Chapter Text
With a satisfied smile, Louis clicks post and after a few seconds of loading, his newest blog entry—The Fight for Omega Equality: Past, Present, and Future—appears on his screen. He answers the latest comments, replies to messages in his inbox, and updates the site’s event calendar. When he’s half-way through sending his favorite book recommendations to one of his followers, he senses it—a familiar dull pain beginning behind his eyes and spreading across his scalp. Louis rolls his shoulders, stretching his head from side to side to ease the tension, jaw loosening with a yawn so deep it makes his eyes water. It’s then that he notices the goosebumps on his arms, the overall stiffness from sitting here too long, working.
He gets up from his desk, rummaging through his drawers in search of his favorite green sweater. It meets his thighs mid-way when he pulls it over his head, and the sleeves almost cover his hands. As he nuzzles into the fabric—smooth, and warm, and soft on the inside—Louis lets out a sigh of relief. It’s a way too common occurrence lately, the body aches, the chills, the pull in his chest that sets in as he returns to his laptop to finish up for the day. He’ll go for a run later to regulate his temperature and shake the urge to hold someone close that doesn’t exist.
When he finally gets up, an hour and a half later, he’s in dire need of it—if his chattering teeth and blue-tinged lips are any indication. Fuck. Louis bounces on his feet as he exchanges his sweater for a sports top, pulls on his trainers and grabs his windbreaker before heading out the door for the little park around the corner. It’s important work, though—and someone’s got to do it—because the yearly Omega Rights Fundraiser is this weekend and there’s still so much to arrange.
The fresh evening air caresses Louis’ face as he moves his body, straining his muscles more and more to push himself forward. His trainers hit the ground in a steady rhythm and the consistency of the crunching gravel underneath his feet is predictable, soothing. One, two, one, two. He concentrates on it for the remainder of his run and when he returns home, his body feels warm and his mind is momentarily at ease.
On his way to the shower, he grabs a small orange bottle of pills and a glass of water from the kitchen, just so he doesn’t forget. Louis despises that the suppressants turn his mouth into dryland, as if he were chewing chalk at all times—or that his head feels like it’s being gripped by a giant claw for an hour after taking them. Not to mention the issues they cause him in the bedroom. But it’s either this or going through heat on a regular basis. He still remembers his first ones, the raw need and loss of control. The all-consuming shame that crept up his spine and stayed for days. It still demands attention now. Louis shakes his head to clear it.
At least the pills double as scent neutralizers, lowering the risk of getting hit on by strange alphas everywhere he goes. There’s nothing more annoying—and downright uncomfortable—than catching the attention of some oaf who’s sniffed him out when he’s just trying to do his job or run errands in peace. He gets it… he’s an omega and an attractive one with his narrow waist and curvy figure. That doesn’t mean he wants any kind of contact, thank you very much.
After the hot shower has softened the last bits of lingering tension, he retires to his bed for the night. Here, surrounded by cloud-like pillows and fluffy blankets, his muscles can finally relax. He refuses to call this his nest; the thought alone makes his skin crawl. It just supports his body the way he needs. Curling onto his side, he pulls the covers up around his shoulders and drifts to sleep.
***
The next day, Louis wakes up before his alarm with a racing heart and a raging headache. He lets out a groan, rolling around in his bed, trying to get a few more minutes of sleep before he has to get up and meet the florist Niall recommended to him.
After half an hour of trying to doze off again with no success, Louis drags his aching body out of bed and under the warm spray of his shower. The rising vapor mixed with the calming scent of his body wash helps him feel less run-over, but when he’s finished, his head is still buzzing and his mind frazzled. So much so that he pours orange juice into his cereal by accident, cursing like the bright yellow package personally affeonted him. To top it all off, he only narrowly avoids spilling hot coffee over his jumper while scrolling on his phone. Ok, calm down, he tells himself, starting again. When a sad trio of left-over fruit loops falls into his cereal bowl before the box is empty and a glance at the time tells him he needs to get going, he gives up on breakfast altogether.
As if the morning hasn’t been bad enough already, Louis has only made it a few meters out his front door when he gets cat-called from across the street. His omega recoils, wanting to roll up in a heap and never leave the house again, but he forces himself to keep his head high, his steps firm and his eyes trained on the tube station sign in the distance. While he waits, shivering in the station’s draft, he slips into the posture that has become second nature for him by now—a wide-legged stance, hands folded low in front of him, lips set in a firm line that says not with me. He picked it up from watching alphas, how they move and take up space. The pose strains his muscles, just shy of uncomfortable, and a small part of him would prefer softness to the rigidity it brings, but it keeps real alphas at bay, and for now, it has to do.
