round - knotted, bonded, wrecked and satisfied, and apparently too exhausted to even separate properly. It’s... a lot.

Lou stirs with a grumble, nuzzling into the crook of Harry’s neck like he hasn’t just spent the last couple of days snarling like an animal. His voice is hoarse and endearing as he murmurs, “Hey princess, what’re you doing? It's early...”

Harry flushes, but he’s too sticky, too hot, too done to humour him. “Get off, Lou,” he mumbles, pushing gently at Lou’ chest until he slips out with a slick, quiet sound that makes Harry cringe internally. Lou lets out a soft sound of protest, blinking up with ruffled hair and sleep-warm cheeks, looking miles away from the dominant Alpha from all these days before.

Harry leans in, presses a quick kiss to his lips. “Shh. Just need a shower.”

He slips out of bed, body sore and used and still humming from the aftermath of what they shared, but also desperate to feel clean again now that his heat is clearly over. It doesn't take long and he steps under the spray, sighing in relief the moment the water hits his skin and washes away sweat and slick and every lingering trace of heat-induced haze. 

His eyes close and his shoulders drop. For the first time in what feels like forever, he’s alone with his thoughts again - no haze, no hunger, no overwhelming desperation. Just the quiet hiss of water and the warmth of steam curling around him. His Omega stirs, tired but content, no longer crying out for his Alpha, but still craving touch, still tethered now to something deep and true.

If on cue, the door creaks open and only seconds later strong arms wrap around him from behind and he breathes in sharply - he would know that scent anywhere by now. Lou.

“Missed you already,” Harry murmurs.

Lou hums. “Missed you too.”

Pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to Harry’s damp neck, Lou trails along the curve until his lips brush the fresh mark. He lingers there, nuzzling and breathing him in.

“It's looking good already,” Lou says. “Healing strong.”

Harry leans back into Lou’ hold, letting the water run over both of them. Their bodies press close, skin to skin and it's so wonderfully calm now between them. Safe and anchored. Lou holds him gently, arms snug around his waist, chin resting on Harry’s shoulder. They sway a little under the water like they’ve done this a hundred times before. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Harry tilts his head and nuzzles into Lou’ neck, just beneath the fresh mark he left behind himself. It's small but beautiful in some kinda way, right over the pulse, where he’d sunk his teeth into soft skin and claimed Lou just as fiercely in return. He brushes his lips there and it feels like something sacred to do.

“Yours healing wonderfully too,” Harry whispers, a soft grin playing at his lips.

Lou hums. “Perfect. I'm really proud of it. You made a proper mate of me.”

Harry giggles, then gently pulls away just enough to turn and face him, hands finding their way to Lou’ hips. He leans in, pressing his mouth to the side of Lou’ neck where the mark blooms in shades of pink and mauve. He kisses it softly, then rests his forehead there, breathing in the bond and their connection. His Alpha. Lou’ arms tighten around him again and he noses at Harry’s damp curls. 

“You feel okay?” Lou asks.

Harry nods. “Tired. But okay. I'm happy.”

They stay like that for a while, nuzzling each other’s necks, gently kissing at their marks, skin warm and lips soft. It’s the sort of intimacy Harry never thought he’d get to have. Not like this. Eventually, when their fingers are pruney and their stomachs rumble louder than the water, they stumble out of the shower wrapped in soft towels. Immediately Harry pads into the kitchen with his hair in damp waves and opens the fridge with a hopeful sigh - only to groan dramatically.

“Oh my God, we’ve got like, half a cucumber and one sad tomato.”

Lou peers over his shoulder, eyes squinting. “And isn’t that a week old  takeaway noodles?”

Harry laughs. “We are a picture of luxury.”

“I guess we have to live on air and love,” Lou says, smirking. 

They eventually eat the tomato and the cucumber and the last bit of juice they found split between two glasses. It's not glamorous, but Harry doesn’t care. It’s theirs.

“I’ll go shopping later,” he says after a yawn, rubbing his eyes.

Lou blinks, slightly thrown. “You?”

Harry looks at him, amused. “Yeah? I survived it once and I'll make it a second time. Don't you have faith in me?”

“No, I just…” Lou grins, leaning in to kiss his shoulder. “I’m still adjusting to this domestic goddess version of you.”

Harry snorts, tossing a piece of cucumber at him. “Shut up.”

Lou catches it midair and pops it in his mouth, chewing smugly. “Tell you what. I’ll sort the garden out first, then later we go together. Motorbike ride into town, backpacks, romantic evening run to the shops.”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “Romantic?”

“Very,” Lou says solemnly. “We’ll hold hands in the cereal aisle. I even kiss you there.”

Harry rolls his eyes but smiles, feeling all fond and warm. “Alright then. I’ll check how far the workers got, maybe help out.”

At that, Lou levels him with a mock-stern look. “Absolutely not. You can’t go from a pampered Omega to whatever this is overnight.”

“I can try,” Harry says cheekily.

Lou leans over, kissing him slow and deep, his smile pressing into it. “You’re allowed to change, sunflower,” Lou murmurs. “But not too much. I happen to love the spoiled version of you.”

Harry kisses him back. “You love all versions of me.”

“Damn right I do.”

━━━━🌻━━━━

As Harry steps through the open front of the villa, he pads carefully across the hallway, eyes landing on the long stretch of floor where the workers were meant to be replacing the old, worn tiles with those gorgeous marble ones. He blinks because not much has changed.

In fact, if he’s being honest, the progress is… pitiful. Maybe seven rows have been laid. The rest of the space is still covered in protective sheets and tools scattered around like forgotten toys. Normally, this would drive him absolutely insane. Harry’s never been especially patient when it comes to anything and especially not when he’s spent hours picking out materials together with his parents and designing mood boards on Pinterest like his life depended on it.

But now? He just tilts his head, shrugs a little and mutters, “Fair enough.”

Because really, who is he to talk about progress when he and Lou just spent four entire days tangled in sheets, sweat and each other, completely unaware of time, meals, or the state of the world? Heat and rut had wrapped around them like a storm, intense and unrelenting. It feels like waking from a dream now, all golden haze and the memory of skin on skin, whispered promises that still echo faintly in the back of his mind.

Stepping more inside, he spots a few early workers in the kitchen where they obviously made themselves coffee and are talking to each other. As Harry approaches and waves at them, they smile and as they see his bonding mark, they're coming to him and clapping him on the back, muttering something in rapid Italian that he doesn't fully catch, but Harry’s fairly certain they congratulate him. Or at least something positive. Maybe that relaxed, Mediterranean attitude has rubbed off on him. That, or he’s just too blissed-out from being freshly mated to care that the floor is still a disaster zone and he doesn't even mention it with one word to the workers.

A little later and up in his room, Harry pulls open the wardrobe and chooses his outfit with care, feeling sensitive as a newly-mated Omega. The fabric has to be light as it’s scorching again and he’s not about to sweat through his second skin. He picks out a soft, silk Gucci combination in a pale sage green, the shirt short-sleeved and flowing, with delicate floral embroidery along the hem and cuffs. It falls slightly off one shoulder, revealing his mating mark beautifully. The matching shorts are high-waisted, fluttery and entirely pretty. He ties a sheer scarf into his curls, still damp at the ends, and slides into a pair of designer sandals with a content hum.

He feels good. Grounded. Still a little sore, a little tender but good.

Until it hits him. His hand stilling halfway through adjusting the buttons on his shirt, eyes going wide.

Lou.

His mouth parts, chest tightening. Not in the good, fluttery way, but in the cold, creeping sense of dread. His mate - his gorgeous Alpha - is still a wanted man. Accused of murder. A fugitive. And they’ve been acting like they’re in some kind of honeymoon bubble since coming out of their heat and rut, like they’ve got nothing to worry about except a shower, grocery lists and who’s going to wash the bedsheets.

“Shit,” he mutters aloud, spinning on his heel.

Where’s his phone?

His eyes scan his room, heart picking up speed. Not on the bedside table. Not in the bathroom. Not in his bag, either. God, when was the last time he even saw it? He’s been walking around in a post-heat daze and hadn’t even thought about real life in days. Letting out a sharp breath, Harry's frustration and panic bubbles together now. 

“Oh my God, can you actually lose brain function from love?”

And then it dawns on him. It must be in Lou’ house. He turns, bolting out and across the garden path, his silky clothes fluttering in the breeze, scarf trailing behind him as he hurries to the place he now instinctively thinks of as home. His phone has to be there. Along with reality.

Harry’s barely made it to the living room when the front door swings open behind him and Lou steps in, brushing his hands on his shorts like he’s just finished something in the garden. His eyes immediately find Harry and something shifts in his expression, gentle concern softening the usual intense lines of his face.

“I felt you,” Lou says, a bit breathless, like he jogged the last few steps. “Through the bond. You got all flustered. What’s wrong?”

Harry blinks at him, still half crouched by the coffee table where he’s just finished turning the sofa cushions inside out in search of his phone. He pauses, eyes flicking over Lou. His Alpha. His mate. And now, his walking and talking emotional antenna apparently.

“I, uh…” Harry straightens up and smooths his shirt. “Sorry. I just… forgot about my phone and everything for, like, four days straight and now it’s hit me that, you know… real life still exists.”

Lou tilts his head, clearly distracted as his eyes drift down Harry’s body. He gives a low whistle, appreciative and borderline cheeky. “Well, look at you… such a pretty Omega. And all mine.”

Harry arches a brow, distracted for a moment by the smile curling at Lou’ lips.

“That outfit,” Lou gestures vaguely. “You look like a Gucci angel that fell out of a summer dream.”

Harry flushes, batting him away with a grin even as he turns back to rummage under the coffee table. “Don’t distract me. I need my phone.”

Lou joins him, crouching down beside him with a low grunt. “Let me help.”

They search together for a few more moments in every room until Lou finally pulls the phone out from under the bed with a triumphant, “Aha!” and tosses it gently into Harry’s waiting hands. 

“Shit… it's dead.”

“Wait… even if I don't use a phone anymore, I’ve got a charger in one of the drawers somewhere. Bit ancient, but should do the trick.”

He digs into the bedside table and emerges with a coiled-up cable that looks like it’s seen better days and holds it out.

Harry plugs it in gratefully. “You still keep chargers around but no phone?”

Lou shrugs, leaning against the armrest. “Didn’t really see the point. Who would I call? Who would I text? I’m on the run. I mean, I still have the device somewhere but I threw out my SIM card.”

Harry pauses, thumb hovering over the screen as his phone flickers to life. “You did?”

“Left it in a bin in the middle of London,” Lou says simply, like it’s no big deal. “Found it too dangerous otherwise.”

“Right,” Harry murmurs, chewing his lip. “Makes sense.”

The screen finally lights up fully, and Harry’s heart sinks. Notifications pile in at the top - texts, voicemails, missed calls. He scrolls quickly and sees both his parents’ names listed multiple times, but what really makes his stomach twist is the missed call from Liam Payne. He hopefully found something.

“Oh, my God,” he breathes. “My mum is going to lose her mind. She’s probably convinced I’ve been kidnapped.”

Lou peers over his shoulder. “You want me to stay when you call back?”

Harry glances up at him, and even though there’s a part of him that always wants Lou close now and it's like a magnetic pull in his chest, he shakes his head.

“Nah, it’s alright. Go do your garden hero thing,” he says softly. “I should deal with this on my own. Plus, if I survive the emotional guilt trip, we’ll have the whole evening to ourselves.”

Lou’s eyes flicker warmly. “Cuddle time?”

“Cuddle time,” Harry confirms with a nod, his smile just a little tired. “With snacks after our romantic moment in the cereal aisle.”

Lou reaches out and cups his jaw for a second, pressing a gentle kiss to his temple. “You’ve got a deal.”

And with that, he’s gone again, leaving Harry sitting on the edge of the bed with his phone. He draws in a breath, then taps his mum’s number while his heart thuds. Here goes nothing.

The phone barely finishes its first proper ring before it’s answered, his mother’s voice slicing through the line like a blade.

“Harry Edward Styles, where the hell have you been?!”

Harry winces and instinctively holds the phone slightly away from his ear. “Hello mother. I’m fine, thanks for asking.”

“Oh, don’t you get smart with me,” she snaps. “We’ve called, texted and emailed… your father even asked your Irish friend if he’d heard from you! Do you know how worried we were? Four bloody days without a single word-”

Harry cuts her off, eyes rolling towards the ceiling. “Right, so the worry was so big you couldn’t even start with ‘How are you, darling?’ Just went straight into the lecture.”

“I’ll give you a lecture, young man,” she huffs. “Do you have any idea what stress does to a woman my age? I’m getting wrinkles from you!”

Harry smirks. “Good thing you’ve got the bank account for a decent derm then, isn’t it?”

He hears her gasp, a sharp breath through gritted teeth. “Watch your mouth!”

They go back and forth for a few more minutes like that. She warns him she’ll go grey early if he keeps pushing her buttons. He tells her it’ll suit her. She threatens to fly out and slap the sarcasm off his face.

Eventually, when the heat of the back-and-forth has simmered down, she exhales heavily and asks, “So? Where the hell were you?”

Harry hesitates. For a heartbeat, he considers the truth and how it would feel to say it plainly: He was locked in a heat with his Alpha and they bonded and now he smells like him for the rest of his life. But the words never leave his mouth.

Instead, he clears his throat. “Had a heat. Came early. Must be the weather or the Italian air or I don't know. Something shifted.”

There’s a long pause on the line. Then, in a tone far too perceptive for Harry’s liking, she says, “You’ve never gone off cycle, Harry.”

“Yeah, well. First time for everything.”

Another pause. Then, thankfully, she relents.

“Well. Alright. If that’s what it was, I suppose we can let it go… this time.”

Harry clicks his tongue. “Thank you mother, how very kind of you.”

“Next time warn someone, would you? We were about to call the police.”

Harry sighs. “Noted.”

“Oh, and before I forget… you need to send us photos of the villa. Want to see how the work’s going. Your dad’s desperate to know if our renovation plan is actually being followed.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll send some later.”

“You’d better. I have to go now.”

“Bye,” Harry mutters listlessy and exhales deeply once the line goes dead.

He lets the phone drop into his lap and leans back against the headboard, eyes fluttering shut for a second. One crisis managed. A second later, he taps Liam Payne’s number. The ringing cuts sharply through the quiet of Lou’ house, and Harry barely realises he’s holding his breath until Payne picks up.

“Styles,” Payne says briskly, no preamble. “Took you long enough to call back.”

“Sorry,” Harry says, running a hand through his curls. “Nature was calling.”

Payne chuckles dryly. “Figured something personal kept you off the radar. I’ve got news.”

Harry straightens up. “Go on.”

“There’s someone,” Payne begins. “A bloke called Ethan… Ethan Miller. 29 years, living in London. He’s popped up in more than one place during my digging. He was close to the victim.”

“Close how?” Harry asks slowly.

“That’s the thing. Officially, the victim was a family man, right? Wife, kids, whole respectable routine. But Ethan’s name came up quietly, buried in the background. I’ve got a few mentions of them being seen together in more private circles. No photos, nothing concrete. But there’s definitely something there.”

Harry frowns. “You think they were having an affair?”

“Possibly,” Payne says. “And it gets weirder. Ethan gave the statement to the police after the death anonymously. He was the one who placed the guy Louis Tomlinson near the scene.”

Harry’s stomach drops. “Wait. What?”

“Yeah. That’s how Tomlinson got pulled into this. Ethan’s word.”

Harry sits back slowly. “But how does Ethan know Tomlinson?,” he asks, careful not to sound too invested. 

“I found out they were ex boyfriends. But here’s where it gets interesting. All of Ethan’s other lovers were rich. Powerful people. Just like the victim. Tomlinson was poor. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”

Harry bites his lip, brain racing. “It all makes no sense to me why he would frame Tomlinson even if exes.”

“I think he had reason to,” Payne says bluntly. “Maybe jealousy, maybe something else. Whatever it is, Ethan’s dodgy as hell and he’s got enough charm and influence to twist things as it seems.”

"And the police didn't find out about all this?"

"Tomlinson has only made himself more of a suspect by his early escape. Why keep digging when it seems so easy?"

"I call that a failure of justice!" Harry growls.

"Hey... I'd be out of a job otherwise," Payne chuckles.

“Yeah, seems so,” Harry rolls his eyes before he adds. “So what can I do to help? I want to know why Ethan did this and we also need the true murderer!”

“You said you had a private interest,” Payne reminds him. “If you want to help and you’ve got the stomach for it, there’s a chance coming up. Ethan’s been making appearances at a few high-profile events. There’s a gallery opening this Friday and a foundation brunch day after. He’ll be at both. You're rich and single as far as I know…”

Harry frowns. “You want me to flirt with him?”

“I want you to get close enough that he thinks he has a chance with you,” Payne says. “He’s also single right now. And someone like you? He’d notice. Get him talking. You’ve got a better shot at finding a crack in the story than I do.”

Harry chews the inside of his cheek. “And you think he’ll slip.”

“People like Ethan always do,” Payne says confidently. “Especially if they think they’re being worshipped. You don’t have to do anything risky. Just talk. Get him comfortable. If we can get even a whisper of motive, something contradictory to his statement, it’s enough to reopen the case properly.”

Harry takes a slow breath. “Alright. Send me the event details. I’ll be there.”

“You’re sure?” Payne’s voice sounds surprised now. “These things get messy, Styles.”

Harry’s gaze flicks toward the hallway, toward where he knows Lou is still out in the garden. “I’m sure. I want to help prove it. Someone has to.”

There’s a pause, then Payne murmurs, “Good man. I’ll be in touch to send you an address where we can meet on Friday morning. I will wire you up to hopefully secure evidence.”

“Okay. Thank you!”

With that they hang up. He’s not just in this now. He’s all in. The next second Harry already rushes into the garden and spots Lou crouched by the hydrangeas, hands buried in the soil, head tilted like he’s in his own world.

“Lou!” Harry calls, voice a little breathless.

Lou looks up quickly, his brow furrowing when he sees Harry’s face. He stands, brushing his hands off on the back of his shorts as Harry approaches.

“Hey. What’s happened?” he asks instantly.

Harry doesn’t waste time. “It’s Ethan,” he says. “Ethan Miller. He’s the anonymous witness. He’s the one who told the police you were near the scene.”

Lou just… freezes. His mouth opens slightly, then closes again, like his brain’s short-circuiting. “What?”

“You know him, right?” Harry asks, even though the look on Lou’ face is answer enough.

Lou nods slowly. “Yeah. I… I dated him. It was messy. Years ago. He… he loved what we had at first, said he wanted to be my mate and that I'm the love of his life and all that shit. But he hated that I didn’t have money. He kept comparing me to richer people. Like I was some half-finished version of what he deserved.”

Harry listens and tries not to show his jealousy over a stupid ex boyfriend. 

“He always wanted more,” Lou continues quietly. “Better flat, nicer restaurants, the right invitations. It wasn’t enough that I loved him. And when I stopped playing along, when I stopped trying to keep up… he turned cold. Like overnight. He said I embarrassed him. Said I’d wasted his time. And that I destroyed his life to make him fall in love with me.”

Harry’s brows pull together. “So you broke it off?”

“Yeah,” Lou breathes, rubbing the back of his neck. “And it wasn’t pretty. He threw a lot of shit at me. Things I never thought someone who’d claimed to care about me could say. We haven’t spoken since. I never thought… fuck, Harry. He really told them I did it?”

Harry nods solemnly. “That’s how you got on the radar. Maybe he was also the one who gave you the knife? Payne says he’s shady as hell. He also was an affair of the victim. And now he’s resurfacing in these social circles again. I’m gonna try to get close to him.”

Lou blinks, stunned. “What do you mean?”

“There’s a party in London in two days,” Harry explains. “And a brunch thing after that. He’ll be there, both times. I’m flying out as soon as I can get a flight. I’ll flirt, get him talking. See if he lets something slip. Payne says it’s our best shot at getting a confession or at least a contradiction.”

Lou shakes his head, almost like trying to shake the idea off his shoulders. “No. No way. You can’t just throw yourself in front of him like that, Harry. What if he recognises you’re bonded? What if he connects us? And you're an Omega and so is he. You have to play Alpha.”

“I’ll hide it,” Harry says quickly. “I’ll cover the mark, use scent neutraliser. Make him think I’m an Alpha. He won’t suspect anything if I play it right.”

“But people know you in London, right? They know you're an Omega!”

Harry thinks for a moment before he answers, “Yes, you're right. But if it's discovered, I'll make up a story and wave banknotes at Etrash if necessary. Maybe I'll even be attractive to him as an Omega then."

“Etrash?” Lou cackles. "But yes, simple-minded as he is, probably." 

They just stare at each other for a long moment. Lou's face is unreadable, caught between disbelief and worry and something a bit like pride. “You’d really do that? For me?”

Harry steps forward, touching Lou’ wrist gently. “You’re not going to live the rest of your life as a fugitive for something you didn’t do. Not if I can help it.”

Lou glances away, swallowing hard. “It’s just… we’re barely even… Fuck, we only just mated.”

“I know,” Harry says, softer now. “I hate the timing too. I wish we had more days or weeks, just wrapped up here. But I can’t sit back knowing that guy might be the reason your life’s been destroyed.”

Lou doesn’t answer for a moment. Then, finally, he sighs and tugs Harry into a firm hug. “Just promise me you’ll be careful.”

“I will,” Harry murmurs against his shoulder. “I would call or message you the moment I landed but you have no phone.”

“I trust you… even without hearing from you. I trust you to come back to me safely.”

Lou pulls back and gently brushes his thumb over Harry’s cheek. “Hide the mark properly. Use the good stuff, yeah? And wear something that screams ‘Alpha’. Confidence. Cool colours, not soft ones.”

Harry lets out a half-laugh, more fond than anything. “You mean don’t wear the sparkly sheer Gucci number?”

Lou grins, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re gonna break hearts. Just don’t let yours get broken.”

Harry presses a quick kiss to Lou’ lips. “I won’t. I’ve already given it away, remember?”

Lou holds him tighter, nodding slowly. “Just come back to me, sunflower.”

“I will,” Harry whispers. “And when I do, we’ll burn Etrash's little web of lies to the ground.”

━━━━🌻━━━━

Later, after he booked a flight for this evening, Harry has his suitcase half-packed and open sitting on the bed. He’s digging through the drawer for something he might need, like that silk scarf he can’t leave behind when his hand brushes against something small.

That's when he freezes.

And as he pulls it out, his breath catches and his heart immediately starts hammering in his chest. These are his contraceptive pills.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, already bringing one hand up to his forehead and dragging it down his face. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He hasn’t taken a single pill since his heat started. Harry counts the missed days in his head… four, maybe five if he counts the haze before it really kicked in. That’s enough to ruin the whole cycle. More than enough. Panic settles deep in his gut, turning everything sour. He fumbles with the pack and pops one out, swallowing it dry just to soothe the guilt twisting in his chest. He knows it’s pointless now, knows the damage, if any, has already been done. But it’s something. A pathetic, last-ditch something while his mind already starts racing with questions he isn’t ready for.

What if he’s pregnant?

His first instinct is to laugh because, really, he’s Harry Styles. The guy who once said he wouldn’t even share a houseplant, let alone raise a whole person. He’s got plans. A future to build. And now a mate who’s still on the run from the law. Also, he doesn't even know if Lou wants to have pups in the future.

It’s completely mental.

And yet…

He closes his eyes for a second and rubs at the back of his neck. He’s been on that pill for years. His body’s used to it. It should still be fine. Probably. Hopefully.

He groans quietly and lets his head drop as he sits on the bed. His Omega, of course, isn’t helping. All Harry feels from that part of him is a soft thrum of curiosity. Warmth. Even excitement. The thought of pups doesn’t horrify his instincts at all.

“God, you’re no help,” he mutters aloud, rolling his eyes. “Don't get too excited!”

Just then, he hears a soft knock at the door before Lou appears, already frowning slightly. “You alright?”

Harry straightens up immediately, trying to tuck the pill packet under his thigh before Lou sees it. “Yeah, uh… yeah, I’m fine. Just… my Omega’s being a bit dramatic.”

Lou tilts his head, sensing something off. “Why exactly?”

Harry scrambles for something, anything, and blurts, “I need to pack something that smells like you. I think that’s what’s setting me off.”

It’s not even a good lie, but Lou softens instantly, his expression melting into that warm, protective gaze Harry knows so well now.

“Oh, love,” Lou coos, stepping in and kissing the top of Harry’s head. “You should’ve said. I’ve got enough for you to pack. Hang on, I’ll go grab some shirts.”

And just like that, he’s gone, already halfway out the door. Harry exhales hard, flopping back against the pillows. His fingers absently press against his stomach, still flat of course, and stares up at the ceiling, lips twitching into a twisted sort of smile.

This wasn’t the plan. But… would it really be the worst thing? A little bundle of them, sharp-tongued, wide-eyed and stubborn like hell. Someone with Lou’ eyes and Harry’s curls, maybe. A pup that smelled like home. Their home. His Omega purrs at the thought and Harry groans again, dragging a pillow over his face. 

“Shut up,” he says into the fabric, half-laughing, half-horrified. “It would be better if I'm not pregnant… yet.”

But a quiet, tiny part of him just knows that it wouldn’t be the end of the world. Even if he's not really feeling ready for it. Maybe this is a reminder that falling this hard, this fast, might come with a hell of a price.

Chapter Text

London doesn’t feel like home anymore.

Harry realises it the second he unlocks the door to his penthouse and steps inside. The cool air, the sterile scent of cleaning products and expensive candles, the echo of his shoes on polished floors… it all feels wrong. Downright off. Like he’s broken something inside himself by coming back here alone.

His Omega has been stirring beneath his skin since he left Italy, anxious and whining. Harry rubs at his chest, hoping the motion might calm the ache there, but it doesn't. It's the bond, he knows that much. It's not made to stretch across countries and time zones, not in the first fragile days. He shouldn’t be here. He should be curled up beside Louis in their messy bed, feeling safe and warm and whole. Not… this.

He drags his suitcase behind him, barely glancing at the untouched kitchen or the neat sitting room with its view over the city. The penthouse is beautiful, luxurious and everything he thought he wanted once. But now? Now it feels cold. Empty. Too quiet without Louis' low voice or the weight of his arms or the sound of him humming in the next room. And even then, Harry is sure it wouldn't feel right. A sunflower cannot take root here.

Sighing, Harry walks into his bedroom and stops short. There is his nest swing, hanging from the reinforced ceiling beam, bathed in the night's lights coming from outside. It's the only thing in this entire place that feels like it belongs to him anymore. A silly treat when he’d first bought it, hand-woven and custom-ordered, because he liked the way it swayed. Now, though, it's something else. The only place of comfort here.

Without thinking twice, he unzips the suitcase and pulls out the shirts Louis had given him before he left. Soft, worn cotton that smells heavenly like him. He gathers them up in his arms, presses his nose into them for a second, then begins tucking them into the swing with careful hands. He builds his new nest slowly, layering scent and fabric like he’s trying to weave Louis back into his old world. A hoodie here, a tank top there, the t-shirt Louis wore the morning after they'd bonded. Harry folds them gently with reverence, arranging them into a cocoon. His heart clenches the more he smells him. It hurts. God, it hurts.

When he’s done, he crawls into the swing, curling up as best he can and wraps himself in Louis’ scent. The moment his body settles, the tears come. Hot, quiet and relentless. He buries his face in a sleeve and lets himself cry. He misses Lou. He misses Lou like a part of him has been left behind in that little house in the garden. Because it has.

Being away from Louis like this… it’s not just hard, it’s unnatural. Harry’s always heard stories of bonds pulling at you when you’re apart, but nothing prepared him for the actual ache. His skin itches with it, his chest is too tight and his soul feels a bit frayed at the edges.

But he reminds himself, over and over again, through every shaky breath, why he’s here. Why he had to go.

It’s for Louis. It’s to clear his name. To give them a future where they’re free, where they’re not hiding, where he doesn’t have to watch the man he loves carry the weight of something he didn’t do. He can endure this for now. Because Louis deserves the world and if Harry has to claw it from the hands of liars and secrets, he will.

Sobbing, he holds one of Louis’ shirts to his nose, breathes deep, and whispers softly into the nest, “I’m coming back to you.”

And he means it.

━━━━🌻━━━━

Friday midday creeps in grey and quiet, the London skyline still blanketed in clouds when Harry stands in front of the mirror, tugging at the collar of his new jacket with a frown.

It’s black. Slim-cut and tailored to perfection, sharp at the shoulders and hugging his waist in a way that says he’s not here to be overlooked. The shirt beneath is charcoal, the top few buttons undone just enough to tease a hint of skin, collarbone peeking through with casual intention. It's a little sexy, but not too much. Alpha-ish, he hopes. Confident, but not loud. Controlled. It’s the best he could do, considering he spent half of yesterday storming through department stores, turning his nose up at anything that screamed "soft" or "Omega" or anything in a pastel shade because his entire wardrobe at the penthouse had felt wrong when he'd opened it. Silks, mesh, floaty pieces, expensive and delicate. Not what he needs right now. Not when he’s about to pretend to be someone he’s not.

He ties the scarf next, smooth and dark and expensive, a silk square he’d spent far too much on just to make sure it stayed perfectly in place over his bonding mark. It sits high on his neck, elegant and neat, hiding the fresh mark that still pulses faintly under his skin. Then the scent neutraliser. He’s already showered in it and scrubbed every trace of Louis from his skin, which had felt wrong, like erasing warmth and comfort with each pass of the sponge. But it had to be done. And now he sprays the final layer over himself, misting it into the air and stepping through it like cheap cologne. It stings his nose and he hates it.

His hair’s next. He pulls it back, brushing it until it's smooth, then twists it into a tight bun at the nape of his neck, securing it with a few pins and a lot of silent complaints. It’s severe and so not him. He looks at his reflection and for a moment he doesn’t even recognise himself. He looks like someone else entirely. 

Harry exhales. “Two days,” he mutters to his reflection. “You can be this for two days.”

He checks the clock. Almost 13 o'clock. Payne said he’d be here just after and right on cue, the buzzer rings. Harry swallows whatever lingering nerves twist in his belly, smooths down his shirt again which is pointless, really, but his hands need something to do, and walks then to the front door. Before he opens it, he squares his shoulders and breathes in deep. Thinking one moment of Louis - warm hands, soft kisses, whispering “you’re brilliant, sunflower, you know that?”

Then he opens the door. Payne stands on the other side, holding a black rucksack and wearing the same practical, neutral expression Harry imagined on him. His gaze flicks over Harry quickly and appraisingly. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes. Surprise, maybe? Amusement?

“Didn’t know I was meeting a CEO,” he says dryly.

Harry offers a thin smile. “I must pass for an Alpha, right?”

Payne hums and steps inside. “You pass. Looks like someone who knows how to get what they want.”

“I’m hoping so,” Harry says, voice steady. “Because I’m not leaving that party without something useful.”

Payne nods, dropping his bag onto the kitchen island and unzipping it. “Then let’s get you wired up, pretty boy.”

Harry laughs under his breath, stepping closer and rolling his shoulders out as he gets ready. Right now, he needs to focus and to play the part. Be sharp. Be careful.

Payne works fast and quiet, fingers deft as he fixes the small mic beneath Harry’s collar, wires tucked neatly along the inside of the jacket. He mutters instructions as he moves, like where to tilt his head, how to adjust the transmitter if it shifts. Harry just stands there, mostly still, arms slightly out, letting himself be fussed over like he is a model at a shoot.

“There,” Payne says after a few more seconds, stepping back with a final tug to straighten the jacket. “No one will notice it. Audio’s live. I’ll be in the van just outside the venue. You won’t see me, but I’ll hear everything.”