When he finally arrives at the venue, a lovely red-bricked two story building, a floral scent greets him, laced with something Louis can’t quite place. The pull in his chest announces itself right away, and as he continues his way into the foyer, his feet already feel like he’s dragging them through mud. His neck and shoulders stiffen when he turns into one of the front rooms, tongue growing heavy and thick in his mouth. Shit, Louis thinks as pins and needles spread through his arms. What is happening? He tries to exhale slow breaths, but his chest expands and constricts on its own accord, faster and faster now, having him inhale more and more of the surrounding scent. His head and heart are fighting a battle, screaming at him to stay alert and let go at the same time, to close his eyes and keep them open. To fight and flee and rest. The scent intensifies while blurriness crowds in from the edges of his vision. Louis holds onto a black leather sofa in an attempt to catch his bearings. He hears footsteps coming from the hall and a voice sounds, reaching his ears as if through fog.
“Hi! You must be—” and then, there’s darkness.
Louis drifts through it as if he were falling through mist until the scent of moss-covered forest floor catches him like a cushion. It’s earthy, rich, and strangely comforting. Louis feels grounded, at ease. Like returning to his flat after a long day, taking off his shoes and slipping into cozy clothes. Or cuddling up in bed, relieved to finally be home—and safe. With a deep sigh, he sinks into the sensation, waiting for it to unfurl around him like a warm blanket.
When he floats back into consciousness, the scent is still strong in the air, its components hard to divide apart. Something resinous, almost meditative. Deep spice, like flannel-wrapped body heat and the soft glow of a fireplace.
“It’s ok,” a low voice says. “I’ve got you.”
Louis hums in return, drawn towards the voice as if it were a calm island in the middle of a raging storm. Then his mind catches up. He dropped. He fucking dropped. In public. Panic bubbles in his stomach, sharp and unrelenting, and he is wide awake at once, sitting up and scanning his surroundings with frantic twists of his head.
“Please don’t be afraid,” the soft voice says and Louis spins around towards the person kneeling on the floor next to him.
“What the fuck?” Louis spits out. He dropped. Not only showed weakness, but full on lost consciousness. In a place he’s unfamiliar with, in front of a person he doesn’t know. He isn’t naked, but he might as well be as a searing wave of shame crashes over him and heat spreads from his chest to the tips of his ears. All Louis wants to do is snap his fingers and be home. Forget this ever happened. Looking into the other man’s eyes and seeing no sign of aggression makes him consider staying calm for half a second, but the shame burns too brightly and the fear is gripping at his rib cage like an iron fist. So instead, he lashes at the stranger in a furious, “Did you touch me?!”
“Um…” The man on the floor freezes, his green eyes wide and his lips parted in surprise. He looks startled, but there’s no dominance in his posture, no indication he’s about to make a move. If anything, he looks concerned—and somehow that makes Louis even angrier.
“What the hell, mate?” Louis latches onto his indignation like a lifeline, his voice rising. “Has nobody ever told you not to touch omegas when they drop?”
The man blinks, holding his hands up in an instinctive gesture of surrender. “Um… sorry, I—you were about to hit the floor, so I caught you and lowered you down, that’s all.”
Louis lets out an annoyed huff of air that turns, against his will, into a deep inhale—then a long exhale. In his fright-induced rage, he hasn’t had time to notice that the man in front of him is gorgeous with his curly brown hair, emerald eyes, and pink lips. One strap of the light blue cord dungarees he’s wearing over a white t-shirt has slipped down his shoulder. If by accident or design, Louis can’t tell, and he refuses to be endeared by it. Or by the sunflowers embroidered along the dungaree’s front pocket, for that matter. If it weren’t for his height and broad shoulders, Louis would have guessed the man was an omega like him, or perhaps a beta. His scent, however, is clearly identifying him as an alpha. Louis’ anger stirs again.
“You’re all the same. Taking advantage of omegas whenever you can.”
The man’s eyes widen, his eyebrows shooting up. “Whoa, hold on a minute. I did nothing of that sort.” A small wave of agarwood, singed at the edges, wafts into Louis’ nose as the alpha gets up and puts distance between them, keeping his hands visible in front of himself as if Louis were a skittish animal that needed to be soothed. Maybe he is.
“I get it,” the man continues. “There are some right knotheads out there. My mum’s an omega, so I have a vague idea of what it’s like. I never saw her drop, but I can imagine how terrifying this must be for you.” What he doesn’t say is that Louis probably smells scared, too, all burnt sugar and acidity.
“Here.” The alpha reaches underneath a side table and pulls out a bottle of water, unscrewing it for Louis and setting it down a little distance in front of him before stepping back again. Louis gets up to retrieve it, perching down on the edge of the black sofa, not ready to make himself comfortable just yet.
“I’m Harry, by the way. Harry Styles.”
Harry. As in florist Harry. Ugh, great. Louis internally curses Niall for omitting that the person he recommended to him is an alpha because what the fuck?
“Louis Tomlinson,” he forces out through gritted teeth.
“Louis, it’s nice to meet you. Niall has talked a lot about you.” Harry smiles, then adds “only good things, of course,” at the sight of Louis’ disgruntled frown. “Why don’t we—”
“Look, Harry. No offence, you seem alright and all, but I don’t get along well with alphas, so this isn’t going to work for me. I’m sorry you made your way here, but maybe you should advertise on your website or summat that you’re an alpha-run business, so this could have been avoided.”
Harry studies him for a moment, tugging on his lower lip with his thumb and forefinger, brows furrowed in thought. “Totally get where you’re coming from,” he says at last, and Louis can’t decide if he is relieved or annoyed by the alpha’s inexhaustible empathy. “I don’t live life second gender first, you know? I’m just… me, Harry. My alpha isn’t really involved in my business. Well, only if you consider the ability to appreciate beauty as an alpha trait, I guess.” His gaze lingers on Louis for a second, but not uncomfortably so.
“I rather think my flowers take front stage. So since we’ve made it here already, how about you give me one last chance to show them to you and you can decide if they can make up for the fact that an alpha has arranged them?”
Louis considers, scowling to himself because he doesn’t want to be convinced. He wants to go home and look up an omega or beta florist. It would be so much easier. To his own surprise, he hears himself agree.
The alpha’s face breaks out into a blinding smile. Good God. Is that a fucking dimple? Louis groans inwardly before following Harry into the main room. On the tables, arranged in two rows, are multiple vases filled with hydrangeas.
“I didn’t know what color scheme you were going for, so I brought two options," Harry explains.
One is a playful mix of yellow, pink and white, reminiscent of the freshness of spring. Or a funfetti cake. It’s the blue and violet combination, however, that tickles Louis’ senses, reminding him of a galaxy with its specks of pink scattered among the blossoms. Something in him relaxes at the sight, and Louis wonders when he became so sensitive that even mere colors affect him.
“These are nice,” he tells Harry, pointing at the flowers.
Harry smiles, eyes gleaming. “I love those too. They have this calming effect on me whenever I’m working with them.” He guides Louis towards the front of the room where two bouquets of flowers are displayed. “And then we have gifts for the speakers.” He continues to explain the first of two arrangements, a pop of color in classic shapes with yellow roses, fuchsia gerberas and orange chrysanthemums, lively and invigorating. It’s a bit much for Louis’ taste if he’s being honest.
The other option is a softer colored wildflower bouquet Harry calls the meadow, containing herbs like white and light pink yarrow as well as lavender and blue cornflower. And what a fitting name it is. Louis instantly imagines himself walking through a field of green, white and pale purple, brushing the blossoms with his fingertips, stopping to smell their soothing scents.
“I think those.” He gestures towards the wildflowers.
Harry pauses, then takes the bouquet out of its container, wrapping the stems in a swatch of kitchen paper he finds nearby. “You should take these home." He hands the flowers to Louis. “As a little treat for a bad day.”
Louis blushes and while his mind wants to protest, his mouth doesn’t cooperate and his hands betray him by taking the bouquet.
“Let me call you a cab." Before Louis can interject, the alpha has pulled out his phone and, after a few tabs on the display, proclaims, “Should be here in five.”
Louis wants to tell him he doesn’t like to have decisions made for him. That he doesn’t need flowers or a cab, that he’s good to take the tube back, but at that moment, his shivers start up again and, to be fair, the thought of having to face public transport in his state isn’t at all appealing. Besides, it’s kind of nice to be taken care of. He immediately pushes the thought aside, standing up straight, muscles pulled taught.
“Thank you, Harry,” he grits out. “Please send the bill for the flowers and your services to the Omega Rights Foundation. I’ll let you know which florist we’ll decide to go for.”
If his senses zero in on the alpha’s earthy scent with its subtle floral undertones as he heads out and disguises it by burying his face in the bouquet he’s holding in his hands, that’s only his business and nobody else’s.
***
With a sigh, Louis sinks down in the plush seats of the taxi minutes later. It doesn’t slip from his notice that Harry has chosen an omega-run taxi company, as stated on the outside of the vehicle. When the car pulls into the street, Louis’ phone rings and his friend Niall’s name appears on the display. Well, at least Louis thought they were friends. Turns out that’s up for debate.
“Tommo!” Niall’s voice booms through the phone when Louis answers the call.
“Don’t Tommo me, mate! What the hell were you thinking recommending an alpha florist to me?”
“Oh, eh…” Niall seems taken off guard. “Hadn’t thought about it, Louis. Sorry.” He does sound apologetic. Until he continues. “Harry is a really nice guy. I thought you’d get along.”
Louis rolls his eyes. “Yeah well, I dropped, Ni! Right in front of him!”
“Oh. Are you ok? Dropping seems out of the ordinary, even for you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Niall pauses and his voice turns gentle. “Well, you haven’t really been yourself lately. I worry about you.”