Harry nods, trying to stay calm, despite the rising discomfort in his chest. “What if something goes wrong?”

“You’ll be fine,” Payne says with a calm shrug, but then softens slightly. “But if you feel unsafe or if anything feels off just drop the word cherry into the convo. I’ll pull you out straight away.”

Harry repeats it under his breath. “Cherry. Got it.”

Payne bends to grab his iPad from the bag and taps at the screen. “Right. Just so you know who you’re looking for… this is him.”

He holds up the device and Harry’s stomach drops. There he is and of course he’s attractive. Of fucking course. He’s a bit shorter than Harry, which is not difficult as Harry is too tall for an Omega. But he’s got that same kind of build like Harry, lean but with just enough muscle to be deliberate about it. Dark blond curls fall in lazy waves around his face, a little shorter as Harry's but the kind of hair that looks like he constantly pushes it back with his fingers. Grey-greenish eyes, sharp cheekbones and a smile that’s probably charmed more than a few wallets out of pockets.

Harry clenches his jaw and he hates him instantly even more. Not just because Ethan is the snake who tried to bury Louis with a lie but because he’s... similar to Harry.

Similar enough to poke at something deep and uncomfortable. Louis has a type, and it’s this. Slender. Curly-haired. Pretty. Expensive looking. Ethan’s wearing some crisp designer coat in the photo, gold jewellery glinting at his wrist and Harry thinks about if it's real or fake. But he definitely is the kind of Omega who knows he looks good in candlelight.

Harry had imagined someone ratty. Someone greasy and bitter-looking. Someone whose ugliness matched his soul. Not this. Definitely not this. His stomach knots tighter and tighter as he stares at the image, until Payne lowers the screen again.

“You good?”

Harry blinks, forcing his voice to come out level. “Yeah. Fine.”

He’s not. He wants to be back in Italy, wrapped up in Louis’ arms, in their nest, with his mate’s mouth pressed to his neck and whispering he’s loved. Of course Harry knows he is. But being away, even for this short time, it messes with him. His Omega is restless inside him, pacing in circles, whining softly every time Harry lets himself remember Louis’ scent, his touch or his voice.

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, shakes his head slightly to clear it.

“This is stupid,” Harry mutters, half to himself.

“What is?”

Harry startles. He hadn’t realised Payne was still watching him that closely.

“Nothing,” he lies quickly. “Just nerves.”

Payne doesn’t press, thankfully. He turns back to his tech gear, double-checking signal strength on a small monitor. “Just follow his lead. Let him think he’s in control. If he gets flirty, flirt back. But don’t force it. You’ve got two days to work with. Let him talk.”

Harry nods, taking a breath. He just needs to make it through the weekend. Then, he’s getting on the first flight back to his Alpha.

━━━━🌻━━━━

The party is already packed when Harry steps through the entrance, the low hum of chatter laced with laughter and clinking glasses. The venue is some exclusive rooftop bar in the middle of Kensington with a panoramic view of the London skyline. A jazz trio plays somewhere near the back and servers glide through the crowd with silver trays and tight smiles.

Harry’s stomach clenches the moment he’s inside as there are too many faces, too many eyes. And worse, faces he recognises. Not closely, but enough. Distant friends of his parents. Old business partners. People from a world Harry has tried to keep at arm’s length his whole adult life. All older. All rich. All too nosey.

Fuck. He’s usually with the younger rich crowd. None of them are here, thank God, because they’d clock him as Omega in two seconds flat.

Harry keeps his head low as he's slipping through the bodies, shifting direction whenever someone’s gaze lingers too long. He can’t afford to be recognised. If even one of these posh fossils texts his parents to say they’ve seen him, they’ll find out he’s in London. And if they find out, there’ll be questions. A lot of them. Ones he isn’t ready to answer.

And then there’s his scent or more like the lack of it. It messes with him. The scent neutraliser clings to his skin, cold and chemical, like hospital sheets. He hates it. Hates how empty he feels. How wrong. And also how his bonding mark is hidden beneath a dark silk scarf and even if the fabric is soft, it's suffocating against his throat. Every part of him is screaming for Louis but he reminds himself with every breath that he’s doing this for Louis. For their future. 

Eventually, after weaving through a particularly tight cluster near the champagne fountain, he spots him.

Etrash.

Sitting at the bar with one leg crossed over the other, cocktail in hand, chin tilted just slightly like he knows he looks good and wants to give everyone the perfect view. He’s wearing a soft mauve blouse with pearl buttons and some tailored trousers that are probably vintage. The outfit isn’t designer - Harry knows the brands too well - but it gives the impression of money. Or at least someone who knows how to fake it.

Harry’s gut twists and he actually wants to turn around and leave. Or better, wants to storm over and shake him and demand how he could do that to Louis. How he could lie and ruin someone’s life and still sit here like the world owes him a drink. His Omega is practically howling inside him. It is angry and protective. A growl lives in the back of his throat and it takes everything in him to suppress it. He can feel the rage simmering under his skin. Ethan, the little rat, sipping on some pink cocktail while Louis spent years hiding, terrified and alone. It’s a miracle Harry doesn’t claw his own hands into fists.

Shaking it off as best as he can, he breathes. Once. Twice. Then, with a neutral expression, he steps up to the bar. Not too close. Just enough to be noticed. He slides into the stool beside Ethan, turns his body slightly away and lifts a finger to order a drink. He doesn't acknowledge Ethan, doesn’t even glance directly at him. But he can suddenly feel the weight of a stare. A flicker of interest.

Good.

Harry’s lips twitch at the corner as he accepts his drink. This is going to be painful. But if it gets them what they need and if it helps clear Louis' name, he’ll flirt with the devil himself. Even if the devil has perfect curls and a pearl-buttoned blouse.

Taking a sip, Harry lets his gaze drift casually across the bar. Over the flickering tea lights, over the bottles lined in perfect rows, over a few people he doesn't want to recognise him. Then, at last, he lets his eyes settle on Ethan.

Just for a second too long. And Ethan catches it, obviously. Of course he does.

He turns, lips curved in something just shy of a smirk and offers Harry his hand like he’s a prince and Harry’s just stumbled into his court.

“Ethan,” he says, smooth as anything. “Ethan Miller.”

Harry takes the hand with a small smile, leans forward just a bit too close, and presses his lips gently against the back of Ethan’s fingers. Exactly the way older Alphas used to do it to him at boring events, trying to impress his parents or stake some unspoken claim. He can feel Ethan’s skin warm under his mouth but before he can even open his mouth to say his own name, Ethan’s tilting his head, eyes glinting.

“I know who you are,” he says, with that air of confidence that makes Harry want to slap him. “Harry Styles. Omega. Famous family, ridiculous penthouse, disappeared for a bit recently, didn’t you?”

Harry freezes and inside him, a cold weight drops into his stomach. Shit.

Ethan leans in just slightly, lowering his voice. “You’re not exactly passing as Alpha, darling. Not to someone who actually knows your circles.”

Fuck.

Harry forces a breath through his nose and tries to think. Tries not to show any of the panic that’s rattling inside him like glass about to crack.

Okay, he needs to play it off. Casual. Laugh, maybe.

Finally Harry lifts his glass and takes a sip, shrugging a shoulder. “Never said I was an Alpha, did I?” he replies, coolly. “Just didn’t feel like going full... Omega-on-parade tonight. No lace, no pearls, no plunging neckline. Thought I’d try out the minimalist look for once.”

Ethan raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Right. And the scarf’s just fashion?”

Harry lets out a soft, clipped laugh and leans closer, lowering his voice like he’s letting Ethan in on something private. He just needs to play him and Harry just got an idea.

“It’s not a lie, Ethan. It’s just a bit of fun. And honestly? I’m a bit sick of Alphas lately. Especially broke ones who think they can fuck their way into my bank account.”

He lets that hang in the air a moment and watches Ethan’s face closely. Sees the slight twitch at the edge of his mouth.

Hook.

Harry shrugs again, more relaxed now. “Thought I’d see how the other side lives. Maybe try a proper Omega-Omega dynamic. Never done it before, but I’ve always liked a bit of softness.” He lets his fingers brush lightly along the side of his glass. “And you’re... lovely.”

He gives Ethan a wink, a practiced one, the kind that gets him into rooms and out of trouble. Ethan flushes immediately, eyes dropping to Harry’s lips before flicking back up.
Hiding the sigh of relief, Harry takes another sip.

It’s not a full recovery as Ethan’s definitely suspicious. But he’s intrigued now and that’s something. That’s workable. And if he’s even slightly narcissistic, the idea that Harry Styles might be interested in him is probably enough to override the inconsistencies in his cover story. Now all Harry has to do is keep up the performance and pray to God he doesn’t have to kiss this guy to get a confession.

For a moment Harry doesn't say anything more. He figures desperation won’t exactly make him look more appealing, so he keeps his expression smooth and his posture loose, legs crossed at the knee, fingers curling absently around his glass. He turns back toward the bar, resting one elbow on it as he gestures for the bartender, letting his voice drop into something softer, more amused. He flirts, just a little and nothing dramatic, just a compliment here, a flash of a smile there. The bartender is nice-looking, a bit older and clearly flattered, leaning in a bit more than necessary to hand over Harry’s fresh drink.

It’s enough. Because suddenly Ethan shifts. Harry sees it from the corner of his eye - a slight narrowing of the eyes, a small twitch at the corner of his mouth. Then, like it’s the most casual thing in the world, Ethan scoots his barstool closer until their knees almost bump. He leans in a little too, his voice back in Harry’s space.

“Careful,” Ethan says lightly, “you’re making me jealous.”

Harry turns his head slowly, smirking just enough to keep it teasing. “Am I?” he asks, raising his brows. “Didn’t know I had that effect on you.”

Ethan lets out a low laugh and places his hand on the bar, fingers not quite touching Harry’s, but close enough. “You might. Especially looking like that.”

Harry chuckles and shifts his stool, closing the space between them. “Let me buy you another drink then,” he offers smoothly, lifting his hand to the bartender. “Since I’ve apparently caused emotional damage.”

Ethan laughs, relaxing further into it. The bartender brings them two new drinks and Harry raises his glass slightly toward Ethan before taking a sip.

“Hopefully that's enough to make up for it,” he says, mock serious.

“It does, thank you,” Ethan smiles.

They sit in comfortable silence for a moment, just the swell of music and the clinking of glass around them. Then, as if pulled in by the alcohol, or maybe just the attention, Ethan talks.

“You know,” he says, almost lazily, “you’re right about the broke ones. Nightmare, most of them. I don’t know what it is, but they just don’t get it. No ambition. No style.”

Harry hums into his drink. “Tell me about it.”

“I had this one Alpha years ago,” Ethan continues, eyes rolling slightly. “Thought being stubborn and broke made him charming. He had all these... ideas, like we were going to ‘build a life together’. And I was like, babe, I’m not a builder. I want the life built, you know?”

Harry hides the way his stomach twists by taking a slow sip. There’s no doubt who Ethan’s talking about.

“Sounds rough,” Harry says lightly, keeping his tone even. “Guess that’s why you’ve moved up in the upper classes.”

“Oh, absolutely.” Ethan straightens up a bit, like he’s proud. “Haven’t dated anyone without a second home since.”

He turns to Harry again, voice dropping. “And you? You seem like someone who appreciates quality. Taste. Someone who deserves a little... more.”

Harry gives him a slow smile, pretending the words don’t make him want to gag. “You could say that.”

Ethan’s hand drifts to his own drink. Harry watches him sip, lips curled in satisfaction, like he’s just scored points in a game.

Harry waves the bartender over again. “Another?” he offers, tilting his head toward Ethan.

Ethan grins. “Go on, then.”

As the bartender nods and turns away, Harry leans just slightly closer, not enough to crowd, but enough to show he’s in. After all, it's a performance. All of it. And as much as he hates it, Harry knows if he keeps playing the part, the mask will slip eventually and then maybe Ethan will say something he can’t take back.

Harry lets the next drink settle in his hand, the glass cool against his palm. His head feels light, his jaw tight from the forced charm he has to keep up, but he leans in slightly again, gaze fixed on Ethan, lashes lowered just a little, like he’s letting something show. Like he’s trusting him.

“You know,” he begins, voice quieter now, thoughtful, “I had something kind of similar.”

Ethan tilts his head, interested, eyes flicking down to Harry’s mouth before meeting his eyes again and nods at him encouragingly.

Harry exhales, letting his expression soften, just a hint of a sad smile creeping in. “There was this Alpha,” he says. “Not too long ago. God, I was completely gone for him. Thought I’d found it, you know? The big one.”

Ethan hums and Harry keeps going.

“He was charming, bit rough around the edges, but sweet in private. Protective. And I thought... I don’t know, I thought he really saw me. Like, not the money. Not the family name. Just me.”

He looks down at his drink, then back up through his lashes. “Turns out, he was broke. Didn’t tell me. Just kept taking and taking… dinners, holidays, things I thought I was doing out of love, but really, he was just... using me.”

Ethan frowns, visibly reacting. “No.”

Harry nods, lets his lips twitch like the memory still stings. “I found out by accident. Caught him talking to someone about how he was ‘milking it while it lasted.’ I felt… God, I felt sick. Like I’d been made a fool of.”

Ethan reaches out, brushing his fingers gently over Harry’s forearm. “You poor thing,” he says softly. “That’s awful. So fucking cruel.”

Harry holds his breath a second before nodding. “Took me a long time to get over it. Still don’t think I’m fully there.”

Ethan’s gaze turns far away for a moment, like he’s sinking into his own memory. Then he lets out a small, bitter laugh and says, “You know what? That sounds exactly like what happened to me.”

Harry raises his brows, nudging the moment forward.

“My Alpha back then…” Ethan says, shaking his head. “Same thing. No money. Acted like it didn’t matter, but for me it always did. He made me feel guilty for wanting more… like I was the problem, for having standards. But in the end, he just couldn’t keep up. And when I finally left him, he made me feel like the bad guy.”

He looks at Harry, expression suddenly raw. “I loved him. God help me, I really did. And I hated that he made me feel like I was wrong for wanting something better.”

“I get that,” Harry says gently, throat tight.

“I still think about him sometimes,” Ethan admits, swirling his drink, “even though I fucking hate him. He ruined me for anyone else. I haven’t felt anything that strong since.”

There’s something venomous in the way he says it. An old wound, clearly, but also pride.

“I swore to myself something,” Ethan goes on, voice lower now. “If I ever saw him again... I’d make him pay for what he did to me. And I did.”

Harry watches him carefully, his heart pounding. “Really?”

Ethan glances at him, lips curling into a sly, unreadable smile. “Really.”

Harry leans in just a little. “What do you mean? What exactly did you do?”

Ethan chuckles and leans back, tapping one finger against his glass. “Let’s just say... I’m not someone you want to cross.”

Harry’s stomach twists but he tries not to let it show.

“So you’re really not going to tell me what you did?” Harry asks, smiling like it’s all part of the flirt.

Ethan grins. “That would ruin the mystery, wouldn’t it?”

He winks, then takes another sip of his drink and Harry smiles back, even though every part of him is screaming.

He was so close. But Ethan’s too clever or too cautious to slip that easily. Still, Harry thinks, glancing at the hand still resting on his arm, he just confirmed the motive. And if he did do something… He definitely doesn’t regret it.

His Omega is outraged by all of it and Harry feels like he can't breathe properly anymore. It's a lot to take in and the air inside has grown thick - too warm, too loud, too full of people. Harry flashes a polite smile and tilts his head, shifting slightly so his shoulder brushes Ethan’s.

“Fancy a bit of fresh air?” Harry asks.

Ethan perks up immediately, eyes gleaming like Harry’s just offered him a ring. “God, yes. These things always smell like desperation and bad perfume.”

Before Harry can even move, Ethan’s already slipping a hand into the crook of his arm, hooking in like it’s the most natural thing in the world while his palm rests against Harry’s bicep in a way that makes Harry’s stomach twist with unease.

Harry forces a charming grin and leans in just enough. “It feels good,” he murmurs, “having such a gorgeous Omega on my arm.”

Ethan beams up at him, cheeks a touch pink. “You’re not so bad yourself, Mr. Styles. Tall, charming, rich… Honestly, you’re ticking a lot of boxes.”

Harry gives a low laugh, his expression playing at sultry even as his insides recoil. “Just doing my best.”

They step out onto the balcony, the cool evening breeze a welcome relief against Harry’s skin. It ruffles his hair slightly, but the sleek bun at his nape holds firm. He inhales deeply and tries to calm himself and his Omega.
Both of them settle by the railing and the city stretches out before them. It’s almost quiet out here. For a moment, Harry lets himself forget what he’s doing until he feels Ethan’s eyes on him again.

“You know,” Ethan says softly, “I wasn’t sure about this Omega-Omega idea before.”

Harry glances at him, schooling his face into something curious but open.

“But now…” Ethan continues, “I think I could get used to it. Especially if you’re the Omega in question.”

Harry chuckles, pretending the words don’t make his skin crawl. He leans just a bit closer, eyes flicking to Ethan’s lips, only to catch the way the other Omega’s gaze lingers on his own. There’s tension there and Harry knows it’s only seconds before Ethan tries something. Sure enough, Ethan shifts closer, tilting his chin, eyes locked on Harry’s mouth like he’s reading an invitation but Harry gently puts a hand on Ethan’s chest before he can close the gap.

“Easy, darling,” Harry says with a smirk, letting his voice drop into something teasing. “I’m not that easy. At least let's meet a second time.”

Ethan laughs, pulling back only slightly, though his hand stays on Harry’s arm. “Is that all it takes? Second date and you’re mine?”

Harry gives him a playful wink. “You’ll have to find out, won’t you?”

Ethan’s grin widens. “In that case, come to brunch tomorrow. Same place. I was going anyway, but now I’ve got an even better reason.”

Harry lets out a soft hum of approval, his expression flirtatious, though his stomach clenches.

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

Inside, he’s screaming. Every touch, every smile, every smooth line feels like oil in his throat but he swallows it all. Fuck, does he hate it. And he really can't play this role anymore. His Omega is in desperate need of a nest.

Harry slides a hand gently up to Ethan’s cheek, brushing his knuckles against the warm skin with a soft smile. “I’d love to stay longer,” Harry murmurs, “but I promised I’d pop by another party tonight. Networking and all that. You know how it is.”

Ethan’s lips tug into a pout. “Can I at least get a hug goodbye?”

Harry hesitates for the briefest moment but he nods with a soft chuckle. “Of course you can.”

Ethan steps in close, wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist and pressing against his chest. He smells too strongly of expensive cologne and sweet body spray. It doesn’t match. It doesn’t fit. Harry squeezes his eyes shut and holds him anyway, arms coming around him automatically while he focuses on breathing through his mouth.

For a moment he lets his eyes drift shut, imagining it’s Louis instead, his Alpha’s smaller body tucked against his, the warm, grounding scent of home and pinewood and the sea, not whatever sugary floral thing Ethan’s doused himself in. With that his chest aches just like his bonding mark.

Finally Ethan pulls back with a smile so soft it almost looks real. “See you tomorrow, Harry.”

Harry forces another nod, then peels himself away with practiced grace and disappears inside, only to rush outside. It takes him a bit to find the van. It's tucked away in a side street, half in shadow, barely visible unless you’re looking for it. He knocks once on the side door before it slides open and Payne leans out with a raised brow. Harry climbs in without a word and slumps onto the nearest seat, tension pulling at every muscle. His hands tremble slightly as he drags his fingers through his hair, careful not to disturb the tight bun too much.

“I need help,” Harry says roughly. “I need him to talk tomorrow. I have to get a confession.”

Payne studies him for a beat before nodding once. “Alright. We will make a plan. But you did good today.”

Harry doesn't have the feeling he did good as he still doesn't have a confession. Also, he is seconds away from crying.

Payne studies him while Harry really tries to get a grip on himself. “Hey… are you okay? Do you need something?”

Harry’s eyes close, jaw tightening. “I need a shower. Now. I can’t-” His voice cracks, but he swallows it down. “I just…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence to not spill out that it hurts like hell to not be close to his Alpha. Payne just nods and doesn’t press further. Instead he just throws the van into gear, already moving before Harry even opens his eyes again. They ride in silence, the lights of the city flickering past as Harry stares at nothing, fists clenched in his lap.

Everything stinks of Ethan. Of perfume and lies and false touches. Of betrayal and fake smiles. It clings to his skin like static and the further he gets from that building, the more he feels the weight of it pulling off him. But underneath it all, what truly burns is the way his bond mark throbs without Louis near. It’s like a ghost limb - present, aching, needy. Harry wipes under his eye discreetly, breathing through his nose as Payne turns the van into a quieter road, heading towards his penthouse.

“You worry me, if I can do something, please just tell me,” Payne offers after a quick glance at him.

“Just get me to my penthouse,” Harry mutters. “I can do the rest.”

Closing his eyes, he pictures Louis, grounding himself in the only thing that still feels real and he really doesn’t know how he’ll survive another day wrapped in someone else’s scent when the only one he wants is a thousand miles away.

Chapter Text

Harry stares at himself in the mirror, and just like yesterday, he doesn’t recognise the person looking back. Today he's dressed in sleek black trousers and an open blue silk shirt that dips just low enough to suggest confidence he doesn’t actually feel. But it reminds him of Lou’s eyes and that's at least something. He's already wired and Payne waits outside as Harry needed a moment for himself.

Nervously his gaze swipes again over his reflection. His hair is loose today, falling in soft waves over his shoulders, brushed out carefully to give off that casual but still put-together look.

He tilts his head slightly, fingers trailing up to the scarf he knots loosely around his neck, covering the bond mark like it's just another accessory. It’s one he used to wear as Omega Harry too, an expensive piece from a spring collection he barely remembers buying. It feels safer somehow, to cover up with something that’s always been his. 
Like yesterday the scent neutraliser sits heavy on his skin, but today he tops it with a sharp, fresh spritz of cologne. Not too much. Just enough to distract from the hollow ache in his chest. His Omega is miserable. Still raw from yesterday, still longing, still angry. And Harry doesn’t blame it as he’s tired too.

He hadn’t really slept, just drifted in and out restless, shivering despite the warmth of his penthouse. He’d spent nearly an hour under scalding water in the shower, scrubbing at his own skin until it was red and tight, trying to erase Ethan’s touch, his breath and his smug little smile. And when that hadn’t helped, he’d collapsed into his nest swing, naked and hurting, buried beneath Louis’ old shirts. It had been the only way he could breathe again.

Now, he leans down one more time over the nest swing, fingers gripping one of the softer, more worn shirts, and presses his face to it and inhales deeply Lou’s scent. Safe. Love. His throat tightens and his chest feels like it might split open, but he straightens up before it can take him down again.

Quickly he heads for the door and downstairs. Outside the van is waiting just across the street, tinted windows glinting in the sunlight. Payne is probably already monitoring the signal from the wire and watching the time. Harry climbs in without knocking and makes Payne look up from a tablet. 

“You alright?” he asks.

Harry just nods. “Let’s get this over with.” 

Payne just gives him a clipped nod and turns his attention back to the screen before he puts it away and starts the engine of the van. Harry stares out of the window, trying to hold onto the last trace of Lou’s scent in his lungs, wishing with everything he has that he didn’t have to do this. That Louis was here. That this wasn’t real. But it is. And he’s got a job to finish.

━━━━🌻━━━━

Harry steps back into the same rooftop location as the night before, the morning light casting a very different atmosphere over the space now. What had been moody and low-lit now gleams with crisp white linen and clinking glassware, while soft chatter floats over the tables. But none of that matters, because his eyes land on Ethan immediately.

Of course he’s waiting by the entrance like he’s the main event. Today he’s dressed in slim trousers, a silk blouse in pale cream and gold accents on his wrist and neck while holding a bloody mimosa. Harry plasters on a smile while his cheeks already hurt from the effort of faking it. He strides up like he hasn’t spent the entire night curled around a shirt that smelled like Louis and crying into cotton.

“Morning, beautiful,” Ethan purrs the second Harry’s close enough. He extends his hand again and Harry takes it to brush a kiss over his knuckles, just like last night. 

“You look stunning,” Harry murmurs, leaning in slightly, lowering his voice into something more suggestive. “Not gonna lie, I’ve barely slept. Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Ethan’s cheeks flush pink instantly and his scent shifts, that sugary-sweet note in the air again. God, it’s thick. Harry resists the urge to gag.

“Stop,” Ethan says coyly, batting his lashes like they’re in some kind of rom-com. “You’re too much.”

Harry wishes he were.

He leans in just a touch closer, watching Ethan practically melt, which is good because Harry has to get him to something more private. This whole thing was Payne’s idea. To get Ethan away from the crowd. Make him feel important in a more intimate setting. The closer they get, the more likely he’ll slip up. Or think he’s safe enough to. And Harry? He’s willing to go there if it means he gets what he needs for Louis. Still, his Omega is sulking somewhere deep in his chest, a constant throb of discomfort. Harry’s not sure how many more compliments he can give this man without combusting.

“You know,” Harry starts, adjusting the scarf around his neck absently, “as much as I love overpriced eggs and being stared at, I was thinking… Maybe we ditch the brunch?”

Ethan tilts his head, curious. “Oh?”

“There’s this park nearby,” Harry says smoothly, “quiet, beautiful, good for walking… and privacy.” He lets that last word linger just enough. “We could take some food with us. Bit of a picnic.”

Ethan blinks in surprise but the suggestion clearly delights him. “That’s actually… really sweet.”

Harry offers a grin, already turning towards the nearest waiter. He pulls his money clip out to show off for Ethan. A sleek silver piece with folded notes thick enough to signal wealth and slides a couple into the waiter’s palm, murmuring, “Put together a basket. Food, drinks. Whatever looks good.”

The waiter nods and disappears instantly.

Ethan is glowing. “You really do like to spoil,” he says, eyes twinkling. “I knew you were different.”

Harry gives him a look. “I’ve got more where that came from.”

He says it like a promise. But really, all he wants is this to be over. For Ethan to talk and to mess up. And for Harry to finally have something solid to bring back to Louis.

Only moments later the waiter comes back and smiles politely as he hands the basket to Harry. It is heavier than expected, probably filled with overpriced nonsense like truffle crisps and vegan quiches but Harry takes it without complaint. Anything to keep up appearances. Ethan, unsurprisingly, hooks his arm right back through Harry’s the moment they start walking, his body brushing close with every step like they’re some long-established couple out for a morning stroll. Harry just tightens his jaw and keeps his eyes ahead.

It’s summer in London, technically. But unlike the sweltering heat of Italy, the kind that makes clothes stick and turns skin golden without trying, London summer is moody. Under the shade of the trees as they cut through one of the quieter paths in the park, a damp chill lingers in the air and immediately Ethan shivers beside him, pressing closer. 

“Should’ve brought a jacket,” he mumbles.

Harry hums noncommittally, letting him lean in. He can feel the warmth of Ethan’s body through both their shirts, but it’s not comforting. It’s clingy. His Omega doesn’t like it. Harry doesn’t like it. It’s all wrong. He tries to focus on something else… like the gravel crunching beneath their shoes, the faint sound of birds and even the scent of damp grass. But the sugary edge of Ethan’s scent clings to him like a film. It’s not repulsive exactly, it’s just too much.

While they walk, they exchange some meaningless small talk about holiday plans, the weather and a story Ethan tells about a gallery opening he went to where the champagne ran out. Harry nods and laughs in the right places, playing the game. Every now and then, he throws in a flirty comment, just enough to keep the bait sweet and Ethan eats it up.

Finally, they come upon a spot in the sun, a small patch of grass near a weathered old bench. It’s secluded enough but still public and Harry gestures at it. “Here?”

Ethan nods brightly. “Perfect.”

Harry drops the basket on the ground and crouches to open it, fishing out a bottle of champagne and two plastic glasses. His plan is simple: food, drinks, gentle probing and if he’s lucky, maybe Ethan will slip.

He pats the grass beside him and says, “Let’s sit.” 

Placing the basket between them, Harry hopes the physical divider might encourage a bit of space. But no. Of course not. Ethan makes a soft sound and shifts the basket aside, not even pretending to care and slides right up next to him again, curling into Harry’s side like he belongs there. Like this is his spot by right. Harry stares down at the top of his head for a moment, blinking.

Fucking hell.

The level of need radiating off Ethan is almost laughable. He’s really out here throwing himself at anyone with a decent coat and a Rolex, isn’t he? Harry feels a flicker of genuine second-hand embarrassment. Is this what Louis had to deal with? Did Ethan just latch onto the nearest rich person like this, every time?

Harry forces a smile, resting an arm loosely around Ethan’s shoulder because he has to. Not because he wants to.

“Comfy?” he asks dryly.

“Mmm,” Ethan replies, eyes closed like he’s living a fairytale. “Very.”

Harry just sighs softly, staring off into the trees. He’s counting the minutes. If this day doesn’t end with something useful, he swears he’s going to lose it. Grimacing, he picks up the bottle and starts pouring them both drinks. If nothing else, maybe the alcohol will loosen Ethan’s tongue. Sitting up, Ethan’s hand rests now lightly on Harry’s forearm as he takes the offered glass and takes a huge sip while he lets his eyes sweep over Harry slowly, clearly taking his time.

“You look different today,” he says, voice teasing, sweetened by the alcohol already softening the edges of his words. Harry assumes he probably had a few already at the location. “More relaxed, maybe. The hair suits you falling so open. Very… untamed.”

“Do you think?” Harry drawls, flicking his fingers through the dark curls that fall over his shoulders. “I wasn’t sure, but if it gets your approval…”

Ethan giggles. Actually giggles.

Harry’s hand lifts without thinking… well, with thinking, but not the kind he wants to acknowledge and brushes gently through the shorter, dark blond curls resting over Ethan’s ear. “You’ve got good hair too, you know. These curls are criminally cute.”

Ethan visibly melts, his head tilting instinctively into Harry’s touch like a cat seeking warmth. His scent goes a little sugary again, thick in Harry’s nose and for a second it makes his stomach clench. Still, he keeps the stroke slow and soft, his face unreadable. After a while he pulls his hand away carefully and refills Ethan’s glass, then his own but as Ethan tilts his head back and sips, Harry leans just slightly to the side and tips the contents of his own into the grass behind them. Quick and quiet as he wants to stay sober. He repeats the routine three more times. Ethan, for his part, doesn’t seem to notice or care, he’s happily drinking and chattering and leaning in closer with each passing minute. His laughter is lighter and louder now. Hands wander more freely, brushing against Harry’s thigh, his chest and the exposed skin where his shirt gapes open.

“Let me feed you,” Ethan says suddenly, with half-lidded eyes.

Harry blinks, then forces a chuckle. “Go on then,” he says and opens his mouth.

Ethan picks a sliver of peach from a small container, daintily placing it on Harry’s tongue. Harry chews, swallows, smiles like it doesn’t make his soul itch. In return, Harry selects a small wedge of cheese and lifts it toward Ethan’s mouth. Ethan leans in without hesitation, lips brushing Harry’s fingers as he takes it and lingers just a second too long. Ethan dissolves into another fit of giggles, snuggling in closer, his knee now pressing against Harry’s, one hand resting low on Harry’s stomach like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His scent is practically seductive by now.

But Harry doesn’t flinch or doesn’t pull away. He simply tops off Ethan’s glass again and offers another bite of fruit. He’s got no clue how this ends. But one thing is certain - the more drunk and affectionate Ethan gets, the more likely he is to say something he shouldn’t. But instead of talking, suddenly something else happens faster than he can react.