Louis huffs. “Perhaps you should have thought about that before setting me up with an alpha.”
“Look, Louis, I get it. You’ve been through a lot, and Luke was a right wanker. You didn’t deserve the way he treated you. Still doesn’t mean all alphas are like that. Harry certainly is not.”
His friend might be right most of the time, but his perspective as a beta differs. Louis isn’t about to take his word for it when it comes to Harry. Betas are the glue, the intermediaries and equalizers. Rarely the target, not the way Louis has been. What Niall is dead on about, however, is the disastrous nature of Louis’ relationship with Luke.
It had been his first one, right out of school, with grave consequences for Louis’ love life down the line. Luke’s controlling demeanor had stolen the air from his lungs and his attempts to press Louis into a traditional omega mold while simultaneously degrading him for his omega needs had drained Louis’ shine in a way that was only visible in hindsight. They didn’t even have sex. Their relationship ended before it could reach that point and thank God, because even just being close to an alpha had been an experience Louis doesn’t want to relive. He has exclusively dated betas since, has never dared to open himself up to the devastating heartbreak of fully giving himself to someone and having his emotions ripped apart in the aftermath. Betas are nice—solid and predictable. Louis appreciates that his darkest urges remain untouched by them. He’s nowhere near ready for those kinds of desires to emerge again, now or ever. So he stores them away in a neat little box, together with his vulnerability and his euphoria and the deep devotion he knows he can feel for someone, the adoration and the butterflies. It’s for the best. It really is.
Louis grumbles as much into the phone and Niall indulges him. At least a little, until he’s home.
As soon as Louis steps through the door and has put the—admittedly stunning—flowers in a vase filled with water, he rips off his clothes, goes for another shower and slips into bed. It’s barely early afternoon, yet his limbs are heavy and his headache thrums a relentless rhythm against his skull. He refuses to think of Harry while drifting off into a nap. Not of the alpha himself nor his grounding scent. Or his stupidly non-stupid flowers.
***
Louis sleeps fitfully, thrashing around in his sheets, and when he wakes up two hours later, he’s bathed in sweat with an undeniable tug in his lower belly. Shit.
Dazed, he lets his hand roam across his torso and down his boxers where he’s so hard it borders on painful. Though he doesn’t go completely under in the twice-yearly heats under his suppressants, he still shoots a text to his colleagues, letting them know he’ll be out for a few days. Then, he succumbs to the urge to relieve the building tension in his groin.
Louis despises soft heats, the way they take over his body and leave him discontented. A silent frustration bubbles in his chest as he strokes his length out of necessity rather than pleasure, chasing the orgasm he knows his omega is desperate for. Without his suppressants, he’d be there already, coming over his hand in mere minutes. With them, he takes forever to reach his climax and when Louis finally gets there, forty minutes later, no relaxation awaits him, no warmth or satisfaction—only emptiness and a low-boiling rage. Nostrils flaring and jaw clenched, he grabs a tissue and cleans himself up, rolling his eyes at his once more hardening cock.
While trying to come up with any mental images that might make his time even remotely worthwhile, his thoughts land on the curly-haired, green-eyed, dungaree-wearing nuisance of an alpha. No fucking way. He will not jerk off to thoughts of Harry. That’s simply beyond him. And yet his strokes gain in feeling and small sighs form in his throat as he can’t help picturing the man, the way his grounding scent had comforted Louis and his voice had felt like an anchor today.
“Are you touching yourself while thinking of me?” He imagines Harry’s low voice, hushed and close. “You’re so hard. Feels good, baby?”
Louis grimaces at the nickname, but he can’t stop himself from running his hand down his length, spreading the precum to smoothen the glide.
“Are you getting slick? Just for me?” imaginary Harry asks and the answering whimper takes Louis by surprise. He doesn’t like to think about this part of his biology, but out of Harry’s mouth, it doesn’t sound half-bad.
“Wish I could touch you. Feel how much you want me. Would make it so good for you, omega.”
And that’s it, Louis comes, back arching off the mattress and toes curling into the sheets.
Well, fuck.
He spends two days in a haze, dipping in and out of arousal, pulling himself off to thoughts of Harry whispering sweet nothings into his ear. It’s bearable. At first.
On the third day of his heat, the tug in his chest worsens into a low, aching sadness. It cradles and chokes him as he ruts into his sheets, like a melancholy melody humming beneath every approaching orgasm. When Louis comes, it crescendos, crashing over him like a riptide, pulling a heart-wrenching whine from his throat.
“Alpha!” he hears himself sobbing into his pillow.
And—bloody hell. Where did that come from?
In the seconds of post-orgasm clarity, shame washes over him like ice water, telling him how needy meeting an alpha has made him. So when he tends to himself for the last time before his heat breaks, he pushes all thoughts of Harry aside and brings himself off in the sterile way that has become so familiar, similar to the way he brushes his teeth or clips his fingernails.
On day four, Louis’ heat has subsided. He pulls back the curtains, letting fresh morning air in through the opened windows before washing himself off in the shower. He feels dirty and spent, and the embarrassment of thinking about Harry when he was at his most desperate has him flinching every so often while drying himself, then stripping his stained sheets.
Looking for another florist is inevitable now, Louis thinks when the doorbell rings and a bored-looking beta hands him a paper-wrapped package. Louis closes the door behind himself and unwraps the delivery to unveil a pot of flowers in periwinkle, lilac, and midnight blue. His shoulders dare to soften at the sight, earning a huff of contempt from Louis while he places the pot on his windowsill and fights the relaxation pulling at his senses. He looks out at his balcony, barren except for dried-out earth in half-empty flower pots. Louis would love a splash of green, something blooming, but it isn’t on the top of his priority list. Too much work.
When he goes to throw away the wrapping paper, he notices a card attached with a piece of tape. It reads,
Where flowers bloom, so does hope.
Mine is that these will bring you joy and that you might still consider me as a florist for your event.
Harry.
Dammit. He has thought of Harry, yes, but his heat-addled fantasies have distracted him from actually turning Harry down. A glance at his calendar reminds him it’s Friday, and the fundraiser is on Sunday, leaving only an infinitesimal chance he’d be able to find a suitable replacement in time. Great, Louis grumbles. Fucking useless heat.
He begrudgingly texts the number on the card, thanking Harry for the flowers in a way that he hopes conveys enough distance, and confirms that the Omega Rights Foundation would indeed appreciate his services. What he doesn’t expect is the message he gets in return half an hour later while he’s sitting down with a cup of coffee. Harry has sent a photo from what Louis can only suspect is his flower shop, warm tones contrasting with greenery. Louis tries to keep it professional, arranging to meet Harry at the venue on Sunday morning to oversee the decorations. He’s determined to ignore the pictured hand with its long and graceful fingers holding a bouquet of sunflowers as well as the accompanying words wishing him a sunny Saturday.
Ugh. This would be easier if Harry wasn’t so annoying.
As his mind wanders to images of the past days, Louis decides precautions might be in order, so he types out a quick message to his friend Zayn to see if he’d be free on Saturday for a beer and a good old platonic cuddle. It’s what gets Louis through the worst of his touch deprivation. Either that or time spent with his family, having his nieces and nephews crawl all over him in a puppy pile on the floor. It doesn’t quench his deepest thirst, but it tides him over in a pinch.
Zayn is an omega like Louis. He gets him in ways other friends don’t, which once led to a drunken experiment to see if there was more than friendship between them. It would have been perfect given how well they get along—if kissing each other hadn’t felt like swapping spit with a relative. Louis shudders at the memory as he sinks down into his sofa. A reply pops up a few minutes later from Zayn agreeing to come over tomorrow.
***
Louis’ bell rings on Saturday afternoon, and he opens the door to Zayn carrying a six-pack of beer. They hug and Louis can already feel his worn-out nerves settle a smidge.
“Wanna watch some footie?” Louis gestures for Zayn to take a seat on the sofa while he places two bottles of beer on the side table and stores the rest in the fridge.
“Sure. Or… if you want to talk…” Zayn looks at him, brows raised in question.
“Why would I want to talk?”
“Don’t know. It’s just that it’s been a while since you called for a cuddle. Everything alright?”
“I’m good, Z.” Louis sits down next to him. “Just dropped this week, no big deal.”
Zayn’s eyebrows shoot up. “You dropped? Damn, Lou, that’s intense.” He pulls Louis into a side-hug and Louis leans into it, feeling his shoulders loosen at the contact.
“There was this alpha…” Louis continues, hesitating.
“Do I need to beat someone up?”
Though it’s said in jest, Louis knows Zayn would protect him like family if it came down to it. He’s only a few centimeters taller than Louis, doesn’t have much height on most alphas, but Louis wouldn’t put it past him to land a decent punch or two.
“Nah, he didn’t do anything. Honestly, it was almost infuriating how nice he was. He’s a florist too, believe it or not.”
Zayn smiles. “A florist? That’s a bit unusual.”
“Yup. What alpha works as a florist?” Louis huffs out. “One more reason not to trust him. He sent me these flowers.” He points at the pot on the window sill. “Now I’ll have to clean up the balcony and find a place to plant them or they’ll wilt, and I was really not planning on doing that this year. He’s so annoying, with his stupid flowers and stupid… curls! He wears a man-bun, Z, and dungarees! It’s outrageous, really.”
Zayn, who disentangled himself from Louis during his outburst, looks him over with curiosity. “So what you mean is he’s hot.”