One second, Ethan is giggling into his shoulder, cheeks flushed and the next, he’s suddenly grabbing at Harry’s wrist, pulling him down flat onto the grass with a clumsy sort of urgency. Harry’s breath leaves him in a soft “oof” as his back hits the ground, sunlight blinking between the trees above. And before he can even think to sit up again, Ethan is climbing over him, straddling his hips, his face close and his breath reeks of alcohol.

“Ethan…” Harry starts, voice already tight, nerves on fire. But Ethan just shakes his head, curls bouncing slightly, eyes glazed with heat and need.

“I can’t… I just-” Ethan’s words slur a little as he leans in. “I can’t stop thinking about you, Harry. I’ve never felt something like this so fast.” His hand presses flat to Harry’s chest. “You feel it too, don’t you?”

Harry freezes. His Omega is screaming inside him, desperate to shove Ethan off, to flee. Every inch of his skin crawls with the wrongness of it, the betrayal of it. He feels cold and sick despite the sun. But his mind goes to Louis, always to Louis, and the plan. The mission.

And so he smiles, even if it's thin and shaky. A lie in the shape of his mouth.

“Yeah,” Harry says quietly, throat dry. “I feel it too.”

And then Ethan kisses him. It’s soft, in theory. It should be gentle. But Harry’s whole body revolts. He forces himself to stay still, to keep breathing through his nose, to not gag at the taste of champagne and someone who is not Louis. His fists clench tightly in the grass, tries to ground himself and he keeps his eyes wide open until Ethan’s lips finally leave his.

He wants to cry. He wants to scream. He wants to scrub his mouth raw.

Instead, he just lies there while Ethan hums against his skin as he moves lower, lips brushing down Harry’s jaw, to the slope of his neck. Harry squeezes his eyes shut then, willing himself somewhere else. Anywhere else. Italy. Lou's house. Blue eyes and soft fingers and safety.

But then Ethan tugs at the scarf around Harry’s neck.

And everything stops.

The cool breeze hits the damp skin of his collarbone, and then Ethan’s mouth goes still, hovering just over the exposed mark. Harry’s bonding mark. Still fresh, still healing. Still Lou’s.

Ethan jerks back like he’s been burned. His expression twists in slow-motion, confusion morphing into something darker. His eyes dart from the mark to Harry’s face, his whole body suddenly rigid and cold.

“What the fuck is that?” Ethan’s growls.

Harry doesn’t breathe. He just blinks and his entire body has gone numb, but there’s a roaring in his ears, a dizzy throb behind his eyes. Panic rises in his throat like bile, thick and choking. He can’t think. He can’t move.

Ethan stares at him, eyes wide and unblinking. “You have a bonding mark?” His tone teeters between hurt and crazy, like he’s about to cry or scream… or both. “You… You’re mated?!”

Harry’s heart pounds so hard he’s sure Payne can hear it through the mic.

Fuck. What now?

Harry doesn’t even feel the tears coming. They just spill, all at once. Anxiety seeks its way out and his chest lurches with the first sob. Then he’s gasping, curling in on himself on the grass like a child, arms wrapped around his middle as if he can physically hold himself together. He can’t. He’s unraveling. Completely. All of it too much. The mission, the lies, the bond, missing Louis. And now the shear panic. The ache of it sits in his ribcage like it’s made of glass, splintering more with every breath.

He chokes on a sob and tries to sit up, wiping furiously at his face, trying to think. But his Omega is screaming, and his soul feels raw and he just wants Louis. Wants to be curled in his nest with his Alpha wrapped around him, their bond humming steady and safe. But Louis isn’t here. Louis can’t be here.

So Harry does what he has to do and tries to use his tears for this whole situation. He will play the role of his life to save this.

Sniffing, he drags his hand under his nose and lets the tears keep falling as he turns wide, watery eyes to Ethan. 

“Don’t… don’t be angry,” he pleads, voice cracking just right. “Please. I never wanted the bond.”

Ethan’s face is still frozen in a mix of shock and suspicion, but he blinks at that. “What do you mean?” 

Harry lets out a trembling breath and leans into the performance.

“He gave the mark to me,” Harry whispers. “Without my consent. I didn’t know it was happening until it was too late. He… he was a criminal. A liar. Remember that poor Alpha I told you about yesterday?” He looks Ethan dead in the eye. “It was him.”

Ethan pales and Harry lets the silence hang heavy for a beat, then adds, even softer, “I didn’t know. I loved him. I thought he was someone else. And then I found out who he really was. What he’d done. What he’d taken from me. I’ve been trying to forget ever since.”

Ethan’s expression shifts. The anger softens, folding into something uncertain. Compassion, maybe. Or just pity.

“What kind of criminal?” he asks.

Harry swallows. It’s now or never.

“I found out he killed someone,” Harry whispers. “Harrington. Have you heard about this a few years ago?”

Ethan goes dead still. Like his whole body just short-circuits. “Are you saying… are you saying your Alpha… he was-” Ethan’s breath stutters. “Louis Tomlinson?”

Harry nods and drops his head, mutters brokenly, “You can’t tell anyone. Please. If my parents ever found out…”

Ethan doesn’t answer right away, but then he’s scooting closer, arms going around Harry in a clumsy sort of hug. His scent is thick now, overwhelmed by confusion and sympathy. Harry leans into it just enough to keep the act steady.

“I can see it now. You bear a resemblance to me. Of course he was looking for someone who looks like me. That arsehole.” Ethan exhales shakily into Harry’s shoulder. “He was my Alpha once too,” he mutters bitterly. “The one who fucking ruined me.”

Harry doesn’t speak. Just whimpers softly and clutches at Ethan’s sleeve.

“I thought I was over it,” Ethan says, his voice getting sharper. “But hearing this… knowing what he did to you too-” He pulls back just enough to look at Harry. “He’s a monster. A fucking coward. Ran away instead of facing prison.”

Harry nods, lets himself sniffle pathetically. “I don’t even know where he is now. I just… I want revenge.”

That does it. Ethan’s arms tighten around him again, possessive and protective and brimming with shared rage.

“We’ll get it,” he says. “He’s not gonna hurt anyone else.”

Harry lets his head drop onto Ethan’s shoulder and closes his eyes, ignoring the part of himself that wants to scream for Louis. None of that matters now. He just has to keep playing the part. Harry wipes at his face with trembling fingers, still letting the occasional tear roll down because it fits. It fits too well now. He glances up at Ethan, eyes wide and searching.

“Do you… still want me?” he asks quietly, hesitantly. “Even with the mark. Even after all that?”

Ethan doesn’t even hesitate. “Of course I do,” he breathes, lifting a hand to cup Harry’s cheek. “That wasn’t your choice. And I’ve never felt like this with anyone before, Harry. I mean it. It's like a twist of fate that we both found each other and had the same fucking Alpha.”

Harry leans into the touch and draws in a shaky breath, eyes darting over Ethan’s face. He needs to push this further. Needs more.

“Then be mine,” he murmurs. “Let’s finish this. Let’s get that Alpha behind bars. And then… then we can both be happy. Together.”

Ethan’s eyes spark like it’s Christmas morning. He nods, almost frantically. “Yes. Yes, exactly. That’s what I want.”

Harry fakes a small smile as if the idea comforts him. “You said you already got your revenge once. What did you mean?”

Ethan bites his lip, coy at first, but then something darker flickers behind his eyes. “You really wanna know?”

Harry nods slowly, though every instinct inside him screams to run. Ethan glances around to make sure nobody is listening, then shifts and lowers his voice. “Okay… so it all started with me having an affair with Harrington.”

“Oh, really?” 

“Yeah, he was supposed to marry me,” Ethan whispers and there’s this glint in his eye again that makes Harry feel sick. “Promised me the world. I thought he’d finally make good on it. I played the role perfectly… pretty little secret, all charm and smiles. But when it came down to it? He wanted to keep me tucked away. Said he couldn’t risk it. That it’d ruin him.”

Harry doesn’t move. Barely breathes.

Ethan’s expression twists. “I’d had it. I wasn’t gonna be anyone’s dirty little secret anymore. Not his. Not anyone’s.”

And then he smiles.

“I stabbed Harrington myself,” Ethan says proudly. “He begged me not to kill him, to forgive him. But I didn’t. I made him pay.” He shrugs. “And Louis? I told the police it was him. Two birds, one stone. I destroyed them both.”

Harry goes cold all over. Completely numb. He hears the words. He understands them. But they don’t register, not really. Not when they are strung together like a deranged confession disguised as revenge.

“Wow… how, uh,” Harry stammers but doesn't get his words together. “Louis? How?”

“I knew Louis would be walking past Harrington's house. Same time, same path like every time he had a shift after his uni. I took a picture of him that day when he passed it to show the police. Then I followed him all the way to the station and slipped the knife into his bag just before I disappeared. Unfortunately, he fled from the police and was able to do this to you. But not under my watch, darling. With me, you don't need to be afraid anymore!”

Harry is still staring, tears frozen on his cheeks while his heart is thudding in his throat like a war drum. Louis didn’t do it. He never did. Harry knew it but to hear it from the real killer is something else. Seconds later, Ethan leans in again and presses a soft kiss to Harry’s lips.

“We’ll find him,” he whispers. “He’s not gonna get away with what he did to you. Not again. I promise you, Harry.”

Harry doesn’t respond right away. He nods eventually, barely, then lets himself fold into Ethan’s arms. He kisses him back, because he doesn’t know what else to do. Because if he doesn’t, if he pulls back now he honestly doesn’t know what Ethan might do. The realisation settles like ice in his gut. So he quickly wraps his arms around Ethan, holding him close and tells himself it’s just a role.

But God, he’s never been this scared before and Harry is shaking inside. Not visibly, not yet. Maybe it's the pure shock. But it’s there, a growing tremble beneath his skin, deep in his muscles, under every breath he takes. Ethan’s arms are still around him, lips brushing his neck, and Harry has never felt so utterly trapped in his own body. His brain is screaming. What the fuck does he do now?

Ethan kisses him again. It’s soft this time, lingering, and Harry barely keeps himself from recoiling. His stomach churns with nausea. The things Ethan’s just said about Harrington, about Louis, the way he spoke with that little gleam of pride… Harry feels sick. Like he’s just kissed something inhuman. Someone broken in ways that go far deeper than he ever expected.

“I love you,” Ethan murmurs suddenly, all syrupy and warm like it's the most natural thing in the world. “I’ve never felt this before. Never clicked with anyone like this. You and me… we’re the perfect pair, Harry.”

Harry doesn’t breathe. Love? After two meetings?

There’s no doubt left now. Ethan isn’t just dangerous, he’s completely psychotic. His sense of reality is warped, twisted into this fantasy where Harry’s some tragic Omega who’ll run away with him and start fresh after they destroy the man they both “hate.”

And Harry… Harry has no idea how to get out of this alive. But he has to. He can’t panic. Not now. Not when he’s this close to a murderer. He leans into Ethan just a little, makes it look like affection and buys himself a second to think. And then he remembers, finally knows what to do.

“You smell really good,” Harry whispers, pressing a kiss to Ethan’s cheek. “Like cherry.”

Ethan hums, pleased. “You always say the sweetest things.”

Harry forces a smile and keeps going. “No, I mean it. Cherry-sweet. Like something you’d eat right up.”

He just hopes Paye understands. The word is his only lifeline now.

“You think I smell like cherry?” Ethan asks, eyes wide with delight, and kisses him even harder, like Harry’s just said something romantic instead of code red, get me the fuck out of here.

“Absolutely. It’s almost too much,” Harry murmurs breathlessly, working the word into every other sentence. “You smell like cherry lip balm. Cherry liqueur. God, even your skin’s like cherry blossom…”

Ethan’s kissing him again, full of obsession and possession, and Harry knows he can't keep this up for much longer.

Then - thank fuck - there’s movement.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Payne says in a smooth, casual tone. “Is that Harry Styles?”

Harry snaps his head up like he’s been given oxygen and looks at Payne. He's wearing a blazer and sunglasses and a perfectly practised smile, strolling up like an old friend.

“I haven’t seen you in ages,” Payne says, playing his role perfectly. “Come on, you owe me a drink.”

Harry lets out a tight laugh and stands quickly, brushing grass from his trousers. “God, you’re right, Liam. Can’t turn down a drink with someone that important. He’s a partner in one of my dad’s companies,” Harry adds, turning to Ethan, keeping his voice light. “I’d get chewed out if I passed up time with him.”

Ethan blinks, clearly surprised. A small flicker of suspicion passes through his expression and Harry’s pulse jumps. He needs to close this clean.

“Give me your number, sweetheart,” Harry says gently. “I’ll call you later, promise. I just… I can’t miss this, you understand?”

Ethan melts a little again, seemingly reassured by the request. “Okay. But don’t forget.”

“Never. We belong together!” Harry lies smoothly while Ethan types in the digits. As he has his phone back, he leans down and gives Ethan a final kiss on the cheek. “See you soon.”

And then he walks away with Payne beside him and doesn't look back. As soon as they’re out of sight behind a hedge, Harry stumbles slightly because he can't hold on any longer, his panic finally bubbling over. Payne catches his elbow instantly, steadying him without drawing attention.

“You did good,” Payne murmurs under his breath. “Just a bit further, yeah? You’ve got this.”

Harry nods, but he feels like he’s seconds away from dropping. His heart is pounding, head swimming while Ethan’s words echoing in his skull.

I love you. I killed him. Let’s destroy him together.

He swallows hard and keeps moving, clinging to Payne’s quiet presence like it’s the only solid thing left in the world.

The moment they reach the van and the door shuts behind him, Harry breaks. It’s not even a slow unravel. It’s immediate. Like something inside snaps free the second he’s away from Ethan’s suffocating presence. He tries to breathe, really tries, but it’s like someone’s closed his throat with a fist. The panic is loud in his ears, roaring like white noise and his hands are trembling so hard they barely feel like part of him anymore.

“Oh my god,” he gasps, voice cracking. “Oh my fucking god!”

Payne’s already got him seated in the back, kneeling down in front of him with a steady expression, calm and controlled. “Harry. Look at me.”

Harry tries but his eyes blur with tears.

“I kissed him,” he says. “I kissed him, and he… he killed someone. He fucking killed someone and then kissed me and I let him… what if… what if my mate… what if he finds out…what if he doesn’t forgive me, I-”

His chest locks up again. He can’t get a proper breath in, panic rising with every half-inhale. “He’s gonna leave me. My Alpha is gonna leave me. I-I cheated… or what if… what if Ethan figures it out and he comes back and he’s gonna kill me too?”

“Harry,” Payne says again, firmer now. “You’re safe. You’re out. I’ve got you. Deep breath.”

Harry’s lungs refuse to cooperate, but Payne’s voice is the only thing tethering him to reality.

“In for four,” Payne says, demonstrating. “Hold for four. Out for four.”

He does it with Harry, again and again, guiding him through the rhythm. At first, Harry can’t follow. Then he just mimics the motion and slowly the air starts to come.

“I need to go to the police,” Harry croaks, eyes wide and wet. “We need to go. Right now. He confessed, Payne. He told me… he told me. You heard it, didn’t you? You heard it!”

“I did,” Payne says calmly. “I’ve already messaged my team. They’ll handle it. But you… Harry, you’re about to drop. We need to get you stabilised first, yeah?”

“I want my Alpha,” Harry whispers and his lip trembles. “I need… Louis. I want Louis.”

Payne’s face softens. “Louis Tomlinson is your mate?”

Harry's eyes widen as he realises what he revealed. “Please don't tell anyone. Please. He's not free yet. Please!”

“It's okay, I won't tell. Where is he, Harry? Can you tell me?”

“I-Italy,” Harry stammers. “He’s in Italy. I don’t… feel good, I can’t-” His head tips forward as another wave of panic hits. “Please, I need to go to him. Please.”

“Alright,” Payne says without hesitation. “We’ll get you there. Do you have a flight booked already?”

Harry shakes his head.

“No problem. I’ll book one now for you. We’ll stop at yours on the way, yeah? Grab your things. You’ll be on a plane within hours.”

“Police?” Harry says again, voice barely a whisper.

“I promise, we’re handling it,” Payne says firmly. “You did everything right. Now let me do my part.”

That sentence nearly knocks Harry over. The weight of it. The reassurance. Someone else taking over, someone capable. He nods, breath hitching as tears spill down his cheeks in relief.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

Payne reaches forward and lays a hand on Harry's arm. “Do you want me to scent you? It might help.”

But the moment the words are out, Harry’s whole body stiffens. Panic flickers across his features again as he's not Lou and Payne immediately raises his hands in retreat.

“No worries. No touching. I won’t. You’re safe.”

Harry nods, shakily, curling in on himself slightly on the bench seat as Payne moves to the front and starts the engine. As they pull away from the park, Payne keeps his voice low and even, gently talking Harry through breathing again.

“Four in. Hold. Four out. You’ve got this. Just keep breathing.”

And Harry does. Barely, but he does. He clutches the seat with white-knuckled hands and focuses on nothing but the rhythm and the road, until the only clear thought forms that he soon has his Alpha with him again. Finally. 

Chapter Text

Harry stares blankly out of the taxi window, forehead pressed against the glass that’s fogging under his skin. The roads are winding and dark, the Tuscan countryside rolling past like some quiet painting he’s too numb to take in. He wonders absently if there’s such a thing as a half drop. Not quite the full-body shutdown of an Omega in distress, but close. A version that’s quieter, colder. More like being dead on the inside while still going through the motions of being alive. Whatever it is, it’s what he feels. Just hollow and muted. Like a fucking ghost in his own skin.

He must look like a zombie but he really doesn’t care. Back in the penthouse a few hours earlier, he’d stripped out of the shirt that still smelled of Ethan and replaced it with one of Louis’ soft old t-shirts, the scent of his Alpha grounding him in the only way he still responds to. The tailored trousers he’s left on and it's an absurd contrast now. He’s also fairly certain there’s dried vomit in his hair as he was hanging directly over the toilet bowl the moment he stepped into his penthouse, but he can’t bring himself to check. There’s a bitter taste still stuck to the back of his throat and everything just feels… off. His hands don’t feel like his hands. His bones ache. His skin itches. He feels like he's floating somewhere just outside himself.

He’d spent the entire flight staring out the window, not a single word to the flight attendant who kept asking if he needed anything. Now, in the back of the taxi, it’s the same. And finally he sees through the window a shape in the distance. The villa.

His heart doesn’t exactly jump, but something shifts. A thread of life, his Omega recognising something even if his mind can’t. Louis. Louis is there and his scent is almost close enough to taste.

When the taxi slows to a stop in front of the gate, Harry doesn’t even wait for the driver to get out. He throws cash into the passenger seat and clumsily opens the door himself. He barely manages to get his suitcase out of the boot, dragging it behind him before abandoning it right at the threshold. He stumbles through the garden path until he sees the light still on in Louis' house. He lets out a broken sound, something between a sob and a gasp, and takes a shaky step forward.

And then the door opens already, his mate looking at him with big blue eyes. There’s no time to speak. No words in him left. The sight of him is too much. Harry drops to his knees in the grass and just stares for a moment, frozen and trembling, and then the tears come. Quiet at first, then gut-wrenching. His chest caves in and he finally breaks, sobbing so hard his shoulders shake violently with it.

Louis is already running toward him because Harry can’t move. He can only cry. Louis is on him in seconds, arms wrapping tightly around Harry as he kneels beside him. The world tilts a little when Louis shifts, fumbling for a moment before managing to gather Harry into his lap like he weighs nothing. Harry clings to him immediately - shaking, breath hitching, fists twisting into the back of Louis' t-shirt as if he might fall apart without something to anchor him. And Louis holds him with one hand pressed against the back of Harry’s head, the other cradling his waist.

“Hey, hey, my love, I’ve got you,” Louis soothes. “It’s alright. You’re safe now. You’re with me.”

Harry buries his face in his shoulder, but Louis gently nudges his chin up with careful fingers until their eyes meet. Harry’s lashes are soaked, cheeks blotchy and wet. He must look like a wreck but Louis doesn't seem to care, just leans in and kisses the tears from his skin. First one cheek, then the other, soft and slow, before his lips brush over Harry’s mouth, still trembling, and Harry melts into it with another sob.

“I love you,” Harry chokes out, over and over again, the words raw and gasped against Louis' lips. “I love you, I love you!”

“I love you too,” Louis breathes, kissing him deeper this time and Harry holds on tighter, his fingers curling into Louis’ back so hard he’s sure it’ll bruise. But Louis doesn’t flinch, just keeps holding him.

“Are you okay?” Louis whispers once the kiss breaks, foreheads pressed together, breath mingling.

Harry nods shakily and for the first time in what feels like days, it doesn’t feel like a lie. “I am now,” he whispers.

It’s like the moment after a storm breaks. Like standing in warm rain after hours of being lost in the cold wind. The bond between them pulses alive, real, golden. He can feel it again, not like a wound, but like a tether, like light winding through his chest and down his limbs. His Omega settles with a kind of quiet relief he didn’t think was possible anymore. The ache dulls. The dread dissolves. Everything finally feels like it’s in its right place again.

Louis kisses him again and this time it’s different. Slower and deeper. Like he’s sealing the cracks. Like he’s pouring every unspoken thing into the space between them. Harry leans in, letting himself drown in it, letting the warmth of Louis' mouth rewrite every cold, awful thing the past days had etched into his bones. It’s not just a kiss - it’s a balm, a vow, a homecoming. And Harry finally, finally believes he’s going to be okay.

But after a while Louis pulls back just enough to look at him properly, fingers brushing away the curls stuck to Harry’s cheek from crying. 

“Do you want a shower, Omega?” he asks gently. “Or a bath?”

Harry lets out a broken little laugh through his tears and nods. “Yeah… I know I stink. Think there’s still sick in my hair.”

Louis smiles but his nose crinkles slightly. “That, and you reek of Ethan.”

Just like that, Harry’s face crumples again. The smile dies on his lips and he folds in on himself like he’s been punched in the stomach. It hits him hard, he knows the scent on his skin is proof of something shameful, something filthy. Something Louis might not be able to forgive. His entire body trembles as another wave of sobs crashes over him.

“I didn’t want to,” he gasps out, voice barely there. “I didn’t want to… he… God, Lou, I was just so scared. I think I’m close to dropping and I… I need your scent, please, I need you.”

Louis’ expression softens immediately. “I know, sunflower. I’ve got you,” he says, already shifting them both to stand. “Come on, I’ll get you in the bath, we’ll wash all of it away and then I’ll scent you, alright?”

But Harry pulls back, panic flashing in his eyes. “Not in the villa,” he says, shaking his head hard. “I don’t want to go in there. It doesn’t feel right. I want to be here. With you. In your house. Please, Lou, I need it to be you. Just you.”

Louis doesn’t question it. He simply nods and cups Harry’s jaw, his thumb stroking over a tear-stained cheek. “Alright. Here, then. My bathroom. Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

With care, Louis helps him up from the ground, arms steadying Harry when his knees wobble beneath him. He guides him inside and into the soft-lit bathroom.

There’s no rush. Louis takes his time, helping Harry out of his clothes with gentle hands and quiet reassurances. When they’re both naked, Louis leads him into the shower and the moment the hot water hits them, Harry slumps forward, head resting against Louis’ chest with a ragged sigh and his whole body sags in exhaustion. Louis wraps an arm around his waist and reaches for the shampoo. 

“You’ll have to let me at least wash your hair,” he teases lightly, fingers moving into Harry’s curls. “If you keep burying your face in my neck, you’re going to get bubbles all over me instead of your head.”

Harry hums weakly, but doesn’t move. His lips press to the warm skin over Louis’ bonding mark again and again. He’s never felt so empty and full at the same time. Just breathing in Louis is like taking in actual oxygen after being underwater for too long.

Louis’ fingers card through Harry’s hair, massage over his scalp. Then he trails the lather down his spine and across his chest, rinsing away every trace of someone else’s touch. It’s tender. No rush, no pressure. Just love. Just care.

Harry doesn’t speak. He lets Louis do it all, leaning into every touch and it feels like Louis stitches him back together. Especially when Louis lets out a soft laugh as Harry burrows into his shoulder again and sighs with that exaggerated dramatic sound that just escapes him.

“You’re cute, do you know that?” Louis says, kissing his temple.

Harry smiles. It’s the first real one in what feels like forever. Not a fake, not a front. Just small and shaky and so, so real. Harry starts to feel like a person again. He tucks himself even closer against Louis like it’s the only place in the world he can exist, his head still nestled into the crook of his neck, lips brushing against the curve of Louis’ bonding mark every time he breathes.

But suddenly Lou murmurs, “My bond’s been hurting, you know?”

Harry stills against him, breath catching.

“Since you left,” Louis goes on quietly. “It… fuck, it was like this dull pain at first, but sometimes, especially late at night or out of nowhere in the day, it just… twist. Like it knew something was wrong. Like my Alpha knew.”

Harry’s fingers dig slightly into Louis’ ribs, his throat suddenly tight. “Mine too,” he whispers. “It hurt really bad. I didn’t even know it could be like that. I didn’t know missing someone could feel like a physical thing. And maybe… maybe it got worse for you when I was with Ethan.”

Louis lets out a breath through his nose and he clearly doesn’t like the idea. “Maybe.”

“But it was worth it, babe,” Harry blurts out, almost panicked again. “It was all worth it. God, I have to tell you so much!”

Louis draws back a little, frowns gently, but cups Harry’s cheek and kisses the corner of his mouth. “Not now,” he murmurs. “We’ll talk in bed, alright? I just need you to feel safe first. You’re gonna build your little nest like you always do and then I’ll scent you until you stop shaking.”

Harry nods quickly, eyes stinging again. He hates how his chest aches with both relief and fear. But Louis is here. Louis is calm and sure and holding him like he’s never going to let go again. And right now, that’s all that matters.

After a few more minutes under the spray, he lets Louis lead him out of the shower, the air cool against his damp skin. But Louis is there, always there, grabbing a soft towel and wrapping it gently around Harry’s shoulders before starting to dry him off in careful movements. His thumb brushes along his collarbone, fingertips smoothing down his spine, all his caresses are just so tender and full of love. Only enjoying it, Harry doesn’t do much to help. He’s still too tired, too overwhelmed, and every time Louis tries to move away even a little, Harry follows. Louis smiles at that and presses a kiss to the centre of Harry’s chest before drying himself off quickly.

“Come on, love,” he says, tucking Harry against his side and leading him out of the bathroom and down the short hallway. “Let’s get you warm and curled up.”

Harry just nods against Louis’ shoulder, his nose brushing the edge of his scent gland until they step into the bedroom. There he lets his Omega take reign and Harry doesn’t even pretend to care about the mess he’s making of Louis’ sheets the next moment.

Normally, building a nest is something comforting. Something soft and careful, instinctive in a soothing sort of way. Tonight, though, it’s desperate. He pulls the blankets and pillows into the centre of Louis’ bed with shaking hands, not bothering to smooth anything out or make it symmetrical. His Omega doesn’t want perfection. His Omega just wants Louis.

Louis stands silently by the bed, watching with soft eyes. When Harry finally drops to his knees in the middle of the nest, chest rising and falling like he’s just run a marathon, he holds his arms out without a word. Louis climbs in without hesitation. And Harry… well, Harry all but climbs into him. There’s no space between them. Skin on skin, heat on heat. Their legs tangled immediately, Harry’s chest pressed to Louis’, his face tucked beneath Louis’ jaw. He wraps himself around his Alpha like a second skin, breathing in the familiar scent.

And then Louis begins to scent him. It starts gentle, first nuzzling against Harry’s temple, down the curve of his jaw, but it doesn’t stay that way. Louis is thorough. Purposeful. Like he wants to erase every trace of anyone else who ever dared touch his mate. He runs his nose along Harry’s collarbone, his scent gland warm and pulsing as it rubs against Harry’s neck, then down over his shoulder. His pheromones pour out and wrap around Harry’s senses until it feels like being drunk on safety. Harry’s never felt anything like it. His eyes flutter closed and a soft mix between a sigh and a whimper escapes him as his entire body relaxes. Also his Omega unfurls like a flower in sunlight and all he can feel is Louis, Louis, Louis.

It’s perfect.

Suddenly Louis kisses his forehead, then the tip of his nose, then finally finds his mouth and kisses him there too, like sealing it all in place. 

“Better?” Lou murmurs against his lips.

Harry nods, cupping Louis’ face in both hands. He wants to cry again, but this time it’s not out of fear.

“Thank you,” he whispers. “You’ve no idea what that did for me.”

Louis brushes their noses together. “You don’t have to thank me, princess. You’re mine. This is what we do.”

Harry closes his eyes, breathing in deep. But there’s more. Something pressing hard against his ribs. He opens his eyes again and looks at Louis properly, heart aching. 

“You’re going to be free soon.”

Louis tilts his head, puzzled. “Yeah?”

Harry swallows thickly. His hands tremble slightly against Louis’ cheeks. “But I… I have to tell you something. I had to kiss Etrash for it.”

The warmth in Louis’ expression flickers. “You what?”

Harry’s eyes sting again, voice cracking. “I didn’t want to. It was Ethan. He kissed me first and I had to kiss him back or I wouldn’t have gotten the confession or away. I swear to you, Lou, I didn’t want it, I hated every second, but I had to make him think I felt something or I don’t think I’d still be here. I'm so sorry I cheated on you.”

Louis stares at him, something sharp in his eyes, but he doesn’t move away. Instead he takes a breath and another.

“That’s not cheating, Harry. Not when you were trying to help me and survive. Not when it was him and not you.”

“But I let him,” Harry croaks. “I let him touch me, I let him believe I wanted him. That’s-” He doesn’t finish. He just shudders.

Louis strokes a hand through his curls, pulling him in tighter. “You did what you had to. And yeah, I hate it. I hate the thought of anyone else putting their hands on you and especially Etrash. But I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. You’re here with me and that’s what matters.”

Harry breaks then. Quiet sobs pressed into Louis’ neck, the last of the fear draining out of him. He doesn’t know how he deserves this kind of love but right now, he doesn’t question it. He just holds on and Louis doesn’t let go.

After a while Harry cups Louis’ face with his hands, thumbs stroking slowly along the sharp angles of his cheekbones. Louis hasn’t looked away from him, but there’s something distant in his eyes. Like he’s here, in the nest with Harry, warm and safe and at the same time a thousand miles away, frozen in time.

“Did you hear the other thing?” Harry asks quietly. “Lou... you’re free. Or more like going to be.”

Louis blinks. Once. Twice. Then he nods, barely a movement. “Yeah,” he says, but it’s more breath than word. “I mean… sort of. I’m not sure it’s... sunk in. Still feels a bit like a dream.”

Harry leans in and kisses the corner of his mouth. “It’s not. It’s real, Alpha. I’m gonna sort everything. Tomorrow I’ll call the best solicitor we can find. I’ll ask Payne if he already sent everything to the police, see where we stand.” He pauses, heart thudding. “But it’s done. You’re not running anymore.”

Louis swallows, jaw tight. “I want to believe you.”

Harry shifts closer, settling even more into the warmth of their nest, pressing his hand over Louis’ chest like he can ground him through touch. “You can. Listen to me, alright?” He draws in a breath. “Ethan... he confessed. I made him believe I was his. He was downright proud as he told me everything.”

He waits for Louis to react, but Louis just watches him, expression tight, like he’s afraid to hope.

“He told me how he took a picture of you that day passing Harrington's house. He knew you'd pass the house before your shift and waited for you. And before that he killed Harrington himself, Lou. He told me everything. He was angry Harrington wouldn’t go public with him and marry him. Said he was tired of being someone’s secret.”

Louis’ mouth opens slightly, but no words come out.

Harry presses on. “He used you. Framed you. Slipped the knife into your bag at the underground station. And then he told the police. All because he is a sick bastard. He said you destroyed his life and that was his revenge.”