Louis scoots back on the sofa, mouth agape and eyes wide. “No, Zayn, that’s not what I mean! I thought you were on my side…”
Zayn’s face breaks out in a lop-sided grin, tongue darting out in amusement. “Didn’t realize there were sides to take. You know I’ve got your back, mate. Just sounds like he’s been occupying your mind a bit. And that’s fine, you know? Liking an alpha would be… alright.”
“It would not!” Louis protests, debating if inviting Zayn was a colossal mistake. The headache creeping in behind his eyes says otherwise, and while his friend observes him with openness without pushing him to reveal more, Louis relents, sinking back into the sofa and letting the warmth of Zayn’s presence soothe his agitation. He won’t think about Harry tonight, not anymore.
If Zayn stroking his arm in calming motions while the TV’s hum lulls him into fragmented dreams of sunflowers in a sea of emerald green, that can only be considered an unfortunate coincidence.
***
Sunday morning comes too soon and while his evening with Zayn has taken the edge off his frayed nerves, Louis still feels anything but confident about his meeting with Harry. But since this event is his first big project for the foundation, it’s important to him that everything goes according to plan. He needs to make sure the location is getting set up, the catering is arranged and the floral arrangements are in place. He recounts the list to himself while getting dressed in an extra fluffy jumper and soft joggers, aiming for as much comfort as he can get.
When he arrives, the venue is busy with employees setting up tables and the kitchen crew taking deliveries to the back of the house. Amidst the buzz of voices and chaos of scents, one distinct note cuts through—wood and spice, like walking through autumn leaves while eating cinnamon cookies. As if pulled by a magnet, his eyes find Harry’s across the room. The alpha’s face brightens, and Louis sighs as Harry makes his way towards him.
He’s dressed in black skinny jeans today that leave little to the imagination and someone should have told him his blouse has buttons because he seems to have forgotten. Though it might have made little difference given the sheer material, Louis notices with dismay as his breath halts at the sight of a tattooed butterfly under Harry’s sternum. It moves with every inhale and exhale, mirroring the butterflies taking up space in Louis’ own stomach. What the fuck is wrong with him? He needs to get his omega in check—and fast. At least he doubled up on scent blockers today. They’re keeping what is usually a delicate concoction of honeyed vanilla and soft almond blossom from turning into syrup and marzipan, a sweetness he’s been told is hard to ignore. Not that he likes Harry. Absolutely not. But better safe than sorry.
“Hey Louis,” Harry greets him and Louis forces out a cool smile. “I’m about to bring in the flowers. Want to join me?”
No, Louis does not want to join, but curiosity gets the better of him. He follows Harry outside to a Sprinter van where the galaxy-resembling flowers he has grown to like remind him of the similarly colored pot on his windowsill at home.
“What are the flowers you sent me, by the way?”
“They’re morning glory,” Harry says. “They bloom early, fade by afternoon. But there’s always new ones the next morning. It kind of reminds me you get to start over, no matter what day you had.”
And of course Harry would have an explanation at the ready. It’s his job, after all. Louis will not be moved by it. He simply will not. Swallowing the urge to ask about the meaning of each and every flower just to hear Harry talk about them with the same reverence as if they were trusted companions, he helps carry the bouquets inside. How Harry has managed to make them even more beautiful than the day he saw them first is beyond him, and he pushes aside his amazement and the flutter it creates in his chest.
In the venue, they work side by side for a while, finding the ideal position for vases and flowers. Afterwards, Louis excuses himself to check on the catering. Everything looks wonderful, and he has full confidence that the team will make this evening a success on the culinary front.
Just as he moves to step outside to get some fresh air, a square-built alpha blocks his path, neck and arms swollen from what Louis guesses is too much time spent at the gym. The overbearing mixture of cigar smoke and leather he exudes constricts Louis’ airways. Nausea stirs in the pit of his stomach, paired with a stinging pain at the back of his legs.
“Well, hello there. Who do we have here?” the alpha growls, his voice sounding like metal boots crunching on slate gravel. Louis tries to move past him, but the man obstructs the hallway, forcing Louis to stop. “Don’t think I’ve seen you around before. Would have remembered a sweet little omega like yourself.”
Louis’ lip curls up of their own accord, a bitter taste taking residence in his mouth. “Look,” he says, trying to keep his voice low and level. “I’m on my way out. Don’t have time for a chat right now.” Every single muscle in his body is on high alert and he stands as tall as possible, jutting out his chin and fixing the man with an icy stare.
“Well, well,” the alpha chuckles. “I bet you could make time for me though, if you wanted to?”
A fiery fury bubbles in Louis’ belly. This is exactly the kind of alpha behavior he knows too well—overblown confidence with no room for boundaries or refusal. It’s like this man isn’t even listening to him, single-mindedly focussed on conquering the closest omega around. All that’s missing is him beating his chest in a primal display of dominance. Louis is about to counter when darkness starts to cloud his vision and his feet give way underneath him.
Fuck. Not again.