Louis makes a quiet, wounded sound and Harry laces their fingers together.

“You’re free, Louis,” Harry whispers. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t kill anyone.”

Louis closes his eyes, lips trembling.

“You’re free,” Harry says again, firmer now. “He confessed. And we’ve got proof. I’ll make sure we’ve got the best legal team in the country. You’re going to get your name back. You’re going to live again.”

Louis shakes his head like he’s trying to clear it and Harry gently cradles his face.

“You’re free, Lou,” he whispers again, and again, until Louis’ breathing hitches.

And then finally it happens. Louis lets out a choked breath, almost like he’s been holding it in for years and tears spill over his cheeks, quiet and unstoppable. Harry smells it first before he feels it in their bond - that sudden, rich wave of scent. Relief. Absolute, soul-deep relief pouring out of Louis like a dam breaking.

“Oh, babe,” Harry breathes, shifting to wrap his arms around Louis properly, tugging him close. Louis buries his face in Harry’s neck and Harry holds him tightly, his hand sliding up to the back of his head to keep him safe and close. “It’s okay. You’re okay now.”

Louis sobs and Harry kisses the top of his head, then begins to scent him gently. Soft, slow rubs of his gland against Louis’ skin, comforting his Alpha and mate.

“You’re safe,” Harry murmurs again between kisses. “You’re free. I’ve got you. I’m not letting go.”

Now it's Louis clinging to him like he’ll fall apart if he doesn’t and Harry just holds on tighter.

“I'm so glad you're back,” Louis murmurs suddenly and looks him deep into the eyes. “I was sick with worry all the time you were away. Thank you so much. Thank you for believing in me and doing all that for me.”

“I would do it anytime again,” Harry whispers and strokes lovingly over Lou's stubbly cheek.

“I hope Etrash rots in hell!”

“Let's stick for prison first,” Harry grimaces. “Can't believe you dated such a psychotic.”

“Me neither,” Louis sighs. “Let's not talk about him anymore.”

“Good idea.”

With that, Harry lies back against the pillows and pulls Louis with him. And he has to swallow at the way Louis looks at him. It’s not lust. Well, not just lust. It is awe. As if Harry is something precious, something Louis can't believe he's allowed to touch, even if they are already mates. His fingers are gentle as they trail along Harry’s bare chest, brushing over soft skin, making goosebumps rise in their wake.

“You’re so beautiful,” Louis murmurs, so full of sincerity, like he’s not just saying it - like it stuns him.

Harry blushes. He can’t help it. He’s sure he will never get used to how Louis looks at him like that. His hand reaches up instinctively, fingers curling around the back of Louis’ neck, drawing him down until their lips meet. They kiss slowly and there's steady building heat between them. Louis tilts his head slightly, deepens it, and Harry sighs softly into it, his legs shifting, parting just enough to welcome him in closer.

Their bodies slot together naturally. Skin to skin. Warm and familiar. Louis’ hand slides down Harry’s side, making his breath hitch. His palm fits perfectly against the dip of Harry’s waist, thumb brushing little circles into his hip.

Harry’s already slick, feels the dampness building between his thighs. His body is preparing itself in ways he can’t control and he doesn’t want to. Not with Louis. Never with Louis.

Louis kisses his way down Harry’s jaw, pausing at the bonding mark, where he nips gently before licking the sting away. Harry lets out a soft, needy sound, thighs twitching around Louis’ hips, lifting his ass for more friction.

“You’re so eager, love,” Louis whispers against his neck, voice thick with affection, so adoring. “Always so ready for me.”

“I can’t help it,” Harry breathes, threading his fingers through Louis’ hair. “It’s you.”

Louis grins against his skin and then begins his slow descent. His mouth makes a path down Harry’s body, mapping every freckle, every curve with kisses and soft bites. He lingers at Harry’s nipples, sucking one into his mouth while his fingers tease the other, drawing out breathy gasps and quiet whimpers that leave Harry squirming beneath him.

Harry’s hands fall to Louis’ shoulders, fingers curling into his skin, grounding himself in the sensation. Louis knows him so well already. Knows how to make him feel treasured and undone in the same breath.

By the time Louis reaches his stomach, Harry’s chest is heaving. His skin is flushed and sensitive, hips rolling up unconsciously in search of more. But Louis only rests his head there for a moment, right over Harry’s belly, maybe enjoying the way his body trembles, breathing him in. Then he kisses lower, between Harry’s thighs now, his breath ghosting over his throbbing cock and the slick heat that pulses there.

Harry’s thighs fall open wider, a blush creeping down his chest, but he doesn’t feel shy, just raw and loved. Louis kisses the inside of one thigh, then the other and Harry lets out a broken little sigh. He’s so wet and his Omega needy and aching for his Alpha, slick dripping out of his hole as his body begs for what’s coming.

But still, Louis doesn’t take. He touches him like he’s got all the time in the world. His fingers glide through the wetness, teasing but never overwhelming. He rubs slow, soft circles against his hole, just enough to make Harry gasp, just enough to have his back arching, thighs trembling, voice breathy and pleading.

“Please, Lou…”

“I’ve got you,” Louis whispers, pressing a kiss to the inside of his knee. “Always.”

He keeps stroking, coaxing Harry’s pleasure higher and higher, never losing that gentle rhythm. Every movement is full of care, like he wants to worship him more than he wants to claim him. Like Harry’s pleasure matters more than anything else. When Louis finally bends his head and licks a slow, careful stripe through the slick, Harry cries out, fingers twisting tight in the sheets. The sensation is too much and not enough. He feels open, swollen and so sensitive that every flick of Louis’ tongue sends sparks through him.

Louis works him open with his mouth and his fingers, not because Harry needs the help - he’s more than ready - but because he wants to make him feel cherished. Harry feels it in their bond. He laps at him softly, murmuring praise between kisses, words like “beautiful”, “mine”, “so good for me” falling against his skin like prayers.

Harry can barely think. He’s shaking with it, panting, hips rolling helplessly into every touch. His whole body feels like it’s glowing from the inside out. And just when he thinks he might tip over the edge, Louis pulls away, crawling up to kiss him again deep and wet and full of everything they are. Harry wraps his arms around his neck, kisses back with everything he has, his body longing, but his heart full.

“Make love to me,” Harry whispers, breath hitching as he rubs up against Louis’ thigh. “Please.”

And Louis looks at him like he’s never seen anything more sacred in his life, cradles Harry’s face like it’s made of glass and nods.

“I would love to, my sunflower, my Omega, my everything.”

Harry's heart pounds loudly in his ears while his fingers trace up Louis’ arm, then he cups his cheek, gently guiding him closer.

“I love you,” Harry whispers.

“And I love you.”

Louis leans in, kisses him once more before pulling back just enough to reposition himself. Harry feels the warmth of Louis’ body, the steady weight of him above, grounding and solid. Then Louis begins to ease into him.

The first press is deep and all-consuming, a pressure that steals Harry’s breath. His body tenses for a moment, not from pain, but from sheer intensity, of finally having his Alpha as close as possible. Harry closes his eyes and just focuses on the feeling - how Louis fills him, slowly, inch by inch. It’s not just physical. It’s like Louis is becoming part of him again after these hurtful days, touching something far beyond flesh. Reaching inside him in a way that strips him bare.

Back are these golden threads, just like the day they bonded. Warm and alive, winding their way around their bodies, weaving through the spaces where skin meets skin and hearts beat close. Harry feels everything at once. The stretch, the slow push, the way his body reacts instinctively, muscles tightening, releasing, adapting. That beautiful fullness. That warm, raw connection. That sense of finally being exactly where he belongs.

A tremor runs through him. He wraps his legs tighter around Louis’ hips, back arching slightly as he seeks more. Louis kisses him softly, over and over - his forehead, his cheeks, his lips. When he’s finally all the way in, he pauses, pressing their foreheads together, his eyes full of something that always makes Harry’s heart beat faster. It's a look only for him. 

“You feel so good,” Louis murmurs. 

His hands stroke gently along Harry’s sides, while his body presses heavy and comforting against his own.

And then he starts to move. Slowly. Almost torturously slow. Each thrust is careful, deep, like a love declaration, just like he wanted it. Harry feels every slide, every press, every slow grind of Louis’ hips against his own. He’s so open, so tender that it feels like every inch of him is a live wire. Every movement sends another wave rippling through him.

His head falls to the side, lips parted as soft, breathy moans slip free without him even realising. It’s too much and not enough, all at once. Louis leans down again, thumb brushing Harry’s lower lip, then kisses him like he’s savouring him as their bodies move in sync.

Harry’s fingers clutch at Louis’ back, needing something to hold onto. He feels the taut strength of him, every muscle working under his hands. But there’s gentleness too in the way Louis touches him, kisses him, fucks him. With every deep thrust, pleasure coils tighter inside Harry, rising like a tide.

Louis shifts his angle just slightly and Harry cries out, sharp and breathless, his hands twisting in the sheets. The new angle hits his spot devastatingly good and his legs twitch involuntarily. His whole body lights up, hips pushing up, lips trembling as he gasps Louis’ name.

“Louis… please… don’t stop…”

“Never stopping with you, my love,” Louis whispers, mouth pressed to his jaw, his shoulder, his chest. “Not ever.”

They move together in a rhythm that feels sacred, like a song being written with each breath, each sound, each thrust. And just when Harry thinks he’s reached the peak, Louis gives him more. Deeper. Softer. More loving. More everything.

Harry feels like he’s floating. Carried on waves of heat and light, held by Louis’ hands and the weight of his love. He feels cracked open in the most beautiful way, not just desired, but seen. Cared for. Loved.

And when he comes, it isn’t a sharp explosion, not a sudden snap - it’s a letting go. A warm, full-body surrender. He moans Louis’s name as the pleasure sweeps through him, trembling beneath him, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes from the overwhelming tenderness of it all.

Only moments later, Louis follows, groaning into Harry’s neck, hips faltering as he presses in one last time and releases, holding Harry tight as he trembles through it. 

Their bodies stay entwined, limbs tangled, breath shared. Sticky with sweat and slick, muscles sore, but utterly at peace. Louis strokes the damp curls from Harry’s forehead, kissing his temple with the gentleness of someone who’s in no hurry to be anywhere else. Harry doesn’t want to move like ever again. 

But Louis does as it seems and he slips out of him. The next moment he's already tucked against Louis’ chest, ear pressed right over his heart, listening to it slow back down from the frenzied rhythm from before while Louis’ hand strokes lazily up and down his spine. It’s quiet for a long moment, the kind of comfortable silence where nothing needs to be said, but everything’s being felt anyway. Harry’s eyes flutter closed as Louis’ fingers graze the nape of his neck, brushing the curls back gently.

“Alright?” Louis murmurs into his hair.

Harry nods, a soft smile ghosting across his lips. “Yeah, better than alright.”

Louis pulls back just enough to look into his eyes and over his face. His fringe is a mess, stuck to his forehead and his cheeks are flushed pink. He looks a little dazed still, eyes heavy-lidded, lips kiss-swollen and he's really the most beautiful Alpha of all.

“You’re staring,” Harry says.

“Can’t help it,” Louis says with a shrug. “You’re so pretty.”

Harry rolls his eyes, but he can’t fight the grin.

“There they are,” Lou says fondly, popping his finger into one of Harry’s dimples. “There are finally my beloved dimples again.”

Harry laughs, nose scrunching. “You’re such a sap.”

“Only for you.” Louis leans in and kisses each dimple in turn. “There we go. Perfect.”

Harry’s heart squeezes tight in his chest. No one’s ever loved all the little parts of him like Louis does. Not like this. Not with so much ease, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Alright, as much as I’d love to stay like this forever, we’re proper sticky. Let me sort you, yeah?”

Harry hums in agreement, even though he doesn’t want to let go for only a moment. He watches as Louis climbs out of bed and pads into the bathroom only to return a moment later with a warm, damp towel.

“Sorry,” Louis mutters with a little grin as he nudges Harry’s legs open, “this bit’s not the sexiest.”

Harry just laughs sleepily. “You wiping cum and slick off me with a flannel is the peak of romance, actually.”

Louis snorts but continues his task gently, cleaning him up with soft, careful strokes, and when he’s finished, he kisses Harry’s thigh, then his knee, then tosses the towel somewhere into the room. Climbing back into the nest, Louis slides beneath the duvet and pulls Harry in against him with a satisfied sigh. Harry immediately tucks himself in close, thigh slung over Louis’, one hand resting against his chest.

Laying in silence, Louis’ fingers play lazily with Harry’s curls and Harry presses his lips to Louis’ collarbone, placing a soft, affectionate peck before resting his head there.

“I love you,” Harry mumbles, barely audible.

Louis kisses the top of his head. “I love you more.”

And in the quiet that follows, filled only by their steady breathing, Harry smiles again, those dimples tucked safely against Louis’ chest before they fall asleep like that.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Harry wakes before the sun does.

For a long while, he simply lies there, curled into the warm cocoon of Louis’ body. His Alpha’s arm is draped around his waist, fingers resting loosely against his bare stomach, and his chest rises in that steady, calm rhythm Harry has missed more than he can say. Everything about this moment is comfort - the scent, the softness of the sheets, the slow tick of the old clock in the hallway.

But his mind won’t settle again. His Omega is restless as well. There’s too much stirring inside him, so much to do like calling Payne and also the need to care for Louis.

He glances up at Louis. And God, he’s beautiful like this. Soft and sleep-warm, lashes brushing against flushed cheeks, mouth slightly parted. His hair’s a mess and there’s a faint frown between his brows, like even in sleep, something inside him doesn’t quite rest. Harry gently reaches up to push some of Louis’ fringe back before pressing the lightest kiss to his shoulder. Then, with slow, careful movements, he peels himself out of his Alpha’s arms and sits up, pulling on one of Louis’ t-shirts from the floor. His bond tugs as he stands, but he hushes it with a promise as he won’t be long.

The door clicks softly shut behind him as he pads down the hall, barefoot and quiet in the stillness of the house. In the kitchen, he opens the fridge, hoping to throw together something warm and comforting only to be greeted by near emptiness. A sad lemon. Half a jar of mustard. A bottle of something unlabelled and a ready-made salad. So Louis must have been shopping after their rut and heat but it's a pathetic selection.

“Jesus Christ, Lou,” Harry mutters fondly under his breath, shaking his head. “What are you living on, charm?”

He snorts quietly to himself and checks the cupboards. Thankfully, there are some tins, a lonely bag of oats, a few eggs that look questionable but pass the sniff test. He sets to work, moving around full of renewed energy, like his body needs this small act of care. But then he reaches for his phone.

5:03am.

Too early. Probably. But Harry knows there’s no way he’ll make it another hour without knowing. And so he presses Payne’s name and brings the phone to his ear with a shaky breath, his other hand still absentmindedly stirring the porridge he makes.

“Come on, pick up,” he whispers, barely audible over the quiet simmer behind him.

The phone rings a long time before it’s picked up, followed by a gruff, sleep-heavy voice.

“For fuck’s sake, Styles,” Payne groans. “Do you know what time it is?”

Harry winces, spoon paused mid-air over the porridge pot. “I know, I know. I’m sorry. I just… I couldn’t sleep and I need to know where we stand. Also, thank you. For everything yesterday. You were brilliant. I mean it.”

On the other end, there’s a beat of silence. Then Payne sighs, the irritation ebbing away. “Yeah, alright. I’ll let you off the hook. Just don’t make a habit of ringing me at the crack of dawn, yeah?”

“I promise.”

“How are you doing?” Payne sounds now a little more awake. 

Harry takes a shaky breath. “Better,” he says honestly. “Much better. Being here... with him. It’s like I can breathe again. But I need to know… Did you tell the police everything? About Ethan?”

“I did,” Payne says. “Went straight in yesterday after I dropped you off. I gave them a copy of the audio and they’re taking it seriously. They’re opening a new investigation into the Harrington case and reopening Louis’ file with fresh eyes. This time, it’s not going to fall through the cracks. Not with that recording and the connection to Ethan.”

Harry leans on the kitchen counter, heart racing. “And they believe us?”

“They have to. I didn’t just walk in there spouting stories. I gave them evidence and the motive and timeline lines up. I might be a private investigator, Harry, but I know how to talk to cops so they listen. And it helps when you’ve got hard proof like we do.”

Harry nods, mostly to himself, feeling his chest loosen just a little more. “Thank you. Honestly.”

“You’re not done yet though,” Payne adds. “Louis needs legal support as soon as possible, considering how badly his case was botched the first time.”

“I was going to ask,” Harry says quickly. “Do you know anyone? Someone really good?”

“Two come to mind,” Payne says, sounding like he’s already scrolling through a mental list. “Zayn Malik. Bit younger, about our age, but absolutely ruthless. Makes seasoned prosecutors sweat. Smart as hell. Knows how to play a courtroom like a stage.”

“Sounds perfect,” Harry murmurs.

“There’s also Paul Higgins. Bit older, more old-school. Got the experience, used to be brilliant but…” Payne hesitates. “He’s slowed down. Still sharp, but you don’t get the same fire from him anymore. If it were me, I’d go with Malik.”

“Then we’ll go with Malik,” Harry decides. “Can you get me in touch?”

“Text you his number in a moment,” Payne says and Harry can’t help but smile.

“Can't thank you enough.”

“You want another advice?” Payne asks. “Get Malik briefed by today if you can. Keep everything documented if Louis has maybe old messages or memory notes working too. Same for you, just write everything down with Ethan, just to be sure on the safe side. And Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“Keep your head down. Ethan’s going to realise you played him. It's good you're back in Italy. Let the lawyer and the police handle it from here. You focus on keeping Louis safe. And yourself.”

Harry swallows. “I will. I promise.”

“Good.” There’s a pause, then Payne chuckles faintly. “Now let me go back to bed.”

Harry laughs quietly. “Yeah, alright. Thanks again, Payne.”

“Anytime.”

They hang up and Harry places the phone down beside the kettle. His hands tremble just a little, but it’s the good kind this time. The kind that comes from relief.

He turns back to the stove, prepares everything and a moment later, with the tray carefully balanced in his hands, Harry nudges the bedroom door open with his foot and slips quietly inside. The sun still hasn’t risen, the sky outside is just beginning to lighten, a soft lavender hue creeping over the horizon. But in the bedroom, it’s dim and warm, the air heavy with Louis’ scent.

Louis lies still sleeping curled under the blanket, one arm stretched over Harry’s empty side of the nest, his hair a soft mess against the pillow. As Harry steps closer, he sees his nose twitch slightly and he lets out the smallest little sniff.

Harry bites his lip, heart flipping with something stupid and sweet. He has no idea if Louis is smelling the food or him, but either way it’s probably the cutest thing he’s ever seen. He sets the tray down on the nightstand and leans over, brushing a hand gently down Louis’ bare shoulder. 

“Lou,” he whispers softly, then again, a bit more coaxing, “Alpha, wake up.”

Louis groans and shifts, burying his face further into the pillow. “It’s not even morning yet,” he mumbles thickly. “Why’re you up, you menace?”

Harry giggles and curls up beside him, tucking a knee onto the bed. “Because I couldn’t sleep and I might’ve woken up with an uncontrollable need to feed my Alpha.”

Another grumble, but Louis peeks one eye open, amused despite himself. “Is that porridge?”

“With honey,” Harry says proudly, grabbing the bowl and scooping up a spoonful. “Open.”

Louis sighs exasperatedly and sits up with an eye-roll. His Omega purrs at how sleepy Louis looks and Harry thinks he’s never looked more gorgeous.

Accepting the spoonful begrudgingly, Louis hums as he chews but then points at Harry with a sleepy finger. “You. Kiss. Now.”

Harry leans in without hesitation, smiling against his mouth as their lips press together, so full of comfort it makes his toes curl.

When they part, Harry giggles again. “You’ve got honey on your lip,” he teases and licks it off before Louis can move.

Louis shakes his head with a smirk while Harry feeds him another spoonful before sitting cross-legged beside him in the nest. “By the way, I checked your fridge. I feel personally attacked.”

Louis raises a brow. “Oh yeah?”

“There’s nothing in it! I had to get creative with what was left in your cupboards. Honestly, Lou, I thought you were an adult.”

Louis snorts. “Been surviving on takeout and toast. Was to busy missing you. But hey, we can go shopping later! Actually…” His face softens into a grin. “Let’s do our cereal aisle date. You know. The one we missed when you had to run off to London.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I owe you. You brought me porridge before dawn, it’s the least I can do.”

Harry beams, leaning in to nuzzle his nose against Louis’ shoulder before feeding him another bite. “It’s a date. Oh, I called Liam by the way.”

Louis glances at him. “Yeah? He must have been delighted to hear from you so early”

“He was,” Harry winks. “He went to the police yesterday after dropping me off and gave them the audio. They’re opening a new investigation, Lou. They’re taking it seriously.”

Louis goes still, spoon halfway to his mouth. His eyes meet Harry’s, wide and quiet.

“They’re reopening your case too,” Harry adds gently. “Fresh eyes. No bias. It’s happening.”

Louis swallows hard. “Fucking hell.”

Harry brushes his fingers down Louis’ arm, grounding them both. “And I asked him about lawyers. He gave me a name. Zayn Malik. He’s apparently terrifying in court, in a good way. I’m going to call him later.”

Louis doesn’t say anything for a moment, but his hand finds Harry’s and squeezes.

“Thanks,” he says, barely above a whisper.

Harry leans in and kisses his cheek, then feeds him another bite with a grin. “Now eat your damn porridge. You’ve got freedom to look forward to.”

━━━━🌻━━━━

Harry steps out into the morning sun and crosses the garden. The grass is still damp with dew, cool against his ankles and the scent of the earth is thick in the air. He really missed it these two days in London. Harry feels lighter as he’s just gotten off the phone with Zayn Malik and the call had gone better than he’d expected.

Malik had sounded young, sharp and confident - exactly what Harry had hoped for. He’d taken everything in with barely a pause, asked the right questions and then explained the next steps in a calm, no-nonsense voice. First things first: he needs to clear the way legally for Louis to travel, to make absolutely certain that no arrest or detainment order is still in place before they fly to London. Malik promised to liaise directly with the authorities and that he will personally confirm when it’s safe for Louis to return without risk. After that, they need to meet in person in London and go through everything together. Properly and with Louis there. It makes Harry feel like this is real. Tangible. Louis is not running anymore… he's moving forward.

Louis looks up as Harry approaches and straightens, giving Harry that warm smile that always makes his stomach flutter. “You alright?”

Harry nods. “Yeah. Malik’s taking care of everything. He wants to meet with us in London soon but only after he confirms there’s no risk of you being stopped at the airport.”

Louis raises a brow. “Didn’t even think of that.”

“Yeah, me neither at first,” Harry admits. “But it’s smart. He said he’ll let us know when it’s all safe.”

Louis nods slowly, clearly still adjusting to the idea of things moving so quickly but he doesn’t look panicked. Just a bit stunned.

Harry steps closer and hooks his fingers gently into Louis’ belt loops. “I wanna do something.”

“Yeah?” Louis murmurs, tilting his head.

“I wanna call Stevie.”

Louis softens instantly. “Of course, sunflower. You don’t need my permission for that.”

Harry smiles. “I know. But I want to introduce you. Properly. As my mate. I want her to be the first to know before anyone else.”

That makes Louis go still. And Harry sees the hesitation, the old fear that still grips him, still whispers in the back of his mind that he’s not safe and on the run.

Harry cups his cheek and leans in. “I know you still get scared. But this is real. You’re mine and I want her to meet you. Not just as Lou the gardener who made me drop, but as the man I’m bonded to. The man I love.”

Louis swallows, visibly moved, then nods. “Alright. Yeah. Let’s do it.”

Harry beams and tugs him down by the hand, both of them sink into the grass and meet in a kiss first while Louis’ hand rests over Harry’s heart.

When they break apart, Harry pulls out his phone and breathes out slowly. “Okay. Let’s see if she’s awake.”

He taps the screen, navigates to Stevie’s contact and hits video call and as it rings, he lets his thumb brush against Louis’ to calm him.

Louis whispers, “Hopefully she doesn’t hate me.”

“She’s gonna love you,” Harry promises, squeezing his hand. “She’s gonna see exactly what I see.”

That's when the screen lights up with Stevie’s sleepy but smiling face, framed by her soft curls and quinting at the sunlight spilling into the camera from behind Harry and Louis.

“Darling boy?” she croaks, voice still thick with sleep. “Why the hell are you calling so early? You know I love to sleep in!”

Harry grins sheepishly, a flush already warming his cheeks. “Sorry,” he murmurs. “It’s just… I can't wait any longer. I’ve got someone I want you to meet.”

Stevie perks up a little at that, brushing her hair out of her face. “Oh?”

Harry shifts, a little giggly now, shoulders tense but eyes soft as he leans just a touch more into Louis’ side. “Stevie… you know Lou as the gardener. But this is also Louis. My mate.”

Louis lifts a hand and gives a small wave. “Hi,” he says quietly, a bit guarded. “Nice to finally meet you properly.”

Stevie blinks once, then twice. “Wait. Mate as in mate mate?”

Harry laughs, nodding. “Yeah. Bonded.”

Her eyes go wide and she lets out a delighted gasp. “Bloody hell, that was fast.”

“When you know, you know.” Harry shrugs, smiling fondly.

Stevie lets out a squeal and then starts immediately with the questions. “Tell me everything!”

Louis chuckles low in his throat and visibly relaxes, his shoulders softening. He leans closer to the screen and answers gently all her question, letting his dry wit peek through as he talks about Tuscany, his job as a gardener and how much he loves Harry. The call goes on and on easily. Harry rests his head on Louis’ shoulder at some point, just smiling and watching them. It’s lovely, the way Louis gradually opens up, the way Stevie grins at everything he says.

Eventually, Stevie’s grin turns sly. “So when are you two coming over? I want to meet him in person.”

And just like that, the mood stills slightly. Harry sits up straighter and Louis’ smile fades into something quieter. They exchange a look and Harry clears his throat. 

“We… um. We will. We just… there’s still a few things we need to sort first. We’re still in Italy and-”

Stevie narrows her eyes. “Harry. What aren’t you telling me?”

He winces a little. Louis doesn’t look away though. Instead, he gives Harry the softest nod, as if to say it’s alright and that he can tell her.

Harry draws a slow breath and says, “There’s… something you should know about Louis. It’s all a bit complicated.”

And then he tells her everything honestly. About the case, about what Louis had been accused of, how he fled. About Ethan, the lies, the danger and how Harry had helped gather the evidence to finally start making things right.

Stevie listens in stunned silence, eyes wide, hand pressed over her mouth.

When Harry finishes, she’s quiet for a beat, then says, “Jesus, Harry… that’s massive. That’s not just helping someone, that’s… God, I’m proud of you. Seriously. You’ve become a proper man, you know that?”

Harry blushes bright red, hiding a smile behind his hand. “Stop.”

Louis laughs softly beside him and kisses the side of his head. “He is, though. He is incredible.”

Stevie watches them for a second and smiles, misty-eyed now. “I can see that.”

Then, her expression shifts again. “So. When are you going to tell your parents?”

Harry groans dramatically. “Ugh, never, ideally.”

“Harry,” Stevie raises her brow.

“You know what they’re like,” he mutters, burying his face against Louis’ shoulder. “They’re going to act like I picked the wrong kind of Alpha or something ridiculous.”

He doesn’t see it right away, but he feels the way Louis goes still beneath him. His chest stops rising and his breath catches for half a second.

Harry lifts his head and looks at him, frowning. “Hey. No. Don’t do that. I don’t care what they think. At all.”

Louis still looks pale, his jaw tense.

Stevie jumps in quickly, voice firm. “If they don’t see what he’s worth, that’s their problem. Honestly, darling, your dad still thinks mates should be arranged based on bloodline and property. It’s the twenty-first century. Screw that.”

Harry snorts, then leans in to kiss Louis’ temple. “Exactly. You’re my mate. That’s all that matters.”

Louis doesn’t say anything right away, but he nods slowly as his fingers lacing through Harry’s.

Stevie watches them, then smiles softly. “You’ve got something good here. Don’t let anyone dim it.”

“We won’t,” Harry says. “We won’t.”

━━━━🌻━━━━

The shorts ride up ridiculously high on his thighs and the tank top hangs loose around his waist but tight across his chest, the fit all wrong in the best kind of way. Everything about the outfit is a mismatch as they are Louis’ clothes on his longer frame, but for Harry it’s perfect. Harry had tried on three different designer shirts this morning before giving up completely, tugging on whatever he could find that smelled like Louis. Now, even though he looks like he’s been squeezed into a slightly too-small version of a lazy summer day, he finally feels like himself again. There’s something grounding in the worn softness of the cotton. Something so simple and real in the way the neckline of the tank carries Louis’ scent.

When Louis tosses him a helmet and straddles the motorbike, Harry’s heart skips and he hops on behind him, arms looping tight around Louis’ middle, fingers curling into the fabric of his t-shirt.

“You ready?” Louis calls over his shoulder, mischief already thick in his voice.

Before Harry can answer, Louis guns the engine and they shoot forward, the tyres spitting gravel as they speed down the dusty track that leads away from the villa. Harry shrieks in half laugh, half actual panic and thumps a hand lightly against Louis’ back. “Are you crazy?”

Louis’ shoulders shake with laughter. “That’s what you get for dragging me out of bed before sunrise.”

Harry rolls his eyes but can’t stop the grin that stretches across his face, his arms clinging even tighter as the wind rushes past them. “I made you breakfast!”

“And I’m still traumatised,” Louis calls back with a grin in his voice.

The wind tugs at Harry’s curls, makes his eyes water even with the visor down. He ducks his head, pressing his chest against Louis’ back, just soaking in the moment. The road winds through olive groves and hills dipped in sunlight and Louis eventually slows, the engine’s roar settling into a low hum as they cruise along quieter roads.

Harry exhales deeply, nestling closer. He closes his eyes for a moment and lets the warmth of Louis’ body, the gentle sway of the bike, the scent of sun-warmed fields all sink into him. There’s something about this life, about early mornings and dusty roads, nature and sun, that Harry really hadn’t known he needed. And he really doesn’t know how he’s supposed to return to his penthouse and champagne breakfasts and linen suits that cost more than Louis probably earns in a year.

He doesn’t know how to be that version of himself anymore. Not when he has this. Not when he has Louis.

Immersed in his thoughts about how he should organise his life from now on, he only realises now that they arrived at their destination. Louis pulls up just outside the small village supermarket and kills the engine. Harry hops off first, tugging at the hem of his borrowed tank top that’s threatening to ride up his stomach. Louis gives him a once-over, eyes lingering just long enough to make Harry flush.

They grab a trolley by the entrance, Louis steering it one-handed while Harry laces their fingers together with the other. The place is quiet, not many people around yet and it smells faintly like fruit and cleaning supplies.

“Where to first?” Harry asks.

Louis grins. “Cereal aisle, obviously.”

He leads them straight there, steps purposeful like he’s waited for this all weekend - and maybe he has. Before Harry can even scan the shelves, Louis tugs him in by the waistband of his too-tight shorts and kisses him. It’s not a quick peck. It’s a proper kiss - firm, full of affection, his hand resting lightly on Harry’s hip. It’s quiet in the aisle, no one around to see, and even if there were, Harry finds he doesn’t care.

When they part, Harry giggles, a little breathless. “You really meant it, huh?”

“Told you,” Louis says, all smug and eyes twinkling. “I don’t make cereal aisle promises lightly.”

They start filling the trolley after that, making their way through the essentials like eggs, pasta, tinned tomatoes, a loaf of crusty bread, butter, olive oil, coffee. Harry tries to think practically, packing with the size of their rucksacks in mind.

“Alright,” Louis says, picking up a family-sized bag of crisps and dropping it into the trolley. “We need some snacks too.”

“Lou,” Harry tuts gently, eyeing the colourful packaging, “that’s like… a million calories.”

Louis pauses, then turns to him with a pointed look. “You need to stop doing that.”

Harry blinks. “Doing what?”

“Counting everything you eat like it’s a sin,” Louis says softly but insistently. “You’re already perfect. You don’t need to change a thing.”

Harry looks away, fiddling with the edge of the trolley. “I’m just used to keeping an eye on it. That’s all.”

Louis doesn’t say anything, just hums and throws in a second bag of sweets, purely out of spite. “You’re beautiful, Omega. You don’t have to listen to any voice that says otherwise. Not even if it’s in your own head.”

Harry swallows, nodding, but the echo of his mum’s voice lingers in the back of his mind - all tight smiles and polite warnings at Sunday brunches. Watch the pastries, darling, you’re softening at the waist.

He doesn’t bring it up though. Instead, he watches Louis pick out chocolate biscuits next, humming to himself like nothing’s wrong, and Harry loves him so much that in that moment it almost hurts.

A little later, they’re halfway down the wine aisle when Louis veers off to the left, already eyeing bottles with fancy labels. Harry trails after him, eyes scanning the shelves absently, fingers still curled around the trolley handle. He’s about to ask if they’ve got room for a second bottle when something hits him hard and out of nowhere.

His heart skips, then speeds.

Oh God.

He stops in his tracks, blinking. It’s like the thought has been lurking in a locked drawer in the back of his mind since he flew to London and now someone’s finally flung it open.

What if he’s pregnant?

“Omega?” Louis calls softly, holding up two bottles for comparison. “Which one do you want? This one’s Italian but apparently good and this one’s French and… oh, what’s wrong?”

Harry’s gone pale. Properly pale. He’s staring at the labels like he saw a ghost and his palms start sweating. His Omega on the other hand is practically pacing with joy inside him now.

“Louis,” Harry says, eyes wide. “Do you… want pups?”

Louis freezes mid-step. “What?”

“I said-” Harry swallows and gestures vaguely around them. “Do you ever want pups? Like… with me, preferably.”

Louis blinks at him, eyebrows drawing together. “I… what’s that got to do with wine?”

Harry lets out a breath that sounds more like a nervous giggle. “Nothing! Everything! I dunno! Just answer the question!”

Louis puts the bottles down slowly. “I mean… yeah. I never used to think about it the last few years, not seriously. I was a fugitive, baby. A wanted man. Not exactly the best time to plan pups, was it?”

Harry makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Good. That’s good. Because… I might not be able to drink wine.”

Louis stares. “Why?”

Harry chews on his bottom lip. “Because I might be pregnant?”

Silence.

Absolute, frozen silence.

Louis doesn’t blink, doesn’t breathe. He just stares at Harry like his brain’s trying to reboot.

“Surprise?” Harry offers weakly, voice an octave higher than usual.

Louis sets the wine back on the shelf very slowly, very deliberately, like he’s afraid sudden movement might break reality.

“You’re telling me…” he begins, slowly, like he’s piecing together a murder mystery, “that you might be pregnant. And you’ve decided to tell me this… in the wine aisle? Of a village supermarket?”

Harry winces. “Well, when you say it like that…”

“You’ve been walking around with this in your head the whole time?”

“I… kind of forgot! I mean… I tried to forget,” Harry rambles, his voice getting squeakier by the second. “But then you held up a bottle and I remembered I can’t drink it maybe and then it all hit me like a bloody freight train. I didn’t take the contraceptive pill during my heat, Lou. I was under as you know. It’s possible.”

Louis just stares a moment longer, and then he laughs. Loud and warm and bright, right there between the merlot and the sauvignon blanc. He drops the last bottle back into the trolley with a dramatic thunk, pulls Harry in and wraps his arms around his waist.

“You are the most chaotic, terrifying, perfect Omega I’ve ever met,” Louis says, still laughing. “And you might be pregnant. Fucking hell.”

Harry smiles nervously. “You’re not mad?”

“Mad? No. Panicking? Slightly. But also kind of weirdly excited?” He cups Harry’s face, leans in to kiss his forehead. “We’re getting you a test. Right now. Guess we’re making another stop before checkout.”

Harry leans into him, heart thudding but he laughs too. “Supermarket romance at its finest.”

Louis grins. “Come on then. Let’s go and get another kiss in the pharmacy aisle.”

━━━━🌻━━━━

They’re halfway home when Louis suddenly slows the bike and steers it towards the side of the road. Harry lifts his head from where he’s been leaning against Louis’s back, his fingers snug around the Alpha’s waist, wind-blown curls poking out from under his helmet.

“What are you-” he starts, but then he sees it.

The sunflowers.

Golden and tall, swaying in the soft breeze like they’re dancing. It's so beautiful, just like last time. He climbs off the bike as Louis parks it at the edge of the field before he takes his helmet off and gives Harry a soft smile, then reaches for his hand without saying a word. They cross the road and Louis leads him to a little grassy spot just opposite the field, overlooking the whole sea of yellow. There’s an old stone wall half-crumbling with ivy nearby and the whole place smells like summer and sweet dust. 

They sit together in the grass and Louis pulls a bag of sweets out from their shopping backpack and opens it.

“We should talk,” Louis says simply, offering Harry the bag.

Harry blinks. His Omega immediately nervous and unsure.

“So you are angry with me that I might be pregnant, aren't you?” he asks cautiously, taking a sweet and popping it into his mouth. 

Louis snorts gently. “No. God, no. That’s not it.” He leans back on his palms, staring out at the field for a second before glancing back at Harry. “I’m not mad. But we need to talk about… what this could be. What we want. Especially if there is a pup coming. And even if there isn’t.”

Harry nods, his chest fluttering nervously. “Yeah. Right. Makes sense.”

Louis looks down, picking at the grass. “Do you have a job in London? Like something you need to go back to soon? Fuck… we didn't even talk about the basics, you know?”

Harry nods and licks a bit of sugar from his lip before answering. “Sort of,” he says, eyes fixed on the field. “I studied international economics and business law. My dad owns a company… Real estate and private investments. Very elite.” He sighs. “The plan was always that I’d take over one day. I’ve been involved a little. Internships, board meetings, charity stuff. But, honestly?” He shrugs. “I barely do anything. My parents want me to enjoy being young and… rich. I was supposed to ‘have my fun’ before settling in.”

Louis raises an eyebrow. “Did you have fun?”

Harry laughs under his breath, a little bitter. “Back then, yeah. Now?” He shakes his head. “Now I look at that version of me and I feel sick. Like who even was that? Spending thousands on a single night out, whining about flights being too early, thinking struggle was… not getting the table I wanted. I don’t wanna be like that anymore. I want something real.”

Louis listens in silence, his expression thoughtful as Harry turns to him and searches his eyes.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” Harry adds, “but being here… with you… I feel more like a person than I ever did in London.”

Louis smiles gently. He reaches out and brushes a bit of wind-blown hair from Harry’s cheek. “You are a person. A fucking good one.”

Harry leans into the touch. “So if you’re free soon… and we do have a pup or even if we don’t… do you think we could make it work here?”

Louis doesn’t answer straight away and instead looks out at the sunflowers.

“I think,” he says finally, “that we’d figure it out. Together.”

It's quiet for a while until Louis speaks again quietly, almost like he’s unsure he should even say it.

“I’ve been thinking, if I really do get my name cleared… I’d like to finish my degree in psychology.”

Harry turns to look at him proudly. “Yeah?”

Louis nods, not quite meeting his eyes. “It makes sense to me. Before everything… before I had to run. I was in my second year when it all fell apart. I liked it. Understanding people. Why they do what they do.” He swallows. “I never thought I’d get the chance to go back. But now…”

“You should,” Harry says instantly. “You have to. You'll be brilliant at it.”

Louis lets out a breath, finally looking up at him. “I’d have to do it in London though, yeah? At least to finish it properly.”

Harry nods slowly. His own heart stumbles a little, caught between wanting to stay right here forever and knowing what makes the most sense.

“I get it,” he says softly. “I really do. We're going back together and can live in my penthouse.”

Louis arches a brow. “I thought you hated London now?”

Harry lets out a little laugh, picking at a blade of grass. “I kinda do. But I hate the thought of you there without me more.” He pauses. “But long-term? I don’t think I can go back to… that life. Not forever.”

Louis listens closely and nods. 

“I’ve been thinking too,” Harry admits. “If we weren’t going back just yet… I could’ve seen myself staying here. Doing something simple. I don’t know, maybe open a little boutique or something charming like that.” He gestures at the countryside. “Something that doesn’t involve suits or boring conference calls.”

Louis smiles at the thought, but it fades when Harry adds, “My parents would go absolutely mental, though. And if I am pregnant… there’s no way I could start a business right now. Not while you’re studying and I’m trying not to throw up every five minutes.”

“You’re already convinced, huh?” Louis chuckles gently.

Harry shrugs, grinning softly. “I just have a feeling, alright?”

They sit in silence for a moment, letting the ideas settle around them.

“So,” Louis says eventually, “we go back together. I finish uni. You… deal with your terrifying parents.”

Harry groans dramatically. “Don’t remind me.”

“And in the meantime,” Louis continues, “you help out in the family business. Keep them off your back a bit. Then, when everything’s calmer…”

“When you're officially free,” Harry adds.

“When we’re ready,” Louis says, nudging Harry’s knee with his, “we come back here. For real this time.”

Harry’s throat tightens a little. “Promise?”

Louis leans in and presses a soft kiss to the corner of Harry’s mouth. “Promise.”

Harry rests his head on Louis’ shoulder, watching the breeze wave slowly over the sunflowers. Their future is messy and uncertain. But it’s theirs. And that’s more than he’s ever dared to hope for.

Chapter Text

Back at Louis’ house, the moment feels both a little surreal and oddly domestic as they step through the front door and Harry pulls the test out of the backpack, holding the box between them. The instructions are in Italian, but with the help of a translator app and a bit of guessing, they’d already picked one in the shop that apparently works super early. 

Louis squints at the tiny print. “So… from how many days after…?”

Harry turns the box in his hand, finding the line again. “Says five. Five days after conception. Early response.” His voice is casual but his heart is anything but.

Louis nods slowly. “Alright. Do you want me to… stay with you?”

Harry snorts softly, trying to laugh away the nerves. “Lou, I think I can manage peeing on a stick on my own. You’d just distract me. Wait outside, yeah?”

Louis holds up his hands in mock surrender, but his smile is soft. “Alright. I’ll be right outside the door, though.”

In the bathroom, Harry stares at the test for a good minute before he even unwraps it. But then he finally does what he has to, sets the test on the edge of the sink and washes his hands too many times before stepping out, his stomach doing backflips. Louis is waiting in the hallway, arms folded and eyes wide. Harry says nothing, just steps forward and folds himself into Louis’ chest. They stay like that for the full waiting time, no words, just quiet breaths and Louis rubbing slow, soothing circles into Harry’s back. When the time is up, neither of them moves.

“You wanna look or should I?” Louis asks.

Harry swallows. “I’ll do it.” 

His legs feel like jelly as he pulls away and the few steps to the bathroom feel way longer than it should. He hesitates in the doorway, then forces himself to peek over the sink.

And then he just… stops breathing.

It’s negative.

Just one single line - stark, sharp and cruel in its finality. Harry stares at it, unblinking, willing it to change. Willing another faint pink line to appear like magic. But nothing happens. Just the brutal clarity of what isn’t. His breath catches in his throat, chest suddenly tight, like all the air’s been sucked out of the room. The walls feel closer, the floor not quite steady beneath him. He grips the edge of the sink as if it might anchor him, but it doesn’t.

Louis steps into the bathroom behind him, eyes flicking to the test. 

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath. 

That’s it. Just that one word. It says everything.

They both just stare at the little stick on the sink, like it’s done something unspeakably wrong. Harry thought he would cry but he doesn’t. His eyes don’t even sting. It’s worse than that. It’s numb. Like his whole system’s just shut down. He hadn’t even realised how much hope he’d been carrying, how much he’d wanted this, until now. Somewhere between the nerves and the jokes and the surreal panic in the wine aisle, it had become real to him. Not just possible, but something he wanted.
And also his Omega, usually so loud in moments like this, is quiet. Unmoving. Like it doesn’t quite know how to process this either.

“I really thought-” Harry starts, but the words just wither in his throat. 

He doesn’t even know what he thought anymore. Only that it wasn’t this. Louis is there then, warm arms wrapping around him from behind, hands splayed over his stomach and Harry leans back into him instinctively, needing the weight, the pressure, the steadiness. 

Louis rests his chin on Harry’s shoulder, speaking softly. “I would’ve loved it. Even now. Even this early. I was-” He breaks off for a second, breath shaky. “I was already seeing it.”

Harry squeezes his eyes shut. “Me too.”

Neither of them says anything for a long while. The bathroom is quiet except for their breathing, a quiet grief settling between them that feels far too big for something that was never even there. But it was somehow to them. In their minds. In their hearts. In the tiny future they’d already started imagining.

Harry’s voice is a whisper when it finally returns. “Is it stupid that I’m... devastated?”

“No,” Louis answers instantly. “No, sunflower. It’s not stupid. It’s not. You were ready. I think… we both were. In some messed up way.”

Harry lets out a shaky breath and turns in Louis’ arms, burying his face in the crook of his neck. He still doesn’t cry, but he doesn’t need to. Louis feels everything for him, holding him tighter than ever, breathing with him. 

Even after a long while, Louis doesn't pull him out of the bathroom. He simply continues to hold him, their bodies still, their thoughts loud. Harry doesn't know how long they stand there like that until Louis speaks quietly, his voice barely more than a breath against Harry's hair.

"We could try again, yeah?" Louis asks. "Next heat and rut. We only started. We've got time, love. We've got all the time in the world."

Harry takes a deep breath, his forehead still pressed against Louis' neck. It's like a gentle wave washing over him - this thought that they haven't lost everything, that there will still be chances. That it's not over just because the test was negative.

"We're still young," Louis continues, with a small smile in his voice that Harry can almost feel. "And maybe it's better this way. I mean... if I'd knocked you up in this dusty Tuscan workers house during your first heat with me-" He laughs softly and affectionately at the same time. "Kinda reckless, yeah?"

Harry can't help it, he laughs too. It's small, but genuine. "Reckless," he repeats, lifting his head slightly so that he can look at Louis. "But very romantic."

Louis grins. "The most romantic mistake I would've ever made."

"Yeah," Harry whispers. "Next time."

He doesn't know if he means it one hundred percent. Not because he doesn't want to - God, he does - but because everything is still too fresh. Too tender. But just the idea that there is a next time is enough to give him a little piece of peace. His heart doesn't hurt any less, but it beats more calmly now and in time with Louis'.

"I'd like that," Harry says, almost to himself, but Louis hears it anyway.

"I'll be ready," Louis replies. "Whenever you are."

And Harry smiles. Over the pain. Over the longing. Over all that is yet to come.

━━━━🌻━━━━

It’s the kind of news that should make him float. The kind you jump up for, heart racing, eyes wide, barely believing it’s real.

But Harry just slouches deeper into the sun lounger by the pool, one leg dangling off the side, the other pulled close to his chest. His hand dips into the half-empty packet of Louis’ favourite sweets, the ones that are all sugar and fake fruit flavouring. He tosses one into his mouth and chews with more frustration than enjoyment.

The text from Malik had come through only a minute ago. 

Everything’s ready. I’ve spoken to the authorities. Mr Tomlinson can fly without issue. Let me know when you’ve booked. See you both soon.

It is good news. Brilliant, even. It means they can finally go back to London. Louis can start the process of clearing his name properly and Harry can… well. He’s not sure what he can do anymore. Everything he thought he wanted feels blurry around the edges.

He blinks up at the sun. It’s aggressive, somehow. Shining all bright and golden like the world’s perfect and easy. Like the ground beneath him hasn’t shifted entirely in the past week.

With a sigh, he pushes his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose and lifts his chin just enough to call across the garden, “You can fly.”

Louis is near the roses, in a tank top and arms wet from spraying the hose. He looks over with a squint, then lights up as Harry’s words sink in.

“That’s amazing!” he calls back, grinning wide, lifting the hose slightly like he might start dancing with it.

Harry watches him and feels… irritated. The brightness of his Alpha’s joy is too much, too loud against the dull throb behind Harry’s ribs. He doesn’t respond, just rolls his eyes behind the sunglasses and pops another sweet into his mouth. God, even the sweetness tastes annoying. Like it’s trying too hard. But he keeps eating them anyway. Shovels in another with a huff. Because Louis was right – fuck calories. Fuck restraint. Some things are too good to care about numbers. And right now, the only thing that makes sense is chewing through this ridiculous mood and pretending he isn’t quietly falling apart over a negative pregnancy test that happened a week ago.

He doesn’t even know why he’s still upset. Maybe it’s his Omega nature. Maybe it's heartbreak. Maybe it’s that he let himself hope too hard, too fast and now he’s sitting here with sticky fingers and an ache in his chest he doesn’t know how to name.

Louis waves at him again from the flowers, beaming and blows him a kiss.

“Too fucking cheerful,” Harry mutters to himself as he waves half-heartly back.

After a few more sweets, Harry shifts in his lounger and calls out, “Lou!” 

Louis looks up immediately, brushing a strand of hair away from his damp forehead.

“Yeah, Omega?”

Harry lifts a hand and gestures him over with a little flick of his fingers. “Come here for a sec.”

Louis trots across the grass and comes to stand beside him, tilting his head down at Harry with a soft, curious look. “You alright?”

Harry hums, eyes still hidden behind the shades. “I’m gonna book the flight in a moment for London.”

Louis brightens again. “Yeah? When for?”

“Few days,” Harry says, plucking another sweet from the bag and letting it sit on his tongue before chewing. “I thought we could have a bit more time here. Just us. Before the chaos.”

Louis nods slowly. “Sounds good. I’ll start packing bit by bit then.”

Harry hesitates, crunching down. “I’ll also… set something up with my parents. For when we’re back.”

Louis freezes a little, like someone’s just asked him to stand in front of a firing squad. 

“Your parents,” he repeats.

Harry finally tilts his head up, peering at him over the edge of the sunglasses. “Yeah. You are my mate, they should probably meet you, shouldn’t they?”

Louis swallows. “Yeah, no… yeah, obviously. Makes sense. Just a bit terrifying.”

Harry snorts softly. “Welcome to the club.”

Louis laughs nervously and rubs at the back of his neck. “What if they hate me?”

“They might,” Harry answers honestly, offering a lopsided smile. “But they’ve hated most of my choices, so that’ll just mean you’re the real deal.”

Louis huffs a laugh, then leans down and kisses Harry warm and gentle. 

“Love you,” he murmurs fondly.

“Love you too and now go do your work,” Harry shoos him with a lazy wave. “I’ll book the flight now.”

Louis ruffles his curls before walking off again, muttering something about “spoiled Omega,” and Harry sticks his tongue out at his back before slumping deeper into the lounger. He picks up his phone and opens the airline app, sighing heavily. It’s not the booking part that’s hard. It’s the other part where he has to call his mother or father and set up a meeting. He can already hear them: An Alpha under your worth, Harry? Do you know what people will say? How this will reflect on the family?

Harry shoves another sweet into his mouth, chewing hard. “Oh, shut up,” he mutters to no one in particular, glaring at the clouds. “He’s ten times better than any of your dinner party friends.”

But still. The thought of that conversation tightens something in his gut. So instead of calling them, he buys himself more time and taps through the flight options, selects one for a few days from now and confirms the tickets with a few swipes. That, at least, is within his control. A clean, practical decision. 

Harry stares at the screen for a solid minute after booking the flight, thumb hovering over his contacts list. His stomach’s already in knots, but he scrolls anyway and taps the contact of his father before he can change his mind.

It rings twice before the call connects.

“Harry.” His father’s voice is clipped, low, always sounding vaguely inconvenienced. “Didn’t expect to hear from you today. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Harry says, keeping his tone even. Calm. He leans forward on the lounger, elbow braced on his knee. “I just wanted to let you know… I’ll be back in London soon.”

There’s a pause. “Oh?”

Harry inhales through his nose. “Yeah. In a few days. I, uh… I want to introduce you and mother to someone.”

“Introduce?” His father’s voice shifts slightly. “As in…?”

Harry presses his lips together. “As in an Alpha. His name’s Lou. Or no, sorry, his full name is Louis but I always call him Lou... never mind.”

Another pause, longer this time. “Lou. Like the gardener?”

There’s a low, sharp laugh on the other end, dry and cutting. Harry’s gut tightens. He forces himself to smile even though his father can’t see him.

“Yeah,” Harry says, flatly amused. “Like the gardener.”

“Right,” his father says, still chuckling. “Well, fine. As long as you don't bring the gardener himself, boy.”

Harry doesn’t respond. Just lets the silence stretch until his father clears his throat.

“Well, I suppose you’ll be wanting to bring him for dinner then. Let us know when exactly you’re landing. I’ll have Anne arrange something proper.”

“Sure,” Harry says, already dreading the tension at the table, the judgmental glances across linen and crystal and whatever absurd wine pairing they think appropriate. “I’ll text you the details.”

“Fine.”

That’s it. No curiosity. No warmth. Just the same cold disinterest dressed up as polite civility.

Harry swallows hard, then adds quietly, “Thanks for making the time.”

His father hums, the sound dismissive. “Safe travels, then.”

The call ends and Harry lowers the phone slowly, placing it facedown on the little side table next to the lounger. He lets out a long breath and stares up at the blazing, cloudless sky. It’s done but the hollow weight in his chest hasn’t shifted. It only got worse after the comment about the gardener. It makes him feel nauseous just thinking about it when his parents will realise that Harry has fallen in love with that very gardener. On top of that, he still has to confess that they are mates.

Louis doesn't even have to say anything. The second Harry hears his footsteps coming across the grass, he feels it - that warm, earthy scent that has been comforting him for weeks is now tinged with unease. Apprehension. Louis walks over, wipes his hands on the towel he's tucked into his shorts from watering the flowers and crouches next to Harry.

"How did it go?" he asks gently. "You've been in the mood for days, but right now your scent… Harry, it's unbearable."

Harry tenses, his jaw clenching. "Thanks."

Louis frowns. "That's not what I..."

"Do you think I'm disgusting or what?" Harry interrupts him, his voice sharper than he intended. It's like irritation takes over him and he can't do anything about it.

Louis looks stunned. "What, no! Harry-"

"Then stop saying to me that I smell like I'm rotting!" Harry snaps, standing up abruptly, the sweets falling to the ground. "But maybe that's it, isn't it? Because apparently I can't even do what I'm biologically meant to do. My body is rotting!"

Louis' eyebrows draw together. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"The fucking test, Lou!" Harry's voice rises, his hands open wide. "The pup that doesn't exist, remember? I was sure, okay? I wanted it. And now it's like my body has failed."

Louis stands up, his expression hardening. "It hasn't failed. It was one negative test. We said..."

"Yeah, we said a lot of things!" Harry throws back. "And now we're playing the happy couple meeting my disapproving parents and all I feel is this huge frustration of not being pregnant! I'm spiraling!"

"Right now you're just mean,” Louis says.

"Oh, brilliant. Psychology student Louis came to the front."

The corners of Louis' mouth twitch, but not in humour. "Don't start with that."

"Why not?" Harry hisses. "Is it because I'm being bratty again? That's what you think, isn't it? That I'm being a spoiled little Omega again, who can't cope when he doesn't get his way?"

Louis exhales through his nose and steps closer. 

"Harry, stop!” Louis suddenly growls and he never before talked to him in a voice like that. 

Harry freezes. That tone. Not exactly the Alpha tone, but close enough to trigger something deep inside him. His heart races - and not in a good way.

"Don't talk to me like that," Harry hisses.

"Then stop acting like I'm your enemy," Louis snaps, no longer trying to remain calm. "I'm not the problem here. I just wanted to be there for you, Harry. Especially after the phone call with your father but if everything I say is wrong, what do you want me to do?"

Harry stares at him, breathing heavily, cheeks flushed with a heat that has nothing to do with the sun.

"I'm making pasta," he announces coldly.

And with that, he storms past Louis into his house, the door slamming shut behind him with a bang. He pulls open a cupboard too hard but he doesn't care. He needs food. Something warm, comforting and rich in carbohydrates. He bangs a pot on the cooker with more force than necessary and fills it with water, his jaw tense and his teeth gritted.

For a while, he concentrates only on the sauce he is making and the boiling pasta water, it's good to lose himself in it and to only feel his frustration bubble underneath. He doesn’t even hear Louis come in, but he knows he’s there. The air shifts like he always feels it when Louis enters a room. Harry continues stirring the pasta with more energy than strictly necessary, pretending he doesn’t notice the quiet steps or the way Louis leans in the doorway for a beat, watching him. Judging, maybe. Probably.

“Harry…” Louis says softly, testing the waters.

“I’m fine,” Harry bites out, without looking at him.

“You’re clearly not.”

“Brilliant deduction. You’ll ace your degree.”

Louis sighs, walks over slowly like Harry’s some wounded animal that might bolt. Which, frankly, isn’t that far off. He slides his arms around Harry from behind, trying to tuck his chin over Harry’s shoulder but he stiffens immediately.

“Don’t,” he mutters.

“Baby, come on.”

“I said don’t.”

But Louis doesn’t listen. Not this time. He turns Harry around with firm hands, crowding into his space and then kisses him hard, hot, not even asking permission. Just mouths on mouths, lips parted, breath shared. Harry moans into it before he can stop himself. Louis tilts his head and deepens it, biting Harry’s bottom lip before dragging his mouth down to his jaw, then lower, to his neck, open-mouthed kisses pressed against the pulse point there.

“Shall I spank the brat out of you?” Louis whispers against his skin, voice husky, playful, dangerous.

Harry gasps - because fuck, yes, it sounds good, feels good - but then the weight inside him hits again like a brick wall, crashing down without warning.

“No,” he says suddenly, pushing Louis back with a shaky hand. “Don’t. Not now. I can’t.”

Louis stills instantly, reading his face and the heat dies down in a blink. 

“Alright,” he says softly. “Okay.”

Harry backs away, breathing heavily, and then runs both hands through his hair. His voice breaks a little. “I’m sorry. I’m being awful.”

Louis opens his mouth to reassure him, but Harry cuts in with a choked sound and then, without warning, the dam breaks. The tears start, fast and hot, spilling down his cheeks like they’ve been waiting days to fall. He presses his hands to his face like he can hold it in, but his shoulders are already shaking.

“Oh God,” he chokes out, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Louis switches off the hob in two swift turns, then walks over without a word and wraps his arms around Harry’s middle. Gently, he pulls him away from the kitchen, through the hallway and into the cool dimness of the living room. They sink onto the sofa, Harry still sobbing quietly, and Louis shifts until he’s sitting down with Harry curled in his lap, legs draped over his, arms tight around his back.

“I’m here,” Louis murmurs, pressing a kiss to his hair. “Let it out, love. Just let it all out.”

And Harry does. Finally.

He cries like it’s been building up forever. All the pressure, the hope, the longing, the hope, the future, the past. It all crashes out of him in heavy, wracking sobs. He clings to Louis like he’s the only solid thing in a storm. Louis holds him through all of it, not saying much, just humming sometimes under his breath, grounding him, fingers tracing soft circles into his back while he scents him. It’s the safest Harry’s felt all week.

It takes a while before Harry’s breathing begins to settle. Still hiccuping now and then, but the worst of the sobs have passed.

“Tell me what's going on inside you,” Louis whispers and strokes through Harry’s hair.

“I really wanted it,” Harry answers, barely above a whisper. “I mean… really. It’s ridiculous. We haven’t even been together that long and it’d have been… so early, but Lou, I wanted it. I wanted them. I don’t even know if it would’ve been a boy or girl, or whatever, but in my head I’d already-” He cuts himself off with a watery breath. “I’d already pictured them with your eyes.”

Louis makes a small sound, surprised and soft, and Harry just barrels on.

“I never used to think about pups. Not like, seriously. Not more than what’s expected of an Omega in my family. But since the possibility of being pregnant, it’s all I think about. Not in some creepy obsessed way, just… it felt right. Feels right. You and me and… something more. A tiny you, maybe. All messy-haired and stubborn and perfect.”

Louis laughs under his breath, but Harry’s not done.

“And now it’s not happening. I know we want to try again. But it still feels like I lost something, you know? Like something I almost had slipped right out of my hands. And everyone at home thinks I’m lucky and young and free and whatever, but all I want right now is to build a family. I want that more than anything and it’s…” He bites his lip hard, breath trembling. “It’s exhausting.”

Louis kisses the top of his head and keeps listening.

“And I really don’t want to go back to London and deal with my parents,” Harry adds, voice rising again. “It’s going to be a bloody nightmare. They’ll take one look at you and… ugh, they’ll judge. I know they will. They always do. And I hate that. I hate the thought of you being uncomfortable because of them. You’ve already been through so much and I can’t protect you from them and it kills me. And I-” He leans back enough to look Louis in the eye. “I need you to promise me something.”

Louis nods without hesitation. “Anything.”

Harry’s lower lip wobbles. “Promise me you won’t take anything they say to heart. Please. I know they’re going to say stupid, cruel things. About your past. About you not being from our world. But none of that matters to me. None of it. I love you. I love you so much, Alpha, and if I could I’d never let you hear a word from them. I’d lock us away in this tiny house forever. But I can’t. So just… please. Please don’t listen to them.”

Louis reaches up and cups Harry’s face, thumb brushing under his eye. “I promise,” he says gently. “I promise I won’t let them get to me.”

Harry lets out a slow, broken breath. 

“I know who I am,” Louis adds. “I know what we are. And nothing they say will change that. We’ll get through the dinner, yeah? Smile, nod, ignore the sharp edges. Then go home and laugh about it in bed. And one day, when we’ve got that pup of ours with your curls and my charm, we’ll look back on all this and be so glad we didn’t let anyone else mess it up.”

Harry sniffles and gives a wet laugh. “You really think our pup is going to have your charm?”

Louis grins. “Princess, it’s genetic.”

Harry giggles and melts a little, curling back into his Alpha with a sigh. His Omega finally settles too, purring quietly under his skin. 

“What do you need right now, love? Anything I can do?”

Harry sniffles again, but it’s softer this time, less broken. He thinks about it for a second, then pouts, actually pouts, like a child denied a treat. “I want pasta.”

Louis laughs. “Course you do.”

“You said I should eat what I want,” Harry reminds him, still pouting. “You’ve completely corrupted me. All I think about is food and sweets now. I used to care about calories and look at me now. Emotional breakdowns and sugar cravings.”

Louis grins and brushes his nose against Harry’s. “Then you should definitely make pasta. Comfort food. Carbs heal the soul.”

Harry hums thoughtfully, already picturing the pot boiling and the cheese melting. “Alright. But you’re helping.”

“Can’t,” Louis says, already standing up with a groan. “Need to trim the hedge. You have your pasta, I have my scissors. Domestic bliss.”

Harry flops back onto the sofa, dramatically. “Fine. But later… pool?”

Louis glances at him over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, hugging a pillow. “We swim. I need to counterbalance this unhealthy new life you’ve cursed me with.”

Louis rolls his eyes, but it’s fond. “You’re ridiculous. And perfect.” He opens the door and adds with a smirk, “We’ll swim. Naked. Burn calories the fun way.”

Harry gasps, mock-offended, and grabs the nearest pillow. “You absolute perv… get out of the house!”