He holds himself upright with a hand on the wall while taking deep breaths, willing his vision to go back to normal. It works for a moment before the alpha takes a step towards him. A piercing ring sounds through Louis’ ears and the room is spinning like a horrific carnival ride. Sweat drenches Louis’ neck and by now, his scent blockers have given up, brought to their knees and pushed way past their breaking point by Louis’ level of distress. His panic seeps into the surrounding air in waves of scorched sweetness and stinging acid. Just as he thinks he can’t breathe one more breath, a presence appears beside him, warm and unwavering, like curling your fingers around a steaming cup of chai tea on a chill winter day. Louis wants to sink into it, let it wash over him until nothing else remains.
“Everything alright out here?” The voice is cutting through the tension, friendly but assertive. Harry. Louis can’t help but turn towards his body heat, closing his eyes.
“My bad. Didn’t realize he was mated,” the alpha mumbles and Louis can hear footsteps moving away, getting more and more quiet before they cease altogether.
“Let’s get you out of here,” Harry suggests and though Louis wants to protest, wants to tell him he doesn’t need help, that he can take care of himself, he lets Harry guide him out the venue and to his van where he sits in the passenger seat, taking heaps and heaps of air into his lungs. Tears threaten to blur Louis’ vision and he blinks them away, staring out the window until Harry has settled beside him and started the engine. Louis’ shame sits in the backseat, sneering and berating Louis for showing weakness, for having an alpha save him, for not being able to stand up for himself. Shut up, he wants to yell. Shut up, shut up, shut up!
Harry’s voice draws him back from his imaginary dispute. “Should I take you home or… do you want to come back to mine for a bit?”
“Yours,” Louis hears himself say and he can’t even put a finger on why the word comes out of his mouth. He just knows he doesn’t want to be alone right now, can’t stand the thought of taking this experience to his own apartment and dealing with it by himself like he has done so many times before.
They drive in silence and Louis closes his eyes, soothed by the movements of the car and the fragrance in the air as if he were in a blooming garden, swaying in a hammock. His skin still feels on guard, like a breeze might bring his defences up again. But for now, he lets himself drift.
Harry’s warm voice filters through his daydream a short while later. “We’re here.”
Louis opens his eyes. They are parked in front of a small shop with a striped canopy and windows framed by wooden panels painted in seafoam green. Large terracotta pots full of sunflowers line the shop front alongside marguerites and pastel peonies. Harry’s Houseplants reads the sign above the door. Inside, a woman stands behind a counter, and for a moment, Louis wonders if she’s Harry’s mate or girlfriend.
“I’ll just tell Sarah to close up for today, then we can go upstairs,” Harry lets him know when they get out of the car. A bell chimes above them as he holds the shop door open for Louis. The scent of flowers fills Louis’ nostrils, combined with undertones of coffee and chocolate ganache Louis can’t attribute to the surrounding flora. He stays back while Harry talks to Sarah, nodding to her with a smile when she acknowledges his presence, then follows Harry up a staircase.
“Is Sarah an alpha?” he asks while Harry unlocks the door.
“Yeah.” Harry gestures for Louis to come inside. “She’s been working in the shop for a few years now. Lives close by with her mate, Mitch. He’s an omega.”
So Sarah is not Harry’s mate. When has this become a topic of interest for him? Bloody hell. Maybe he should look into switching his suppressants because clearly something isn’t working right. Louis pulls the sleeves of his sweater over his hands and draws his shoulders up, feeling cold again.
Harry’s flat is small but cozy with light filtering through the large windows, softened by translucent curtains. Evergreen plants and multi-colored blooms line the windowsill and the well-filled bookshelves, just like Louis would have expected from a florist. A big comfy-looking sofa fills up most of the space in front of the windows and a breakfast bar divides the living room from a modern kitchen, its white cabinets and marble countertops filled with jars of herbs and spices. Louis can see into a hallway leading to the bedroom with a large bed covered in blankets and a wide array of pillows. It almost looks like a nest, but of course it can’t be, since Harry is an alpha. Still, Louis feels a pull towards it.
“Want some tea?”
Louis nods as he sits down on the sofa, drawing his legs up towards his chest in an attempt to warm up. After Harry prepares their beverages, calm and unhurried, he places two cups on the table—one dark blue with painted stars, one violet with a cat watching the moon. Louis should find them ridiculous. He really should. When Harry reaches for a blanket lying on the sofa and offers it to him, Louis waves it away like he does his endearment, though a part of him wants nothing more than to sink into its comforting warmth.
“I’m alright.”
“Okay.” Harry nods, laying the blanket down beside him so it grazes Louis’ feet.
“Nice place.” Louis tries to shift the conversation, eyes wandering around the room, looking for something to cling to. “Lots of plants. How did you end up being a florist? No offence, but that seems unusual for an alpha like you.”