He chucks the pillow at Louis, who ducks and laughs as he backs out the door. “Love you too, sunflower!”

The door swings shut behind him, but Harry can still hear his laughter, full and free and beautiful. Harry shakes his head, smiling despite himself, then pushes up from the couch and heads to the kitchen, muttering under his breath, “Naked swimming. The nerve.” 

But he’s smiling. Always smiling when it comes to Louis. Well, almost.

━━━━🌻━━━━

The stars twinkle gently in the sky and there is only them as the workers left hours ago. Just Louis and Harry, hand in hand, bare feet on the cool stone around the pool. They’re both naked, laughing like kids sneaking into forbidden waters, fingers laced together as they count down in whispers “three, two, one” and leap. The splash is enormous, water swallowing them whole in a rush of bubbles and lightness. Harry surfaces with a gasp and a grin and slicks his hair back as Louis swims up beside him.

“Still alive?” Louis teases, slicking a hand over Harry’s chest, which glistens under the moonlight.

“Barely,” Harry huffs playfully, wiping water from his eyes.

They swim a few lazy laps close together, brushing occasionally on purpose until Harry floats on his back for a while, eyes on the stars while Louis gently guides him with a hand beneath his spine. But then Louis shifts closer and his fingers trace Harry’s shoulder, drifting down over his ribs, then across his waist under the water. When Harry turns to him, he sees everything in Louis’ face - adoration, hunger, devotion and a hint of cheek.

“Is this the moment when we burn calories the fun way?” Harry grins.

“Do you want to?” Louis winks.

“I do,” Harry whispers.

With that, Louis pulls Harry toward him, their bodies colliding with a splash. Harry laughs but it dies out as their lips meet. It’s hot and deep, their skin slick and warm in the water, limbs tangling as they drift to the edge of the pool where it’s shallow enough to stand. Harry wraps his legs around Louis’ waist, pressing their foreheads together.

Louis’ eyes gleam dark with hunger, lips curved into that cocky smirk that always turns Harry’s knees to jelly. There’s heat rolling off his body even through the water and before Harry can catch his breath, Louis grabs him by the waist and pulls him flush against his chest. Harry gasps, the sudden press of bare skin making his stomach clench. Louis doesn’t give him time to think as his mouth crashes onto Harry’s, kissing him like he owns him. Which he does. Tongues slide, teeth clash and Harry whimpers into it while his hands glide over Louis’ wet skin.

“Fuck, you feel good,” Louis growls, biting down on Harry’s bottom lip before kissing him again, rougher this time. 

Harry groans and Louis’ hands slide down, grabbing two greedy handfuls of Harry’s arse, squeezing and pulling him in until their cocks are pressed together. Harry shudders at the friction because it's maddening erotical.

“You feel that?” Louis murmurs into his neck, tongue flicking over the skin before he sucks hard enough to leave a mark. “That’s what you do to me, Omega.”

Harry moans, high and breathy. “Fuck, Lou…”

Louis lets out a low chuckle. “Yeah. Say my name like that again.”

He shifts slightly, one hand gripping Harry’s hip, the other sliding between their bodies. Harry gasps when Louis wraps his fingers around both of their cocks so they throb against each other. The pressure is filthy and addictive.

“Shit, that feels good,” Harry pants, hips stuttering forward on instinct.

Louis grinds their lengths together slowly at first while his eyes are locked on Harry’s face. “Look at you. So desperate,” he whispers, voice thick with want. “You love this, don’t you? Getting off on rubbing your cock against mine like a needy little thing.”

Harry can’t speak. His brain is mush. All he can do is moan and nod with his lips parted and cheeks flushed.

“Words, baby,” Louis demands, stroking them harder now. “Tell me how much you love it.”

“I love it… I love feeling you like this. So thick… so fucking hard.”

Louis grins proudly. “Yeah? You like when I stroke us together like this? Like the needy little Omega you are?”

Harry whines, his whole body trembling. “Please… don’t stop.”

Louis kisses him again, then trails his lips down Harry’s jaw to his throat. He sucks a mark there, then another lower down and Harry practically melts in his arms.

“I won’t stop, baby,” Louis whispers, teeth scraping gently over the curve of Harry’s neck. “Not till you’re shaking for me. Wanna feel you come all over me, want you to fucking lose it.”

His strokes get faster, tighter and Harry’s hands dig into Louis’ back, nails dragging down hard enough to leave marks. Their hips move in sync, fucking into Louis’ fist with growing urgency and the only sounds are their harsh breathing and obscene groans.

“Alpha… fuck, I’m gonna come!”

Harry’s whole body tenses, hips stuttering against Louis’ hand, breath coming in short gasps as he's right there on the very edge. But Louis suddenly stills his hand. 

“Not here,” Louis says against Harry’s ear. “Not in the water.”

Harry blinks, dazed and panting. “What?”

Louis pulls him in for a kiss, deep and claiming, then murmurs against his lips, “I want to see you come properly. Feel it. Taste it. Not lose it to chlorine.”

That snaps something loose in Harry and he nods, clinging needy and breathless to Louis as they step out of the pool, water dripping from their bodies. Without a word, Louis sinks into one of the lounger, spreading his legs slightly, cock flushed and wet against his belly, already leaking.

“Come here,” he commands, leans back and pats his thighs. “Ride me, baby. Want to watch your pretty face while you fuck yourself on me.”

Harry’s whole body shivers. He climbs over Louis, straddling him with his own cock bobbing between them, still hard, still aching. Louis grips him by the hips, guiding him closer, pressing a wet, open-mouthed kiss to Harry’s chest.

“You want it?” he murmurs, teasing the head of his cock along Harry’s slick entrance. “Want to sit on my dick like a good little Omega?”

Harry groans, hands braced on Louis’ chest, nodding frantically. “Yes. Please. I want to feel all of you.”

Louis grins, breath hitching as Harry slowly sinks down onto him, inch by inch. “Fuck, that’s it,” Louis growls, eyes locked on where they connect. “Take me, love. Just like that.”

Harry gasps, the stretch still intense even with how much slick he's leaking, but it’s perfect - so fucking good. He lowers himself fully and bottoms out with a shaky moan.

“Shit, you feel unreal,” Louis mutters, hands caressing Harry’s hips. “So warm. So tight. You were made for me, weren’t you?”

Harry nods and his eyes flutter shut. And then he starts to move - slow at first, rolling his hips, adjusting to the pressure, the fullness. Louis watches him with dark, hungry eyes, one hand gripping his waist, the other sliding up his chest to pinch one of his nipples, just enough to make Harry jolt and groan.

“You’re so fucking pretty like this,” Louis breathes. “Bouncing on my cock like you need it to breathe.”

Harry lets out a broken moan, picking up the pace, riding Louis harder now, thighs burning, the sound of skin slapping echoing in the warm night air.

“Faster, baby,” Louis urges, fingers digging into his hips. “Show me how much you want it. Let go.”

Harry whimpers, slamming down on him harder, their rhythm messy and desperate. His cock bounces against Louis’ stomach, leaving streaks of precum behind. Louis reaches down and fists him tightly, stroking in time with his thrusts, mouth falling open as Harry rocks against him.

“God… babe, I’m so close!” Harry pants.

Louis sits up slightly, wraps his arm around Harry’s back, bringing them chest to chest. “Look at me,” he growls. “Wanna see you fall apart for me. Come on, princess, make a mess on me.”

That’s all Harry needs. With a desperate cry, his whole body clenches and he comes in hot, heavy spurts all over Louis’ chest and stomach, his vision going white for a second as his orgasm takes over.

Louis doesn’t stop. He keeps stroking him through it, murmuring softly, “There you go. That’s it, baby. Fuck, you’re gorgeous when you come.”

Harry’s still gasping, boneless and shaking, when Louis grabs his hips tighter and starts thrusting up into him from below. He’s close too, Harry can feel it in the way his muscles strain and how his breath catches.

“Gonna fill you up,” Louis growls, burying himself deep. “Wanna feel you drip with me. Can you take it?”

Harry nods weakly, completely wrecked. “Please…”

Louis slams up into him one last time and groans out loud and raw as he spills inside Harry, hips jerking with every wave of pleasure. His grip on Harry’s waist is firm but he loves it, and also how Louis keeps Harry flush against him as he rides it out.

When it’s over, they both collapse back onto the lounger, sweaty and dazed. Their bodies are sticky with Harry's release and slick but Louis runs his fingers through the mess idly, bringing it to his lips to taste it.

“Fucking hell,” Louis mumbles, pressing a kiss to Harry’s shoulder. “I'm ruined for anybody else, you know that?”

Harry lets out a breathless laugh, eyes half-closed. “Good.”

Louis chuckles, kisses him again, and grabs a towel they put on the other lounger before, to gently clean them both up. Then he wraps his arms around Harry’s waist, pulling him down to lie on top of him, skin to skin, heartbeat to heartbeat. It's beautiful, laying in the dark and quiet, only the sound of water lapping gently while they cuddle. Louis strokes his back and Harry hums contentedly against his neck, completely fucked-out, completely safe.

And yet, as they lie there, there is only one thing Harry can think about. He knows they're not in heat and rut, and it's not possible, but wouldn't it be beautiful if this moment had somehow been enough to make a pup?

Chapter Text

A week and a half later, Harry stands by the full-length mirror in the bedroom in his penthouse, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt, but his eyes aren’t really on his own reflection. They’re on Louis, who’s standing across the room in front of the wardrobe, reluctantly tugging at the lapels of his brand-new suit jacket like it’s trying to suffocate him. Harry hums low in his throat, a little purr slipping out before he can stop it. 

“You look disgustingly fit,” Harry says, half teasing, half breathless as he leans against the wall, arms crossed and openly staring now. 

Louis gives him a dry look, mouth twitching. “It’s a fucking suit, princess. Not exactly made for digging in the dirt or watering flowers, which I would prefer to do right now, to be honest.”

“And yet you still look like you could ruin me in it,” Harry replies with a grin, stepping forward and smoothing down the fabric over Louis’ shoulders. “I should buy you one in every colour.”

“You shouldn’t buy me anything,” Louis mutters. “I told you, I don’t want you spending-”

Harry cuts him off with a quick kiss to the jaw. “Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re very noble. But I’m still rich. Deal with it.”

Louis lets out a small laugh but doesn’t argue further. Harry steps back to admire him again, warmth curling inside him at the sight of his mate dressed like he belongs in every room Harry's ever been forced to stand in. It’s strange - not that Louis looks good, because Louis always looks good, but that he’s here, in his penthouse, standing by his wardrobe, wearing clothes Harry bought yesterday, as if this were normal. And in some ways, it’s starting to feel like it is.

It hadn’t, at first. The moment they arrived three nights ago, Louis had whistled low under his breath when Harry opened the door. 

“Fucking hell,” he’d said, walking slowly into the high-ceilinged, floor-to-ceiling-glass space like he was trying not to break it. “Is this a flat or a hotel suite?”

Harry had laughed awkwardly and mumbled something about location and views and his parents insisting on luxury. But deep down, he’d wanted to apologise. For the cold marble floors, for the impersonal furniture picked out by a designer he barely remembered meeting. For the way it wasn’t the tiny house in Italy where the bed had squeaked and the kitchen smelled like herbs and the sun had made Louis’ skin glow.

But it’s better now. Louis is here, barefoot half the time, drinking espresso from Harry’s overpriced machine and leaving clothes draped over the backs of chairs. His scent is all over the space and their toothbrushes are lined up next to each other in the bathroom. It still feels surreal, but it’s becoming theirs. And Harry thinks he can do this. He can actually survive these next few years in London if it means coming home to this. To him.

“I still think it’s weird,” Louis says now, looking at his reflection. “Getting dressed up to meet your parents like it’s some royal gala.”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “Trust me, if it were a royal gala, I’d make you wear a crown.”

Louis snorts, but there’s a flicker of nerves in his eyes that Harry doesn’t miss. He steps forward again and brushes his fingers lightly along Louis’ jaw. 

“Hey,” he says, softer now. “They’re just people. Annoying, judgmental people, but still. You’ve got nothing to prove.”

“Easy for you to say,” Louis mumbles. “You weren’t the one running to be accused of being a killer.”

Harry sighs. “They’ll behave. Or I’ll throw wine at them.”

Louis finally smiles properly and it eases something tight in Harry’s chest. He leans in again, nuzzling just under Louis’ ear where he knows he’s ticklish. 

“I’m serious, though. You look good. Want to ditch the dinner and let me ruin that suit instead?”

“Tempting,” Louis grins, but he gently pushes Harry away. “Later.”

Harry sighs dramatically. “Fine. But I’m definitely undressing you the second we get back.”

Louis smirks and Harry watches him with unfiltered adoration, even as he turns back to the mirror. Because no matter how stiff the dinner’s going to be, no matter how icy his father’s smile or how fake his mother’s questions, this is what matters. The way Louis’ hand slips into his as they head for the door and the warmth of him next to Harry in a cold, sterile building.

━━━━🌻━━━━

The car drives silently through the roads just outside London, the kind of area where the air smells like money and everything looks like it’s been polished for centuries. Harry sits stiffly in the plush leather seat, one leg crossed over the other, his fingers loosely linked with Louis’. He hasn’t said much since they got in. He’s not exactly in the mood for polite small talk with the Chauffeur, especially not when he knows where they’re heading and also Louis has been quietly watching the scenery, his thumb absently brushing over Harry’s knuckles. But when the driver slows down in front of a set of enormous wrought-iron gates, Louis leans closer and mutters under his breath, “Fucking hell. I thought the villa in Italy was massive but what the fuck is that?”

“Welcome to the House of Judgement,” Harry replies dryly. “Population two. One stiff martini and one pair of designer heels away from a nervous breakdown.”

Louis bites back a laugh and nudges him with his knee. “You’re such a brat.”

“And yet here you are,” Harry says, forcing a smile. “About to be paraded in front of the world’s frostiest Alpha and his ice queen of a wife.”

Both break out into a quiet giggle while the gates open. The long drive leading up to the house is lined with white gravel and the villa itself rises at the end like something out of an old movie. Louis’ mouth is slightly open in disbelief and Harry doesn’t blame him. It’s excessive even by his family’s standards.

Finally the car rolls to a gentle stop in front of the grand entrance and the driver climbs out to open the door for them. Harry gives Louis’ hand a small squeeze before they move. Once they’re standing beside the car, Harry turns to him and gently tugs on his lapels, fussing with the fabric as an excuse to linger a bit longer before they go in. 

“You remember what you promised me, yeah? Don’t take anything to heart. Whatever they say, whatever looks they give, just ignore it. You’re my mate. That’s all that matters.”

Louis nods, lips pressed together, but Harry can see the tightness in his jaw.

“And let me do the talking,” Harry adds. “At least until we’re seated. They’ll expect me to explain everything anyway.”

Louis raises an eyebrow. “What if they try to talk shit?”

“Then I’ll make a dramatic scene and storm out,” Harry replies flatly. “I’ve done it before. I’m excellent at it.”

That earns him another small laugh and Harry can’t help but lean forward to press a quick kiss to Louis’ cheek. With one last breath to steel themselves, Harry reaches for Louis’ hand again, intertwining their fingers tightly as they walk up the front steps together. Harry rings the bell and as the door swings open with a quiet click, Harry immediately exhales in relief when he sees who stands behind it.

“Clarice!” he beams, already stepping forward.

The older woman laughs warmly, wiping her hands on her apron before she wraps Harry in a soft hug, patting his back like she’s done since he was a kid sneaking into the kitchens for pastries before dinner. She smells like flour and floral soap and for a split second, everything feels alright.

“You’ve not changed a bit,” she says with a little wink.

Harry giggles. “I can say the same about you... you are still my favourite of all here.”

Clarice laughs again, eyes twinkling, then nods toward the hall. “They’re in the dining room. Just went in a few minutes ago. Everything’s laid out, and yes,” she adds with a smirk, “I told them to be nice when you're finally bringing an Alpha home.”

“Saint,” Harry whispers and they exchange one last knowing glance before he reaches for Louis’ hand again.

Louis watched the exchange silently but with a small, amused smile and gives now a friendly nod in greeting at Clarice. 

They walk together down the long hallway, the silence stretching just enough to feel heavy. As they near the door, Harry slows down, his grip on Louis’ hand tightening.

“You ready?” he whispers.

Louis nods calmly. “You?”

“Absolutely not.”

Still, he pushes the door open.

And there his parents are, already standing by the table, turning to them with practiced smiles that seem almost too perfect.

“Darling!” Anne says, arms outstretched, her voice all lightness and sugar. “Oh, you look wonderful, doesn’t he look wonderful, Desmond?”

Harry lets her kiss both his cheeks and resists the urge to flinch.

“Thanks. I was going for just presentable enough to be tolerated,” he says dryly. “By the way, you can save yourself the sweet talk, Louis knows how we really treat each other.”

Louis coughs discreetly beside him while his mother just rolls her eyes.

“And this,” Harry continues with forced cheerfulness, gesturing toward Louis, “is Louis. The Alpha I would like you to meet.”

Louis steps forward politely, calm as ever. “Mr. and Mrs. Styles. It’s a pleasure.” 

He shakes their hands with the kind of smooth confidence Harry didn’t even know he had. Harry’s parents smile, but there’s a stiffness around their eyes. 

"I assume that you otherwise move in poorer circles? Unfortunately, you can always see it in people's appearance. It lacks glamour," Anne says dismissively, looking Louis up and down.

"Yes... but money isn't everything," Louis replies unbothered. "I don't need glamour to be happy."

Harry's father lets out a contemptuous snort which Harry immediately mimics sarcastically, he just can't help it.

The next moment, champagne is handed around by a server. His mother takes a glass, his father too, already swirling it like they’re hosting some dinner party but when the tray comes to him, Harry lifts a hand quickly. 

“None for me, thanks,” he says, tone clipped as the drink reminds him of the picnic with Ethan and immediately bile rises in his throat. “I don't want to vomit at your feet.”

Anne's eyes flick up. “Still so dramatic,” she says, and then squints a little as her gaze drops to his middle. “You’ve put on weight, haven’t you? Your face looks fuller. And that little tummy… darling, you really mustn’t let yourself go so young.”

There’s a beat of silence. And then Louis, bless him, steps in with a calm but firm politeness.

“I think Harry looks brilliant,” Louis says simply, voice light but laced with a quiet steel. “And I’m sure there are better ways to greet your son than critiquing his body.”

Harry doesn’t even try to hide his smirk. Oh, he is so in love with this man. But he barely has time to savour the rare taste of satisfaction Louis’ defence gives him when his father sets his glass down a little too sharply on the table. 

“Well,” Desmond says, voice clipped, icy smooth. “I’d suggest you watch your tone when speaking to my wife.”

It's a dismissive warning delivered with an arch of his brow and Harry’s jaw tightens. Louis doesn’t say another word, just dips his head ever so slightly, even though Harry can feel the tension in his mate’s body through their linked hands but also through their bond.

Harry, however, has no such restraint.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he says, voice rising, sharp with disbelief. “Are we in the middle of a fucking Downton Abbey episode? He didn’t insult her… he simply said the truth. And he has every right to defend me.”

His mother lets out a tiny gasp, like it’s a personal attack and his father’s expression hardens.

“Watch yourself, Harry.”

“No,” Harry snaps. “I won’t. I’m so tired of pretending this is normal. The way you speak to me or anyone who doesn’t come from your social circle. Louis is my mate. My bonded Alpha.”

A beat of silence. Cold and suffocating. His mother stares at him like he’s just grown a second head. 

“You bonded? With him?”

His father’s lips curl. “For heaven’s sake, Harry. The first person who so much as looked at you like you mattered and you… what, decided to mate?”

Harry laughs, sharp and bitter. “Far from how you sell it father!” he spits. “And yes mother, I'm really bonded. His name is Louis Tomlinson, by the way. You know him as your gardener, Lou Williams. But actually he will soon be a bloody brilliant psychologist, probably the best. You should book a session. God knows you both need one.”

Louis shoots him a look then, wide-eyed and stunned, but Harry’s too far gone to stop now. Rage simmers just under his skin, heat rising up his throat. The room feels too bright, too sharp, his parents’ faces too polished and pinched.

“You’ve bonded with someone completely unsuitable,” his father growls, clearly holding himself back from yelling. “This is reckless, Harry Edward. And irreversible.”

“No shit,” Harry throws back. “It’s permanent. Isn’t that the whole point?”

Anne shakes her head, disgust softening into something more theatrical. “We raised you better than this. You were supposed to choose someone from-”

“From where? From your fucking party guest lists?” Harry’s voice cracks. “I’m not some breeding trophy, mother. I’m your son. And I love him.”

The tension bursts like a dam and voices rise. His mother tries to speak over him, but Harry doesn’t stop. His father points a finger, tries to lecture about legacy and standards and Harry laughs again, louder this time, wild with disbelief. The words fly faster, louder, harsher and none of them really listen, it's just the chaos of years of resentment and silence unraveling at once.

Louis stands frozen beside him, clearly unsure if he should intervene or let it burn. But Harry doesn’t need saving. Not from this. Not anymore. He’s done playing by their rules. Just as Harry opens his mouth for another round, his father’s voice cuts through the noise - calm, suddenly, too calm.

“Wait.” Desmond's eyes narrow, brow creasing. “Did you say Louis Tomlinson?”

Harry stiffens and there’s a heavy pause. Desmond looks straight at Louis now, like really looks, and there’s a flicker of something almost amused in his eyes. 

“As in Louis Tomlinson... the boy who murdered that Harrington Alpha, years back? You tell me, Harry, you not only slept with our gardener like a needy, little Omega whore but you also bonded with a murderer?”

The air is sucked clean from the room. His mother gasps audibly and her flute of champagne rattles slightly in her hand, then slips from her fingers entirely and shatters across the marble floor. She clutches her chest as if it’s physically hurting her to breathe. “No… no, that can’t… Harry. You bonded with a… oh my god, someone call the police!”

“Mum, stop!” Harry shouts, voice cracking as his body floods with heat, panic and fury all twisted into one. “He didn’t do anything! He’s innocent! He was being played! Do you really think I’d be mated to him if he was a murderer?”

"I don't know what you're still thinking or not. You're clearly out of your mind!” Anne shouts.

"You're completely overreacting. You're both doing it! We're meeting with the lawyer tomorrow, Louis is innocent. The real killer is Ethan Miller!" Harry defends. "Can you please finally believe me?”

“She’s not overreacting,” Desmond snaps, already reaching into the inner pocket of his suit jacket. “I’m calling our family doctor. You need to have the bond reversed. It has to be done somehow! Omega-focused medicine has come a long way. I’ll pay for the whole thing.”

Harry freezes and only blinks for a moment.

“You-” His voice is barely a whisper before it gets louder, trembling, venomous. “You want to unbond me?”

Desmond nods. “Yes. Before it’s too late. Even if he didn’t kill anyone, that kind of background will ruin you. This is not your life, Harry. You will not ruin it with this.”

And that’s it, his frustration turns into rage, his Omega just as fuming as Harry.

“YOU DON’T GET TO DECIDE WHAT MY LIFE IS!”

His scream echoes against the high ceilings and makes a servant in the hallway flinch. His throat burns and tears sting behind his eyes. 

“You never have! You’ve never once given a shit about what I want… just how I fit into your fucking precious circles!”

His mother gasps again and Harry can’t tell if her tears are real or performative or if he even cares anymore.

“You don’t love me,” he seethes, chest heaving. “You love the idea of me. Of the name, the status, the shiny fucking facade. But the second it’s real, the second I’m me… you try to fix it. Erase it.”

He grabs the heavy crystal vase off the console behind him and throws it hard against the marble. It explodes in shards and water and broken roses. The crash rings through the house like a gunshot while his parents both reel back. Silent. Shocked. Ashen-faced.

“Alright,” Louis says firmly, gently grabbing Harry’s wrist. “Enough. I’m sorry but this clearly isn’t good for anyone. Please excuse us for a moment so that we can all calm down.”

“Lou-” Harry tries, but Louis only shakes his head and leans close.

“Come on. Let’s just find a bathroom. Give you a minute.”

Harry chokes back a sob, nods and lets Louis lead him out the door, out of that suffocating room. Harry points tear-streaked toward the downstairs loo. “Second on the left.”

Louis squeezes his hand. “Got it.”

And Harry just lets himself be led through the corridor of the home he grew up in, shaking like a leaf, wishing it all felt less familiar.

They step into the bathroom quietly and Harry braces his hands against the sink, his knuckles white, chest still heaving, throat raw from shouting and crying. His reflection looks like shit - red-rimmed eyes, flushed cheeks, hair a mess from running his fingers through it too many times. He hates this version of himself. Too angry. Too messy. Louis closes the door gently behind them, then turns, arms folding across his chest as he leans against it.

“Alright,” he says, calm but firm. “You need to breathe. Now.”

Harry glares at him in the mirror, jaw tight. “Don’t-”

“Harry.” Louis’ voice cuts through, sharper this time. He doesn’t raise it, but it lands like a command anyway. “Stop. You’re gonna make yourself sick.”

Harry blinks. He wants to argue, wants to scream again, but something in Louis’ tone snaps him back into himself. He drops his gaze to the sink, swallows hard and starts counting his breaths like he did with Payne. In through the nose. Out through the mouth.

Louis steps forward after a moment and rests a hand on Harry’s lower back. “Look, baby,” he says gently, “I get it. They’re awful. I wanted to knock your dad’s teeth out, swear to God.”

Harry lets out a wet, broken laugh. “You and me both.”

“But,” Louis says carefully, “you can’t blow up like that.”

Harry whips around, eyes wide. “So I’m just supposed to let them talk to us like that? Like you’re nothing?”

“No,” Louis says. “But you’re supposed to be smarter than them. And you are. Here's my plan… You’ve got access to money, to power and they gave you that. So use it. Don’t hand them a reason to take it back.”

“You think they’d actually cut me off?” Harry whispers.

Louis raises an eyebrow. “You threw a vase that probably cost more than my old flat. What do you think?”

That shuts Harry up.

“Listen,” Louis continues, fingers curling slightly against his back. “We can play the game. Smile, nod, let them think we’re tame. You don’t have to make them love me. Just make them respect your choice. And that won’t happen if you look unstable.”

Harry’s lips press into a hard line. His pulse still pounds in his ears, but the haze of red in his vision is clearing now, bit by bit.

“We do this right,” Louis says softly, “you keep their money. We need time. You work for you Dad here, I finish uni… and then we piss off back to Italy and build whatever the fuck we want. On our terms. Well, and their money. Play them.”

Harry lets out a shaky breath. “You sound like you’ve thought this through.”

Louis gives a small smirk. “I have. Someone’s gotta be the brains.”

“Heeeeey!” Harry pouts and for a moment both laugh. But then Harry gets serious again. “You think I can do it? Keep it together?”

“I know you can.” Louis leans in, presses a quick, grounding kiss to Harry’s temple. “You’re clever, charming and when you’re not setting the world on fire with your rage you’re fucking brilliant.”

Harry gives a sniff, tries to laugh and wipes at his face with trembling fingers. “I look a mess.”

“You look beautiful,” Louis smiles.

“Alright. I can do this. We go back in. I shut up. You do the talking.”

Louis grins and smooths down his lapels. “Exactly. Just play along, yeah?”

Harry nods, lets Louis take his hand again and together they walk back down the hall. When they step back into the dining room, the atmosphere is still thick, brittle like a glass about to crack. Apparently, while they were both away, the shards of the vase and his mother's glass were removed. Harry keeps his gaze low, but dares a quick look at his parents. Both of them wear matching expressions - cool, brittle disdain, the kind that doesn’t have to be loud to be dangerous.

Before Harry can say anything, Louis clears his throat and takes a breath.

“I’m sure Harry has something he’d like to say,” Louis says, giving Harry a meaningful look, one brow lifted just slightly. Then, with a glance back at his parents, “But I’ll start. I’m sorry for how that began. Tensions were clearly high and it’s… not how we wanted tonight to go.”

He looks at Harry again, a bit too composed, like a schoolteacher urging a child to own up. Even knowing that Louis only plays a role, Harry makes a face and rolls his eyes, but it’s subtle and only Louis sees. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry says stiffly. “For shouting and smashing your vase. That’s not how I wanted tonight to go either.”

His father arches an eyebrow, but it’s not a sneer this time. He folds his hands over his chest and gives Louis an appraising look. 

“Well, I’ll give you that Mr Tomlinson, you seem to know your role as an Alpha. Handling Harry’s moods is no easy task. He’s been difficult since he could speak.”

Harry narrows his eyes but doesn’t take the bait. Louis, ever the actor now, gives a small nod and answers without flinching, “He’s not difficult. He’s just emotional. But I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“And you should,” Harry’s mother adds. “I’ll admit that I’m surprised. You’re more put together than I expected.”

Harry tightens his jaw but says nothing. Louis just smiles politely, fingers brushing against Harry’s wrist in quiet warning: stay cool.

His father lets out a low chuckle. “You know, I haven’t seen an outburst like that since your mother’s pregnancy with you. Hormones made her an absolute nightmare. But at least she had an excuse.” He levels a dry glance at Harry. “You don’t.”

That’s enough to set Harry’s mother off. She turns fully to him with her arms folding tight.

“Oh, so now it’s my fault again, is it?” she snaps. “I told you, I was carrying your pup while dealing with your business crises-”

“Don’t start,” Desmond sighs, rubbing his temples. “We’re not doing this again.”

“You always make me the villain!”

Harry tunes them out as this has happened a hundred times before. Instead his eyes find Louis’ and for a moment he allows himself to sink into calm blue. But suddenly mid-rant, his mother goes quiet. Her lips part slightly and she steps forward while her eyes are locked on Harry’s stomach.

“Wait,” Anne says, voice gone sharp and suspicious. “Harry… are you… are you pregnant? Is that why you're even worse in your mood than usual?”

“What?” Harry gasps.

She points. “Your stomach… I thought you were just gaining weight, but… are you pregnant?”

Harry stares at her, blood rushing to his face. Louis shifts beside him, like he’s ready to intercept whatever comes next.

“No, I’m not,” Harry whimpers, voice high and cracking before he can stop it. “I’m not pregnant.”

The words barely leave his mouth before his bottom lip wobbles and his eyes blur with fresh tears. The buried longing for a pup hits him in the chest like a blow and he swipes at his face angrily, but it doesn’t stop the sob bubbling up. 

“I’m not,” he repeats, softer, broken.

Louis' arm is around him immediately, pulling him in close as Harry’s body starts to shake with the effort of holding it all in. 

“We thought it might be possible, but we did a test. Almost two weeks ago. It was negative,” Louis explains calmly.

Harry’s mother blinks at them. “Two weeks ago? When was the heat?”

Louis hesitates. “About five days before the test.”

The shift in the room is immediate. His father slams his hand against the table next to him and makes the silverware clatter. “Five days? Jesus Christ. I don’t know much about Omega biology, but even I know that’s too fucking early to get a proper result.”

“But the test said it would work so early. It was in Italian but we translated it!” Harry argues, hugging Louis tighter as if to shield himself.

“Don’t give me that,” Anne cuts in sharply. “You’re not stupid, Harry. What were you thinking? Why didn't you take another or better… why didn't you take your contraceptives?”

“My heat came so suddenly and I never spent a heat with an Alpha before to know what to do!” he cries, then immediately flinches, tears spilling over again. 

“Clarice!” his father shouts suddenly, loud enough that Harry jumps. She appears already the next moment in the room. “Go to the pharmacy. Now. Get tests. All kinds. I don’t care if you have to buy the whole shelf.”

“And make sure they’re not those cheap ones. We want accuracy,” Anne adds.

Then both turn back to Harry, like generals barking orders. “Start drinking water,” his father says. “You’ll be taking all of them.”

Harry lets out a weak noise, one of protest, one of humiliation, but he doesn’t move. Louis is still holding him, rubbing soothing circles into his back while Harry hides his face against his chest.

“I can’t do it,” Harry whispers to Louis. “They’re all gonna be negative again. I just… I’ve just eaten too much. I’m just… I just got fat. I can’t- I can’t see another one. I can’t see your face when it’s another fucking single line.”

Louis presses a kiss to the top of his head. “Hey Omega, don’t talk like that. I’m with you. Either way. Always.”

“I’m scared,” Harry breathes, voice cracking like glass. “I want it too much.”

“I know,” Louis murmurs. “I know, sunflower.”

Behind them, the voices of Harry’s parents continue like background static as they argue now about bonding, about responsibility, about how two people so young and apparently clueless could ever think they were ready for a pup. And Harry just holds tighter onto Louis.

“Alright,” Louis says quietly, cutting through the thick tension like a knife. “I think that’s enough now.”

Harry freezes against his Alpha, eyes wide and wet as he glances up. Louis is still holding him gently, but now he’s facing Harry’s parents head on, calm and collected in a way that makes something deep in Harry settle. Louis doesn’t sound angry. He just sounds… sure. Grounded. Like nothing could knock him off balance.

“Please don’t speak about our relationship like that,” Louis continues and it’s so respectful, so measured, that Harry watches his parents visibly pause. “I understand your concerns. I do. But Harry and I… we love each other deeply. Our bond isn’t something either of us did for fun. And it’s not just us who feel that way. His Omega and my Alpha… we’re aligned. We’re in tune. It’s real.”

Harry swallows hard and presses his fingers to his mouth. He can’t look away from Louis, can’t do anything but listen, completely mesmerised.

“We’re young, yes,” Louis says, glancing briefly at Harry with a small, fond smile before looking back at his parents. “But we’re not irresponsible. If Harry is pregnant we will take full responsibility. I’ll make sure he and the pup are cared for, protected and loved.”

He pauses, then adds firmly, “But I will not let our pup, if we’re lucky enough to have one, grow up around this sort of atmosphere. I don’t want them to hear their grandparents dismiss their parents. I don’t want them to feel shame for being born out of love.”

That one hits. Even Harry’s mother shifts a little, her gaze softening just the slightest bit.

“We all want what’s best,” Louis says. “So let’s sit down. Let’s talk like adults. With respect. This isn’t about money or education or how things are supposed to look on paper or to others. This is about being decent to each other. About creating something that feels good. Something kind.”

Silence follows his words but it’s not hostile anymore. Harry’s father exhales slowly and his eyes flick between Louis and Harry, calculating, then finally he gives a small nod. 

“Alright,” Desmond says. “Fair enough.”

His mother follows a second later, pursing her lips, but she nods too. “Let’s sit, then.”

Louis gently guides Harry to the table and helps him into a seat like nothing even happened. His movements are smooth, steady, still full of that Alpha calm. He reaches for the glass carafe of water and pours it with one hand, pressing the other to Harry’s lower back in quiet reassurance. Harry takes the glass with both hands, looking up at him like he’s never seen anyone so beautiful in his entire life. His heart is pounding, but for the first time all evening, it isn’t out of anger. It’s pure, stunned love.

“I think it’s only fair,” Louis begins as he sits down beside him, looking between both of Harry’s parents, “that you know a bit more about me. Past what you’ve read or assumed.”

Harry watches in silence, completely fixated on him with his heart so full for his mate. His parents only raise their eyebrows, but say nothing, and Louis takes that as his cue to go on.

“I worked hard in school. Always have. Top of my class most years, not because it came easy, but because I had to put in the hours. I wanted a life for myself, something different from how I grew up. Without my father, with lots of siblings and a loving but hard-working mother who I hardly saw so that she could earn money. So I studied psychology, worked nights stacking shelves, doing deliveries, anything that paid enough to keep me afloat next to my regular job at a Café.”

Harry glances sideways, feeling his chest tighten. Louis never tells this story like it’s something tragic. He tells it like it’s just something he got through. 

“And then my mum died a few years ago,” Louis whispers, mouth pulling into a tight, brief line. “Not long after that my ex decided I was a convenient name to attach to something I never did. A murder. I didn’t even know Harrington, let alone kill him. But I didn’t have a good lawyer… I didn't have anyone. Except for my younger siblings who were in mourning. And now they should see their big brother in prison for murder? No. So I ran.”

Harry sees how his mother’s lips part slightly and his father stiffens just a little.

“I’ve lived scared for a long time,” Louis continues. “I had a fake ID and was always looking over my shoulder. And then, eventually… I ended up in Italy. Took a job as a gardener for your villa. I just wanted something quiet.”

He pauses and now he looks over at Harry. A soft, soft smile creeps onto his face, so full of love it makes Harry want to cry again.

“Here I met your son. And he was the most unexpected, brilliant, ridiculous thing that ever happened to me. I didn’t mean to fall in love with him. I didn’t even let myself think it could happen. But I did. He's everything to me.”

Harry blinks fast, biting his lip and Louis turns back to Harry’s parents. 

“I want to go back to uni when my name is cleared. Finish what I started. Open a practice someday and help people.”

Silence stretches long across the dining table. Then Desmond exhales slowly and leans back in his chair.

“You speak well,” he says, almost grudgingly. “And you seem to know what it means to work for something.”

It’s not a warm compliment, but it’s a compliment nonetheless. Harry can barely believe it.

Louis simply nods. “Thank you, sir.”

Harry stays quiet, but he can feel it in every corner of his body - the pride, the love, the pure, unfiltered admiration he has for Louis. 

That's when Clarice returns, holding a small paper bag delicately, as if it contains something far more explosive than just pregnancy tests.

“The tests,” she says, eyes flicking briefly to Harry, who flushes red and immediately looks down.

Louis stands and places a gentle hand on Harry’s shoulder. “We’ll take them in private,” he says to his parents politely. “Whatever comes out of this, it should be something just for us in the first moments.”

Harry lets himself be guided without a word, heart pounding in his chest. He grips the paper bag tightly and follows Louis down the hallway into the bathroom a second time today.
But the moment the bathroom door closes behind them, Harry’s hands start to shake. Louis takes the bag from him wordlessly, sets it on the counter and carefully pulls out all sorts of tests. Strips, digital ones, early response, standard. Clarice had been thorough. There’s even a sterile plastic cup, still sealed in a clear wrapper.

Harry groans softly. “God, this is ridiculous.”

“Come on, love. We’re in this now.”

“I know,” Harry mutters, cheeks flaming. “Just… turn around, yeah?”

Louis turns without a word, facing the wall, hands neatly in his pockets while Harry peels open the cup with trembling fingers, takes a breath, and pees into it. When he’s finished, Louis turns back around and gives him a quick kiss. Louis opens each test while Harry holds the cup and together they dip them one by one, lining them up across the edge of the sink like they’re preparing for a bizarre experiment. There’s something painfully fragile about how tender Louis is with each plastic stick, how seriously he’s taking it. Once they’re all done, Harry steps back and immediately buries himself in Louis’ chest.

“I can’t look,” Harry mumbles, pressing his nose against Louis’ bonding mark. “If they’re all negative again, I’ll break.”

Louis cups Harry’s face gently, tilts it up and kisses him. But this time long and deep. His lips are soft, but there’s pressure there, meaning. His scent curls around them like something protective and everything feels suddenly safe. When Louis finally pulls back, he rests their foreheads together for a beat.

“I’m going to look now,” he says quietly.

Harry nods, but doesn’t move. His eyes stay shut as he listens. The only sound for a few seconds is Louis shifting, the soft rustle of clothing. Silence. Then more silence and Harry’s heart starts hammering harder.

“You’re not saying anything,” he whispers, dread rising up his throat like bile. “They’re all negative, aren’t they?”

Still silence. He can't stand it any longer and opens his eyes. Louis is staring at the tests but when he turns, there are tears clinging to his lashes. 

Harry’s breath catches. “Lou?”

“No,” Louis says, voice shaking as he smiles. “They’re not negative.”

Harry freezes.

“They’re positive,” Louis says, softer this time. “All of them. The early ones are bright as anything. The rest are faint, but they’re there. Every single one.”

It takes a second for the words to register. Harry just stands there, blinking, his hands hanging limp by his sides. Then, like something slow and beautiful blooming inside him, it hits. A rush of warmth, of disbelief, of pure, unfiltered joy that almost knocks him sideways.

He laughs. Or sobs. It’s hard to tell. His legs go weak and Louis catches him instantly, wrapping him up in his arms like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Harry clings to him, half-laughing, half-crying into his neck.

“I’m pregnant,” he whispers, still not quite believing it. “Alpha… I’m actually…”

Louis holds him tighter. “You’re actually.”

Harry never thought joy could feel so overwhelming, like his body barely knows how to hold it all. But right now, wrapped up in Louis’ arms and the promise of something growing inside him, he’s never felt more full.

Chapter Text

Harry stares at the tests again and really every single one shows that he's pregnant. It's undeniable. It’s real. His vision blurs, eyes filling again before he even realises and then he’s crying. The kind that comes from deep relief, from joy that bubbles too strong in his chest to hold in. He sniffles, laughs through it like before and drops his gaze to his stomach. Both hands land there over the still-flat skin of his belly, warm through the soft fabric of his shirt. 

“You’re actually in there,” he whispers with a watery smile. “You little nugget.”

Louis chuckles softly behind him and Harry turns to him with a wide, teary grin. Then suddenly he’s bouncing on the spot, gripping Louis’ arms and dragging him into a half-hop and half-spin. 

“Oh my god,” he blurts. “I actually thought I was losing it, thought the moodswings were just from being devastated about the first negative test and then I convinced myself I was bloated from stress-eating pasta and sweets, but no… no! It’s not pasta-bloat, it’s pup-bloat!”

He’s laughing now high and giddy, gripping Louis’ hand tightly as they turn in a small circle in the bathroom like two kids in a playground, their fancy clothes rumpled and forgotten.
Louis just watches him while they're at it, looking completely gone for Harry, eyes soft and lips curved in the fondest smile Harry’s ever seen. When Harry finally slows down, he's breathless and flushed and damp-cheeked. The next second Louis cups his face gently, guiding him into a slow kiss. It’s warm and grounding, filled with so much love Harry thinks he could live in this feeling forever.

When Louis pulls back, he rests his forehead against Harry’s, hand sliding between them to lay flat over Harry’s tummy.

“I will love you,” he says quietly, “and them, for the rest of my life. No matter what. You both already own my whole heart.”

Harry breaks again at these words and buries his face in Louis’ neck as another round of tears falls. 

“I’m just so happy,” he mumbles and gives a kiss to Louis’ bonding mark. “I didn’t know I could be this happy.”

“I am too,” Louis whispers into his curls, holding him tighter. “So much.”

Harry pulls back slightly, blinking up at Louis with a shine still in his eyes, breath catching in his throat from the weight of it all. His hands find their way back to his belly and cradling gently like his little wonder might slip away if he doesn’t keep holding it there.

“There’s a little sunflower growing inside me. From your seed.” Harry grins but then winces. “God, that sounded... weirdly poetic and disgustingly biological at the same time.”

Louis bursts out laughing and Harry follows, leaning into his Alpha like he always does when he’s got too many feelings and nowhere to put them.

“You’re absolutely mental,” Louis says fondly, nose bumping his temple. “But I love your weird little brain.”

“You planted a flower in me,” Harry insists dramatically, hands stroking over his belly. “And now I’m gonna turn into a whole bloody garden.”

Louis smiles so wide Harry can feel it against his skin and they just stand there like that for a long moment, wrapped up in each other, arms tight around shoulders and waists, their breathing syncing up like they’re the only two people in the world. But eventually, Harry pulls back again, wiping at his face quickly, more composed now and his voice is serious when he speaks. “We should go and tell them,” he says. “But-” and his eyes flash, a stubborn heat behind them, “I’m not letting them ruin this. I don’t care what they say. If they start their shit again, I’ll smash another bloody vase.”

Louis chuckles, eyes glinting. “Make it the tall one on the shelf with the horrid colours. I hated that thing since the moment I saw it as we stepped in.”

Harry grins and elbows him lightly. “You’ve got taste.”

Louis hums and kisses his temple again. “If you throw one, I’ll throw one too. Right behind you.”

“That’s love,” Harry giggles.

Laughing quietly to themselves, Louis then takes the little bundle of tests into his hand carefully while Harry smooths down his shirt and wipes at his eyes one last time. Hand in hand again, they step out of the bathroom, ready to share the news and Harry’s heart is still fluttering when they walk back into the dining room. His parents are seated exactly as they left them. His father looks stiff and unreadable, his mother swirling the contents of her champagne glass like she might climb into the bottom of it if she could. They both look up immediately.

“And?” Anne demands sharp with impatience, her lipstick slightly smudged and eyes too bright. She probably drank more than one glass out of frustration while they were in the bathroom.

Harry doesn’t hesitate and beams. Actually beams. “I’m pregnant,” he announces, barely able to hold back a little giggle of disbelief as he and Louis sit back down. He immediately leans into Louis’ side, hand resting possessively over his own belly, protective already. “Properly, officially. The tests were clear.”

His mother’s face does something unreadable while his father exhales through his nose.

“Well,” Desmond says after a pause, “then we’ll get you an appointment with the best private gynaecologist in the city. Money’s not an issue obviously.”

Harry just hums happily and takes a sip of his water. Nothing could touch him right now. They could call him all sorts of things like naive, reckless, dramatic and he’d still be floating. He’s having a pup. Louis’ pup. Their pup. His Omega throws his own party over it inside, purrs and is at least as giddy with joy as Harry himself.

His parents keep talking. Something about vitamins and doctor’s names. His mother makes a snide comment about bloating versus actual pregnancy symptoms and Harry just tunes it out, nodding vaguely, resting his head on Louis’ shoulder. Louis handles most of it calmly and politely. He’s so brilliant at this game and charmes them without giving them anything they don’t deserve. Harry watches him like earlier with a sort of dreamy pride, feeling all warm and fluttery, not just in his stomach, but all over.

But then suddenly it all changes.

“We’ll expect a wedding, of course,” his father says, folding his hands on the table like it’s the most natural next step in the conversation.

Harry's mouth falls open.

“Excuse me?” Louis says, eyebrows raised, his tone still polite but with an edge now.

“Well, you’re having a child together,” Desmond goes on. “Bonded or not, it’s only right. We’ll begin preparations. And given your history, I think it’s appropriate that you take our surname. Styles. A fresh start, considering… well.”

It’s quiet and Harry feels Louis tense beside him.

“I beg your pardon?” Louis says and this time his voice is hard. No edge now. Sharp steel. “You think you can demand that?”

His father blinks at him seemingly surprised.

“I love Harry,” Louis continues, standing now. His chair scrapes against the polished floor, but he doesn’t flinch. “And yes, I’d marry him in a heartbeat. Not because you say so, but because he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. We already bonded, which is so much more sacred. Oh, and also I would have liked to ask Harry on my terms if I thought it was right. With a romantic proposal!”

Harry’s breath catches as Louis is furious now. Controlled, but furious.

“You don’t get to turn this into a transaction,” Louis says firmly. “Marriage is a choice. A promise. Not a way to scrub my name clean for your fucking rich friends.”

“Language,” his mother gasps and her hand flies to her chest in all drama. “It’s the bare minimum,” she adds, voice pinched. “You are going to put us through a scandal anyway, so at least let us soften the blow!”

Louis throws his hand down on the table. “You don’t get to talk about minimums. I’ve had to earn everything in my life from nothing. And you think you can walk in and set terms like this is a business deal?”

Without another word, he turns and walks out. Harry’s already moving, sweeping up the bundle of pregnancy tests with trembling fingers and following him, nearly stumbling over the leg of a chair.

“Louis!” he calls out, already halfway into the hall while his parents call after him with something that sounds like “Harry, don’t be ridiculous”, but he doesn’t hear it.

He’s too focused on the only person who’s ever stood up for him like that. The only one who matters.

Harry catches a glimpse of Louis’ retreating figure halfway down the long driveway. His shoulders are tight, fists clenched at his sides and storm clouds practically radiating through their bond. Harry doesn’t think. Doesn’t care that his parents might be watching from the window. He just bolts after his mate, heart pounding in his throat and the bundle of tests still clutched in one hand.

“Louis!” he calls out breathlessly, catching up, grabbing him by the elbow and yanking him around.

And without waiting for a single word, Harry crashes his lips to Louis’. It’s rough and desperate and soaked in the kind of adrenaline that only comes from absolute emotional whiplash. Louis stiffens for a second, startled, but Harry holds him tighter, the kiss deepening in seconds, hot and possessive and a little bit messy. His other hand lands on Louis’ chest, fingers fisting into the soft material of his shirt.

“That was… fuck… so sexy how you just put up with them like that,” Harry breathes in between kisses against Louis’ lips.

Louis blinks, panting slightly and opens his mouth to respond, but Harry cuts him off again with another fierce kiss, even hungrier this time like he can devour every bit of Louis’ if he just kisses hard enough.

Louis groans into his mouth. “Harry, wait, I-”

“No,” Harry mutters, lips brushing over Louis’ as he speaks. “I’m getting us an Uber right now and I swear to God, if I start feeling you up on the backseat, I’m blaming the fucking pregnancy hormones.”

That makes Louis laugh. “Harry... you’re completely mad.”

Harry’s already unlocking his phone. “And you love it.”

“I do,” Louis says with a grin that finally melts some of the tension in his jaw. “Only you could get me from furious to horny in less than a minute.”

Harry smirks triumphantly. “Magic. That’s my Omega charm, babe.”

The Uber app loads and thankfully the car is only five minutes away. Harry leans into Louis again, nuzzling his nose into his collarbone, both of them still catching their breath. “I’m not letting them ruin this for me. Not today. Not this.”

Louis’ eyes soften, his hand coming up to cup the side of Harry’s face, thumb stroking over his cheek. “You’re right.”

“As always,” Harry says cheekily and kisses him again, this one slow and a bit shaky but filled with that overwhelming kind of love that makes his chest tight and his Omega purr.

They don’t say anything for a moment, just stay pressed close in the fading golden light of the early evening but then Harry pulls back, just enough to whisper, “And when we get home… I want you to fuck me over the nest swing.”

Louis lets out a laugh that’s nearly a groan, head tipping back like he’s pleading to the sky. “You’re going to kill me.”

“I’m pregnant,” Harry says smugly. “I can get away with anything.”

Louis kisses him again, making Harry dizzy with affection. “I love you.”

Harry grins, fingers threading through Louis’ hair. “Good. You’re going to need that love. Especially after I climb you like a tree the second we walk through that door.”

Louis cackles loudly and when the Uber pulls up, headlights washing over them, Harry takes his hand and they walk toward it like two idiots high on hormones, love and their future. Nothing can touch them now.

━━━━🌻━━━━

Harry's fingers tremble as he fumbles with the buttons of his shirt as soon as they get into his penthouse, his breath already short, skin hot with anticipation. It's like now that he knows he's pregnant, there is also something shifted in his body. Like it has set something free inside that makes him hungrier than ever. Everything is on fire - his skin, his nerves, the slick already leaking out of him. He can’t wait and doesn’t want to. The Uber drive was already hard enough, in more than one meaning.

The moment they step into the bedroom, he starts stripping fully, not bothering with a show for his mate. It’s not about teasing, it’s about getting there, now, before he loses his mind. His shirt hits the floor, then his pants, briefs and socks. He kicks everything away as he turns toward Louis, already flushed and breathing hard.

“Clothes. Off. Now,” Harry says roughly with urgency. “I’m fucking dripping, Lou, I can’t wait.”

Louis chuckles low, almost in disbelief, but he’s moving, pulling his shirt from his shoulders as Harry heads for the nest swing. Harry grips the ropes, steadying himself as he leans over with his ass high, his thighs already slick with want. He spreads his legs wider and bends low, presenting shamelessly.

“Look at me,” he says, glancing back over his shoulder, eyes dark and wild. “I’m ready. I need it. Don’t let me wait, Lou. I want your cock in me. Now.”

Louis is already naked behind him, his pants and briefs dropped somewhere by the door. His eyes are locked on the slick glistening between Harry’s thighs, his own cock heavy and flushed, bobbing as he moves closer. Maybe Harry starts drooling over it the next second.

“Fucking hell, princess,” Louis growls, running a hand down Harry’s back, fingers trailing over flushed skin. “You really are dripping.”

Harry shudders at the touch but groans in frustration. “Yeah, and your fingers aren’t what I need.”

Louis grips his hips firmly, lining himself up with a low grunt. “You want it hard, baby?”

“Yes! And I want it now.”

And with that said, Louis slams in with one deep, brutal thrust. Harry cries out, head snapping forward as the swing lurches with the force of it. Oh, that's good. Sooo good. Louis doesn't give him a second to adjust, just sets a fast, hard rhythm, fucking him open without mercy. The swing rocks violently with each thrust, creaking from the momentum as Louis drives in over and over, deeper each time.

“God, yes… fuck, Alpha…” Harry pants, holding tight to the ropes, knuckles white. “You feel so fucking good. Just don’t stop. Fuck me just like that.”

Louis snarls, fingers digging into Harry’s hips. “You’re so fucking needy tonight, aren’t you? All spread out for me, soaked like this. What would people say if they saw you, huh?”

“They’d say I’m your perfect little bitch,” Harry growls, pushing back into him, meeting every thrust. “They’d say I need to be fucked like this.”

Louis grunts, clearly losing himself in it and uses the swing’s motion to pound in even harder. His balls slap against Harry’s skin with wet smacks, each one making Harry moan louder. Slick drips down his thighs, soaking them both, but neither care. It’s messy, desperate and so right.

Then Louis grabs Harry’s shoulders and shifts the angle, forcing him even lower. Harry’s chest presses into the edge of the swing while his arse stays high and the new position makes Louis hit his spot so deep it knocks the breath out of him.

“Oh, fuck right there… don’t you dare stop, please!”

“You love it like this, yeah?” Louis hisses against his back. “Being taken like this? Used?”

Harry can’t even answer. He just nods, gasping, his body completely at Louis’ mercy. The swing groans under them, but Louis doesn’t let up, his rhythm brutal and relentless. And then without warning he pulls out, leaving Harry empty and blinking.

“What the fuck-” Harry starts, already dazed, but Louis grabs his wrist and drags him toward the bed.

“On your back. Now. I want to see your face.”

Harry doesn’t argue. Instead he scrambles onto the bed, spreads his legs wide while his cock is achingly hard and dripping against his belly. Louis climbs over him, lifts his legs onto his shoulders and sinks back in with a groan. The new position makes Harry whimper, feeling already overstimulated and raw, but he wraps his arms around the pillows behind his head, eyes fixed on Louis.

“Don’t hold back,” Harry whispers, voice wrecked. “I don’t want it slow. I want you. All of you.”

And Louis gives it to him. Fucks him like he means to ruin him - deep and fast and so fucking good Harry sees white behind his eyes. His thighs shake, his stomach tightens and his slick coats Louis’ cock with every thrust. It's sweaty, loud, messy and everything Harry needs right now.

“Fucking hell,” Louis mutters as he looks down at him, sweat clinging to his temples, his chest heaving. “You look obscene like this.”

With that he slams even harder than before into Harry. The pressure is deliciously brutal and Louis’ cock pushes against his sensitive walls inside him, turning his brain to mush. Harry hears himself whimper in pleasure like from far away and Louis leans over him, folding him even further, until Harry’s nearly bent double beneath him. It punches the air from Harry’s lungs but Louis’ cock slams into that perfect spot again and again relentlessly.

And then Louis’ hand snakes between them, wrapping around Harry’s cock and strokes him in time with every thrust, grip tight and thumb dragging over the slit. Harry’s whole body is trembling now, thighs shaking where they’re hooked over Louis’ shoulders, sweat slicking every inch of skin. His mouth is open but the sounds coming out aren’t words anymore - just broken, desperate moans and high-pitched gasps every time Louis slams back in, making his toes curl and his vision blur.

Still, Louis doesn’t let up. Instead he leans in and his hand grips Harry’s jaw as he fucks him. 

“You close, baby?” Louis pants, watching Harry’s face twist in pleasure. “You gonna come for me, make a fucking mess?”

Harry nods. “Yeah, I can’t… can’t hold it.”

“Then fucking come,” Louis growls. “Come on my cock, princess. Show me how messy you are.”

That’s all it takes. Harry’s back arches off the bed and a scream rips from his throat as he comes. His cock jerks between them, spilling hot across his belly and chest in thick spurts. His hole clamps down around Louis, sucking him in tighter, making Louis groan loud as his rhythm stutters but he doesn’t stop.

Harry’s body is pure fire and his eyes fluttering shut as he rides the waves of his orgasm, completely gone. His cum slicks between their bodies, mixing with sweat, shining on his skin in messy streaks. And even through the haze, even while his body’s still shaking, he grabs Louis’ wrist and tugs.

“On me,” Harry pants firmly. “Wanna feel you. Come on my belly.”

Louis lets out a strangled noise and pulls out with a wet sound, cock flushed and leaking as he kneels between Harry’s spread thighs. He strokes himself hard and fast, using Harry’s cum and slick as lube while his cock slides slick through his fist. Harry watches, dazed but hungry, licking his lips as he runs his hands down his stomach, smearing his own release across his skin. 

“Do it,” he urges. “Come all over me, Alpha. Want you to paint me. Want all of it.”

Louis loses it with a sharp gasp, hips jerking as he comes in hot, pulsing ropes across Harry’s belly and chest, mixing with what’s already there. Some hits Harry’s neck, his cheek and he can't help but moan at the feel of it - warm, filthy, perfect. His Omega is more than pleased with the claim.

Louis keeps stroking until every last drop is wrung out, until he’s shaking from the aftershock. Then he collapses over Harry, careful not to crush him, their slick chests pressed together in the mess they’ve made. Harry hums lazy and satisfied, breath still unsteady and tilts his head so he can mouth at Louis’ jaw.

“That’s how you fuck a freshly pregnant Omega,” he mumbles with a grin.

Louis chuckles weakly against his shoulder. “You’re fucking insatiable.”

Harry just laughs smugly. “Good thing you love it.”

And Louis, still buried in the heat of it all, kisses him hard in answer.

━━━━🌻━━━━

The next day Harry lets his gaze wander over the solicitor's office. It's a quiet, neutral space with light wood, glass walls and the faint scent of paper and coffee. Harry sits beside Louis, their fingers intertwined and he hopes his grip is like a silent anchor for his clearly nervous mate. Louis' jaw is tight, his eyes fixed on Mr. Malik, who sits across from them, a laptop in front of him and a stack of files at his side.

"So," Mr. Malik begins, "Mr Miller has been remanded in custody. Given the severity of the charges the court denied bail."

Louis nods, but his expression is unreadable, in stark contrast to their bond, which has a whole mix of emotions running through it. Harry squeezes his hand, offering silent support.

"The police have scheduled a formal interview with both of you," Mr. Malik continues. "It's standard procedure. You, Mr Tomlinson, will be interviewed under caution, but as a witness, not a suspect. Still, it's crucial to have legal representation present."

“Which would be you,” Louis says.

Mr Malik nods, “Right.”

"When is the interview?"

"They've proposed Thursday morning," Mr. Malik replies. "We'll meet beforehand to go over your statement and ensure you're prepared."

Harry shifts in his seat, his eyes on the floor. The room feels heavy, the air thick with unspoken fears of his mate and it makes him uneasy as well.

Mr. Malik glances at Harry, then back at Louis. "I understand this is a difficult time. But it's important to proceed carefully. The prosecution will build their case based on Mr Styles’ and Mr Payne’s statements and evidence. Your cooperation is vital."

Louis nods again, his grip on Harry's hand tightening. "I'll do whatever it takes. But… My mate is pregnant. I don't want any stress for him."

Mr. Malik offers a small, reassuring smile. "Mr Styles is safe. We'll get through this together."

Harry shifts in his seat and his heart pounds a little too hard as he looks from Malik to Louis and back again. “So… does that mean Louis is free now?” he asks, because actually that is his only worry right now. “Like, can he actually walk around London again without people thinking he’s-”

“A fugitive?” Louis mutters with a wry smile and Harry glares at him for trying to make a joke of it.

Malik clears his throat. “Technically, yes. There’s no longer a warrant out for Louis’ arrest. His name is no longer flagged in any official database. So, yes… he is free to move about as any other citizen. However… Until the case against Mr Miller goes to trial and the full facts are made public, there’s still a risk of… let’s say, social complications.”

“Meaning what?” Harry asks, already on edge. He already woke up irritated that morning, but this appointment helps nothing to ease it.

“Media. Public opinion. Gossip,” Malik says simply. “It may take a while before people stop associating his name with the crime. Especially since the original charges were quite public and the correction hasn’t been as widely reported yet.”

Harry scowls. “That’s complete bullshit.”

“Unfortunately, that’s the world we live in,” Malik replies calmly. “I would recommend we keep Mr Tomlinson's public profile low for a few more weeks. But, yes he can begin preparing to return to university. I’ve already reached out to the admissions office after our last call a few days ago. Since he never formally withdrew, he may be able to resume studies as early as the autumn term.”

Louis’ eyes brighten at that. “Really?”

“I’ll know more once I have confirmation, but it’s promising,” Malik says.

Harry squeezes Louis’ hand again, proud but still fuming. “And what about compensation?” he asks sharply. “He lost years of his life hiding and running… he was scared out of his bloody mind. And now he’s just supposed to go back to his life and lectures like nothing happened?”

“There is a path for that,” Malik says. “Once Mr Miller is convicted, which I am confident will happen, Mr Tomlinson can file a civil suit against him personally and possibly against the police for mishandling the case. But that’s complicated.”

“Complicated,” Harry repeats full of sarcasm. “Right. So the system completely fails, some incompetent police officer files the wrong paperwork and Louis is the one who gets punished?”

Malik doesn’t flinch. “I understand your anger, Mr Styles. I do. But taking on the police force is a long game. If Mr Tomlinson wants to pursue it, we can build that case but it’ll take time, resources and patience.”

Harry shakes his head, jaw clenched. “I just don’t get how it had to come down to me hiring some private investigator and me flirting with that absolute asshole just to find the real evidence. I’m not trained for this. The police are.”

“You’re not wrong,” Malik admits. “What happened here is, quite frankly, embarrassing for the local authorities. But if we want justice, not just for Louis but systemically, it has to be handled right.”

Harry opens his mouth, ready to argue more, but Louis’ thumb brushes over the back of his hand, calming him. “It’s okay,” Louis says softly. “Let’s just focus on getting my life back first. We’ll deal with the rest after.”

Harry exhales, furious but helpless. “It’s not okay,” he mutters, but nods anyway. He turns back to Malik. “Just… keep us updated. On everything.”

“I will,” Malik assures. “And for what it’s worth… you did more than most people would’ve done. I’ve seen families give up faster. You stayed. That means something.”

Harry doesn’t respond. He just glances at Louis, his mate and father of his pup and holds his hand a little tighter.

“It means everything,” Louis whispers, looking at Harry full of love.

“We'll keep in touch, yeah?” Malik says and unfortunately destroys their little moment.

“We will,” Harry agrees.

They thank Mr Malik quietly, Louis shaking his hand with a firm nod and Harry mumbling something that vaguely sounds like gratitude, though his mood is still sour. The moment they step out of the office and into the sunny, busy London afternoon, it’s like the tension shifts. It's not gone, but looser somehow. Harry doesn’t let go of Louis' hand as they weave through the many other people on the pavement.