Harry’s pointer finger taps against his lips while he thinks about the question. “That’s an interesting way to put it.” He sounds like he finds Louis’ words genuinely thought-provoking. “To be honest, for an… alpha like me,” he says, doing air quotes with his long fingers and leaning back on the sofa, “it just made sense. Mainly because I was never a typical alpha. When I was younger, I thought I’d present as a beta or perhaps an omega, just because I’ve always resonated with… the gentler things in life, I guess. Which, back then, people assumed meant you’d present a certain way.”
Louis nods, but the sentiment lingers. Maybe his surprise about Harry’s job says more about his own preconceived notions than he would like to admit. Perhaps it’s his tiredness—the day has taken a lot out of him—but there’s something oddly comforting about the way Harry speaks of gentleness as if it’s no contradiction to being an alpha. Louis reaches for the star-studded cup of tea, cradling the warm mug in both hands. The aroma of chamomile rises with the steam, mingling with Harry’s scent in the air. Louis sinks deeper into the sofa cushions and exhales a long, slow breath.
Harry’s low drawl fills the room as he tells the story of how his grandmother, who owned an apothecary, first introduced him to the world of plants. Their healing properties intrigued him, he says, and their colors—the way they can transform a space, make it feel alive. Louis sips his tea, watching with quiet fascination how Harry’s pink lips form words and his hands underline each thought with graceful movements. Warmth spreads through his chest as his breathing slows and he slips his feet beneath the blanket, setting his cup aside when his eyelids grow heavy. A small voice in his head tells him to stay alert, but the sudden wave of exhaustion is stronger, pulling him under to the soothing rumbling of Harry’s voice.
He dreams of walking through a forest, its mossy floor covered in bluebells. There’s mist and birdsong in the air, mixed with the grounding scents of pine and soil. Louis’ fingertips skim blades of grass as he looks up to the soft amber light shining through a canopy of green leaves. His bare feet take him towards a bubbling stream glistening in the distance. “Louis…” the water seems to say. “Louis…”
Wait, water can’t talk, his conscious mind interjects the peaceful tranquility.
Confused, he blinks his eyes open, and is, once again, met with the sight of green. This time, it doesn’t belong to foliage but a pair of eyes, observing him with tenderness. Harry. Fuck. Louis’ heart picks up speed as he looks around, disoriented. He’s curled up on the sofa, the blanket Harry had offered before draped over him, its softness comforting against his skin. The natural light in the room has faded and is now replaced by the dim glow of a nearby lamp. How long has he been sleeping? In an alpha’s flat, no less. Don’t panic, he tells himself while trying to dissuade his pulse from riling up into a frenzy.
“Sorry,” Harry says. “Didn’t mean to startle you. It’s just that it’s getting late and if I remember correctly, you have to be at the fundraiser in…” He looks at his phone. “A bit more than an hour.”
“Shit, yeah.” Louis’ voice comes out rushed, heat flushing his face. “Sorry. I’m going to get out of your hair. You probably had way better things to do on a Sunday.”
Harry’s eyes turn soft. “I really didn’t mind. It was nice to have someone around. I got some reading done while you were out.” He motions towards a linen-bound book on the coffee table.
Louis doesn’t ask about its contents, hell bent on getting out of there. He feels like he’s swimming with his toes barely touching the ground and everything in him is screaming to get his feet back on solid, dry land. So he pushes the blanket off himself and scrambles towards the door.
“I could drive you home if you wanted,” Harry’s voice says behind him. Louis turns around.
“That’s alright, mate. Thanks. I’ll just take the tube.”
Harry’s brows furrow, but he doesn’t insist.
It’s when Louis has put on his shoes and jacket and is sprinting down the stairs, taking two at a time, that he realizes he still smells like Harry’s blanket.
Outside, he looks up the nearest station on his phone just to realize he won’t make it home in time and get ready for the fundraiser, so he walks around the next corner and calls himself a cab. Back at his place, he changes out of his clothes and into the suit he’s chosen for the event. For a moment, he hesitates, looking at his jumper and sweats on the floor before picking them up and putting them in his bed. He refuses to admit that it’s the first time in years he’s taken even the smallest step towards building a nest.
The fundraiser goes smoothly, and Louis is relieved to not encounter the knothead from earlier again. If there aren’t any alphas in attendance at all or if Harry’s scent is still clinging to him like a protective barrier keeping them from approaching, Louis isn’t sure, but he’ll take it. It makes moving through the venue, chatting with patrons and diving into deeper discussions with the speakers way more enjoyable. The presentations on challenging misconceptions and subverting omega stereotypes pique his interest and he finds himself immersed in conversations about them longer than he had anticipated. It’s past midnight when he leaves the venue and makes his way home. Why he feels the urge to text Harry that he arrived safely when he finally slips into bed and buries his face in the jumper he wore earlier is a question he won’t be answering today.