“I want food,” Harry says eventually, sounding a little sulky and tired.

Louis glances at him, lips quirking into a smile. “Alright, sunflower. What are you in the mood for?”

Harry shrugs. “Dunno.”

“Alright,” Louis replies again patiently. “Then we’ll find something. Maybe once we walk past it, it’ll jump out at you.”

They start meandering down the street, passing cafés and sandwich shops, a couple of sushi places (which he's not allowed to eat anyway, so his mood only gets worse) and a little Italian restaurant where it smells incredible. But Harry shakes his head at every single one.

“No, too oily.”

“Too noisy.”

“Too many people.”

“This one smells like feet.”

Louis stifles a laugh after that one and Harry throws him a glare. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You thought something.”

“You can’t prove it.”

Harry groans and tugs at his own hair in frustration. “Why is nothing right? I’m starving but also nothing looks good and I swear if I don’t eat soon I’m going to freak the fuck out!”

And then he stops walking, because his chin starts to wobble and out of nowhere the tears start.

“I hate this,” he cries, covering his face with both hands. “I hate everyone and I hate food and I hate my stupid hormones and I just want to not cry in the middle of the bloody pavement!”

And Louis, bless him, begins to laugh. Not meanly. Just a soft, fond, barely-suppressed chuckle like he can’t help himself. Which only makes Harry sob harder.

“You’re laughing at me,” he accuses through his fingers, all whiny and dramatic.

“I’m not,” Louis says, clearly lying and smiling now as he steps closer. “I swear, princess. I’m not. You’re just so adorable and… - oh love, come here.”

He pulls Harry into his arms right there on the street, wrapping him up tightly as if shielding him from the entire stupid city. He presses a kiss to Harry’s temple, another to his damp cheek and then murmurs against his skin, “You’re allowed to cry, you know. I think you’ve earned a few meltdowns.”

Harry sniffles loudly. “This one’s not even real, though.”

“It’s real if you feel it,” Louis argues softly. “And if it helps, I think you’re cute as fuck when you’re bratty.”

Harry huffs against his shoulder. “Don’t call me bratty.”

“You literally just said you hate everything and cried because no food passed your vibe check.”

Harry glares at him through teary lashes and Louis just grins, leans down and kisses him slowly and thoroughly on the mouth, right there next to a souvenir shop and a man walking his pug.

“Let’s find you something sweet,” Louis whispers, brushing a thumb over Harry’s jaw. “A pastry or cake. Something soft and sugary that makes everything better. Yeah?”

Harry nods with a small smile, still sniffly. “Okay. But it has to be warm.”

“Done.”

“And flaky.”

“Definitely flaky.”

“And if it’s got a weird filling I swear to God-”

“Alright, alright,” Louis laughs again, slipping an arm around Harry’s waist as they start walking. “We’ll get the poshest fucking pastry in all of London. You’ll be fed and adored and hormonal in peace.”

Harry leans into him, eyes still a little teary but a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth now.

“Good. Because I love you and I’m pregnant and I deserve the whole bakery.”

Louis kisses the side of his head and whispers, “You deserve everything, my sunflower.”

Chapter Text

The cab ride back from Louis’ childhood home is quiet, but it’s a kind of soft quiet. Like both of them are still swimming in the warmth of everything that just happened. Harry’s head rests against Louis’ shoulder and the hand of his mate hasn’t left his thigh since they got in. Every so often, Louis gives a gentle squeeze, like he’s still reassuring himself in the fact that it all actually happened. Harry closes his eyes for a second and lets it all replay in his head.

They’d walked up to Louis’ late mum’s house hand in hand and Louis had been nervous. He’d tried to hide it, of course, all brave face and steady breath, but Harry had felt it buzzing through their bond, jittery and hopeful and a little scared. But then the door had opened and there were his sisters and it was like time folded in on itself. The moment Louis stepped inside, Lottie had gasped like she’d seen a ghost. Which, to be fair, she kind of had. Félicité had gone rigid and Daisy had whispered, “It’s really him.” And then like the tension broke all at once, there was hugging and crying and disbelief and Harry probably cried harder than all of them put together. Blame the hormones. He didn’t stop sobbing into Louis’ back while he hugged his sisters one by one.

Louis had told them everything. About the years he spent running, hiding under false names. About the police, the lies, the fear. And about how it was finally over now, how Ethan was in custody and Louis was no longer a fugitive. That there was still a trial ahead, but the worst part was over.

And then they told them the rest. That they were bonded. That they were expecting. That Harry was growing their tiny, squishy pup inside him. The room had erupted in shouts, cheers and another wave of tears. Phoebe actually screamed and then launched herself at Harry with the kind of enthusiasm that nearly knocked him over. They passed around biscuits and lemonade like it was a proper celebration and Harry felt so loved and safe, like he was already a part of Louis’ family for a long time.

Now, in the cab, he exhales slowly, blinking out the window at the familiar buildings as they head back into central London. His face still feels puffy from crying but his heart is full.

Louis glances at him. “You alright?”

“Mhm,” Harry hums, nodding. “Just… happy. And emotional. Again.”

Louis smiles softly, thumb stroking his thigh. “You were a mess.”

Harry groans. “Don’t.”

“You cried when they brought out the biscuits.”

“They were warm, alright? And I was overwhelmed.”

Louis chuckles and leans over to kiss his cheek. “You were perfect.”

Now they’re plan is to stop by one of the phone shops, so Louis can finally, finally, get a proper phone again. Getting him some normality back he hasn’t had in years, not while he was moving around, never able to leave a trace. But now he can. He’s free. And Harry is oddly excited to watch him pick out wallpapers and contact ringtones and text back stupid memes.

He’s just about to suggest they go get pastries after, when his phone rings. Harry pulls it from his little Gucci bag and groans the moment he sees the name on the screen.

“Ugh. It’s my father.”

Louis raises an eyebrow. “You gonna answer?”

Harry scowls at the screen. “I don’t know. I haven’t heard from them since that dinner last week. Thought we were doing the whole silent disapproval thing again.”

The phone keeps buzzing insistently in his hand and Harry glares at the screen until Louis gently nudges his knee.

“Go on,” he says softly but firmly. “Might as well get it over with.”

Harry sighs heavily, then presses accept and switches to speaker before lifting the phone between them.

“Hello?”

There’s a beat of silence before his father’s voice fills the cab, clipped and far too casual. “Harry. Good. I was wondering when you'd answer your phone.”

“I nearly didn’t,” Harry mutters, slumping further in his seat.

Desmond ignores the dig. “How’s the pregnancy going? Have you seen a consultant yet?”

“I’ve got an appointment next week,” he says, cautiously. “Haven’t been yet. But I’m fine. We’re both fine. Why? Do you actually care?”

There’s a pause on the other end, just long enough to be pointed. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I care. I wouldn’t be calling if I didn’t.”

Harry scoffs. “Right.”

“Harry,” Desmond snaps, the calm edge in his voice sharpening. “You need to stop acting like you’re the only one with emotions in this situation. Your mother hasn’t stopped crying since that bloody dinner. She’s nesting, of all things. Like she lost her mind. And she can’t sleep because she’s so worried about this whole situation.”

Harry opens his mouth, but Desmond barrels on.

“I’ve had enough of it. So, here’s what’s going to happen… I’m hosting a dinner party on Friday. Close friends. Family associates. You and Louis will be there. It’s time we introduce him properly. I expect the announcement of your wedding. And you will be decent with your mother!”

“What?” Harry says, sitting up straighter. “Are you being serious right now?”

“You heard me,” Desmond replies, like it’s the most logical thing in the world. “We’ll announce the wedding and move on from this mess like adults.”

Harry glances at Louis, whose jaw tightens instantly. “We never agreed to a wedding,” Harry snaps, heart pounding. “Louis made himself very clear. Or were you not listening?”

“I was,” Desmond says flatly. “But I don’t think you realise what’s at stake. Either you announce a proper engagement and we all move forward with the respect that comes from doing things right… or I cut off the funds. Entirely.”

Harry lets out a disbelieving laugh. “There it is.”

“There what is?”

“You,” Harry spits. “Pretending this is about family when it’s always been about control. We’re a fucking inconvenience to you and now that we’re having a pup you want to dress us up and parade us around like something respectable.”

Desmond exhales harshly. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Oh, am I?” Harry barks. “Because you want Louis to change his name to Styles, so it will fix your reputation? Like slapping my surname on him will suddenly make it all acceptable for your rich friends?”

“Well, he will be your husband, won’t he?” Desmond says coolly. “He’ll benefit from being part of this family. From my money. And if he’s going to be introduced into our world, he should carry the name with some pride.”

Harry stares at the window, eyes burning. “You don’t get it,” he whispers. “You’ve never got it. You make decisions like I’m not even in the room. Like I’m not a person. You never loved me like parents should.”

“You’ve always been loved,” Desmond says suddenly and for the first time his voice is softer. “Even if we’ve got maybe a strange way of showing it. You’re our son.”

Harry doesn’t speak. He just blinks rapidly, lips trembling, tears slipping hot and silent down his cheeks. Louis reaches over and curls a hand around his wrist, rubbing slow circles into his skin.

Because fuck, Harry thinks. He hasn’t even met their pup yet. It’s just a squishy little cluster in his belly, barely even real and still… he already feels something deeper and fiercer for it than his father has ever made him feel in all his years alive.

Louis leans in slightly toward the phone. “We’ll come to the party. You’ll get your fancy dinner. But we’ll call you back later about the wedding,” he says calmly but steel-edged.

Desmond is quiet for a second. “Fine.”

Louis doesn’t say goodbye. Just ends the call with a flick of his thumb and tosses Harry’s phone gently back into his lap. After that the cab is quiet for a few moments, save for Harry’s quiet sniffles.

“I hate him,” Harry whispers.

“No, you don’t,” Louis murmurs, wrapping an arm around him. “But you don’t have to love how he treats you either.”

Harry nods slowly, wiping at his eyes and leans into Louis, pressing their temples together as the city blurs past the window.

━━━━🌻━━━━

It’s just past two in the morning when Harry gives up on trying to sleep. He’s been lying on his side for what feels like hours, facing Louis, who’s curled up on the other side of the bed, breathing deep and steady, completely dead to the world. His fringe’s fallen half over his eyes and Harry knows if he reached over to brush it back, Louis wouldn’t even stir. He’s knackered. All the emotions from today from the reunion with his siblings, the long day in the city and the unexpected phone call had wiped him out. And honestly, Harry should be just as tired.

But he isn’t.

Instead, he’s lying here, wide awake, his belly aching in that dull, pulling sort of way that’s become familiar now. Everything’s shifting inside him, making room for their pup. It’s not exactly painful but it’s constant. A sort of pressure in his lower abdomen that never lets him forget, not even for a second, that there’s someone growing inside him. Someone he already loves with every part of him.

He places a hand on his little bump under the blanket, just resting his palm against the curve that’s barely visible but feels so real. So solid. 
But his mind won’t stop spiralling.

They never called his father back. After that conversation, they’d both just… stopped talking about it. Louis hadn’t pushed, which Harry had been grateful for. He’d looked a little lost after it, like he wasn’t sure what Harry needed from him, but then they’d gone out and bought him a new phone just like they planned. When they got home, Harry hadn’t been able to pick a single takeaway. He’d changed his mind three times before they ended up ordering from three different places and Louis didn’t even complain. Just laughed and helped him unpack it all onto the table in the living room. They’d eaten curled up on the sofa with Harry pressed against his side, his head on Louis’ shoulder while he scrolled through settings and apps. He’d even made Harry his lockscreen. A picture from a few weeks ago which Louis took with Harry's phone back in Italy. Harry half-asleep in bed, looking soft and flushed, hair everywhere. Louis had called it his favourite thing on the planet. It should’ve been a perfect evening. And it was, for a little while.

But now the weight of everything is pressing down again, right on top of Harry’s chest.

They need the money. That’s the truth of it. Harry knows they’re not set up yet. Not really. Louis has only just gotten his name cleared. He hasn’t even re-enrolled in uni officially. Harry’s still figuring out what his body needs each week to keep the pup healthy. They’re living off Harry’s savings and what his parents still give him and once that’s cut off… things will get hard. Too hard.

So yeah. He’ll probably have to give in. At least a little.

He doesn’t want to let his father win. He doesn’t want to be that person, the obedient Omega son who folds under pressure and marries just because it looks neat on paper. Because this isn’t just anyone. This is Louis. His mate. His best friend. His whole heart in one infuriating, kind, beautiful person.

Harry wants to marry him.

Not because of Desmond bloody Styles. Not because it’ll look good saying it at some polished dinner table. But because Louis deserves to know that Harry chooses him. Always. In every way.

He thinks of how Louis looked earlier today, hugging his siblings for the first time in years, tears in his eyes and Harry tucked right under his arm. He thinks of Louis turning to face Harry’s father at the dinner, defending them both with calm, sharp words. He thinks of the way Louis always looks at him - like he’s enough, even when Harry’s sobbing over takeaway menus or waking him up five times a night to pee.

God, he loves him.

So yeah. He’ll ask him. Tomorrow. He’s doing it on his own terms. It’s not how it's usually done, because actually Alphas ask their Omegas for their hand. Not how Harry’s parents expect it to go. But since when have he and Louis done anything the usual way?

Harry grins to himself in the dark and wipes a stray tear off his cheek, still resting his other hand on the little swell of his stomach. Their pup will grow up knowing a love that’s loud and messy and true. He’ll make sure of it.

And Louis will know when Harry gets down on one knee and asks him properly, that this is their choice. Not the Styles family’s. Not society’s.

Just them.

━━━━🌻━━━━

Harry wakes up with the plan already formed in his head since the early morning hours. He’s barely even rubbed the short sleep from his eyes before Louis is padding into the bathroom, yawning as he turns the shower on. The second the door clicks shut behind him, Harry reaches for his phone.

He calls the biggest florist of London, which he knows will have what he needs in large quantities.

“Hi, yeah, I need as many sunflowers as you can spare. Like… loads. No, really. A lot.” He pauses, biting his lip, already smiling to himself. “Deliver to my flat. ASAP. I’ll tip big, promise.”

As soon as that’s sorted, he’s down on the floor in only his briefs, digging through a box he hasn’t touched in over a year. It’s one of those sentimental ones with photos, cards, old letters, bits of fabric that used to smell like Stevie and childhood. And tucked safely in the corner, wrapped in tissue paper, is the small black box he’s been thinking about since the middle of the night.

The ring.

It’s not flashy. Just a slim band of white gold with a simple brushed texture, no stones, no engraving. Stevie gave it to him years ago, after she had one too many glasses of wine and told him she had always wanted to pass it on to her own child but since she’d never had any and Harry was the closest thing to a son she’d ever had, it should go to him instead. 

“For your future,” she’d said, pressing the box into his hand. “Whether you wear it or give it to your future pup or someone special, it’s yours. Just don’t let it collect dust forever.”

Harry holds it now in his palm, heart thudding softly. He thinks about their pup and that maybe one day, Louis will give the ring to them and tell them the whole story. Or maybe not. Maybe it’ll just stay with Louis, on his finger where it belongs. He tests it out on one of his own fingers, trying to gauge the size. Louis has small hands for an Alpha and Harry thinks it should fit. Hopefully.

Now he just needs to get Louis out of the penthouse. He cuddles himself back into bed and only a few minutes later the bathroom door creaks open and Louis comes out with damp hair and a towel slung around his hips, looking unfairly gorgeous for someone who’s not even had breakfast yet. 

“Morning,” he murmurs, already leaning in to kiss Harry’s forehead, but Harry ducks and groans dramatically.

“Ugh, babe, I feel awful,” he says, clutching his head like he’s auditioning for a soap opera. “I think it’s the weather or something. My head’s pounding.”

Louis instantly frowns, crouching next to him. “Shit, do you need me to get something? Paracetamol? A tea?”

“No, no,” Harry waves him off, squinting at the ceiling and sighs deeply. “I just need to lie down a bit. But listen… since you’re up, do you think you could go out?”

Louis stares at him like he’s grown another head. “Go out?”

“Yeah, you need a suit for the dinner thing, don’t you?” Harry tries to keep his face serious. “And while you’re at it, could you pick up a few things?”

He grabs his phone and types furiously, then hands it over. The list is… well, extensive. There are normal things like oat milk, oranges, those weird crisps Harry’s been obsessed with but also absolute nonsense he made up. Among other things truffle-infused honey, gooseberry jam with no added sugar and cereal shaped like tiny suns. Stuff that sounds vaguely plausible if you say it with confidence but doesn’t exist. He just needs Louis out for a while and even though Louis will be embarrassed if he asks sellers for the goods that are absolutely made up, it serves the greater purpose.

Louis reads it with a furrowed brow. “What the hell is… moonfruit cheese?”

Harry shrugs helplessly. “It’s a thing I had at a brunch a while back. I'm craving it. It's the pregnancy, you wouldn’t get it.”

“You sure these things exist?” Louis asks as he reads over the list, frowning.

“Yeah, absolutely,” Harry says weakly and rubs his head. Maybe he should become an actor? After all, he's already shown his hidden talent with Ethan.

Louis groans and throws himself dramatically onto the bed beside him, flopping face-down like a sulky teenager. “But why do I have to go suit shopping? I could wear the one you bought me for the last dinner.”

“No you can't, Alpha. I already feel like dying, please don't argue,” Harry whines, flopping his hand over his eyes. “And my parents wouldn't approve of the same suit.”

Louis eyes him suspiciously but doesn’t press it. Instead, he kisses the top of Harry’s curls, sighs in defeat and mumbles something about moonfruit cheese and truffle-infused honey better being real as he heads off to get dressed.

As soon as the front door clicks shut behind him a little while later, Harry jumps to his feet with his heart racing. Time to turn this flat into the most ridiculous, over-the-top, sunflower-filled proposal space London has ever seen. It hopefully will make Louis cry. With happiness, of course.

First he heads to the bath, after that back to the bedroom and opens the wardrobe. He pushes some darker clothes aside as he wants something soft. Something sunny. Harry grins as his fingers glide over the pastel yellow two-piece set that he picked up on impulse at some point because it screamed “cute Omega".

He slips on the top, which is a loose-fitting, cropped piece with puffed sleeves that emphasises his collarbones and the delicate curve of his neck. Then comes the matching trousers, made of flowing fabric, which fit like a dream. Actually.

Only... today there is this small but very real belly.

Harry stands in front of the mirror, trousers pulled halfway over his hips, and groans. "You're not making this easy, nugget," he mumbles in the direction of his tiny bulge, which is preventing him from zipping up. "But Mummy won't give up."

What follows is a wordy battle with the waistband, a lot of breathing techniques and at least three minutes of swearing as Harry throws himself backwards onto the bed, laying as flat as possible, pulling his stomach in, zipping up and finally the trousers are closed. They're tight, but they look damn good. His hips are emphasised, his waist is narrow and the soft top falls over them like something out of a fashion magazine.

He stands up a little short of breath and looks at himself in the mirror. Yes. That's it. Delicate and luminous, his skin tinged with gold from the light streaming through the windows. Then he goes to the perfume. A small bottle that emphasises his natural scent - warm, sweet, with a hint of vanilla. He dabs it carefully behind his ears, on his wrists and on his neck. But only seconds later he grimaces. Oh no.

"Okay. Ugh. Hormones," he mumbles, holding his stomach for a moment as he feels nauseous. "Breathe. Anything for Lou."

Then he goes back to the mirror, grabs a yellow ribbon from the dresser. First he twists the front half of his curls into a half bun, letting the rest fall wildly and then comes the ribbon around it. It looks slightly askew, but charming.

When the doorbell rings, he squeals quietly with excitement. The flower delivery man is standing there with seven gigantic boxes of sunflowers that are almost bigger than he is.

"Oh God, you're my hero," Harry exclaims, immediately pulling out his wallet and pressing a hefty tip into his hand. "But you have to help me. Sorry, I can't do it on my own. Well, I can, but not fast enough. And I want it to be perfect."

The delivery man, perhaps seventeen and slightly overwhelmed, just nods silently. Together they push the boxes onto the balcony while Harry directs them with a mixture of enthusiasm and demandingness as they start to decorate the sunflowers. 

"No, that one to the left please, more towards the corner - yes, like that! And lean it at an angle to make it look more natural!"

He stands in the centre himself, pushes flowers around, arranges them and makes sure that the whole arrangement looks like a small sunflower jungle. When they are finished, Harry is slightly sweaty but satisfied. The balcony looks like something out of a dream. He just stands there for a moment, fights back tears and whispers, "All that's missing now is you, Lou."

Once the delivery boy is away, Harry pads back inside and grabs his phone. One last detail. He connects the sound system throughout the penthouse to his phone and opens his music app, hesitates a second, then types in Italian romantic songs. Something with string instruments and a soft tenor voice singing starts to play, words Harry doesn’t understand, but it sounds like something someone would play in a tiny Tuscany village square with white tablecloths and red wine and candlelight.

“Perfect,” he murmurs to himself, adjusting the volume.

And then he waits.

He’s giddy at first, pacing the living room with his hands clasped together like he’s trying not to combust. He peeks out the window every few minutes, wondering how many shops Louis still has to check for all the nonsense he made up.

But then twenty minutes pass. Then forty. Then an hour. His outfit feels tighter by the minute and little nugget is not loving the pressure. He ends up sitting sideways on the sofa, legs tucked up under him, nervously picking at the hem of his top. Finally, after two hours and Harry back on the balcony, the front door opens and Louis’ voice carries through the flat.

“Omega? Where are you?”

Harry jumps up, heart thudding. “Out here!” he calls, trying not to sound like he’s been vibrating with nerves this entire time. “Come on the balcony!”

There’s a pause, then the sound of footsteps and the door slides open. Louis steps out, shopping bags in one hand, brows raised before he stops cold. His mouth falls open as he looks over the flowers and how the sunlight catches in the golden petals. After that his gaze locks on Harry, standing in the middle of it all, flushed and slightly breathless.

Louis just stares. “What… what’s all this?”

Harry’s cheeks burn, but he smiles and shrugs. “Well. I would rather do this in our sunflower field in Tuscany but… this feels close enough. Right?”

Louis squints, still confused. “Do what?”

Harry takes a deep breath, then slowly, deliberately, drops onto one knee and Louis’ jaw drops. “Oh my god.”

“I know this isn’t what people expect from an Omega,” Harry says and pulls the ring out. “And I know things haven’t exactly gone the traditional way for us. But, Lou… what part of us has ever been traditional?”

Louis is frozen, his mouth still slightly open while his eyes are already glossing over.

Harry swallows, clutching the ring tighter. “You’ve saved me more times than I can count, Louis Tomlinson. From loneliness. From doubt. From myself. You’ve made me feel safe in ways I didn’t think were possible. And you never asked for anything in return.”

Suddenly Louis sinks down slowly, bags forgotten, knees folding as he sits opposite Harry on the sunflower-covered floor. His eyes don’t leave Harry’s for a second.

“I want to spend my life reminding you of what you’re worth. Not because someone else says we should. Not because my parents demand it. But because of the bond we’ve already made and we’ve chosen together. And I want this one to be no different. I want to share my name, my life and my future with you. I want our pup to see what love looks like right from the start. Real love.”

Harry’s voice cracks a little and he wipes at his cheek, barely able to keep the tears in.

“So…” he laughs, breath shaking, “what do you think, Lou? Will you marry me? Not because we have to. But because we already share everything else. Let’s share this too.”

Louis doesn’t answer right away. At least not with words. He’s crying openly now as he leans forward to wrap his arms around Harry, kissing him tenderly. They stay like that for a second, both trembling while the music is still playing softly.

Then Louis pulls back just enough to whisper, “Yes. Of course yes. Fuck, yes.”

Harry lets out a choked and watery laugh and slides the ring onto Louis’ finger. It fits, snug and perfect. They both look down at it. Then up at each other.

“Guess Stevie knew what she was doing when she gave it to me,” Harry says quietly, a tear sliding down his cheek.

Louis kisses it away. “So do you.”

Harry’s still staring at Louis’ hand when Louis suddenly clears his throat, a mischievous glint appearing behind the tears still clinging to his lashes.

“So… I wasn’t just buying weird moonfruit cheese nonsense, you know. Which by the way doesn't exist, you menace!”

Harry giggles. “No?”

Louis snickers and reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a tiny paper bag, the kind a kid might get sweets in. He opens it carefully and reveals something that immediately makes Harry burst into laughter.

It’s a plastic ring and a bit wobbly-looking. Moulded in yellow, with a slightly lopsided sunflower on the front. The kind of thing you could win at a corner shop claw machine. Harry thinks it might even have glitter in it.

“I saw this,” Louis says, chuckling as he turns the ring over in his fingers, “and thought… Well, that’s bloody perfect. It's technically made for children and it was like… five pounds? Maybe less. But I don't know. It felt right. I didn’t want to let your dad’s plans be the only version of this story. I wanted ours too. But now you were quicker with the question.”

Harry grins, eyes softening as he holds out his hand. “Go on then. Let’s see if it fits.”

“Pretty sure it’ll only make it to your pinky.”

“Still counts.”

Louis gently slides the sunflower ring over Harry’s smallest finger. It squeezes on tightly but it fits. Harry lifts his hand and wiggles it, smiling like a child. 

“It’s perfect,” he says honestly. “Way better than anything my family would’ve picked.”

“It’s ridiculous,” Louis laughs. 

“It is,” Harry grins. “And I will never put it down.”

They both laugh and Louis leans in, kissing Harry on the cheek, just next to the soft curve where his smile won’t quit and his dimple pops.

“We’ve really made sunflowers our whole personality, haven’t we?” Louis murmurs.

Harry nods, resting his forehead against Louis’. “Yeah. And I regret nothing.”

They sit like that for a moment, soaking in the warmth of the moment, the flowers, the soft music still floating in the background, the quiet between them so full of love it’s almost deafening.

Then Harry stands up and gestures at himself. “Alright. Now that we’re engaged and adorable… take a good look at me.”

Louis raises a brow. “I’ve been looking.”

“No, seriously,” Harry says, hands on hips. “Admire me properly. This outfit deserves applause.”

Louis glances him over, then lets out a low whistle. “Fucking hell, princess. You look like a sexy lemon.”

Harry bursts into a cackle. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should. But…” Louis’ eyes trail down, his grin returning. “How the hell are you still breathing in those trousers?”

“I’m not,” Harry says dramatically. “I think my lungs stopped working around the second sunflower I decorated.”

“So?”

“So…” Harry gestures vaguely toward inside and already starts to walk. “Now I need to get out of it.”

Louis raises a brow, takes a slow step forward, then two, until he’s right behind Harry again. He slips his arms around Harry’s waist, hands wandering down, lips brushing just beneath Harry’s ear.

“May I assist you?” he murmurs huskily.

Harry looks back over his shoulder, biting back a grin. “Sure, fiancé.”

Louis groans softly against his skin. “Say it again.”

Harry winks. “Help me out of these bloody trousers first and I might.”

Harry barely gives Louis a second to react before he’s laughing and fully darting inside.

“Oi!” Louis calls after him, but he’s already chasing, mock-annoyed and grinning like a maniac.

Harry squeals as he weaves between the kitchen island and the living room sofa, narrowly avoiding the coffee table and nearly knocking over a vase of wilting lilies. He knows the penthouse like the back of his hand, but adrenaline makes everything just a bit more chaotic. Louis is faster but Harry has the advantage of pure mischief.

“You’re asking for it now!” Louis shouts, laughing, but there’s a growl to it too. The good kind.

Harry shrieks giddily, throwing a glance over his shoulder just in time to see Louis round the corner and launch himself forward.

“Nooo!”

Strong arms catch him around the middle and the next second, Harry’s world flips upside down as Louis hauls him up and throws him over his shoulder like a sack of sugar.

“Put me down!” Harry yells through breathless giggles, kicking his legs in the air as Louis carries him straight through the hallway. “This is undignified! I’m pregnant, you caveman!”

Louis just laughs and smacks his arse. “You’re about to be a lot less dignified, sweetheart.”

Harry’s still laughing when Louis dumps him onto the bed with a gentle, exaggerated flop. Louis just stares at him for a moment, eyes dark with affection and heat but then he’s crawling onto the bed, one hand landing beside Harry’s hip, the other already at the waistband of those cursed trousers.

“You really ran off,” Louis murmurs, leaning down to press a kiss against Harry’s neck.

Harry just smiles and squirms beneath him. “Made you work for it, huh?”

Louis hums, starting to fumble with the button. “Say it again.”

Harry arches a brow. “Say what?”

“You know what.” A kiss trails down to his collarbone and Louis clearly has trouble opening the button so occupied. “Say it.”

“Fiancé,” Harry giggles, heartbeat kicking up.

Harry’s laugh dies on his lips the second Louis kisses him properly. Not a playful brush, but one of those kisses that feels like possession and prayer all at once. It steals the breath from Harry’s lungs and replaces it with fire. Louis’ hands are everywhere now, warm palms dragging slowly beneath the thin fabric of Harry’s top, fingertips grazing along his ribs, pausing at the dip of his waist. His touch is familiar but still electric, like every time is the first. Harry arches beneath him instinctively, gasping when their hips slot together.

The press of Louis’ body against his is everything - his chest flush against Harry’s sensitive nipples, his thigh slipping between Harry’s legs, nudging him open in the most deliberate, maddening way. Their breath mingles, damp and hot, and Harry’s head spins when Louis starts kissing down the side of his neck, mouthing at the skin with slow, dragging intent.

“God,” Harry breathes, fingers threading into Louis’ hair, gripping gently. “You’re killing me.”

Louis huffs against his throat. “Just giving you what you want, sunflower.”

The button of Harry’s trousers finally gives way under Louis’ fingers and they both groan softly when the fabric is pushed down. Harry is now only in soft, sheer panties that barely cling to him, stretched slightly over the subtle swell of his belly and his raging bulge. Louis looks down at him with quiet awe, like Harry’s a masterpiece rather than his Omega.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispers.

Harry blushes, even now. “Stop it.”

“Never.”

He leans down again, kissing the top of Harry’s bump with aching gentleness before moving back up so that their mouths meet again. As they move together, hips rocking lazily, Harry can feel Louis’ arousal pressed against his own, the friction building with each shift of their bodies. There’s such a sense of ease between them, a rhythm that’s not hurried but full of admiration for the other. Clothes are discarded with lazy hands, lips never straying far for long. Louis’ mouth finds every inch of Harry’s skin - his collarbones, the inside of his wrists, the curve of his hip. He murmurs soft, worshipful nonsense as he maps the places he already knows by heart, like he’s reminding Harry of all the reasons he’s loved.

When Louis finally pushes into him, slowly and carefully, Harry’s breath catches. The stretch is familiar, grounding, like being filled and found all at once. Their hands stay locked and their eyes never stray. Louis moves in long, deep thrusts that make Harry feel tethered to the earth and yet somewhere far above it, suspended in the warmth of being completely wanted.

“Fiancé,” Harry breathes again, barely able to get it out between moans.

Louis lets out a choked laugh, nuzzling his jaw as he moves harder, deeper. “One more time.”

Harry clutches at his shoulders, back arching. “Fiancé.”

The word falls like a vow and Louis kisses him like he just accepted it all over again. When they finally come undone together, it's with soft cries and clutching each other. Harry rides the aftershocks with Louis' hand over his belly and his lips against his temple while Louis whispers "I’ve got you" again and again.

Later, with his head tucked beneath Louis’ chin and both their hands resting protectively over the small curve of his belly, Harry closes his eyes and smiles. Because if this is what choosing each other looks like, then he wants to do it again and again, no matter what anyone else says.